All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
The Mover Part 2
I sigh, rolling my eyes again throughout all the notes his followers are supposed to be jotting down. I wave my hand in the air, saying, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Are we gonna start yet, or what? I’m missing one of my shows.”
I lie and Dr. D knows it. Spencer is more of the TV watcher than I am and thanks to all those hidden cameras they got in the rec room they’d know that. I bet they’re even watching her and the guys right now and listening in on everything their saying. That’s why the four of us don’t talk much and, therefore, don’t know anything about each other: we don’t want these coasts hearing everything we’re saying. What if we start a conspiracy? Which has crossed my minds more than a few times. I think scornfully of those frail, weak mean hiding behind the glass and watching me—studying me—and taking note of everything. If I could, I’d take every one of them down. If that thick glass and Brick Wall weren’t here, I could so do it, too.
A hole cracks open in the floor a few feet in front of where I’m standing and a pillar—white to match the white walls—a little shorter than me pokes out with a Coke soda can sitting on top. I can’t tell from where I am whether the can is empty or not. Chances are it isn’t though because they really want to know what my weight limit on what I can lift is. Like I’m some elevator or something. They already know that I can move something heavier though, so why they give me a soda can is beyond me.
“Now, Jasmine—“ Dr. D starts, but I cut him off.
“I know the drill, Dr. D,” I say, staring at the can and my reflection behind it. I’m hoping that if I stare hard enough maybe I’ll be able to see those people and give them the direct killer glare they deserve. But, lo and behold: I don’t see squat besides me.
Now I focus on nothing but the can and where it is. Believe it or not, when I really want to, I can focus. I stand up straight because it really works better when my shoulders are squared and my chest is popped out and I can breathe easier. My hands are at my side, not in clenched fists. I raise one hand, my index finger straighter than the other four pointed directly at the soda can. With a slight flick of my finger and a huge wave of brain power, the soda can flies off the pillar and to the other side of the room, crashing against the no longer white wall with a crunch, splattering the wall with its contents.
I’m glad I assumed it was full.
I know that splattering Coke all over the wall is really immature, but at least now they’ll have a mess to clean up.
I try not to smile as I shrug at the mirror. “Oops.”
“Jasmine,” Dr. D sighs, warningly.
I shrug again, not trying to reign in my short temper. “You should’ve been expecting it, given my track record. Besides, it was an accident,” I say each word sharp enough to cut. “Those happen sometimes, you know.” I cross my arms and narrowed my eyes. “Of course, you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”
A long pause before his voice comes back. “That will be all. Carl, if you could please escort Jasmine out.”
I step off the platform then look up at Brick Wall as he follows me out the door. “You know, you look like a Carl,” I tell him.