The Mindreader's Classmate

One

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a superpower? You can stop now, cause I'll tell you for free:

It sucks.

Telepathy does, anyway.

'Oh, but, Dóri, how can you say that? Reading people's minds means no one can lie to you, they can't hide things from you, that you'll always know a person's true self.'

Uh-huh. Well, wait till you walk past your crush mentally congratulating himself on that dump he took that almost clogged the toilet and then tell me how much you really want to know someone's tRuE sElF.

There's nothing cool about being privy to people's fears and worries and insecurities. Not to mention how damn unpleasant the experience is; like being stuck at a family function with the TV and the radio on while everyone talks over each other, not listening to a word the others say, with me stuck in the middle and forced to absorb everything.

'But you've learned to control your gift by now, surely?'

Tell me, when you walk by a dumpster, can you make the stink go away through sheer willpower? How about that jackhammer from the construction site down the road, does it go quiet if you focus real hard?

Well, it's the same for me. Sure, I could do the equivalent of holding my breath or sticking my fingers in my ears to tune out their thoughts but that would last, what, five minutes? Tops? And I'd be rewarded with a headache for my efforts.

So, yeah, superpowers suck.

"Good morning, sunshine," Char greets as she settles in front of my desk. Why so gloomy? "You've brought your dark clouds again, I see?"

Charline is one of my best friends. We met when we were twelve and I liked her the minute I realized her words always aligned with her thoughts.

"Don't tease her so early in the morning," my other bestie, Natalie, says as she sits beside Char.

Natalie is more careful with how she voices her thoughts but even in her mind, she's unfailingly polite. If you show up looking like shit, the worse she'll think is "you look tired". Or, in my case, that I look unhappy again.

"But how else is she supposed to know I love her?" Char asks in mock distress, clutching her neon pink top, before changing the subject. "Anyway, my lil ears heard that we're getting a transfer student today."

Natalie pivots in her seat to face her. Despite the mild weather, she's wearing a turtleneck, which means the stress rashes are back.

"A transfer student? Now?" she asks, surprised.

"Yep. Gloria told me yesterday," Char answers, excited.

Our English teacher, Ms. Gloria Ngome, shares the same umber skin tone, close-set eyes, and button nose as Char, who happens to be her niece. Though she's closer in age to Char than her brother (Char's dad), so the two look and act more like sisters.

"May he rest in pieces," I say and Natalie nods solemnly. October of one's senior year is not an easy time to be transferring.

"Oh, if he's hot, then definitely," Char says with a grin and I laugh as she pictures some random hottie being pulled in different directions by the girls in our class.

The bell rings and the door opens to reveal our homeroom-slash-math teacher. It's the second year in a row he's responsible for our class – though he's been teaching us for twice as long – and in all that time, he's never been late. The guy is more punctual than a watch. The new kid trails behind him, backpack slung over one shoulder and eyes downcast.