"You know," Chase continued, circling her, "most new kids figure out the social order here pretty quick. You seem to be struggling with the concept."
"Social order," Amara repeated, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Fascinating terminology."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means high school is temporary. So is your power."
Chase's face flushed with anger. "You think you're smart? Let's see how smart you feel by the end of the week."
As they walked away, Brent whispered, "Dude, she's blind. Maybe we should ease up."
"That's exactly why we shouldn't," Chase replied. "Twenty bucks says I can make her cry before Friday."
"You're on," Logan agreed with a laugh.
What they didn't see was the slight tilt of Amara's head as their voices carried back to her, her enhanced hearing catching every word of their bet.
The next day, Amara navigated a gauntlet of whispered insults and cruel jokes. Someone moved chairs into her path between classes. In the cafeteria, a group of girls loudly discussed how some people use disabilities for attention. Through it all, Amara maintained her composure, her face a mask of serenity that only fueled Chase's growing obsession with breaking her.
As she walked to her final class, she heard a subtle movement—something small landing on the floor in her path. Several students gasped: a rubber snake.
Amara stepped over it without hesitation, without even breaking her stride. Then she did something unexpected: she turned slightly toward where Chase stood watching, her face angled directly at him as if she could see the smirk on his face.
For just a moment, Chase felt a chill run through him.
"Did she just...?" Logan began.
"No way," Chase cut him off. "Lucky guess."