Ventriloquist

In the blinding black, there was just screaming bursting through the soundlessness. Donnie had Kieran pinned underneath him, holding her still. He was jerking her around to wake her up. "I killed him," she exclaimed. "I killed him!" Donnie snared her into a tight hug. "I-I kill..." she was panting into his ear. Her cries made his ear clench, but Donnie didn't lighten his hold on her. "I'm so sorry," she whimpered. "I keep hurting you. I keep taking the people you care about." Donnie shook his head and brushed through her curls. "I'm sorry, Celtics."

"It's over." Donnie straightened out the black hair. He let her go then began to stand. "Just try to sleep."

"Please stay," Kieran pleaded, tugging him back. "It goes away when you're here."

Donnie shifted to gather her in his arms as they laid down. Kieran hummed softly then curled into Donnie's muscular arms. Outside Kieran's narrowly ajar door, Macy was leaning against the frame, watching them, through a yawn. She groaned down the stairs and started rubbing her eye. She stepped into the kitchen for glass of water from the dispenser. She took a long hard sip before another yawn escaped her.

"Five... four... three..." she countered, making for the front door. "Two... and..." she opened the door to find a police officer about to start knocking. "My cousin has PTSD. She screams in her sleep. Yes, she's on meds. Yes, she's trying to sleep now. No, we didn't give her more medicine. No, we can't up her dosage. No, it won't happen again tonight. Yes, my mother is asleep. She's a doctor; she sleeps like the dead. No, my father isn't here. For all we know, he actually is dead. My brother's with my cousin. Yes, he goes to Dartmouth. Yes, he's an athlete. He's on the basketball team. No, I don't care if you almost went pro in the NFL, NBA, or wherever. Yes, I am tired. You have a good night too officer."

Macy shut the door and returned her glass to the kitchen. She heard the stunned officer hesitantly recede off the front porch and back to his vehicle. Macy gave another yawn, hearing the cruiser take off down the street. She slummed herself up the stairs, almost tripping on her red plaid bathrobe's rope. The untied robe matched the pajamas underneath. Macy trudged passed Kieran's room. She tapped on Kieran's door lightly.

"Cops were here," was all she said. Macy returned to her room and snuggled back into her own bed.

The blender whirred loudly throughout the house, thanks to Kieran. The blender was blitzing while Kieran was peeling some more whole ginger. She chucked that into the blender, along with turmeric. Janice, fresh as a daisy, walked into the kitchen. Kieran held out a cup of steaming black coffee. Janice casually took the white cup. She strolled passed Kieran. Kieran handed Janice a plate with bagel breakfast of crispy bacon strips and mashed avocado. Kieran poured out the blender's contents as Donnie slumped against the kitchen wall. Kieran handed Donnie a glass of purple juice. Donnie eyed the juice quizzically when he skeptically took it.

"Thanks? Er, what is this?"

"It's heart-beet juice." Janice and Donnie froze! Janice's eyes and mouth were O-shaped! Donnie examined the dark purple, blood-like liquid in his hand. "'Beet' as in the vegetable," the cannibal clarified. "Beets, apple, celery and ginger. It's good for heart and blood health."

"Oh," Donnie replied, relaxing. "Thanks, Rie." He took a long sip of it and moaned his delight. "Wow! What else is in here?"

"Nothing. Just beets, one red apple, celery and ginger."

"No way. You put something else in here."

Janice claimed the glass for a sip. "Wow," she chuckled.

"You realise I grew up learning to forage, right," Kieran countered, cleaning up, as Macy came into the kitchen. "The same way you look for signs of a sweet watermelon, I know what to look for in all my foods. Here," she added handing Macy the glass of orange, thick juice.

"Thanks," Macy groaned then left again.

"Go get dressed! You are going to be late," Janice jeered at her daughter. Macy only groaned then returned upstairs. Janice sighed then looked into her cup of coffee. "Maceira is in high school," she breathed in disbelief.

Kieran left unceremoniously.

Donnie pointed, still confused, at his purple concoction while watching Kieran leave the house. He took another generous sip of his fresh juice. He was equal parts impressed, satisfied as well as confused. He enjoyed the juice with his own bagel and shmear and didn't want it to finish. None of them - Macy included - could deny that Kieran was an immaculate chef. They just had to make sure she took a touch more discretion from her taste for human meat.

The basketball center took a long sip of the purple juice, hearing Macy come from the stairs. He caught a glimpse of her and sprayed juice across the floor. Janice had a bite of bagel fall out of her mouth too. Donnie blinked twice at Macy to make sure he saw right. Janice's initial shock curdled when she saw the entire ensemble walk into the kitchen.

"What are you wearing," Janice pressed. "Did Kieran turn you into a Barbie doll?"

"More like a Chucky doll."

"This was my choice." She gave them a twirl - vividly impressed with herself - and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "I feel awesome. And I look awesome, right?"

"Wrong," Donnie responded. Macy turned on him. Donnie shook his head affirmatively.

"What happened to the white dress we picked out," Janice lamented.

"This's it. Kieran and I adjusted it; first day of high school was just an excuse to look cute." Macy straightened her dress' skirt then downed the last of the juice Kieran made. "Did anyone else get mysterious harridan juice?" Donnie held up his own purpled glass. "Huh. Anyway..."

"Yes, anyway," Janice agreed, undoing her bathrobe. "You're going to have breakfast in the car. You're going to be late."

"Oh, I asked Kieran's to take me," Macy concluded then grabbed her bagel.

"B-but, but," Janice stammered.

"Wish me luck," Macy sang then bounced out the front door, grabbing her violin en route. Kieran was leaning against her bike expectantly. "Ta-da! I love it," she cheered skipping up to the black Kawasaki Ninja while zipping up her jacket. "For a harridan, you give sound fashion advice." Kieran held a helmet from behind her back. It was black with electric blue wisps and tendrils. "What the what! Is that for me!"

"Get on or walk."

Macy snatched the helmet and forced it down. Kieran put on her own matte black helmet. Janice, in her bathrobe, stood on the front porch - with a crestfallen expression - she was watching the motorcycle speed off through Hanover. Donnie, bare chested and in his trainers, pet his mother's shoulder reassuringly. Janice didn't look away from the black bike as it left the neighbourhood for greater Hanover.

The New Hampshire town was a far cry from New Bristol, Massachusetts. Hanover is a charming town, nestled along the Connecticut River and home to the prestigious Dartmouth where Donnie was a junior in the Geisel School of Medicine. He was studying pathology! Despite its fuller, busier lifestyle, Hanover had a lot in common with New Bristol.

They both transformed from an agricultural community to a center of arts, culture, and learning. The excellent restaurants and breweries, craft shops, art museums, historic theaters, cozy inns, easy access to the Appalachian Trail; and not forgetting the first-class baseball stadium. Nor the Ivy League College. Today, Wheelock Street shows the division between Hanover 'town' to the south and Dartmouth 'gown' to the north.

The motorcycle veered onto the high school's campus the seemed to have the most activity going on. A few faces watched the Kawasaki cruise through the parking area, making Macy hold on tighter to Kieran's waist. Kieran killed the engine and used her feet to steady the motorcycle. Macy hugged her tighter, looking at the front doors thrown open with people filing inside.

Cries of sorrow and joy as well as reunion laughs and shrieks filled the air as well as the smell of the freshly baked eats from the vendor near the fountain. The sheer number of students was overwhelming! Founded in 1888, Hanover High School is part of the Dresden School District, an interstate district that serves the communities of Hanover, New Hampshire and Norwich, Vermont. The school serves approximately seven hundred students from grades nine to twelve. A far cry from New Bristol High's meek two hundred.

Macy disembarked the motorcycle, still gawking at the number of bodies swarming the building. "I just realised that I've never been the new girl before." Macy took off her helmet and faced Kieran. "You were the new girl, once. Any advice?"

"Third graders are mean." Macy scoffed her dismay at Kieran. Kieran had only pushed up the tinted visor of her helmet to regard the freshman. "It's just school. People think high school is supposed to be this incredible jump from middle school; it's not. It's the same shit in a different toilet, Macy." Macy tucked her lips but nodded. "Hey. If someone rubs you the wrong way, you know three different martial arts and you're psionic." Macy looked down at her helmet. She handed it back to Kieran. "Keep it. I'll see you at three." Macy only nodded. Macy watched Kieran drive off.

Macy squared her shoulders then followed the flood of students into the school. The clobbering of her ankle boots on the tiles was drowned out from the horde she found herself in. With those black stiletto platforms and that airy dress, Macy had on stockings, and a studded choker; both in black. The dark blue motorcycle jacket was the only splash of colour in the monochrome.

She finished her bagel when she reached her locker. Her heart was clamouring in her chest and her palms were clammy when she set the helmet on the empty shelf. She wiped her dry mouth and sucked in a deep breath, stripping off the biker jacket to hang up. Her hands were trembling, and they were ice cold yet drenched in sweat. She sighed her discomfort the shook her head to cool her mind.

She followed the grain towards the basketball court for assembly. Her lips parted when a shiver ran down her spine. She stopped dead in her tracks from the sensation; one that didn't feel like anything else she ever felt before. Macy pressed her palm to her suddenly throbbing forehead. She moaned weakly then stumbled into the lockers and hit the floor. Her eyes were looking around wildly, sensing it was someone doing it to her.

There were just a few concerned, whispering students and a speckle of teachers splattered among them. I know someone is doing it, Macy thought to herself as she scanned the hallway. I can feel them, she went on with only the ambient music from the p.a. system. The high-pitched ringing made blood drip from her ear. Macy blinked tiredly from the heavy daze the lift off her. She pushed her light brown hair out of her face.

"Here," a deep, soft voice asked, holding out a tissue to her.

Macy's eyes were tinted blue when she looked up to him. Really light brown hair had fallen forward from how hunched he was. Macy took the tissue turning away from him with her cheeks suddenly going warm. She pressed the tissue into her ear seeing his hand still reaching for her out of the corner of her eye. She tucked her lips tightly when she took his hand, feeling his soft porcelain-toned skin on her hand.

She forced herself not to look right him, feeling the uncontrollable smile blooming. "Are you all right," he asked with a distinct accent she had previously missed.

"Oh, Russian."

"Ukrainian," he corrected. "Ilya," he offered, shifting his hold on her hand to shake it.

Macy nodded then looked at the pool of blood on the tissue. "Macy."

Macy cleared her throat awkwardly then pulled free from him. She pressed the tissue back into her ear and forced a smile. She hurried off with a hand over her huge grin. She giggled giddily to herself then mentally slapped herself. Macy took a breath then glanced over her shoulder. Ilya was watching her walk away. She turned back on her way and huddled into the school gym. She hummed a chuckle to herself then felt dread bit like ice cold water.

The stands were strident fill cliques of friends banding together for sitting place. It made the blue fade out from her eyes and return the brown. She clutched her satchel tightly then weaved across the court to the more vacant rows. She settled into a seat with groups of people minding their own friends. None of whom bothered with the imported freshman. She shoved the tissue into her bag when the bleed stopped. She looked around the gym and never felt more alone from the foreign faces surrounding her.

Macy opened her phone and began typing to the 3 Musketeers group chat from New Bristol. They were thick as thieves during middle school. First day of new school. How's NBH? Like Macy's previous message, Nathalia read it but didn't respond. As did Yasmin Ramos. The previous message was Macy explaining that she had to leave in a hurry and that they probably won't comeback, sent the day they left. It was vague; no explanation to why they left, no clarification on who 'we' entailed, no details on where she was. The psionic squeezed her lips then dropped her phone back into her satchel. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away and wiped the stray tear that trailed down her cheek.

She sniffled while the rest of the school started cheering from the band playing. The principal, Mr. Maddox, walked up to the heart of the basketball court with a mic in hand. "Welcome, Hanover bears," he cheered and the band simmered down while the students were louder.

Macy gave a jaded applause.

"Welcome back to our oldies, welcome to our new students and teachers, welcome to Hanover High," Mr. Maddox began. "We have a few awards to hand out to some students for their contributions to the Hanover High family. Please help me welcome the chairlady of the Hanover High School Alma Mater Association, Ivanna Townsend."

"Thank you, Mr. Maddox," Ivanna replied over the applause as she joined the principal. "It's crazy to think back when I was a student, Dr. Coleman was still Mr. Coleman." The students oohed their shock! Macy shrank from the alien terrain she was now navigating. Ivanna chuckled. "Well, I'm old." The students quieted down after a unanimous laugh. "The Sophie Leviseur Bursary for a deserving student in their final year of schooling, goes to..." Macy looked around to feel the eagerness in the air.

"... Carson Young," Mr. Maddox declared.

A hearty applause followed when a chipper senior skipped across the basketball caught in her cheerleading uniform. She shook hands with both Ivanna and Mr. Maddox. There was also a student from the photography club to capture the moment. "The Lesley Cohen Bequest for the best grade nine student of the previous school year goes to..."

"... Meringue Nunez!"

"The Ruby Graham-Parker Art Bursary for a deserving art student of any year goes to..."

"... Xochilt Castro."

"The Gregory McCormac Prize for Bilingualism and Multilingualism goes to..."

"... Satin-Allure Ramsey."

"The Benjamin Larsen Award for a deserving junior in basketball goes to..."

"Ja'various Jones."

"The Wayne Emerson Music Award for the student-nominated musician for their contributions to the Hanover High School music department goes to..."

"... Aiden Zhou."

Macy looked down at the faint blood smears on her fingers then thought back to the throbbing in her head. There was someone, she could feel, in the school who attacked her. Who had a prowess not unlike her own. Looking around, ignoring the applause and scattered cheers around her, Macy didn't see anyone or any signs of those capabilities. She massaged her temple, on the same side as her bleeding ear.

She looked about at the students around her; none of whom showed a silver of interest in her. She swallowed hard when principal Maddox and Ivanna concluded handing out the awards and turned to the student body president, Lucas Thomas, who did daily announcements as well as announcements for more miscellaneous things like Homecoming, try-out and audition times, and a reminder like the school shooter drill. Macy was listening with half an ear while pondering her attacker.

Assembly ended not long after, but in its wake, was a bitter taste. Macy followed her schedule to her first class. Musical theory with Mr. Irons. Her violin in one hand, her satchel slung over the other shoulder and Macy followed her campus map. The arts department was clearly that! The walls were painted with the mascot, a bear, in the school colours - white and cardinal. A shift from the sky blue and white with Roary the Lion.

The music class had orchestra seats and sheet music stands that were filling with other beady-eyed freshman. Macy settled in one of the outskirt seats - by the window and near the back. The rest of the first-year musicians were murmuring while Macy was warming up her violin through a G-major scale. It was nothing out of the ordinary; a few others were tending their own instruments.

Their teacher finished writing his name on the chalk board that didn't have permanent music lines on it. Macy flicked an eyebrow at him. Iron was a universal weakness for waywards. "Good morning," he finally spoke then started handing out booklets of sheet music. "This semester we will be studying the Phantom of the Opera and its geniuses, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston Leroux. Each of you has been given a study guide about the play and novel, as well as the sheet music."

Macy strummed her violin with her thumb while watching this man speak. Her ears, however, were clouded by her thoughts of the psionic attack. It wasn't how any of her victims described her gifts; this wasn't a mental invasion where the physical affects come afterwards. The physical and mental came all at once. Everyone saw it yet she was the only one who felt it. It was as if she was... targeted...

It was a thought that made Macy sit straighter. The only person who reacted to it was Ilya. That was something else that Macy reacted to. Tucking her lips to suppress that gleam. Faint, light brown stubble lined his jawline, but it was hardly visible. His hair was an equally light brown; like Buttercup's buckskin coat. It made his darker brown eyebrows stand out all the more. And his voice! The delayed reaction Macy was having made her feel a little embarrassed.

But that attack...

It plagued Macy for a better part of the day; running all the faces she saw through her mind. And their expressions. And anything remotely significant she could recall. It was just a crowded hallway with music over the p.a. system. Macy bit her lower lip trying salvage the memory for details. Who looked at her the wrong way? Who did she look at? More significantly, who knew Macy was psionic? They had only been in New Hampshire two months and, during that time, Macy hadn't used her capabilities. The questions worsened throughout the day and followed Macy right to lunch.

Kieran had made her lunch. A grilled burrito, complete with steak cubes, diced avocado, salsa, jalapeno, spring onion and coriander. Kieran was exceptional in the kitchen! She spun gold from fruits vegetables, as shown by the drink she put into the water bottle that was clasped to the Tupperware. Strawberries, raspberries, honey, milk and something else Macy couldn't place. It was just her and her endless thoughts at the table outside.

She had a whole table all to herself with her delicious burrito. She looked at her phone to see Yasmin and Nathalia left her on read still. Macy shifted chatrooms to Dr. S. Martineau. Macy bit her lower lip as she started typing, someone attacked me. It was a strange mental thing. It made my ear bleed but I'm fine now. I have no idea who or why. Advice? The wayward psychologist studied all sorts of mental capabilities. He wrote Parapsychology: Telepathy, Telekinesis, Precognition and Other Psychic Phenomena which Macy treated more like a bible.

Prior to finding out that Kieran's biological father wrote it, Macy was an avid reader. It was the only book James had in his collection of wayward encyclopedia and texts that had any information on capabilities that were not physical manifestations, like Kieran's umbrakinesis. That book was between Macy and her lunch. It didn't matter how many times she read it, Sofiane Martineau was just telling her the same thing over and over again about her psychokinesis:

Telekinesis, often synonymous with psychokinesis in the broader discussion of mind over matter, specifically refers to the ability to move or manipulate objects through mental influence alone. In contrast to psychokinesis which is a specialty; the manipulation of minds - and bodies by extension, but not always - psychokinesis represents a wider spectrum of mind-over-matter capabilities.

Psychokines are able to manipulate the minds of most living organism, appearing to bend their wills. Individuals with psychokinesis exhibit a parapsychological phenomenon characterised by the cognitive ability to influence, manipulate, or interact with matter and energy through sheer mental exertion, without physical interaction; a form of telepathy. Experiments to prove the existence of psychokinesis have historically been criticized for lack of proper controls and repeatability.

As the ability is tied directly to the mind, it can be activated and controlled through conscious effort and concentration, through willpower and emotion of a particular level of intensity, or through achieving a state of discipline and serenity. In some cases, the ability can respond to the user’s thoughts and ideas, imagination, desires or belief in their abilities, something that could make the power harder or easier to activate, and in these cases, it is often more challenging to control. A common example is behaving erratically during moments of stress, rendering it a liability or even a hazard in those scenarios unless the user can regain control.

Macy was pecking at the cubes of ingredients from her burrito while reading the passage she had memorised from the years she had read it. She knew that book inside and out. It was volume one in a series that Sofiane hadn't published yet. Macy had been sitting on the edge of her seat for almost three years awaiting the next book. Meeting him... having her book signed by him, and knowing he was Kieran's father... only refilled her anticipation.

Ilya's tray sliding across the opposite side of mesh table snapped her from the book. "Hello." Macy swallowed hard on her mouthful of avocado-smeared steak. "Mind if we sit?"

Macy only gestured to the table, fighting her growing smile. Ilya and his friends, the student body president among them, joined the outside table. "Hey, you're the Massachusetts girl," Lucas asked, sliding onto the bench she sat. "May-Sarah, right?"

"It's Ma-sei-ruh, but Macy."

"And your eyes," Ilya commented, earning her attention. His accent was thick and was only highlighted by the emphasis he put on the R. "They are brown. They were blue in the morning." Macy's lips were moving but not a sound came out of her. She only gave an unconvincing shrug. "But you are okey now? your ear-."

"I'm fine," she breathed then flipped the page of Dr. Martineau's book.

"What're you reading," Aiden Zhou pressed.

Macy cleared her throat then shut the book. "It's, um," she stammered, looking passed the president, to the musician, "i-it's... er, an encyclopedia. It's nothing."

Lucas arched a brow, seeing the back cover of the book. In parapsychology, psi is the unknown factor in extrasensory perception and psychokinesis experiences that is not explained by known physical or biological mechanisms. "Mind-control?" Macy tucked the book into her satchel. Lucas and Ilya looked between each other and Aiden. Lucas turned back on her, fixing his glasses. "So, how's your first day going?"

Macy shrugged dismissively. "It's fine," she mumbled fighting the sudden swell of tears. She pulled her lunch closer to her then turned her head away from them to blink away her tears. She suppressed a sniffle then started boxing up her burritos. Her brown hair fell forward to hide her face.

"Well, if you need anything..." the student body president concluded.

Macy sniffled more audibly as she bolted from the table. The three watched her take off back into the building. Macy sobbed then ducked into the nearest girls' room, ignoring the ones secretly vaping in one of the stalls. She latched her own stall covered her mouth. The girls that were vaping were making a ruckus loud enough to suppress her sniffling.

I can't do this, she typed to Kieran. Can you please come get me. Please! 911!! Despite the urgency, Macy wasn't expecting a reply from the most useless person she knew when it came to being online. I'm busy. I'll see you at 3, the harridan answered. Macy typed viciously back. I WANT TO GO HOME!! There was no reply. No matter how many texts Macy sent or phone calls she made, Kieran was radio silent.

When the bell rang - marking the end of lunch - Macy stayed in the toilets. She stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, keeping her knees arched on the closed lid. Her face drenched in tears, with cherry-coloured cheeks to match. At some point, she was scrolling through all the selfies she had taken with Nathalia and Yasmin. Horse-riding, where she and Yasmin met Nathalia because Nathalia is homeschooled; weekends at Lake District - summer for swimming, winter for ice skating.

Between violin classes, ballet and breaking dancing lessons, gymnastics, capoeira, equestrianism, New Bristol Buzz Juniors Photography, New Bristol FM Junior Radio Presenters: the Study Hour Show, New Bristol High Strings junior division and orchestra, Macy was a busy bee. Sometimes those two were.

There was also Macy’s brief stint int Civil War Reenactors; she lost interest when they had her and Yasmin scrubbing linens and churning hog fat into soap. And that time Macy joined the New Bristol Renaissance Faire Society at Blaine and Donnie’s behest; also short lived. Donnie was a knight in the dragon show while Blaine was singing shanties, and Macy was forced to put her violin skills to Blaine’s discretion. Nathalia and Yasmin thought it was funny.

Then there was that time Nathalia did figure skating, and Macy would carpool with Nathalia and her parents to her events. And they manned middle school together; Mr. Thompson and his short fuse, Nathalia helping at their bake sales, and trips to Mad & Milky after their equestrian events. Nathalia and Yasmin still posted pictures of themselves together on their Instagram and still did TikTok dances together. Macy also noticed they had both taken down all the TikToks and other posts that she was in.

The final bell tolled. Dry tear streams were on Macy's face that had returned to its tanned self. She used the mirror - stained with lipstick - to wipe away the dry streams. She trudged out of the bathroom with the thick parapsychology tome weighing down her satchel. Macy kept her head down while hurrying to her locker. She snagged her blue biker jacket, and helmet, and violin.

A boom echoed in Macy's mind. Macy fainted to the ground. Macy clutched her head from the second attack. Macy grunted from the skull-splitting waves crashing in her head. She backed up against the wall with people watching her. Some were already filming. Macy sat, waiting for the throbbing to subside. Mr. Irons was making a beeline for the light commotion her audience was making.

She was all but running to escape the building with a fresh wave of tears. The front doors were in her sights. She rammed right into Lucas. She hit the ground along with his binder and glasses. Macy was massaging her shoulder as she handed Lucas his glasses. She picked up her satchel with a sigh then looked over the president. "Sorry," she offered coldly then continued off.

"Hey," the junior hollered, catching up to her. Macy didn't slow down. "Macy," he chuckled but grabbed her wrist.

Macy whipped her head to face him. "What!"

Lucas stepped off, letting go of her, but there was pity on his face. A tall young man, nearing six feet; nothing Macy did a double take at because Donnie was taller. Lucas is a slim man with broad shoulders. His facial features are very sharp, especially his cheekbone and jawline. He had tan skin, brown eyes, and slick, gelled back brown hair. He was shown to have dimples when he smiles. The white button-up shirt underneath the black sweater were not reducing the old man style he had going, nor were that and pair of glasses.

Inclining her chin to look him square in the eye was nothing new; she had to do the same with her brother. Lucas swallowed. "I just wanted to see how your day was." Macy rolled her eyes then continued away. "Okay, okay," Lucas persisted. "I'll cut the small talk." He rounded to face her. "Here's the thing. There're a few... odd... rules here. I-I'm mean, I don't know how they did things at your old school, but here, motorcycles are against school policy. Unless it's your only form of transportation."

"So write me up. Report me. Give me detention," she shrugged nonchalantly. She started walking again, with Lucas falling in step with her. "I'm not in a position to care right now."

"If you want someone to talk to--"

"Ohmygod!" She whipped on him with Kieran straightening up. "There are a hundred and seventy-five other freshman here! Go bother one of them," she lashed starting to cry. "Just leave me alone." Macy slammed her helmet on and stretched over the motorcycle.

Kieran pushed off homeward. Macy was sniffling on the back of the Kawasaki all the way to their home. Kieran patted her thigh when they came to a red light, but Macy didn't change. The 2017 Ninja continued northbound, through the New Hampshire streets. Their home, on Parkway Street, was quiet with just Janice pouring water from the fridge. She saw the motorcycle outside as well as her daughter rushing to the house.

The silence was drowned out from the front door barging open. "Hey, how was--" Sobbing and stomping up the stairs was answer enough. "Macy?"

"I want to go home," she screamed then slammed her bedroom door.