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 1
“Subject A, please step forward.”
But it’s not a request because the big brick wall of a guy behind me pushes me forward. I stumble a little but catch myself. I give the brick wall a little glare, but he seems too satisfied with himself to care. Yes, because pushing Subject A off her feet is really something to be proud of.
I continue walking forward, stuffing my hands into the big pocket of my oversized sweatshirt, and making sure each step I take is full of attitude. We did this check-up thing last week, and the weeks before. Every week since I’ve been here—meaning every week of my life—and I’m starting to get tired of it. I step up on to the platform and glare at my reflection because I know that behind the mirror are the coats, just studying my every move and taking a note on every little thing.
“I have a name,” I announce to my reflection.
I can just imagine those overgrown nerds with their pencils flying over the paper on their clipboards. And then him, spitting into the microphone that sends his voice into this room. If I knew where the speakers were I would’ve busted that thing up a long time ago, just so when he orders me around, he can do it to my face, instead of shielded behind a five-inch thick window. The only reason Brick Wall is in here with me is because those oversized nerds know that I couldn’t take him, even if I wanted to. He is way to heavy for me to even attempt to levitate.
“Subject A, please focus.”
But do you think it’s a request when I can hear Brick Wall cracking his knuckles, making a sound like popcorn, and that all-too-happy grin I can see in his reflection, ready to make me do whatever those scientists want me to?
I sigh and pop my hip out, putting my fist on in. “I’m focused,” I say in a totally not focused way.
There’s a pause as Dr. D, my favorite geek in a lab coat, takes in my sarcasm in a disapproving manner. I can practically hear his expression of annoyance through the crackle of the speakers. He hates it when I get all smart-alecky on him. Though he’d use a different way of saying, probably a way that’d make him sound smarter than me. Which isn’t really that hard to do. I mean, I can barely read, let alone come up with some smart-sounding word for “smart-aleck” or “sarcastic.”
“Jasmine, please,” Dr. D sighs.
“Oh, so you do remember my name?” I say faking pleasance. “I’m so honored, Dad.”
Another long pause and another moment where I can hear his disapproval. He hates it when I call him dad so I do so every chance I get just to bug him. I hope the guilt of conducting tests on his only daughter—his own flesh and blood—eats at him everyday.
But, of course, it doesn’t otherwise I wouldn’t still be Subject A, now would I?
Either way, I still get a rush of a job well done when he pauses disapprovingly, you know, again. What can I say? I’m just a teenager rebelling.
“Jasmine,” he says finally in a stern tone, the best father voice he can pull off.
I roll my eyes. “I’m focused, I’m focused. Just get on with it already.”
He’s annoyed, I can tell, and it makes me very, very satisfied.
“Conducting experiment four seven zero dash one dash three. Date ten twenty-two oh eight. Time approximately seven thirty-nine am. Subject A performing power of telekinesis. Proceed.”