Chapter Five: Colette Peterson's Point of View

Chapter Five: A Twelve-Year-Old Breaks the Law

           

            The look on Violet’s face is hilarious, but also stupid, because who forgets their own birthday? I mean, honestly, turning fifteen is a huge thing.  In Mexico anyway.  You get some sort of quincehoonita or something.  Anyway.  I start giggling which I’ve done maybe twice in my life.  Then I pull the cupcake from behind my back and squish it in Violet’s face, smearing the icing.  She pulls off a glob with cake attached and lobs it at me.  I dodge it – defense being a benefit of my power. 

            “Great.  Just great.  I took a shower last night.  Now I have to take another one and you know it’s not good to wash your hair more than once a week,” Violet informs me. 

            “Actually, I didn’t know that.  And don’t use up the hot water.  We need it to make your cake.”  She stomps up the stairs.  I walk to Scarlett, our personal fashion-and-jewelry designer. 

            “Hey, Scarlett, got anything new?” I ask, tugging on my cartilage piercing.  “I’m feeling like red today.”

            “Nope.  My last red piece is a necklace for Violet.  Sorry,” she tells me.  I sigh.  The scent of bacon and pancakes wafts from the kitchen. 

            “Bacon pancakes again?” I groan.  They get so old.  But they are delicious.  Anyway.  Katie pulls out her notepad – sporting yet another brightly-colored case – and checks her messages.  “Katie, if you don’t mind my asking, why would anyone have messaged you in the night?”

            She waves the phone, screen out, at me.  “Time zones,” she says matter-of-factly.

            “And you have so many friends in different time zones.” I roll my eyes.

            “Actually, there’s one from Australia, one from the Philippines, one from the U.S., one from Austria, one from Mexico, and one from Canada.”

            “O . . . kay . . . ?”

            “There are upsides to being social, you know.”

            “Yeah.  I know.”

            Violet comes back down then, in fresh clothes.  She sniffs the air.  “MY PANCAKES!!!” 

            The air does smell like smoke; I hadn’t noticed.  Violet runs to the kitchen and I hear a clatter that probably means that she yanked the pan off the stove and flung it on the counter.  I walk in to inspect the damage.  “Still edible.”

            Everyone takes my word, apparently, because they’re all up in a matter of seconds.  Breakfast is okay.  Not really. 

            “OH SHOOT!” Scarlett stands up.

            “WHAT?” I ask with equal alarm.

            “We have school!  Oh no!” Of course, the goody-goody school girl says this.  And now Aly will make us go.  She’ll tell us to hustle in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

            “Hustle, hustle, hurry up, we’ve got to go!”  Right on time.  So we all throw on whatever’s in the tops of our drawers and rush out the door.

            “Happy Birthday dear Violet, happy birthday to you!” Everyone in the cafeteria finishes singing to Violet. 

            “Hey guys,” I say.  “I have to use the bathroom.  Be right back.” I get up and head down the hall.  Except I won’t ever make it.  This is what happens:

            Ryan, that kid we found, is walking to the cafeteria when I get about ten yards down the hall.  He catches my eyes.  He runs towards me. He slams into me.  He kisses me.

            My power is hard to explain.  When I want to hurt someone, a red glare appears around their figure.  The “beam” can go through solid concrete, but it won’t be that strong since I can't see the person I'm trying to hurt.  So when someone is uncomfortably close to me, I can easily make him pass out from the pain.  Key word: him.  Ryan gasps and crumples over.  I start kicking him and punching him along with staring at him.  My friends must hear his screams because they come running to the hallway.

            Scarlett looks appalled.  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

            “He.  Tried.  To.  Kiss.  Me.  No wait, scratch that.  He kissed me in a very uncomfortable manner.” 

            At this point, Ryan is making one, long, agonized sound. 

            Mr. Crow runs out and yanks me away by my arms and ties something around my eyes, so I can’t see Ryan.  I screech and kick.  Who’d have thought a sixty-year-old would be that strong?  I know it’s childish but I just hold my breath until I pass out.

I look around the principal’s office, trying to find something to count.  The divots in the ceiling, the pencils in the numerous cups on his desk, the number of papers strewn everywhere.   Ryan is in the nurse’s office, being treated.  My power is an illusion, it can’t physically harm someone, but people say I have a strong kick.  Hmph.

            “Miss Peterson.  May I ask why you were attacking Ryan?”

            “I had every right to do this.  He kissed me, in a rather disgusting way.”

            “Oh.  This is different from what he told me.  He said he ran into you by accident.”

            “Hah.  Check the security cameras.  I swear, I’m telling the truth.”

            “Whatever you say.”  He clicks some buttons and goes to the camera in that hallway.  Sure enough, you see me walking down, then Ryan breaking into a run, then kissing me in a way that two people kiss on their wedding day.  “You may go now.  But you are suspended for three days.  That violence was unnecessary and unwanted.  If this happens again, I may be forced to expel you. 

            “But what about him? Kissing isn’t allowed till we’re twenty-five,” I point out.  “He broke the law.”

            “So did you.  Were you not kissing him?”

            Gasp.  “Heck, no!  I was just standing there.  I didn’t even close my eyes.”

            “He is suspended, too.  For three days.  Go.”

            I sigh and walk out of the office.  On my notepad, I send a message to Katie about why I won’t be back in class.  She writes me back in a matter of seconds. She says okay.  I tromp back to the cabin and plop onto my bed.  I pull out my knife sharpening kit and my knife collection, even though all the knives are sharp enough to cut you by touching the blade.  I make plans for the next three days that are sure to be boring.