Two years ago, after Summer School, I fell. Or at least I think I did. I can't remember. Mom says I hit my head, and we were so lucky I didn't forget more than that day. A friends birthday party, rock-climbing on a cliff-face out in the country. Apparently, my rope snapped and I fell. My skull cracked, and they had to put a plate in my head. A few days in the hospital to make sure I was healing okay, and I was back to normal.
But that was when normality changed for me.
After I got home from the hospital, my body almost felt foreign to me. I itched with energy, and I couldn't stay still.
I started jogging around the subdivision, jumping rope, anything I could do until I felt exhausted. I had trouble trying to sleep because my mind was speeding, pondering things and jumping back and forth. I actually started taking martial arts training, to focus my hyperactivity.
The surge in energy wore off after awhile, but I was far more athletic then I used to be. Stronger than I used to be. I gained more muscle tone, and my metabolism sped. My mind still raced though, but after some time I learned to control it. I excelled in my studies, and it seemed that I now had a photographic memory. I read it once and it stuck. My parents really didn't seem very alarmed by it all when I mentioned it to them, but I felt different and it was strange to me.
I'm not saying that this change is a bad thing.
I jumped to and fro in my subjects, finishing whole credits in fractions of the time. At the end of last year, I graduated. Two years early. I've been enrolled in the community college since then, to help me get a head-start on college. I just have a craving to learn, to cram as much knowledge into my brain as I can.
Most of the teachers there are surprised at my initiative and age. All except one.
Mr. Neilson. He teaches college Algebra and English. He treats me exactly the same as everyone else. I'm not going to lie, I like the attention from others, one of the few times in my life that I've been in the lime light, so to speak.
Mr. Neilson does keep an eye on me though. Almost like he's studying me. He is, however my favorite teacher. I love both subjects. Especially English.
It was near the end of one of these classes when Mr. Neilson approached me.
I was triple checking my test answers (they were right.), shifting papers around on my desk, and I looked up, surprised to see him there.
"I want you to stay after class, Ms. Bennett." He quietly droned in an uninterested monotone.
"Um, okay." I said. What did he want?
I waited for him to dismiss the class and pretended to rearrange my stuff in my bag while the class thinned out. Finally, I stood in front of his desk, waiting for him to look up from the tests he was grading. I set mine on the piles beside him. He grunted, and marked one last sheet with a red "F" before meeting my gaze.
"You wanted me to stay, sir?" I prompted.
"Mm, yes. I have a question concerning the answers on your last quiz," He shuffled, and found my paper from Friday's quiz. "Right... here," He pointed, "In this equation. You were required to find X."
"Yes...?" I had clearly done so.
"Your answer, is to the thirteenth decimal place. How did you come to such an answer, without writing it out, when I told the class that for this quiz, I wanted you to practice solving without a calculator?"
"Well, sir, I did it in my head." I said.
"In your head?" He looked skeptical. He raked his fingers through his dark hair and sighed. "Ms. Bennett. Were you cheating?"
"No, Mr. Neilson, I wasn't."
"Are you sure?"
He sighed again, and stood, writing out an equation on the board. "Solve it." He ordered.
I walked forward, and with a minute's deliberation, I took the marker and wrote the answer.
Another equation. Another answer. Another. And another.
Finally, Mr. Neilson wrote one that I was not familiar with. It was long and complicated. I stared at it, and went over the basics in my mind. I shortened the answer to the fifteenth decimal place. I shocked even myself.
Mr. Neilson, stood motionless, agape at me. "Good," he muttered. "Very good..."
He started to say something else to me when his cell phone started to ring. He answered, listened, said a few undefinable words, and ended the call. He started to gather his belongings into his bag hastily.
"Angela," (He never called me that before.) " I need you to do something for me."
"I need you to listen to me right now. And trust what I'm telling you." His voice was no longer monotone, but deep and youthful, excited; matching his appearance.
"Mr. Neilson, what-"
"Listen to me! You need to follow me, right now."
I followed him. I heard a boom outside. "You are in danger and you need to come with me. I'm going to take you to a safer place."
Another boom, this time closer. He lead me down the stairwell, down into the basement. "What's going on?" I ask, as yet another boom sounds.
"Just follow me. I'll explain everything soon." I have a sense that something serious is up, so I do as he says, and he pushes me ahead of him into the boiler room. I hear gun shots above and I don't slow. We enter and continue through to a tunnel, well hidden behind one of the heating ducts. I crawl inside, and he follows me, pulling the duct back behind us. We army crawl soundlessly, and emerge into the shop building. He pulls a sidearm from his belt, something I hadn't noticed before, and he takes the lead, bodily guarding me as we exit. A black SUV is waiting there and I get into the passenger side, he into the driver's seat. We zoom off, just as sirens sound. I turn around and look back to see Police cars pulling into the campus parking lot.
"What was that?" I ask. He doesn't answer me, but concentrates on the road. We're going at least thirty over the speed limit.
I keep quiet. I look back, pretty sure that it wasn't a typical school shooting. I don't know. But I do have a strange feeling that it has something to do with me...