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watching me, until she sighs and goes back to writing in her book.
    I pull my focus back to my own table in time to hear Rachel ask, “Where were you this morning? Jenna said you weren’t in Creative Writing, either.”
    Damn. I should have thought of an alibi a long time ago. I shrug, and decide to tell Rachel a sliver of the truth. “Remember when I told you I got mugged yesterday? And some guy stopped to help me out?”
    “Yeah, I remember.”
    “Well, we bumped into each other again. We hung out for a while, got to know each other a little better, then he brought me here when we realized what time it was.”
    “I am agog; I am aghast! Is Heather in love at last?”
    My cheeks start burning again, and I kick Rachel under the table as I mutter, “Shut up! I’m not in love with Nick, I just met the guy.”
    “Well, you clearly feel something for him. I’ve never seen you blush so hard.”
    “I… we’re not… Okay, he’s attractive, and he seems like a decent guy, but I don’t know if I can see myself with him.”
    “Well, why not?”
    For a split second, I consider saying, Oh, maybe the fact that he’s a blood-sucking creature of the night, and I’m a freak of nature that can kill a vampire without ever touching him . But I think better of doing so, and instead respond with, “We’re just very… different. Plus, he’s kind of older than me.”
    “How much older are we talking?”
    “He looks our age, but there’s no way to tell how old he actually is.”
    Rachel seems to have a response for that, but it catches in her throat. Her eyes narrow with suspicion; it’s almost as if she’s somehow guessed at what I’m trying to say. If that is the case, she’s keeping her speculations to herself, and I suppose it’s with good reason. The existence of vampires and other supernatural beings isn’t exactly common knowledge, and if she’s pieced together that Nick is one of them, then it probably means she has firsthand experience with their world as well.
    Thankfully, Jenna arrives before either I or Rachel says anything incriminating, and drops her food down on the table as she sits down next to me. We switch to talking about what I missed in Creative Writing, but throughout the rest of the lunch period, Rachel and I watch each other carefully, and I can tell we’re each wondering what exactly the other is hiding.
     

Chapter 6
    The minute I get home, I check to see if my mom is back from work yet (she’s not), then if there’s anything to eat (there isn’t), and since both inquiries turn up negative results, I bring my laptop out to the living room and turn it on. While I’m waiting for it to boot up, I pull the pebble out of my pocket and hold it out in my outstretched palm. It’s strange; I’ve been waiting all day to test out my powers, but now, looking at this stupid pebble, I’m beginning to doubt myself. How can I ever do something great if I can’t handle the smallest assignment? I want to hurl it across the room, or out the window, but I try to calm down and focus on making it float. At first, the pebble only wobbles like before, but after a few seconds of straining, I manage to make it float a few inches above my palm.
    I laugh, and start to make it move around in circles. By the time my laptop is completely booted up, and I’m logged into Facebook, the pebble is zooming around the living room at my command. In my excitement, I almost forget to check my friend requests, and when I click on the little icon, I can hear the pebble hit the floor and skid across the room.
    One request, from a mister Nicholas Brandt. The profile picture features three people, but I can make out Nick’s face in the middle. I click accept, and since we’re officially friends on Facebook, I exercise my Constitutional right to stalk his profile. It’s a pretty sparse profile, almost to the point of being depressing; he’s only posted twenty statuses in the past year, and he only has seventy friends,