Read Twisted Miracles for Free Online Page B

mittens—clumsy, but not dangerous.
    Everything changed on my last day of college. It was finals week, and I was taking my last exam. Linear Algebra. It was one of those hot, wet-blanket summer afternoons in New Orleans, the air so heavy with humidity it was hard to breathe. The air conditioning in the math building was pretty substandard, so the windows were thrown open even though there was no cross-breeze and the only thing getting in was flies. All the girls were wearing as little as they could, me included—spaghetti-strap tank tops, shorts, sandals. I was in a seat near the window, making myself re-check my answers one last time. My heart wasn’t in it. The guy sitting next to me wasn’t interested in his answers, either. His name was Andrew Allston, and he was contemplating asking me out after the exam. I could hear him trying to come up with a way to sound casual about it, and he caught my eye and smiled, hopefulness surging in his chest. I blushed and looked out the window, wondering how to let him down easy.
    That was when I saw the crowd and got that first troubling hint that something wasn’t right. On the grassy area outside the biology building, people were gathered. The group was getting slowly bigger—mostly students but a few people who looked like they could be professors. A couple of campus policemen showed up and spoke into their radios, looking businesslike and grim with the receivers held close to their mouths. The crowd grew larger and louder until we couldn’t ignore it anymore, and my math professor finally gave up and came to the window right next to my desk.
    “Oh, dear God,” he said.
    We all got out of our seats then, chairs scraping against the linoleum, and clustered around the open windows. I followed the gaze of the crowd to the top of the biology building and saw, standing at the edge, a woman. About to jump.
    Several other people made the connection at the same time, and I heard gasps from behind me. Andrew was right next to me, leaning over my shoulder to see out. Everyone started talking at once, pointing, covering their mouths with their hands. Some people looked away. Some got on their cell phones, called friends, parents, boyfriends, girlfriends. And then she jumped.
    It looked so unreal, as if she’d tripped, as if it were an accident. Her arms windmilled around; her legs flailed as if she were trying to ride a bicycle. The crowd shrieked and people scattered away, trying to avoid the spot where she would soon, inevitably, hit. I felt more than saw with perfect clarity her face—the fear, the regret. And I just acted. As Andrew’s hand came instinctively to my shoulder in shock, I reached out with everything I had to stop her.
    Being telekinetic wasn’t like being Superman. I couldn’t stop speeding trucks or lift boulders off of hikers. If I didn’t have the strength to do it with my hands, I couldn’t do it with my head, and even with the adrenaline rush I got the moment I saw that woman jump, I certainly didn’t have the strength to stop a body falling from seventy feet. But in that moment, I wasn’t thinking. I strained against the force of her fall, slowing her down, putting everything I had into it.
    It didn’t seem like enough. But when she was only a few feet from the ground, I got a sudden burst of energy. It was exhilarating, the closest I’d ever get to flying. A flood of foreign images poured through my mind, but I focused all my attention on the falling woman. An inch from the ground, she stopped moving entirely, and for an instant, she hung motionless above the grass while the crowd went silent in utter, terrified shock.
    I released her and slumped against the window, totally spent. I didn’t think I could walk if I tried. Outside, the woman got to her feet, looking thunderstruck, and the crowd rushed toward her. Everyone started yelling at once. Then I looked behind me and saw Andrew Allston lying still on the dirty, damp floor of the classroom, and I