After every sentence this non-teacher speaks, my mouth drops open just a little farther. This is not the history they taught us at Superior.
Of course, they taught us about the Uranium Wars, and the attempted government takeover. But the story of the camps sounded totally different at Superior.
Notices were posted. All mutated persons, and their families, were required to register. The evacuation was not cheerful. Stones were thrown, and jeers were screamed. It was out of fear, they taught us at Superior. Of course the Normals feared the Supers. But this twisting of history is inexcusable.
This lecture at Nelson doesn’t include video footage of the internment camps’ shoddy housing, or the mothers clutching their crying babies while they waited for the food trucks. It doesn’t show the Supers waiting in long lines to see doctors they didn’t trust, or the makeshift schoolrooms full of dirty-looking kids in clothes that didn’t fit quite right.
The holo-teacher directs us to the touchscreens in our desktops to answer some multiple choice questions about the lecture. I force my brain to go numb as I answer them the way I know the textbook wants us to.
I don’t know exactly what this means for the next three years I’m supposed to spend here at Nelson High. But after hearing this lecture, I know I can’t spend my life among Normals. No way.
I’ve got to get that internship.
By the time I’ve sat through Calculus, Biocalculusbio, and English, I’m feeling grateful for the remote-lecturing holo-teachers – it means there’s no one to ask me to stand at the front of the classroom and introduce myself. That is, until I realize people are going to start asking me who I am to my face.
I have no idea what to expect from these Normal kids. Will they suspect I’m not like them? Can they see that I can float, if I want to?
I manage to keep my head down all the way to my locker. All I want is to get there to ditch my sweatshirt, retreat to the girl’s room - if I can figure out where it is - lock myself in a stall for a few minutes, and take a deep breath for the first time since I got here.
And maybe eat my lunch in there. Just for today.
I wiggle the handle of my locker, but it won’t open. I bend down to take a look at it. No jerk’s poured superglue in there or anything.
Before I know it, I’m shaking the stupid locker handle so hard it’s making a racket, and a few people standing near me look over and cock their heads. When I almost whack my own face with my struggling hand, I give up, resting my head against the cool, solid metal for a second, breathing in through my nose.
I am seriously losing it. Over a locker.
Half a second later, a shoulder taller than my head pushes into the metal door, then a large hand with long, thin fingers jiggles the handle side-to-side a couple times and wrenches it up, letting the locker pop open.
I feel the warmth of his nearness against my cheek, countering the chill of the locker, like a shock on my skin. The guy clears his throat, then says quietly, “They’re tricky.”
I barely glance at him before I look down at the floor, but I do catch that he has blond hair and glasses.
“You new here?”
Before I can answer, some guy halfway down the hall hollers, “E! Coming?”
The guy at my locker – “E” - gives his head half a shake, smiles a little, then turns to walk away.
And now everyone’s staring at me. Great.
As soon as I find my way to the bathroom, I place both hands on the rim of one of the sinks, steadying myself there. After a few seconds, I splash my face with water, then reach over to the soap dispenser. Everything about this place feels dirty.
As I’m lathering my hands, I notice the logo on the soap dispenser. The Hub Technology logo appears on every product made at one of the Hubs. It’s five ovals, one for each Hub, intersecting in the shape of an atom with a key as the nucleus. Someone has crossed out the “Hub” in “Hub Technology” and written “Freak” next to it.
Suddenly, I can’t get enough air into my lungs. I duck into a stall, sit on the toilet, bury my face in my hands, and take one, two deep breaths.
I hope with everything in me that all the other kids actually eat in the cafeteria.
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