Everyone always tells me I have the kind of face that belongs on a magazine cover. High cheekbones, clear skin that somehow ignores all the junk food I eat, and big glossy grey brown eyes. They say if I just took off my thick glasses—the ones I always have to push up my nose—and let my curly hair out of its messy bun, I could be popular. I could sit at the best tables in the lunchroom and go to the loud weekend parties.
But the truth is, I don't want to be popular. The idea of worrying about who is dating who sounds exhausting. I just want to be left alone with my books. In the pages of a thick paperback, I can be an explorer or a rogue. In real life, I am just a socially awkward girl who trips over air.
That is exactly why today was a total nightmare.
I was sitting in the very back of the gym bleachers, minding my own business. The air smelled like floor wax, old sweat, and cheap body spray. I had pushed myself as far up into the shadows as I could go, wedged against the cold cinderblock wall. My nose was buried deep in a massive fantasy novel about ancient dragons. I felt hidden, perfectly camouflaged by the dim lighting and the empty aluminum seats below me. Or so I thought.
Coach Davis blew her whistle.
The piercing shriek bounced off the shiny wooden floors, echoed against the high ceiling, and made my ears ring.
"Alright, girls!" she yelled, her voice booming across the empty court. "We need three more alternates for the cheer tryouts. The squad is looking thin, and I need volunteers right now. If I don't get volunteers, I am going to start drafting people. You, you, and..."
Her sharp gaze swept across the bleachers. I shrank down, pulling my knees to my chest, praying to be invisible. It didn't work.
She pointed a stiff finger right at my shadowy corner. "You! Yes, you! The pretty girl hiding up in the back row with the giant book. Get down here."
My heart stopped. The blood drained from my face. Me? A cheerleader? I trip over my own feet walking up a flat flight of stairs. The mere idea of jumping around in a short skirt and screaming at a football game while hundreds of people stared made my stomach do violent flips.
"I said now!" Coach Davis barked.
I slowly stood up, my legs trembling so badly I thought my knees might buckle. I carefully placed my silver bookmark between the pages of my novel and began the long, humiliating walk down. I stepped down the metal bleachers, feeling the eyes of the entire gym burning into my skin. *Clang. Clang. Clang.* When I finally reached the bottom step, Coach Davis turned her back for just one second to talk to the team captain.
That was my window. I didn't weigh the pros and cons or worry about detention. My flight instinct kicked in, and I just ran.
I pushed through the heavy double doors of the gym, wincing as they slammed shut behind me, and bolted down the main hallway. My sneakers squeaked frantically against the linoleum. I took a sharp left turn into the old science wing, a part of the school that had been mostly abandoned for years. The fluorescent lighting here was always flickering, casting long shadows across the scuffed floors.
I needed a hiding spot immediately. The hallway was lined with rows of dented blue lockers, most of them permanently jammed shut. But luck was on my side. One single locker, near the dead end of the hall, was hanging wide open.
I didn't waste a second. I shoved my heavy backpack inside, stepped in sideways after it, and grabbed the cold edge of the door. I pulled it shut as quietly as I could manage.
*Click.*
I took a deep, shaky breath, waiting for the sound of pursuing footsteps. Nothing came. After a full minute of silence, I pushed against the inside of the door, expecting the broken latch to give way so I could peek out.
It didn't move.
I pushed harder, digging my shoulder into the metal. Nothing. The metal didn't budge. I froze, a new kind of panic washing over me. I was locked in.
It was pitch dark inside, save for three tiny slits of pale light near the top. The confined space smelled strongly of dirty pennies, rust, and old gym socks. I took a few shallow breaths to calm my racing heart. I figured I would just wait it out. Eventually, the final bell would ring, the hallways would flood with students leaving for the day, and I could bang on the door and yell for someone to let me out.
But the bell never rang.
Minutes felt like agonizing hours. The tight space grew warm, and the steady sound of my own breathing made my eyes incredibly heavy. My legs cramped up against my bulky backpack, forcing me into an awkward crouch that made my spine ache. I rested my forehead against the cool metal wall. Eventually, pure exhaustion won the battle against my discomfort. I closed my eyes and drifted off into a deep sleep.
A loud, resounding *clank* woke me up with a jolt.
Brilliant light poured directly into my face, cutting through the darkness. The locker door had swung wide open. I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes behind my glasses. I braced myself for the worst, getting ready to jump out and apologize to the grumpy school janitor for falling asleep.
But when my eyes finally adjusted to the glare, the apology died on my tongue. My voice caught deep in my throat.
There was a janitor standing there. He was an older man wearing a grey work uniform. But everything else was wrong.
The dented blue lockers of the old science wing were gone. Instead, the hallway was incredibly wide and lined with smooth metal doors that emitted a soft white glow. The ceiling was impossibly high, and the floor beneath my cramped legs didn't look like scuffed linoleum anymore; it looked like a continuous sheet of shiny black glass.
And the most jarring detail of all? The janitor was not holding a mop.
He had his right hand held out in the empty air, palm facing down. A heavy-looking silver bucket filled with soapy water sat on the glass floor next to his boots. I watched, paralyzed, as he calmly pointed his index finger at the bucket.
A sphere of water, about the size of a grapefruit, lifted out of the bucket and floated right up into the air. It wasn't inside a cup or soaked into a sponge. It was just a wobbly, floating ball of water, defying gravity.
He flicked his wrist slightly, pointing his finger at the glowing locker next to the one I was hiding in. The ball of water zipped through the air and flattened itself against the surface. It immediately started scrubbing the metal all by itself, rotating in rapid circles.
I stopped breathing. I pushed my glasses up my nose, desperate to verify that my vision wasn't playing tricks on me.
I tore my eyes away from the floating liquid and focused on the man's hand. Because I spend my life reading novels, I am very good at noticing small details. I looked past the magic and focused on how he was actually doing it.
I saw the muscles in his arm tense up. His fingers were twitching, making tiny adjustments. Every time his pointer finger moved up even a fraction of an inch, the water moved up the locker door. When he squeezed his hand into a tight fist, the water instantly contracted, squeezing out the dirt and dropping the filthy residue into a neat pile on the floor.
*He isn't just saying a spell and making it to happen,* I thought to myself, my mind racing. *He is physically controlling the water with the tension and movement of his hand muscles. It takes effort. It is exactly like moving a puppet on a string.*
*Ding!*
A crisp, clear bell rang. But it didn't echo in the glowing hallway. The sound originated right inside my own head. It sounded exactly like the satisfying chime you hear when you level up your character in a video game.
Suddenly, the air in front of my face shimmered. A bright blue window popped into existence. It was see-through, with sharp white letters suspended inside its borders. It looked exactly like a player status menu from an RPG.
The words on the screen blinked rapidly, then stayed solid:
**[Condition Met: Magic Logic Observed]**
**[Target: Water Puppet Motions]**
**[System Initializing...]**
**[Welcome, Host.]**
**[Basic Water Observation 15%]**
I stared blankly at the glowing blue window. Slowly, I reached my hand out to touch the surface. My fingers passed right through the projection, feeling nothing but empty air.
The janitor didn't even look up. He was oblivious to the chime and the bright light. He just kept flexing his fingers, making the floating water scrub the doors. He couldn't see the screen. It was only there for me.