I always know who I'm reading. It's a difficult idea to explain, but each person has a different voice, a different personality seeping through their words. The vocabulary a person uses shifts and the way they see the world tips. For example, the suicide case sitting three seats down in the cafeteria succeeds at being the polar opposite to my eleventh-grade chemistry teacher. Where one is thinking about going home to her husband, the other is thinking about shoving their face with pills.

"There's really no point in that, you know," I pointed out, sliding a few seats down. I gave the redhead a jab in the shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet mine. If you can measure the dullness in one's eyes, his won the record. "Cece will forgive you eventually. It might take a while but she clearly has strong feelings for you. She won't shut up about them. It's getting a bit annoying. I'm not exactly sure what she sees in you," I tilted my head to the side, taking in all his pimply, scrawny glory, "but to each their own, I suppose. You should probably stop exasperating the whole thing. Y'know, some people have big kid problems. An angry girlfriend isn't one of them."

The kid's eyebrows scrunched up together unattractively. "She talks about me?"

"God, no," I snorted, "She wouldn't be caught dead doing that. Especially to someone like me, but she keeps thinking about you. Those real lovey-dovey thoughts, too. I would suggest making the first move. She's being stubborn to get your attention."

Realization flooded his barf-brown eyes. "Ah, let me guess, the voices told you my Cece's thinking those things."

Maybe I have a bit of a reputation, then. "Ah, so you're an asshole, too. A match made in heaven. You really should get back on her good side, you guys are great for each other."

Alas, barf-brown eyes filled with red hot rage. "Just 'cause your crazy, doesn't mean you have to be, like, a dick about it."

"Doesn't stop your girlfriend, though, does it?" I gave him one last, incriminating, hell of a peachy smile and stood up from my spot besides Tim-Tom (compliments of Cece. I swear I almost choked up my lunch at the thought of it). "I bid you adieu."

I turned to make my leave, and promptly found myself nose to nose with an assistant principal on a year-round power trip. Mrs. Yesenia: a bulky armed, tiny teacher with an accent thicker than the blood of her victims. She just so happened to have a particular distaste for kids like me (troubled and angsty, perhaps? Can I get a fuck yeah?) and wasn't afraid to hide it in the least. "Yer vanted in ve Main Office. Grab yer velongings."

"Vith pleasure," I muttered miserably. I slung my bag over my shoulder and saluted back at her death glare before slipping from the cafeteria. I couldn't help but read and note some very distinct curses from my favorite resident sociopath. How she got a teaching's license is far beyond my level of understanding.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the metal doors that lead towards a far-too familiar lobby.

"Hey, Mr. G," I sang to the security guard present, shooting him a lazy wave. I leaned into the pat he gave me on the shoulder with his comforting, giant hand.

"What're you in for this time? Same as last?" He had an accent too, but it was much more pleasant than Yesenia's. Or maybe I was confusing accent with personality again.

Besides this point, the event Mr. G was referring to is the one that put me on Yesenia's shit list. It was also the day I realized that perhaps I should stop blurting out the inner workings of teacher's minds without an excuse for how I know said things, and, apparently, 'mind reading' isn't considered a suitable excuse. Who would have guessed? Maybe I can file for discrimination?

"No clue," I shrugged, sidestepping him and shouldering open the doors to the office. "I began losing track at some point."

He let out a burly sounding laugh and waved his hand dismissively. He was a lot of things, borderline dim-witted and strange, but impersonal wasn't one of them. He wasn't great conversation, but at least he was decent.

"Early dismissal, baby," the nice counselor let me know as she walked by, busy as always. She was walking towards her office, a stack of papers in her arms and a smile adorning her lips. She was arguably the best human being in this entire planet. I followed after her, grabbing half of her stack and nudging open the door of her office. She always had mints on her desk. I snatched three shamelessly, filling out an Early Release Slip and simultaneously popping one of the sweets in my mouth.

"Who the fuck is picking me up? School just started," I said around the candy, biting down.

"Language," she warned, organizing the papers into a file folder. "You got any older cousins? He was on your emergency contact list." She showed me the name.

"None that I've met before," I muttered. "Then again, when has Mother Dearest ever let me meet a relative. Don't wanna pass on the crazy."

"Call yourself that again, and we'll find out real quick who's the crazier out of us two," she jabbed a finger in my face. I swatted it away, laughing.

"Don't take away my crazy, it's the only thing I've got left," I walked towards the door, clutching my ticket to my chest. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. V. Have a nice day."

"You too, baby," she called out as I made my way to the front desk, waving my ticket to the woman in charge and scanning the room for any familiar faces amongst a few adults in the room. None stood out to me. Except

Pretend you know me.

My eyes darted to a young man.

He closed the distance between us in two long strides and wrapped cold fingers around my upper arm, wordlessly steering me out of the office and into my school's parking lot. I bit down my surprised gasp. His shoulders were tense, eyes hard and thoughts running. Truth be told, I was perfectly content to be dragged away from my second period Pre-Calculus class, but I figured I should at least be a bit concerned in the event that this was a kidnapping. Although, it only really half felt like a kidnapping. Maybe I am disturbed?

"You know, not that I'm complaining or anything, but it would be just peachy if I knew who you are or where we're going or, here's a good one- how you got yourself on my emergency contact list, Cousin Bobby."

No answer. Except for one really dramatic, if I say so myself, shift in the aggression behind his thoughts.

"Or not, whatever. If this is a kidnapping, though, I'll have you know I can be deathly annoying on command. Don't say I didn't warn you."

He leads me to a dark silver impala, totally and completely inconspicuous from the world's prying eyes, and held open the passenger seat. At least my kidnapper had manners. Who says chivalry is dead? His hand tightened around my arm, but I could tell it was more from nerves than intimidation.

"Yeah, how about you tell me what the fuck is going on first," I demanded, yanking my arm from of his grip and side stepping him. I had a feeling he could have forced me into the car effortlessly, but that would've drawn far much more attention than he was willing to get.

He gave me a wry look, his brows scrunching above conflicted dark brown eyes, and eventually let out a far too long sigh. "I can't explain it here."

"I will scream rape so loud the dead polar bears in Antarctica will roll in their graves."

Polar bears don't have graves.

"I refuse to believe that."

He smiled pleasantly, and the new expression fit his features quite attractively. He tapped a finger to his skull. "Doesn't matter, does it? Because you heard me."

I bit back my retort as he reached for my hand. I fought the urge to flinch away from the cold of his touch. Slowly, as if not to scare me away, he interlocked his fingers around mine. "I'm like you," he said simply.

For some reason, the only thing I could muster was a half confused, "Schizophrenic?"

He almost laughed at that, but the amusement in his eyes melted away as the roughness beneath his fingertips grew more prominent. "Special," is what he said and pulled back to show a few blue scales shed on the palm of my hand.

My eyes drifted to where he pulled away, and the pads of his fingers were now occupied with those same iridescent scales. They looked peculiar against the rest of his pale skin. It took me a minute to realize they were actually growing from him.

He ran his other hand through his hair, in something I could only describe as endearingly awkward, and brushed off the fishy remnants by scrubbing his hand against the front of his jeans. "Will you get in now?"

At this point, I wish I could say that I made a logical and responsible decision. It would sound much better if I had marched straight back to my school or, at the very least, demanded a better explanation. I wish I could say that I thoroughly examined the benefits and disadvantages of hopping into the broken-down car. I wish I could say that making the decision I made was not the single, most influential thing that has altered the rest of my life from that moment onwards. I also wish I could say that I didn't just realize these things after sitting in the same previously mentioned car for the few moments of silence that began after we drove off.

I admit, I may be a tad impulsive.

Maybe if I had thought things through a little more my life would have been different, less dangerous. You may never understand why I made the decision I did. Who knows? It could have been the fact that his thoughts were far from menacing, quite bland in fact. It could have been the fact that I was relieved I wasn't crazy, wasn't alone. But deep down, somewhere within the pit of my churning gut, I knew my decision had been determined far before any of those things had been confirmed, because the second I found a way out of Mother's grasp, I knew I would take it- consequences be damned.

Although, maybe I was regretting it a bit right now. Just a bit, and only because my mysterious NotCousin Bobby liked country music and, praise be to God, did I want to claw my ears out.

"You know, this really isn't sketchy at all," I said aloud, more to myself than the brunette behind the wheel, desperately needing a break from the awkward tension.

He perked up a little. "Sketchy? You called for me. Remember?"

I looked down at my lap, trying to make sense of that. I don't remember calling anyone, to be frank. I don't know much of anything that is going on, either. I didn't vocalize this, though, for some stupid, childish fear that what if he messed up and I'm not the right girl? What if he sends me back, and I have to return to my normal life as if this never happened. Logically, I realized this was ridiculous because what were the odds of another mind reading girl at my high school? But, still. I couldn't help but listen to the blaringly loud what ifs.

He was thinking plenty of things at once (not rare), but nothing stood out to me- and this was the confusing part. You see, everyone has a specific variety of thoughts. Whether it's subconscious or comprehensive or deliberate thinking.

It's usually easy for me to separate people's thinking and block out the unaware from the conscious thoughts- years of practice will help with that. His thoughts just felt so layered, like they were muffled. It felt as though I would have to dig for them, and it was like nothing I ever really experience before. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. I'm almost embarrassed it took me so long to realize.

Algorithms.

"You're thinking in numbers?" I enthused aloud, before I could stop myself.

He gave me a smug sidelong glance, and a series floated before my eyes. I almost reached out, my hand twitching in my lap.

"That's... new."

"No one's ever tried that before?" He looked genuinely surprised.

"Most people don't filter their thoughts," I said absentmindedly. "I mean, why would they? For most people, their thoughts are the only honest part of themselves. If you can't trust yourself to think then who are you."

"Someone's open," he noted, keeping his eyes on the road.

"It would be unfair if I wasn't," I shrugged. "I always know what everyone thinks. It wouldn't feel right if I couldn't return the favor."

"You should say that to Lucas," he muttered darkly to himself.

Brother. Sad. Alive, alive, alive.

"Is he, um, like us?"

The thoughts cut off swiftly, replaced by a new combination of digits. His hands tightened over the steering wheel.

"I'm gonna be a mathematician by the end of this drive." I rolled my eyes and felt around the side of the chair, letting out a triumphant whoop when I found the seat lever and declined myself as far as I could go. He gave me a strange look, but ignored my actions beyond that.

"You would be so lucky."

"So, you're like me? And... Lucas is too?"

He turned to meet my eyes, and my heart seized in my chest. The amount of attentiveness in his gaze was a new experience entirely. He hummed in leu of a response.

"What else can you do? You know, besides the cool fish trick?"

He refocused his attention back on the road, and for a minute I thought he would return to studiously ignoring me. That is, until he muttered (or maybe he thought?) something that sounded suspiciously like, "A cool fucking fish trick, she says" and then, "the nerve". He finally added, much clearer and almost reluctantly, "I can manipulate most animal characteristics into my biology."

It took me a solid minute to process this. "So," I mused aloud, "you can turn into a penguin?"

He actually snorted at that. "How is this already your second reference to the artic?" He gave himself a minute to compose and contemplate the question. "Not necessarily. The closest I could probably do would be resistance against the cold. Or swimming 22 miles per hour."

I didn't ask how he knew the speed in which penguins swam, and instead chose to remain charmed in silence. "How does that-"

"The same way yours does," he said. At my blank look, he shrugged. "None of us really know."

"Who else?"

"Hm?"

"Who else is 'us'?"

"There's a few." Lucas. Jaz. Maya and Blaise. Jon-

"Stop reading my thoughts, if you can."

"I can't."

"Have you ever tried?"

"What?"

"You haven't?"

"Of course, I-"

"No," he looked away to meet my eyes, "like really tried."

I hesitated. My face burned at the heat of his stare. "You should really be looking at the road."

"We can help with that, you know." He refocused on driving. In his defense, there wasn't much to pay attention to, I realized, having just took notice to my surroundings, or lack thereof. As in, no cars and one long, straight, unmaintained road.

"Tell me about them," I demanded, desperate for a topic change, "these mysterious others you refuse to think about."

He got a distant look in his eyes and, again, I thought he wouldn't follow through. But low and behold, "Lucas can identify and manipulate emotions. He's a complete ass about it, too," he gave me a side glance, "I think he'd like you. There's also Maya and Blaise- they're disgustingly in love. They were made for each other-"

"That's sweet."

"Literally. As in genetically built to complement one another perfectly. You'll see what I mean sooner or later."

House. Burning. Wilting flowers.

"They're an attributed taste."

Dead. Everything happened so suddenly. They were screaming. Everything was

"-I would also appreciate it if you left my head for a bit."

"What was that?" I demanded, biting my lip.

"Maya is a sweetheart. She wouldn't hurt a fly, not if she could help it-"

Drowning. Storms. Hurricane.

"But?"

"Sometimes she can't help it," he shrugged as if that were a perfectly normal thing to say. And maybe it was. Not like I would know, with all my extensive experience with conversation and such. "Like I said, they were made for each other, built for a purpose. All that jazz."

"Speaking of which, what about Jaz?"

Breathe. Focus. Shadows. Sleep. Whisper

"Are you alright?"

"She's new to her abilities," he says simply. "Don't let her get to you. She's rough around the edges, but a sweet kid nonetheless."

"What can she do?"

"You'll find out soon enough, I suppose. Then there's Jonathan. He's the one you need to look out for. That kid uses his powers for evil."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

He laughed, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel before making a sharp turn. I didn't even notice we were reaching a turn. I resisted the urge to gasp. If my cute, sweet kidnapper didn't kill me first, his driving just might.

He looked unfazed. "He uses mimicry. He's almost perfected at it, too, but you can figure out he's messing with you if you pay enough attention. There's something in the eyes," he gestured towards his own as if to clarify his point, "that never feels right. As if he's shoving himself into whatever he's mocking."

"He sounds," I searched for a word, "engaging."

"That's one way to put it," he looked almost fond. "We're almost there."

I looked out the window, trying to find any sign of civilization and coming up empty handed. "I hate to be a backseat driver and all, but how are we anywhere near where we're supposed to be?"

He smirked, pressed the accelerator and unflinchingly drove off the side of the road. A strangled sounding gasp escaped through my throat, and I latched onto the nearest thing. He drove on until we were surrounded by trees on all ends. He drove as if this was normal, or familiar, to take this sort of hidden route without a road. He drove until we reached a quaint looking home, embedded deep within the woods.

He parked his car a few feet away. He gave me a pointed look, sparing a glance at my grip, and I flushed while pulling my hand away from his bicep. After a brief pause, he shot me a toothy grin at my, what must've been obvious, skepticism. I was foolishly unaware of the fact that I was about to take my first steps into what would soon become the greatest place in my world. My new home surrounded by pretty white dandelions just begging to grant my every wish. My new home with too tall grass and naked twigs that stabbed at my ankles when I walked by. My new home currently occupied by my brand-new family.

He climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, gesturing at me to follow. I did. We both stood a generous distance away, admiring the scene. "Well. Welcome to the Shack. Don't worry, it's bigger on the inside."

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- eli