Boop on the Nose

      “Breaking news. Planet Earth had stopped rotating for approximately fifteen minutes this morning. The planet resumed rotation. Physicists remain confused over this phenomenon. We are interviewing-” 

           The screen turned dark, reflecting my blank face back at me. I felt a hand ruffle my hair. It was my father. It was also my father who turned off the television.

           “You don’t have to watch the news, Wayne,” his dad said, “it’s just a hundred of us folks on the same train. Some people never learn. Not that I mean you, of course.”

           “Right,” I didn’t know how to react, “anything I should know ?”

“Wear a cap before you leave the house,” my father paused for a brief second, "preferably a disposable one.” 

I responded with an ok sign and signaled I want to get some air. My parents have been walking on eggshells around him ever since I lost my ability.

I heard a splat as soon as the front door shut, right when my feet left the front porch. There was a splatter of white on my cap. A cockatoo landed on an overhead branch. I got onto the crosswalk a few streets down after the lights turned green. Tires squealing accompanied by a roaring engine were the only warning signs. I leapt back onto the refuge island. A car stopped inches from where I’d been. Its exhaust fumes hit me a second later. The driver scowled and waved at me to move along. Days like this are when I feel as if I’ve lost my vision. 

Rat-tat-tat. Walken’s door opened before I even lowered my fist, then brown curls and blue eyes and grunge clothes appeared.

“Sup, W !” His fist slammed into mine in greeting. Walken’s just like me, or -more accurately- I used to be like him. Not counting him being the class president for three years in a row and basketball captain for two, and all-time perfectionist. “It’s giving …” his wide eyes flicked to my cap, “unlucky.” 

“Thanks man,” I flip my cap inside out before stuffing it inside my pocket, “you heard about the ‘100 people on the train’ thing ?”

In a second, I felt something close around my wrist. And I was in his house.

“Keep it on the down low !” His eyes seemed to speak another language, “The Normals mustn’t know about that fluke.”

“I AM a Normal,” I yank my hand out from his grasp, “and I’m sure as hell the government knows.” My voice came out harsher than I intended, “Uhhh… I didn’t mean-”

“You know what I mean,” Walken scoffed, “we’re good bro.” He handed me a fortune cookie as a peace offering. I had to stifle a smile. Nearly my entire life, I’d complained that I couldn’t enjoy a fortune cookie before cracking it open. It’s ironic. 

“C’mon,” Walken gestured to me, “We’re gonna be late for rehearsal.”

Graduation’s overrated. And it’s not only me who thinks so. Our salutatorian Wes slipped between Walken and me, complaining about practice being ‘pointless’. We formed the ‘W triumvirate’ like always.

“Nah man,” Walken disagreed, “you gotta give a speech, don’t you ?”

“I could see it play out,” Wes said dryly, “everyone will clap when I give a speech of gratitude.” Walken and I exchanged a glance. If only Wes knew. 

All our classmates were taking selfies together, and signing yearbooks. Or enthusiastically throwing their graduation caps in the air. I didn’t need any ability to tell who’ll go to university and who’ll work for minimum wage. Suddenly, everyone turned to face the door in revered silence.

It was the Prime Minister. The tension was like a grenade waiting to blow up. My body went rigid. He smirked at me from behind his toothbrush mustache. He remembered me. I heard my pulse in my ears and fought the urge to hide behind my friends. 

The Prime Minister said to no one in particular, “A health check for every school in this suburb during their graduation.” His staff followed him on his way out.

“I did not see that coming,” Walken picked his jaw off the ground.

“Literally ?” I snarked.

“Sounds ominous,” Wes used finger quotes, “we must skip this ‘health check’.”

The laptop screen glowed violently in the night. As bright as the Prime Minister’s hand. For months, I’ve been using Tor to visit websites that could never meet the light of day. Apparently, the ‘fluke’ was people purchasing power. Maybe they want side hustles as fortune tellers. Get this – according to User imma_steal_your_girl (who I paid for information), there is a market for the ability we’re born with. For unknown reasons, that person refused to message the information. He wanted to meet up. So here I am. And there he is. Except us, the nightlife bustled like normal. Drunks partied, cars whizzed on the road, offices were lit for overtime workers, and stargazers oooohed skywards. His shadow came closer and closer , until-

“Wayne ?!”

“Wes ?!”

Walken asked us the next morning, “What did I miss ?”

The Dark Alley looked like its name. Red strings of LED lights hung on both sides, barely enough to illuminate Wes’ hooded face -bottom half, anyway- and Walken’s shirt. Walken was against it at first, but Wes and I were determined to come regardless. The cobblestones stretched into darkness for what seemed to be miles ahead. We curved a sharp right and were completely submerged into a bustling market. Coins clink when exchanged, strange scents filled the air, and bargains -both shouted and whispered- were all part of the black market. Walden shrank back from a guy who stumbled off-balance, clearly intoxicated.

‘Stay close,’ Wes led the way as we winded around stalls. Colorful neon lights offered voyeurism, others offered illegal drugs, weaponry, betting, even hitman services. It was basically an underbelly night market.

We dodged drunks, women clad in scanty cloaks, and loan sharks who offered their services. Walken squatted low. Seconds later, a green glass bottle sailed above his head. Clang! The bottle broke into pieces. Walken crossed his arms in front of his chest. Left, right, right, straight ahead. I lost count of the turns we did and everything became a blaze of lights.

           Soft fabric was on my face the same time I felt something bump into my back. I’d walked right into Wes and Walken walked into me. The person manning the stall was a giant. Cloaked in black, only his bloodshot eyes were visible from the shadows on his face. And they seemed to glow. His silence only made him more menacing.

           I gulped as Walden took a step backwards. Only Wes placed both his hands on the stall booth. Our guide whispered something in a low voice. The stall owner grunted something. Wes motioned for me to join in their conversation.

           ‘Five million,’ the stall person’s voice was as rough as he looked.

           ‘Two million,’ Wes poked his index finger onto the flat surface.

           ‘Four million,’ the giant boomed, ‘last in stock.’

           Wes tapped my shoulder, ‘What’s your budget ?’ I took out a -pitifully small- crumpled ball of cash, then thought of my debit card.

           ‘Eight hundred thousand,’ I mumbled. The stall owner glared at me. Shivers raced down my spine in response. If Dad was furious he couldn’t buy the car he’d been saving up for, he’d be less scary than this dude.

Without another word, Wes gripped my wrist and dragged me away. My feet dragged on the floor as I stumbled to catch up. He had me walking along the edge of the black market before we stopped to catch our breaths.

‘What is-” I panted, ‘-up with you ?’ Wes cocked his head at an angle. Walden emerged from the dim, gently shaking a plastic container the way he’d handle test tubes. I hadn’t even noticed he was gone.

I gawk at the goody two-shoes, ‘You stol -’ Wes immediately clamped a hand over my mouth. Just then, a sharp shrill pierced the air, accompanied by flashing lights. The LED suddenly seemed ominous. People stopped what they were doing and started to look around suspiciously.

“Time to go,” Wes sped us towards the exit. We tore through the market when a mass of black vehicles drove past the outskirts. They parked with screeches and headlights turned on, so much that we struggled to open our eyes. Big, muscled men in black jumped out of the vehicles. My eyes watered from the bright intensity. Yelling, loads of yelling. Someone was screaming for help. I squinted against the glare. Tires squealed and engines faded as the vehicles zoomed off into the night.

“Walken !” Panic gripped me, “They’ve got Walken!” 

“And he has the enhancer !” Wes looked like he could faint any moment.

“We have to go after them,” I scanned a bicycle parked near the road. 

“Hello again.” 

I looked to the source of the voice and my blood froze. The Prime Minister pinned Walken by his neck. Walken’s face was red, and he was struggling to breathe. Wes threw a punch, only to be deflected and kicked to the side. I tried and failed to pry the Minister’s hand from Walken’s neck. A sharp knock to my head and I bit the dust.

“No!” My voice was muffled, “Stop!” 

The Prime Minister just grinned at us. His palm glowed like the sun.

I’d walked into the medical room expecting a physical checkup. Blood pressure, weight scales, that sort of thing. What I didn’t expect was the freaking Prime Minister in the nurse’s chair, legs crossed, shades over his eyes. He nonchalantly started a conversation with me, then asked me to do him a favor. And, like a dumbass, I agreed despite knowing I’d lose something. Just because I wanted to get in his good books.

Two of his bodyguards came out from nowhere. They grabbed hold of my wrists and held me in place. Once my confusion wore off, I struggled and kicked, even shouted for help. The Prime Minister’s hand -I kid you not- glowed. “Magic,” I remembered thinking. A tap on the tip of my nose, and my body sagged towards the floor. By the time his goons let go, what I had since birth was gone.

           When it was over, the Prime Minister let go. Walken collapsed in an unmoving heap. 

           “YOU!” I darted forward. Except Wes grabbed my wrist, he frantically shook his head. 

Goons abruptly materialized from thin air once again. They escorted the Prime Minister out with sneers directed at us. Once they slammed the door behind them, we heaved Walden up and slapped him.

“Wakey wakey,” I said when Walden blinked, “did you give it up ?” Walden pointed a shaky finger at Wes, then mimed pulling an invisible hoodie over his own head. So I rummaged through Wes' hoodie. My fingers brushed against something cold and hard.

“We had it the entire time ?” I squinted at the transparent liquid in disbelief, “I mean … What are the odds I develop auditory hallucinations ?”

Wes dabbed his finger in it, then booped my nose, “Think this will work ?” 

Walden visibly held his breath. I closed my eyes and felt … the same. My head drooped in defeat. I opened my eyes when something warm wrapped itself around me. It was Walden. Something else dug into my pockets. Wes. The salutatorian held out my crumpled fortune cookie. Despite the cracks, it miraculously held together. A bright mental flash occurred, followed by a polaroid snapshot which faded into nothingness.

“Go beyond borders,” I read aloud the image in my head. My hands shook as I ripped open the cookie. Those exact three words were on the paper.

Walden let out a hearty whoop while Wes gave me an energized fist bump. I dabbed a few drops onto Walden’s nose. He gave me a thumbs up in response.

“We’ve got a graduation to crash,” I grin at the W triumvirate, “you guys ready ?”