So, any bright ideas on fixing Maria's little headache?
Barry: Oh yeah, gotcha covered. Kid, I aced this one.
Having ridden shotgun in Maria's body himself—and with the diary spilling all the tea—Barry was basically an expert on the situation.
He kept going: "Thing is, you can already sense her presence. Remember, through the mirror as a go-between, you two locked eyes, chatted it up."
Maria's memory kicked in, and she leaned in: "So, need a mirror for that?"
Barry shook his head: "Nah, not set in stone. It's just a medium. Seeing ghosts in the glass? That's your budding psychic vibe kicking in—your first taste of spiritual sight, but not the full monty."
"Psychic vibe? Me?" Maria poked at herself, all doubtful, like she couldn't believe it.
"You got it. You can do way more than that. Not just chit-chat with Ellen direct—you could even block her out for good. No more headaches."
"Block her?" Maria's eyes lit up like fireworks on the Fourth. "How do I pull that off?"
"Not yet—you gotta level up your skills first."
"Level up how?"
"You bet. Time to hit the books—serious study mode."
"When do we start?"
"Secret lesson time: commencing now."
Barry dove into a down-to-earth breakdown, easy to wrap your head around, and Maria soaked it up like a sponge—total game-changer.
...
Next day, Thursday, overcast skies hanging low.
Barry tagged along again as backup, strolling Maria into campus.
No Wild West shootouts, no rowdy all-American pep rallies.
Today, the place felt downright peaceful, like everyone hit the chill button.
And after yesterday's claim-to-fame brawl, Maria's star power had shot through the roof.
Even without flashing that unhinged energy today, nobody was dumb enough to test her. If anything, more folks pegged her as some deep schemer, a master of the long con.
This chick? She's a wildcard—full chameleon mode!
Today's Maria was channeling peak cool-kid vibes: all icy detachment, untouchable aura. Her light brown locks swept to one shoulder, a switch-up from the usual free-fall on both sides.
She slouched casual in her seat, eyes sharp as daggers, radiating that rebel edge—like a bad-girl archetype straight out of a John Hughes flick, the kind who'd sneak smokes behind the bleachers.
"Maria" zeroed in on the teacher's lecture, pen flying across her notebook now and then—boom, straight-A student material.
"Tsk tsk! Out for a joyride already, huh, Ellen?"
Barry, playing backpack charm, couldn't resist the jab.
"Zip it. I'm actually trying to learn here."
Ellen ground out the words, half-pissed, half-gritting through it.
Yup, today's sub for Maria's class time? Ellen herself—they'd struck a deal.
As long as Ellen stuck to the terms, she got yard time: a taste of freedom, stretching her legs.
Heck, that's the American dream in a nutshell—chasing that liberty high!
Maria's grinding for a top-shelf college, hundred days of hustle. Sorry, Ellen—gonna need you to suck it up.
Ring-a-ding-ding!
Finally, the bell saved 'em from the snooze-fest lecture.
Ellen stepped out the school gates, body hitching for a split second—barely noticeable—then snapped back to normal.
Recess over.
Maria logged back in, head buzzing like a beehive—stuffed to the gills with fresh knowledge. Brain on overload!
Another day in the books—packed to the brim.
Barry watched and just shook his head. Damn, they're pros at this tag-team. Back in his day, if he'd had a soul-swap buddy for cramming, he wouldn't have burned the midnight oil like a madman.
...
Nightfall rolled in.
Movie theater.
Edge-of-your-seat thrills! Heart-pounding action! Plot twists that'll flip your wig!
Multi-villain mayhem!
Plus, some kinky binding action! Intense vibes! Slimy takeovers!
Whew, it's lit—straight fire!
Barry was glued to the screen, reliving the masterpiece: Spider-Man 3.
Those big-budget FX explosions, the brutal brawls, and yeah, all that web-slinging back and forth—like Peter Parker turning into a total edgelord after that black symbiote goo latches on, pumping him up with dark-side superpowers and turning him into a strutty jerk who humiliates his rivals. Got his blood pumping, picked up some killer tips—prime material for round two.
Lost in the flick's chaos, Barry totally missed Maria's off vibes.
Credits rolled, Maria slung on her bag and bolted for the exit.
Bam—someone bumped her, total accident.
She glanced back: Layla, not exactly BFF material.
Mark's girl. Her showing up meant Mark and his crew were probably lurking too.
Spot on—in the theater earlier, there they were.
Maria peeked up, guilty as sin, and yep: Layla's crew? Mark's posse, six strong.
Air got thick as fog—awkward city.
Staring contest central, nobody daring to break the ice.
The four who'd eaten knuckles before? Phantom pains hitting hard, bracing for an elbow to the kisser any second.
But standing around like statues wasn't cutting it. Eyes darted, landing on Layla for the save.
"S-Super sorry, I-I... didn't mean to..." Layla stammered out the apology, tripping over her tongue.
Maria froze, brain in neutral—face locked up stiff. To the others? She looked stone-cold killer, eyes dead as a doornail.
"Murder!""Run!""Whoa, she's terrifying—boo-hoo!"
No clue who cracked first with the wail.
Crowd scattered like roaches in a raid.
Mark, the ex-bully kingpin? Trauma flashback city—legs turned spaghetti, couldn't stand if his life depended. Buddies had to drag him, doing their part for safer streets one pathetic haul at a time.
Maria stood there, jaw on the floor. All I did was blank out on what to say next—how'd I scare 'em off without throwing a punch?
"Maria, solid work! Didn't even need the fists this time, but hey, progress—you didn't flash the fear."
"See? Bullies like that? All bark, paper-thin. Poke 'em, they pop."
Barry tossed her a rare two-fer compliment.
"Heh heh." Maria cracked an awkward grin—turns out, she'd just locked up from nerves, total face-freeze.
Shaking off the mini-drama, Maria headed to her next stop.
Meanwhile...
Far enough away, positive Maria wasn't on a rampage, Mark's crew finally hit pause.
Unwittingly, they'd dashed right to the parking lot.
"Tonight? Let's cruise the backroads, clear our heads," Mark suggested.
No pushback from the squad.
Minutes later, behind the wheel of the Benz his dad scored last week—fancy new ride—Mark peeled out.
Hitting the rural stretch, he floored it harder.
Dream girl shotgun, Mark at the helm—they'd sneak a few steamy kisses, ignoring the peanut gallery's eye-rolls in the back.
Bliss!
Pedal to the metal, Mark chased that speed rush like it was oxygen.
Faster! Faster! Faster!
"Vroooom—!"
"Gun it more! More!"
"Eek! This is wild—love it!"
In the rowdy vibe, Mark gunned it down the blacktop.
Maria? Ancient history, rearview fodder.
Until—
Crash!
Deafening impact, like thunder cracking a spine.
Mark, topping out in the Benz, plowed straight into some fool treating the highway like their living room.
"What the hell!"
"Mark, what'd you do?!"
"Shut it!" Mark barked, wired and shaky, popping the door.
He crept toward the crumpled shape, heart hammering.
Last thing he saw? A glint of cold steel—a knife's wicked curve.
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