I sat in my first hour class, sketching a picture into my notebook. I had completely forgotten about the teacher and the classmates around me, just focusing on my artwork. I watched each line that I sketched bring my drawing slowly to life. It was a good drawing, too. I was just feeling pleased when I felt my teacher's eyes on me and my sketch. Oh snap.
"Mary Jane Hughes! Choosing to work on Art today instead of Algebra... again?" The teacher, Ms. Stevens, yelled as if it were so shocking that her lesson was boring.
I looked up at her and bit my lip.
"Why? Why don't you pay attention, Mary Jane?" She asked in the same tone.
I felt all the eyes on the classroom glance at me, as if they were all asking the same question--as if they were all just as angry with me as Ms. Stevens was. Suddenly, I felt the skin on my cheeks begin to burn a slight pink blush.
"I...I'm sorry," I apologized quietly. I wish I could explain how drawing...how art...how being creative makes me feel like I'm good for something. It makes me feel like I matter and can make a difference. It is the only way I can express myself. But nobody understands me like that. Who knows what my classmates thought about my loony, artsy self?
OK, that was a bad question. Because the truth is...
That I DO know what they think about me. You see, there's this little thing I can do. A little thing that seems to screw everything else up. You know, that cool ability that you see in the movies?
Well, it's real. I can read minds. I guess you could call me telepathic.
I know what you're thinking. Because I'm telepathic, remember? You're thinking that reading minds is cool. Well, think again.
Once again, since I'm telepathic, I know that you, dear reader, are worried about what people think about you. But imagine being worried about people thinking crap about you, and then knowing that they do. It's like a slap in the face. Knowing what people think makes being self-conscious 10942535 times worse.
Alright, well I know you're thinking, "Whatever Mary Jane. I still don't believe that you're telepathic. That's not possible. It's just some idea that someone thought up.
But if it isn't real, then why is there a word for it? Here, I'll demonstrate my power for you by going back to my story...
After I apologized to the teacher, put my picture away, and began half-heartedly taking notes, I looked over to the guy next to me. He was kind of cute. His name was Donnie, he was on the football team, and he's the kind of guy that girls swoon over and say, "Oh, I wonder what he thinks of me! Maybe he thinks I'm pretty!"
Now, don't get confused. I don't read everyone's minds all at once. But here is how the power works.
I think really hard about the person whose mind I want to read. I decide that I'd like to explore their mind, so I drift my thoughts into their head and look around. And then I begin to hear what they're thinking, in their voice, just as a little conversation with themselves.
I looked over at Donnie, and did exactly that. And then I heard, in an echoed variation of his voice, what he was thinking.
Haha. Sucky artist girl
If only she had it all together, she could really be something...
You see?
Oh, well now you're wondering what he means by "She could be something"...
I'll tell you. I really could be something.
I am about 5'5, pleasantly short for a Sophomore, and thin but not too malnourished. My hair is an amazing red color; light and coppery, in spiraling orange curls. And since I'm redheaded, I also have sparkling glassy blue eyes and long, black lashes. My complexion is peach and, unlike most high schoolers, I don't have problems breaking out or anything. I'm NOT self-absorbed, but I don't doubt that I'm pretty; I just doubt my ability to fit in with everyone else.
Mary Jane looks somewhat like this:
It's really hard, being telepathic. Because every time I get curious, and read someone's mind, it always seems to be something that they're thinking about me. I mean, think about all the bad things you never say, but often think about certain people. What if those people heard those mean things you know would hurt them so bad, that you can't even say them?
As a result, I don't trust people. I push them away, because they can't cover things up from me. I guess it's not good to hide things from your friends, but it's oftentimes for their own good.
I removed myself from Donnie's mind and sighed. I continued to take stupid math notes, but got really bored. I began letting my mind drift around the room, sensing other people's thoughts. There wasn't anything really good, until suddenly a random voice that I hadn't heard before echoed in my mind.
"C108, C109, C110...where's C112? Stupid new school. Why did I have to move?" the person, who I could tell by the voice was a guy, and a hot-sounding guy at that, was thinking.
What the crap? I thought to myself. How can I read someone's mind that's just walking down the hall? I didn't even try!
Well, maybe I was just wandering around and made it into his mind. That's weird but possible. I thought. But then I realized, C112? That's my class! Jumping monkeys afire!
As soon as I realized that, the door to my math class creaked open.
The guy was standing there, obviously the guy whose mind I'd just read.
He was, as I'd suspected, AMAZING looking.
He was just the perfect height--taller than me but not too tall. His hair was a dark blonde, kinda sandy color, and an ideal long-but-not-too-long length. He had a really cute face complemented by bright, navy blue eyes. And, because I'm such an observant artistic person, I realized how full and smooth his lips were. Ooh, pretty lips. This guy was a work of art in himself.
"Hey...I'm Tristan...I'm in this class now..." he said casually as he walked up the classroom and to Ms. Stevens.
Yep, this was the same guy. I could tell that he was quickly going to become popular here. I opened my mind to my classmates to hear what they were thinking about him...
"Oh. My. Goodness. He's. Beautiful." I heard a girl, Jen, think.
I quickly closed my mind. Bad idea. By hearing Jen think something good about him, I just wished that she could think something good about me...I frowned in a pouty kind of way and leaned back in my seat.
"Alright then, Tristan, you can take a seat next to..." Ms. Stevens scanned the room for an open desk
Oh snap. The only open desk is right across the aisle from mine.
"Right by Mary Jane, the redhead there. And get out a notebook and pay attention--unlike her...
HEY THAT IS SO FREAKING MEAN!
But hey, he is so freaking hot...
I wonder what HE's thinking...
With that I opened up my mind, and entered his thoughts as he sat across from me.
"Next to who? Oh, I got it. The redhead right there.
Hey, she's kinda cute.
With that I immediately looked up at him (I'd been avoiding meeting his glances) and blushed slightly.
Oh crap. I thought. I can't believe he just thought that!
Oh crap!
I tried to forget what had happened. Besides, after a few days here, Tristan would make friends, and realize that even if I was cute, I didn't have it all together. I was just some thoughtful, misunderstood, redheaded artist girl. And Tristan--well, he was going to be popular, carefree, and pursued by every girl in the school. He was going to be just like the rest of them. Just like them all, he wouldn't understand me, or even give a care.
Or maybe...just maybe...he would?
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TONYA
