𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖋𝖆𝖍

Proving people wrong is a full-time job.

I was now down to three weeks before graduation, two weeks before the Christmas show and a couple of days before I had to go to the DSAS for new student orientation. Those were the things I still had time to do. That was not even putting into account the exams I was currently in the middle of, handling my parent's assets that I'd come to realise were a lot more than I'd previously anticipated and last but definitely the most: the problem the school had recently attached to my hip.

Maxine Scott, a disaster just waiting to happen. Or like he liked to call himself, 'full of ideas'.

"You know what's super important about being a good journalist?" I asked him, as I finally stopped ignoring the fact that he'd been burning a hole into the side of my head with his eyes for the last fifteen minutes.

The boy blew his overgrown and uncombed hair out of his eyes, "I need some more field research don't I? I knew I should've asked a few more people about you but it's like you're the boogeyman in this school-

"Being likeable."

The week before exams ended all seniors were required by the school to allow a junior to shadow them from Monday to Friday. Yes, we had to do this to graduate. Yes, they had to be with us for a minimum of two hours. Yes, I couldn't pay my way out of this.

Yes, I tried.

Surprisingly I had a few of them fighting to be my shadow, nowhere near Cher's two-page waitlist that was double-sided but enough people that had me raising an eyebrow. I didn't do sports, with my parents I'd always thought it was safer to stay away from the arts and I didn't have friends. What about me screamed: choose me! I'd be a great mentor!

Whatever sign it was, Max seemed to see it in neon highlighter outlined in LED lights. During our first meeting, he even admitted that he had his parents step in to push him up on my waiting list to ensure that he was definitely going to get me. I'd never met anyone as desperate as he was to meet me, and I once had five simultaneous stalkers.

They learned pretty quickly that it's a bit difficult to stalk someone who doesn't go anywhere.

But now was a bit different considering I was now being forced to allow someone to stalk me. And Max was taking his job very seriously. He was an aspiring journalist and by that I mean a glorified gossip and was completely convinced I was going to be his next big story.

I didn't have the heart to tell him trained professionals had been there, done that.

To be fair, I think he was starting to figure that out all on his own.

"You don't really do anything, do you?" Max sighed, turning off his digital camera that had been stuck in my face for the last three days.

"Am I boring you, Max?" I chuckled, erasing a part of my design in the corner of my journal. "What did you think shadowing me was going to be like?"

"I don't know!" His face went a sheepish red as a person in the library swivelled around in their chair to shush him. "I just always thought you were a lot more interesting," He spoke trying his hardest to whisper, "Like, at what part do you call the Gods?"

I snorted, "Call the Gods?"

"You know," He waved his hands at me like I was supposed to just catch on, "You communicate with them right? Because you're like their daughter or something?"

"Just to be clear," I cleared my throat, taking out my ruler and pressing it to the page, "We're discussing the Gods that are dead?"

He rolled his eyes, groaning, "Everyone knows they're not actually dead and are just pretending to be."

I brought my journal up and held the sketch away from my face so I could see it under the warm library lights, "Why would they do that?" I stopped him before he could answer, "No actually let me guess...because this is all part of their super secret plan?"

"Well, when you say it like that it sounds stupid."

"Because you sound stupid," I pointed out, "Look, some things in this world are just exactly how you see them, black or white, not everything a little conspiracy for nosy people like you," I jabbed him with my pencil, "To figure out. Take me for example, you kissed so much ass to get me to be your mentor now look at you? Bored. Because you thought I was someone I'm not."

"Gods forbid, I just want to learn more about you," he grumbled, carefully packing up his camera and stuffing its case in his backpack. I eyed the label on the bag that read 'Maxwell' but didn't comment on it. "All this time, I thought you were quiet because you're mysterious and a puzzle for me to solve. Turns out you're just a loner."

I brushed off the insult, "Sorry to disappoint."

"And literally all you do all day is scribble away in this little book," He slid my journal out from under my arms before I could stop him and dangled the book in the air with a frown on his face. "And the poor thing is falling to pieces," He commented, "My father has some pretty nice ones in his office I can get you another one."

I snatched the book from his hands, "I'll pass on that," I brought the dismantled pages back together with my fingers and set the journal down again. He wasn't lying, the journal had definitely seen better days but on the other hand, I got it for Christmas in my first year at the orphanage and haven't had time to replace it. I usually repair it myself but then again I was no book maker. "Look you want to know more about me?" I decided to give the dog a bone, "All I am is in this book. My research is me and without it I am nothing."

He didn't look convinced, "Are you sure you really want to dedicate your life to designing jewellery?"

Confusion washed over my face as I wondered what on Earth he was talking about until I realised he was looking at the sketch that I was currently working on. "This isn't jewellery," I defended but my cheeks heated up when I realised it certainly looked like it.

"I'm pretty sure my mother has a bracelet just like it."

"Well she has great taste," I acknowledged before realising I was only confirming what he thought, "But that doesn't mean this is a bracelet, it's just a part of my design-sure it looks fashionable but that's because it's harder to pitch things to people when they're ugly and like the first rule to making anything is make sure it can be sold aesthetically."

He sniffed, but I saw a flicker of curiosity in his light brown eyes, "You still haven't told me what it is."

"It's a prototype, just a thought really," I explained, trying to keep it vague considering I doubted he actually cared to listen to the science part of it. "Look, are you free for the next hour?"

"No but I don't really want to go for Spanish lessons anyway," He admitted in a rush, already looking excited for what I was going to say next.

"How about this?" I decided, "If you help me figure out something very cool, I'll let you write about it in your breakout story."

He narrowed his eyes, "What if it's not 'very cool'?"

"Journalists also don't ask questions when people give them a free story."

I grabbed my things and stood up, staring down at the sceptical little boy. "Nothing in this life is free," He argued, but stood up regardless.

"Yup," I popped the end of the word, "Lucky for you, my price is your Afternoon," I began to make my way out of the library but called out to him over my shoulder. "But if this does end up being really cool. In return for your story, you're going to leave me alone for the rest of the week."

"So you want me to help you figure out your super secret superpowers?"

"No of course not, you're a dimwit. I just want you to look at what I have and see if you think I'm getting any closer to figuring it out," I emphasized, pushing him a little closer to the board. It was a large mindmap with all the weird things that'd happened to me, so there was a lot of points. "What my super secret superpowers are," I finished.

"Well, if you ask me, it looks to me like you're going through intense psychosis." He reached up to touch one of the sticky notes that I'd scribbled on. I slapped his hand away before he could get his grubby fingers on it which made him shoot me a glare. "If I can't touch anything and you think I'm stupid, why am I here?"

"I need an outside opinion and as you know, I'm not exactly drowning in friends," I explained simply, "And because you're the biggest gossip in the school even if you run and blab about what you saw here, no one will believe you."

"Right," He nodded, before squinting at the board again. "Well run me through this again."

I pointed at one of the sticky notes that was the freshest, "From what I have so far I think I have something to do with the mind. You know, because I've been seeing all of this crazy shit?" I shifted his attention to the screenshot of Sunisa on the board, "You may not know who this is but she-

"Sunisa Taing?" He snorted taking a step closer, "Are you kidding? She's a legend, my parents got a picture with her at her blessing you know?" He shook his head, "I'd have loved to meet a blessed person too."

I recoiled, "I'm blessed?"

He shook his head slowly, "Well yeah but like, not really."

"Anyway!" I got back to my point, "I watched a video of hers a week ago and-

"You've been blessed for three weeks and you only started watching her videos a week ago," He raised an eyebrow at me, "No wonder you're so bad at this."

"Max."

"Don't worry I'm listening," He assured me, walking to take in more of the board that had taken up an entire wall in my apartment. I'd done as much research on this blessing stuff as I could, much more than I had ever done before which was probably concerning considering my circumstances. "You think because she had that little 'the trees are stalking me' stage, that's what's happening to you?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, happy someone else was seeing it, "Except instead of trees it's these people who look like me? I think it's an attempt to trigger as much distress in me as possible which is it's choosing me when I was at my lowest."

"Right right," Max muttered, eyeing something on the board before reaching out and plucking it off before I could stop him, "And what does this have to do with the investigation?"

My enter face burst into flames at the polaroid of Cher and me together, her lips against my cheek as I grinned at the camera with the glitter on the birthday cupcake lighting up from the flash. I tried to play it off, leaning on my board with what I hoped was a neutral expression on my face, "Oh that's the only picture I have of myself of that day," I waved off, scratching the back of my head, "You know...without me covered in blood."

He turned the picture around to look at it, "Looking at this it's almost hard to believe you did that to her you know?" He stuck the picture back on the board, "You looked close."

"I guess," I swallowed before turning my eyes to the rest of my research, "So what do you think?"

"I won't lie," He took a couple of steps back, "I'm kind of stumped," He admitted after looking over the board for a while, "But whether it's your mind playing tricks on you and you need to be put on a very high dosage of PTSD meds or it's your blessing trying to show itself. It's all coming from you."

"But that's the thing," I sighed, reaching out to grab my journal that was open on the page of my design, "I need to find out how I'm doing it," I tore off the sketch and took out a thumbtack to nail it to the board. "Because if I can, maybe others can too."