Read Online Impossible Things by Robin Stevenson - Free Book Online Page B

you fit that in?”
    She shrugged. “Maybe if you actually cooked a meal or helped clean up the house occasionally, I’d have time to do something that actually interested me.”
    He didn’t respond. We all ate in silence for a few minutes. I stared down at my plate. I wasn’t crazy about vegetables, especially green ones. The food felt like grass in my mouth. Hot chewy grass. I forced down a few mouthfuls.
    After a while, Victoria’s parents started talking to each other in strained polite voices about her dad’s day at work, and whether the car needed an oil change, and how much longer winter was going to drag on for. Victoria and I kept catching each other’s eyes, and for some weird reason I had an awful urge to start giggling. It was a relief when dinner was over and we could finally retreat to her room.
    Victoria wanted me to keep practicing telekinesis, but I couldn’t forget my earlier doubts. All those questions were still tumbling around in my head like clothes in a dryer. I kept staring at the feather and wondering if this whole thing was real or not. I wanted it to be real more than anything. It was my one chance to escape being so ordinary.
    After several more attempts, the little white feather still lay stubborn and unmoving. I couldn’t concentrate. I hadn’t felt that surge of energy again either. I gave an exaggerated groan. “I am never going to get this! Isn’t there something else I can try?”
    Victoria shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to teach anyone this stuff before. And I never had to learn it. It just happened.”
    â€œI really thought I felt something, before dinner,” I said. “I guess I just imagined it.”
    â€œMaybe you should go back to practicing that exercise. You know, see if you can get that feeling again and then try to capture that energy.”
    â€œMmmm.” I stared at the feather, blinking back tears.
    She looked at me helplessly. “I’m sorry. I know you really want to do this. Maybe it’s not something that can be taught.”
    We sat in silence for a few minutes. Downstairs, I could hear Victoria’s parents cleaning up the kitchen and washing the dishes. I thought of my own chaotic house. I’d rather have that chaos—the take-out pizzas, my mom distracted and busy, my dad off in the Middle East—than the tension and silence in Victoria’s show-home.
    â€œDon’t give up,” Victoria said suddenly. “Please don’t give up. I’ve never known anyone else who could do this stuff, you know? I’d love to not be the only one.”
    â€œYeah, well, I’ll keep trying.” I studied her face and wondered if I was making a complete fool of myself. I still had absolutely no idea if she was lying to me.

Thirteen
    Back when we had Mr. McMaran, English classes had been deadly boring. All we ever did was take turns reading aloud from the textbook. It was different with Ms. Allyson. She never said so, but I was pretty sure she didn’t think much of textbooks. We had just skimmed three chapters in five minutes and now she wanted us to do something she described as warm-up exercises. I had visions of the whole class doing jumping jacks and wondered what exactly she had in mind.
    â€œAll right,” said Ms. Allyson, “get into groups of three. Quick, quick!” She was perched on a stool, swinging one foot back and forth, wearing red leather cowboy boots which almost matched her hair.
    Ms. Allyson sure liked to make us work in groups. I glanced across the aisle at Victoria, who quickly scooted her chair over to join me. We needed a third. For some stupid reason, I found myself looking over to where Chiaki sat. She had already joined Amber and Madeline. Maybe Joe? Then Felicia turned around to look at us. She hesitated; then she got up and walked back to where we sat.
    â€œDo you think I could work with you two?”