No Ordinary Girl

Chapter Three

The interview was a highly anticipated event.

We'd been talking about it all week, going over the details of what I should and shouldn't do and say. My mom had done extensive research (a.k.a. Googling fests going late into the night), and she was even more excited than I was. Actually, I was more terrified than excited. My mother liked the idea of me finally meeting kids who were like me, who understood me. And my dad liked the idea of me finally being able to use my 'gift', as he likes to call it, and not be made out to be a freak.

My mother was scrubbing the kitchen counter to a gleam. "Everything needs to be perfect," she said, breathless. This was weird – my mom usually couldn't give a rat's rear about how the house looks. It's typically an eclectic mess; a beautiful disaster; books, art projects, toys, the home of a busy family.

And now it looked strange, all tidy and adult-like. "Thanks so much for helping me clean the house," she said, a smile curving her lip. "I know I ask a lot from you, and I want you to know I appreciate everything you do."

I nodded hesitantly, and reached into the fridge for a glass of juice. "No problem."

Oh my God, what will she do without me if I ace this interview, and go away to this fancy freak school?

"Are you chewing gum?" she asked. "You can't be chewing gum. They could be here any minute."

I spat out my gum obediently, and threw it in the garbage.

"It still smells like taco," Kylie pointed out. My mother swiped the bottle of Febreze from under the sink, and sprayed feverishly into the air.

"Not too much." I stopped her. "I don't think taco and lavender makes a good fragrance mix."

"I saw her photo on the internet," she said. "I don't think Simone Adler has taco night... more like filet mignon night. Must be nice."

My dad smiled. "What are you complainin' about? Last week you were a vegetarian."

Kylie laughed. "That didn't last long. We went to McDonalds, and she caved and had a Big Mac."

My dad pulled Kylie's earlobe, and she giggled like she always does. "You're a bad influence."

My dad is a funny guy. He doesn't have special powers like me, but he is kind of strange. He calls me Punky Brewster. I don't really know who that is, apparently some star from an 80s sitcom. I Googled her once. She has brown hair and freckles like me. I suppose there is a bit of a resemblance. My dad is a hippie like my mom, and works in construction, and when he's not at work, he likes to play bluegrass on the banjo. I fiddle with the guitar and play with him but I'm not a great musician. I do everything okay, but I don't excel at anything.

I didn't want to go. I did and I didn't. On the one hand, I was kind of an outcast at school, and couldn't wait to get out of there. But I figured it might be just the same at the new school – if I got in. And I knew I was going to miss my family something fierce, and Oreo, too. That's my cat. He's black and white, and sweet as a cookie.

Why can't this freak school just be around the corner? Why does it have to be twenty hours away?

The doorbell rang. We all froze and looked at each other, wide-eyed. My heart hammered against my ribcage – I wasn't sure I could do this.

My mom lifted her chin, and smoothed down her hair. "I'll go get the door."

We all nipped at her heels like eager little ducklings. She swung the door wide open, a little too enthusiastically.

"Hello," my mom cheered. "I'm Colette!" She tends to be overly friendly when she's nervous. I'm the opposite – I get really shy and awkward.

They stole my breath away as soon as I saw them standing on my porch. They were both larger than life, dressed in black from head to toe. He was about seven feet tall. My eyes practically bulged out of my head when I spotted the fancy black car on the curb, a small limousine-like car.