happen—but nothing happened. Nothing changed. I was still the tall, skinny kid with a face made for a horror movie.
Why couldn’t I change it? Was it beyond the amulet’s limits?
I looked around the room. Across from me was a light. Certainly, I could shatter it. I thought about the light and in my mind’s eye, I imagined it exploding. But it didn’t. As much as I tried, I couldn’t make it happen. I held out my hand in front of me like some powerful being from a ghost movie, I thought “shatter,” and then I tossed an imaginary ball of energy toward the light.
Zip.
What had I done to make Sara light up like that? I hadn’t been scared of her—that wasn’t it. I hadn’t felt threatened. So, what was it? Was there a limit on how often I could use this thing per day? Because if there was, I was screwed.
I was just leaving the bathroom when I remembered what creepy Jim said to me. It’s different with everyone. Might not even work for you. But if it does, you’ll need to figure out how it can help you just like me and everyone else before me. There’s no training manual. There’s no directions. You work it with your heart and with your head.
And there it was.
With my face and with the light I tried to shatter, I’d only been using my head, not my heart. I wasn’t fully vested. I went back to the mirror and looked at myself, hating what I saw. My parents were too poor to buy me anything to control the acne, and so it had taken over my face and parts of my neck, turning it red with its craters and swollen bumps.
I was ashamed to look like this and I spooled down into that feeling, tapping into it in a way that I hadn’t before. You work it with your heart and with your head. My face should be free of acne. It should be smooth and I should have a normal complexion—the best complexion—just like the rich kids.
And then I did.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I walked into my English class, it was the usual parade of chatter, with everyone either catching up on what they’d done that summer, or talking about what had happened to Tyler and Sara.
My teacher, Mrs. Branson, was writing something on the chalkboard as I passed her. She was an ice bitch who had never liked me. And she was shady. I could see her looking at me out of the corner of her eye. And then she stopped writing all together.
“Seth Moore?”
The last thing I wanted was attention. I pretended I didn’t hear her and kept walking to my seat.
“Seth,” she said, her voice more commanding. “I’m talking to you.”
I turned to her. “Yes, Mrs. Branson?”
It was as if she’d never seen me before. She was an older woman in her late fifties who, probably in her prime, was something to look at. Now, she still was, only age was eating away at her, putting on pounds where she hadn’t had them before. Her tough luck.
She studied my face and hair.
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Branson?”
She composed herself. “No,” she said. “Did you have a good summer?”
“I’ve never had a good summer. My parents are drunks. Over the years, everyone in this room has gone out of their way to make certain that’s a known fact. It was a lousy summer. It was no different from any summer I’ve ever had. It sucked.”
She didn’t know what to do with that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s nice to have you back. At least it looks like the summer treated you well.”
Make her squirm. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you look…healthy.”
“How did I look before.”
Her face flushed. She was digging herself deeper. I was more than happy to let her do so. “Your skin has cleared up,” she said.
“I didn’t know you had an interest in my skin.”
“I don’t. But you have to admit it’s a change.”
“Really?” I said. I was
Why couldn’t I change it? Was it beyond the amulet’s limits?
I looked around the room. Across from me was a light. Certainly, I could shatter it. I thought about the light and in my mind’s eye, I imagined it exploding. But it didn’t. As much as I tried, I couldn’t make it happen. I held out my hand in front of me like some powerful being from a ghost movie, I thought “shatter,” and then I tossed an imaginary ball of energy toward the light.
Zip.
What had I done to make Sara light up like that? I hadn’t been scared of her—that wasn’t it. I hadn’t felt threatened. So, what was it? Was there a limit on how often I could use this thing per day? Because if there was, I was screwed.
I was just leaving the bathroom when I remembered what creepy Jim said to me. It’s different with everyone. Might not even work for you. But if it does, you’ll need to figure out how it can help you just like me and everyone else before me. There’s no training manual. There’s no directions. You work it with your heart and with your head.
And there it was.
With my face and with the light I tried to shatter, I’d only been using my head, not my heart. I wasn’t fully vested. I went back to the mirror and looked at myself, hating what I saw. My parents were too poor to buy me anything to control the acne, and so it had taken over my face and parts of my neck, turning it red with its craters and swollen bumps.
I was ashamed to look like this and I spooled down into that feeling, tapping into it in a way that I hadn’t before. You work it with your heart and with your head. My face should be free of acne. It should be smooth and I should have a normal complexion—the best complexion—just like the rich kids.
And then I did.
CHAPTER FIVE
When I walked into my English class, it was the usual parade of chatter, with everyone either catching up on what they’d done that summer, or talking about what had happened to Tyler and Sara.
My teacher, Mrs. Branson, was writing something on the chalkboard as I passed her. She was an ice bitch who had never liked me. And she was shady. I could see her looking at me out of the corner of her eye. And then she stopped writing all together.
“Seth Moore?”
The last thing I wanted was attention. I pretended I didn’t hear her and kept walking to my seat.
“Seth,” she said, her voice more commanding. “I’m talking to you.”
I turned to her. “Yes, Mrs. Branson?”
It was as if she’d never seen me before. She was an older woman in her late fifties who, probably in her prime, was something to look at. Now, she still was, only age was eating away at her, putting on pounds where she hadn’t had them before. Her tough luck.
She studied my face and hair.
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Branson?”
She composed herself. “No,” she said. “Did you have a good summer?”
“I’ve never had a good summer. My parents are drunks. Over the years, everyone in this room has gone out of their way to make certain that’s a known fact. It was a lousy summer. It was no different from any summer I’ve ever had. It sucked.”
She didn’t know what to do with that. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s nice to have you back. At least it looks like the summer treated you well.”
Make her squirm. “What does that mean?”
“It means that you look…healthy.”
“How did I look before.”
Her face flushed. She was digging herself deeper. I was more than happy to let her do so. “Your skin has cleared up,” she said.
“I didn’t know you had an interest in my skin.”
“I don’t. But you have to admit it’s a change.”
“Really?” I said. I was
Similar Books
House of Skin
Jonathan Janz
Back-Slash
Bill Kitson
Eternity Ring
Patricia Wentworth
Lay the Favorite
Beth Raymer
Bound by Revenge (Guardian Series)
Jennifer Thibeault
The Point
Gerard Brennan
Make A Scene
Jordan Rosenfeld
Fionn
Marteeka Karland
The Science of Discworld Revised Edition
Terry Pratchett