Alex knew he had maybe two seconds before the neighbors noticed or his mom found a logical, non-supernatural explanation (like maybe a very strong gust of wind, though the leaves on the oak tree were perfectly still). He had to act.
He took a deep breath, focusing all his energy on the bag. He pictured it dropping, the momentum of the drop, the sound it would make hitting the grass. He tried to think of it as merely returning to a normal state.
The bag didn't drop. Instead, it accelerated, shooting past him like a poorly aimed frisbee. It zipped over the hedge and smacked right into the windshield of the mail carrier's truck, who was just pulling up to the curb.
THWACK!
The mail carrier, a woman named Ms. Evelyn, jumped, nearly spilling her coffee.
"What in the world was that?" she yelled, rubbing the spot where the bag hit.
Alex's mother clamped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, my sweet Lord."
Alex immediately dropped his gaze to the pavement, his cheeks burning. The embarrassment was worse than the fear. He had just weaponized his lunch.
"Mom," Alex hissed, scrambling back toward the house. "We need to go inside. Now."
He practically dragged his mother back into the foyer. His dad, hearing the commotion and the strange thwack sound, emerged from the kitchen, still holding his newspaper.
"Everything alright? Sounded like—" His dad stopped short when he saw the look on his wife's face.
"Don't worry about the sound, honey," Alex's mother whispered, her eyes still wide. "Just... look at the keys."
She pointed to the entryway table where Alex's car keys (he had his learner's permit) rested. They began to jiggle, then slowly rose a couple of inches.
Mr. Peterson's spectacles nearly fell off his face. He calmly—or perhaps, robotically—folded his newspaper, placing it neatly on a nearby stool. He walked over to the keys, poked them with his index finger, and they bobbed like a fishing cork.
"Alex," his father said, his voice low and measured, the tone he usually reserved for discussing complex geopolitical crises in his history classes. "Did you do that?"
Alex slumped against the wall, defeated. "I didn't mean to hit the mail truck. I was trying to make it drop."