I look around — the streets seem vaguely familiar. Then it hits me: I'm near Steve's house. It's still early. If I hurry, I might catch him before school. Maybe he can help me get back home.
I start moving fast. Steve lives in a nicer part of town. People walk their dogs, parents load kids into cars for another perfect morning — sunshine and smiles everywhere. It's the kind of place where a muddy, shoeless sixteen-year-old draws attention. Too much attention. Every stare burns through me, making my insecurities scream louder. Even on my best days I feel out of place here; right now, I look like a runaway.
I push myself faster, every step sending dull pain through my feet, the rough asphalt peeling at my skin. My ears burn with embarrassment. Just a few more blocks, I keep telling myself. Just a few more.
Ahead, a tall blonde woman walks her tiny white dog, her bubblegum-pink joggers and soft gray sweater fitting right in with the picture-perfect neighborhood. She glances at me — and instantly looks away. I see the panic flash across her face as she tugs her dog across the street, like walking on the same sidewalk as me might stain her perfect life.
I clench my fists and look down, heat crawling up my neck. God, I hate this. Please don't look at me. Please just kill me right now.
Then I see it — Steve's house. Big, white, modern. A tall brick wall wraps around the yard, with a sleek metal gate keeping the world out. I never knew what his parents did for a living, but I've always been a little jealous.
Not because Steve ever rubbed it in — he never did. He's always been humble. Just as happy to spend a weekend in my tiny apartment as he was inviting me here. His mom's always been kind too, treating us the same when I came over. I've only met his dad a few times, and every time felt awkward, like the man was already halfway out the door.
I reach the gate and press the buzzer. I don't have to wait long.
"No soliciting," his voice comes through the speaker.
"Open the gate, you twink," I say, a hint of a smile breaking through — the first real one in hours.
"Who said that?" he teases. "You need a step stool so I can see you on the camera?"
I feel irritation twitch above my eyebrow. After everything I've been through, this is what he leads with?
"Fu—" I start, but the gate swings open, cutting me off.
Steve steps out, his smile fading as he takes in my appearance.
"What the hell happened to you? Are you okay?" he asks, rushing toward me.
"Yeah… a lot happened, but I think I'm okay," I reply. He grabs my shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"You look like you just got dunked in a river," Steve says, struggling to hide his smirk.
"You're not that far off," I sigh. "All jokes aside… I need your help." I take a deep breath and give him a rough explanation of last night—how I was dropped, how I survived, and why I'm here.
Steve's smile fades, replaced by a frown.
"I need to get home as soon as possible," I say, desperation creeping into my voice. "Time's running out. I need to make sure my mom's okay. I don't know what Haze is planning." I feel the weight of how crazy it all sounds, how desperate I sound, but I can't stop now.
"Okay," he says, pulling out his phone. "I'll call a ride. Go inside and grab one of my spare jackets—you look like a mess. I'll call my mom and explain what's happening."
Relief washes over me. For the first time, I don't feel completely alone. Hope is sprouting in my chest.
As I head inside, I hear him call after me, a hint of amusement in his tone: "Also… grab a pair of my shoes. I might have some from junior high that'll fit you."
I pause, wanting to come up with a witty reply, to keep the banter going, to feel normal. But nothing comes to mind.
"Thank you," I finally reply, my voice soft. You can hear the exhaustion in it.
I'm tired.
Steve must have felt it. "Hey man, it's going to be okay. You're here now. We'll take a cab to your apartment. Let your mom know what's going on. I'm calling mine so we can get the authorities involved. Don't worry. It'll be okay," he says, trying to reassure me.
"Yeah, dude… but still. Thank you," I say, stepping inside his home.
Five minutes later, I'm back outside, wearing a red-and-black hoodie that's a bit too long. I've rolled up the sleeves to make it fit a little better. I glance down at my feet, annoyed that his junior-high shoes are just slightly too big.
"How far is the ride?" I ask, a little impatient.
Steve checks his phone. "About five minutes away." He pretends not to notice me struggling to tighten the old shoes.
"So… I guess those are a bit too large on you," he says, a soft smirk playing on his lips.
Heat rises to my ears. "No, they fit perfectly. The shoelaces are just… undone," I lie, stopping my fumbling.
"What does it feel like?" Steve asks, curiosity clear in his voice.
"What do you mean?" I reply. "Falling from the sky? Getting stabbed? Losing my three bucks?" My eyebrow arches slightly.
"Having powers… You do have powers, right?" he asks hesitantly. "Otherwise you wouldn't have survived. I mean, Josh… you got stabbed. You're walking around just fine… or not fine, but walking." He pauses. "You said you felt a rush of power shoot out of your brain right before you hit the water. How does it feel?"
"Honestly, dude? Painful." I take a deep breath, wincing at the familiar spike of pain in my ribs. I run my fingers through my matted hair, tangling them in the knots. "I don't know… aside from the getting beaten up, dropped, and almost drowned…" I pause, trying to collect my thoughts. "I have this constant, dull headache. A weird pressure behind my eyes. Bright lights hurt. Moving my head hurts. Thinking too fast hurts. But deep inside, I feel this tight, taut tension… like a rubber band wrapped around a ball."
I struggle to find the words. "It's like… if I pushed just a little, I could expand it. I don't even know what powers I have. I haven't had much time to think about them… or study them." My voice trails off.
Steve, sitting beside me, looks thoughtful.
We don't stay in silence for long before a small black sedan pulls up. Our ride.
My anxiety spikes again as we get in. The driver confirms the address and we pull away.
It's a twenty-minute ride to my apartment, but the time crawls as I sit in tense anticipation. Thoughts of my mother's safety swirl in my mind. What if I'm too late? What has Haze done? I pray silently that I'll come home to see her sleepy face, greeting me like nothing happened. My stomach knots the whole ride. Part of me is strangely grateful that Steve stays quiet, not offering any reassurances I'm too frantic to hear.
When we arrive at my building, we thank the driver and start walking toward the entrance. Everything around us feels peaceful, quiet, like last night was just a bad dream. I take a small, shaky breath of relief.
Steve and I head up to my floor, the soft hum of the stairwell lights oddly calming. Everything's fine. Everything's okay, I repeat to myself.
We stop outside my door. My hands are slick with sweat. I fumble with the door—locked.
Dumbass, I think. I must've lost my keys. I can't even remember when.
"Uh… turn around," I tell Steve.
He raises an eyebrow.
"I know you hide your keys under your mat," he says.
I chuckle softly. "Ah, right." I bend down and grab the hidden key taped to the welcome mat.I unlock the door and step inside with Steve. It's quiet—too quiet. Sunlight spills across the living room and kitchen, warm and calm against the unease starting in my chest. My mother's things sit on the counter. I let out a small sigh of relief.
"MOM? Are you here?" I call out, making my way to her bedroom.
I knock and wait. Silence. I knock again
Nothing.
I glance back at Steve. Anxiety twists in my gut. He just shrugs, listening, not hearing anything either.
"Mom," I say again, louder this time, as I push open her door.
Empty. The bed's still made, room untouched. I step inside, scanning around before walking to her bathroom. I knock again, hope fading as the silence answers me back. My heartbeat quickens.
"Mom…" I say as I open the door.
Still empty.
Now my heart's pounding—each beat shaking through me. I turn and head back to Steve in the living room.
He's by the counter, eyes fixed on her things.
"She's probably out running errands or something," he says, trying to sound calm. "Her phone's not here." I can tell he's searching for an explanation that makes sense.
"It's okay, dude—just call her," he adds, handing me his phone.
I take it, my hands shaking as I punch in her number. Bringing it to my ear, I close my eyes.
Please pick up. Please be okay. Just… answer.
Click.
The call connects—and before I can exhale, a deep voice speaks from behind me, echoing faintly through the receiver.
"Hey, Josh… aren't you a surprise"