SUPERGENE

Chapter 06

I register it in slow motion.

Every bulb bursts within the same fraction of a second, from the rows of enormous overhead stage lights, to the massive side lights lining the house to every light in the vicinity. Each detonation is followed by booming reverberations, causing a crystalized hailstorm of shattered glass to shower the entire auditorium.

Most of it is over me.

My lips part to release a scream that lodges itself at the base of my throat. Before my brain has time to process it, I throw my hands up, halting each shard held in suspension just as the auditorium plunges into total darkness. Some streams of glass have made contact with the ground, but some pieces in my periphery are still in free fall. I hear them clatter to the floor less than a second after. It dawns on me that if I got this nervous during the opening introductions, those very pieces would have sliced right through my friends.

Mrs. Sterling lets out an ear-splitting shriek as she dives onto the ground with a thud, jolting me back to the present. I hear the other judges and a few additional voices yelling, but I can't make out what they're saying.

Despite the chaos, I'm struck with an acute sense of clarity. Think, think, think. I'm a superhuman sixteen-year-old girl holding thousands of dollars worth of glass around me in suspended animation like frozen rain — some of which is inches from my skull — standing right across from the very people who could get me arrested if it weren't for the convenient darkness.

My mind races as I whirl around in the dark. Even if Mrs. Sterling or the judges didn't see me explicitly halt the glass in mid-air, the electricians will be able to put two and two together if they investigate the problem and find out there was nothing wrong with the lights.

Our genetic makeup isn't the only thing the EGMD keeps track of. Even if you didn't work for the Department of Heroes, they kept — and still keep — a close watch on your physiological and psychological progress no matter how miniscule. It's like having a check-up at the doctor's office, except instead of a friendly nurse coming to take your temperature, it's a team of trained scientists poking and prodding at you. The mystery of exactly what goes on during one is the most terrifying part.

Taking into account my current situation, I can't help but think that a checkup would be pretty helpful in explaining my current predicament.

I don't notice how much my arms are shaking from holding the same position until my whole body erupts in tremors.

The shards waver and I hear a few fall to the ground with a clatter. One nicks my ear, and I feel a trail of blood trickle down my neck. I grit my teeth, bringing my focus back and stretching my arms further out ahead of me. Thankfully, the glass tenses back up.

I take a shaky breath, trying to to recenter myself. Still trembling a considerable amount, I bring my fingertips together, steadily gathering the glass in front of me in a growing, undulating sphere. The waves of glass spin leisurely through the air towards each other from every corner of the room as if there was a large magnet pulling them flush. I hear as they clink against each other like a wind chime's disjointed melody. My arm muscles flex under my jacket and my curls cling to my neck, now slick with sweat.

Eventually, the strain becomes too much. I free the tension built up in my hands and release the giant sphere of glass from its suspended animation. Exhaling, I collapse to my knees.

The amalgamation of shards cascade to the floor right in front of the stage with an echo and releases a puff of dust, warranting a whimper from one of the judges. Gingerly, I pull myself up into a crouch and clasp my forehead. I can hear the blood roaring through my ear canals.