Power

Aidan had no interest in Creative Writing class. He swore that his guidance counselor screwed him over on purpose and put him in Creative Writing rather than Construction II just to spite him. However, he hadn’t been able to get his schedule changed, and so yet another Thursday afternoon found him in Miss Dubrensky’s 7th period Creative Writing class, wishing he could be anywhere else.

Thursdays in Creative Writing were particularly awful for Aidan, because Thursday was always free-writing day. Aidan didn’t think he was creative at all. The blank page paralyzed him.

“Just write about whatever you want. Whatever’s on your mind,” Miss Dubrensky encouraged with her slight Russian accent that a bunch of Aidan’s classmates thought was low-key sexy. Aidan just rolled his eyes. The young teacher’s accent and tight-fitting clothes couldn’t overcome the fact that she was his tormentor for 48 minutes a day. More importantly, Miss Dubrensky couldn’t compare in Aidan’s eyes to Samara Miriu, the angel who graced his Algebra and Biology classes. Though they didn’t sit near each other, Aidan relished every time he muttered “hi” to her and she acknowledged him. Her curves, her smile, her large dark eyes–

“Aidan, please focus,” Miss Dubrensky interrupted Aidan’s daydream. He frowned at her and then looked at the blank Google Doc that sat open on his Chromebook in front of him, mocking him with its blinking cursor. He sighed heavily and let his hair fall into his face as he slumped back in his chair. After a long moment of trying and failing to stare down his teacher, Aidan huffed and put his hands on the keyboard.

I wish I didn’t have to be here, he typed irritably. But my parents and coach would flip if I started cutting class, and damn Miss Vizzini in Guidance won’t change my freaking schedule.

So Miss Dubrensky wants me to free write? About whatever I want? Fine.

It was just a normal, boring day at Barrymore High School. The students were bored in their classes. The teachers insisted that they focus on their classwork even though all of them hated it and none of them wanted to be there. But then, the principal came on the PA system and announced that school would be dismissed early! Apparently a massive wasp hive was found infiltrating the HVAC system and everyone had to evacuate so that the wasps could be gotten rid of. The students were so excited! They all rushed out of the classrooms and into the hallways–

“Can I have your attention please,” Principal Jenkins’ dry monotone crackled over the intercom overhead. “Teachers, I apologize for the interruption and for the short notice on what I’m about to tell you. School will be dismissed early today on account of wasps in the school HVAC system. The buses are on their way and parents are being notified as I speak.”

Around Miss Dubrensky’s classroom, phone notifications started pinging like crazy.

“Students and teachers, please remain calm and remain in your classrooms until I dismiss you,” Principal Jenkins continued, but Aidan could barely hear him over the excited whoops and hollers of his classmates. All around him, they were packing up their things and chattering about what they would do with their newfound free time. But Aidan sat frozen in his chair, staring at his computer screen, his mouth hanging partway open.

It’s just like what I typed, he thought, unable to say anything out loud. Who would believe him, though? It was probably just a crazy coincidence…right?

There was only one way to find out. Aidan hit “enter” and started a new sentence.

K’mari Johnson had a really cool tribal tiger tattoo on his left forearm, Aidan typed, and then he sat back and waited. K’mari was on the school soccer team with him, and Aidan was well aware that K’mari didn’t have any tattoos anywhere on his body. While both boys wanted tattoos, they weren’t old enough to get them without parental consent–and their parents definitely did not consent.

“Thank you for your patience,” Principal Jenkins droned over the intercom. “At this time, all students in Rooms 101 through 120 are dismissed. All others, please remain in your classrooms for the time being.”

Miss Dubrensky’s Creative Writing class was in room 127. Aidan sighed again. Still trapped for now. He hated the distant sound of other inmates of Barrymore High School rushing out of classrooms and clanging locker doors, chatting and laughing and enjoying their freedom.

“YOOOOOO WHAT THE FUCK?!” someone yelled down the hall, cutting above the noise. Aidan bolted from his seat and stuck his head out the classroom door–that sounded like K’mari!

Sure enough, K’mari Johnson stood holding the hoodie he’d just pulled over his head in both hands while he stared at his left forearm. Thick black lines of ink detailed a tribal tiger tattoo on his forearm.

“Yo, K’mari, when’d you get that ink, bro?” someone near him asked.

“I didn’t–” K’mari started, but his voice died in his throat as he brushed his fingers over the design in his skin.

“Sick tat, man,” another student complimented.

“Aidan, you heard Principal Jenkins. Back to your seat,” Miss Dubrensky ordered. Aidan’s knees felt like Jell-o as he complied. But it was probably for the best that he was back at his seat with his Chromebook. No one else should have the power that he’d discovered.

But wait. Was it the Chromebook, or was it him?

Struck by the idea, Aidan pulled his iPad out of his backpack and opened his notes app. Once the little touchscreen keyboard popped up, he began tapping away at it.

The fake flowers on Miss Dubrensky’s desk came to life and started to grow. A Venus Flytrap sprouted and started snapping at anyone that got too close, he typed. Surely there had to be limits to what he could make happen by typing, right? What he’d just typed should be impossible. But then again, he shouldn’t have been able to make K’mari Johnson spontaneously sprout a tattoo by typing something about it on his stupid, crappy, school-issue Chromebook.

Aidan stared at the fake flowers on Miss Zubrensky’s desk. Seconds ticked by on the dingy clock on the wall above the teacher’s head. Nothing seemed to be happening. Maybe the key was that the magic couldn’t be watched? If this was magic, and not just really weird coincidences.

Miss Dubrensky scooted her chair back from her desk, eyes fixed on the vase of fake flowers. Soil had materialized in the vase, and the plastic stems and silk petals seemed to ripple as they expanded and extended into very real-looking, larger versions of themselves. Among the roses and lilies, the unmistakable form of a Venus Flytrap head poked out, opening its green jaws in search of prey.

“At this time, all students in rooms 121 - 130 and 201 - 210 are dismissed,” Principal Jenkins interrupted before Miss Dubrensky–or anyone else–could scream. The principal or Miss Dubrensky might have said something else, but Aidan and his classmates weren’t paying any attention. In mere seconds, Aidan had closed his Chromebook, chucked it into his backpack, grabbed his things, and darted out the door, his iPad clutched to his chest.

It’s not the Chromebook. It’s me. I have the power, he realized, his thoughts racing faster than his feet in the hallway. He should probably say something to K’mari about what he’s discovered, about what he can do and what he’s done, but he had more important things on his mind. Once he got to his locker, he set his bag down and focused on his iPad for a moment–until a large wasp buzzed past his head and he remembered the reason for the early dismissal.

“Shit. Better do this outside,” he muttered. The world seemed to blur around him as he gathered his things and headed outside, surrounded by jostling peers. Others might have been talking to him, but Aidan never would have known. He was too busy drafting a list of things to type as soon as he got the chance–ways to help his friends and get revenge on people who’d wronged him. Now that he had the power to do something about the problems in his world, he fully intended to use that power.

And use it he did. As soon as Aidan claimed his seat in the back of Bus 27, he started typing on his iPad, targeting one person after another.

Ashley Chapman, the annoying blonde cheerleader, suddenly lost her voice and couldn’t make any sounds at all.

Less than a minute later, Ashley fell abruptly silent in the middle of a monologue about how Chelsea Peterson “totally stole her look” at Homecoming the previous weekend. Her mouth kept moving, but no sound came out. Her hands flapped and her eyes widened in alarm. Her friends reacted with concern. Aidan smirked to himself and kept typing.

Drew Miller found $200 in his backpack on the way home from school. The fellow soccer player had said something about eating store-bought ramen for dinner multiple nights in a row; it seemed like he was struggling. Aidan hoped this would help a bit.

Eric Sanderson failed every math test he ever took for the rest of his life. Should serve that stuck-up nerd right, Aidan told himself.

Matthew Brown won VIP tickets to see Tyler, the Creator in concert. Matt was a huge fan. This would make his whole life, and Aidan wanted to see his friends happy.

While he was trying to think of whose life to change next, Aidan happened to overhear a couple of girls talking a few seats away.

“Just like that? She just up and moved to Dallas?” one said.

“That’s what I heard. Her whole family went. I guess her dad got a job out there or something,” the other replied.

“That sucks that she’ll be so far away. I guess we won’t be able to have our scary movie nights together this year.”

“Yeah, I know. Poor Samara. I can’t imagine, trying to adjust to a new high school clear across the country partway through sophomore year…”

They can’t mean my Samara, Aidan told himself as prickles of worry scurried across his scalp and down his spine. But he didn’t know of another Samara in the whole school. And come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Samara for a couple days. He figured she’d just been on vacation or home with a cold or something, but if those girls were telling the truth…

“Oh, I know. It’s got to be the worst. She texted me earlier about how life sucks right now, but I didn’t answer her.”

“You should do that now. See how she’s doing. Samara’s pretty outgoing, but I doubt she’s made many friends yet. Dallas is a long way from Baltimore.”

Aidan felt like his whole world was crashing down. His Samara was pretty outgoing. He was always jealous of the people around her, of everyone who made her smile or laugh. Though the sun was shining outside the bus windows as it rattled down the road, the atmosphere around him felt dark and heavy.

No. She couldn’t be gone. I haven’t gotten to ask her to a dance yet, Aidan despaired. What even was the point of anything anymore? His gaze dropped to the tablet in his lap. He couldn’t think of anything he could type that would fix this.

The bus jolted to a halt. It was Aidan’s stop. He got up and trudged off the bus robotically, his iPad clamped against him like an anchor. Each plodding step took more effort than it should. Samara was the whole reason Aidan even bothered going to school. He didn’t care about his grades beyond what he had to do to stay on the soccer team, but even soccer couldn’t compare to the warmth of her smile, the hope of one day calling her his.

Then an idea struck him. If he couldn’t have the one thing he really wanted, then neither could anyone else. He stopped in the shade of a maple tree in one neighbor’s yard and began typing on his iPad again.

Floods and meteors and earthquakes destroyed the world.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the words on the iPad. Maybe that was too much. Maybe whatever power he had didn’t extend to natural disasters. Maybe he should reconsider. He tapped the “backspace” button, but nothing happened.

Beneath his feet, the earth began to rumble. Distant screams and sirens reached his ears. He looked up to find that the sky had begun to darken, revealing several large, flaming rocks streaking towards the ground.

His chest tightened and his limbs trembled. Aidan could barely hold onto the iPad as he started running towards his house. The “backspace” and “delete” buttons still wouldn’t do anything, no matter how hard he smacked them as he sprinted for shelter and the meteors screamed closer.

“I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have typed that!” he screamed to any higher power that might be listening. Desperate, he started to type again.

But everyone surv–