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Sting!
Chapter 4
- A House Possessed -

Sting! -- Previous Chapter

To say that I was on cloud nine would have been the biggest understatement of the century. I practically floated on air for the rest of the day. Even seeing Rodney in the hall didn’t dampen my spirits. I had a friend. Finally! And a girl, at that.
In my last period, my random thoughts were brought back down to earth when exam papers were passed around to everyone in the class. I wasn’t too surprised to see a 98% written on the top in red ink. I was always at the top of every class I was in. If there was one thing I was, it was a good student. Of course, I wasn’t distracted from my homework by sports and parties and girls, like everybody else.
At least not until today.
Most of the kids in the class had received pretty low scores, so the teacher decided we all needed a review.
“We’re going to go over every single question,” she said, “and then you’re all going to open your books and bury your noses in the RIGHT answers for awhile.” She ran her finger down a paper on her desk. “Let’s see who got the highest score,” she said, “and he—or she—can lead us in a discussion.”
Oh no! I thought miserably. I DON’T want to end up in front of the class. I hate that. Please. Not today.
Her finger stopped on a name, and she glanced up at me. I’m a goner! Then her finger moved a little bit more.
“Kirsten Ford,” she announced.
I was shocked. It was Dean’s girlfriend. Rodney’s friend. I had no idea she ever even studied, let alone got high scores. And she beat me!
But I was relieved. At least I didn’t have to get up.
The discussion went smoothly, and I managed not to even have to say anything. With twenty minutes left of class time, we were instructed to “bury our noses.” Everyone complained loudly.
After only five minutes, one of the boys muttered something under his breath about how ridiculous the whole thing was. A couple of others echoed his sentiments. I thought the teacher was going to get mad, but she just looked up at the clock and said, “Your miseries will be over in exactly sixteen and a half minutes. Now get back to work.”
I found myself staring at the clock, and wishing the time would go faster. I was long since done with studying and WAY ready to go home. I turned and leaned back against the heat registers and started daydreaming.
Too bad I can’t just move the hands on the clock.
I’d always had a fantasy about being telekinetic and being able to move things with my mind. Of course, to make the bell ring, I’d have to move ALL the clocks. They’re all tied together. That would mean I’d have to get into the main control panel in the office. All the clocks run from there. I’d been in there once before, so I could picture it perfectly in my mind.
And as I thought about it, I could almost feel the control panel in my hands. There it is, I thought, closing my eyes. The knob that adjusts the clocks.
It was funny, because instead of picturing the outside of the knob in my head, I was seeing the inside—like where the electrical contacts touched, sending their signals out to all the clocks in the whole building. All I’d have to do is turn it a little bit this way . . . I pictured the knob turning sixteen clicks, . . . and—
RINGGGGGG!
The loud, incessant clanging of the school bell abruptly shattered my thoughts. I opened my eyes and stared dumbly at the clock. It was 3:10. Time for the bell. Class was over.
Did I doze off?
I looked around and saw every eye in the room, including the teacher’s, staring at the clock. They were as surprised as I was. For a couple of seconds, nobody moved—which was very unusual. The sound of the bell generally had everyone racing for the door and out into the hall before it could even quit.
But two seconds was the extent of it. As soon as they heard other doors opening and other kids exiting classrooms, the whole class scrambled. Nobody was going to sit around and argue about getting out of class.
I joined the exodus, still not quite sure what had happened.
In the hallway, on the way to my locker, I overheard the guys in front of me talking.
“Hey, man,” the first one asked. “What time you got on your watch?”
The second one glanced at his wrist. “Two fifty-six.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” the first one said, looking at the display on his pager.
I didn’t wear a watch. They always tended to burn out quickly on my wrist, for some reason.
“I think the school clocks got messed up,” the second kid said.
“Looks like it.”
Weird, I thought. The school clocks got messed up.
At my locker, I collected what I needed and filled my backpack, then walked home and spent an hour in my room studying. In that one thing, I had to agree with my mom. It was better to get the homework done first. Then I didn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day.
When I got done, I walked through the family room and found my two youngest sisters, April and Heather, arguing about which channel to watch on TV. April had the remote for the TV and Heather had the remote for the VCR, and they were alternately clicking back and forth between two channels.
“Come on, you two. Knock it off,” I said, settling into Dad’s recliner. Out of sheer habit, I reached over, grabbed the pole of the floor lamp by the chair, and started tipping it and rocking it back and forth.
The girls started yelling and hitting each other, and pretty soon April’s remote went flying all the way across the room. She slapped at Heather’s, and it went flying in the opposite direction.
They were both about to go retrieve their controls, when Heather stopped in her tracks and stared at the TV. It was still changing channels back and forth between Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel.
“Look at that,” she said. “The TV’s gone bonkers.” She looked at the two remotes on the floor. They both looked at the TV and scratched their heads.
“Weird,” April said.
Weird, I thought. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I dimly registered the fact that I was swinging the lamp back and forth in perfect time with the channels changing.
“You broke it,” Heather declared.
“I didn’t break it. YOU broke it. You’re the one that—”
“NUH-UH! YOU broke it. YOU had the TV one.”
“LIAR!”
“LIAR!”
“Okay. That’s enough,” Mom said, rushing in to investigate, “or the TV goes off.”
I let go of the lamp and climbed out of the recliner. The TV finally settled on the Disney Channel.
Mom put her hands on her hips, “Did you two already forget what you learned in church last week? Now think. W – W – J – D. What – Would – Jesus – Do?”
Heather looked positively dumbfounded and bewildered, tipping her head to the side. “But Mom,” she said, putting HER hands on HER hips. “Jesus didn’t even HAVE a TV.”
I grinned. “She’s got a valid point there, Mom.”
“Thanks a lot, Stephen R.” She squatted down with her hands on her knees, balancing precariously on her toes, like only Mom’s can do. “But if Jesus DID have a TV, what . . . ?”
I left the room, and they continued their discussion.
Weird, though, about the TV.
I wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table. There was a clock-radio sitting there, and I picked it up—AFTER touching and zapping the leg of the table first. That was a habit I’d been forced into while growing up. Never touch anything electronic without discharging first.
Mom came in a minute later and started stirring something on the stove.
“Is supper ready?” I asked.
“Not quite. It’ll be a couple of minutes.”
“What’s this doing here?” I asked, showing her the clock.
Mom turned and looked. “That? Oh, it’s not working right. I was going to have your Dad look at it.”
“Is it mine?”
“No. It’s April’s.”
I compared the time on the display with the clock on the stove. “Looks okay to me,” I said.
Then a funny thing happened. I started feeling pulses coming from the metal underside of the clock into my fingers. I turned it over, half expecting to see something oozing out, like liquid or something. The feelings intensified, and I recognized them as being very similar to what I’d felt with the power line. Only not so strong.
I closed my eyes, remembering, and suddenly I sensed wires surrounding me on all sides. I could feel the electricity flowing through some of them, and bypassing others. I could sense motors and electronics attached. I could feel them snaking through the walls and the floor and ceiling—all around me. It was almost like I was running through the wires myself.
“Whoa!” Mom cried out.
I opened my eyes as she jumped back from the stove, staring at the counter—her wood spoon dripping all over the floor. The blender was running at top speed all of a sudden. Before she could punch the OFF button, the microwave started up, and the electric knife started rattling in its holder. Then the lights in the kitchen blinked on and back off again.
“Hey!” yelled Michelle from the other room—the oldest of the three. “The Nintendo went crazy! I lost my game!”
“What’s happening?” Mom asked, stunned. The garbage disposal in the sink turned on, making its loud, dry, spinning sound, and the ceiling fan in the family room started turning. “The whole house is possessed!” she cried out.
I was stunned. I looked at all the things going, and looked back down at the clock in my hand. I could FEEL every one of those things. I could tell right where they were in the wiring. I could sense their motors turning. I had detected each of them when they started up.
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed, dropping the clock and jumping up. Everything abruptly returned to normal. The blender quit. The knife, the disposal, the fan. “Oh my gosh!” I said again.
“What’s going on, Stevie?” Mom asked, still dripping all over the floor.
“Oh my gosh.”
I ran down the hall and shut myself in my room, then stood in the middle of the floor staring down at my open hands.
“Oh my gosh, this is weird. Too weird.” I threw myself on the bed and stared up at my hands again. “Beyond weird. What’s happening to me?”

There was a knock at the door a few minutes later.
“Stephen?” It was Dad. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
He pushed open the door and walked in with his hands deep in his pockets.
Uh-oh. I’m in trouble. Dad’s got his hands in his pockets. Lecture time. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?” I tried to act normal.
“Your mother told me there was a little commotion in the house this afternoon.”
“Commotion?” It came out in a bit of a squeak. Dead giveaway. Guilty as charged.
“Stevie?” Mom said, pushing in beside Dad. “There’s a girl at the door for you.”
A GIRL? I sprang to my feet. Connie? HERE? “Excuse me,” I said, squeezing between them. Dad got the zap.
She was standing just inside the door, and I had my mouth wide-open and ready with a big “Hi Connie” when she spun around.
“Hi Co—uh . . . Melanie!” I glanced quickly all around the entry way and in the living room. I couldn’t help it. I even walked past her to the open door and looked out on the porch before closing it.
“He’s not here. Don’t worry.”
“What?”
“Rodney. He’s not here.”
“Oh. Right.”
I breathed a big sigh of relief, and we stood there staring at each other. “OH!” I said, at last. “Come on in. Sit down.”
“That’s okay, Sting. I won’t stay long.”
“So . . . what’s up?”
Looking at her, I was uncomfortably caught between reliving the accident and the relief of seeing her still alive, and remembering how obnoxious she usually was. Not to mention whose girlfriend she was.
“I just wanted—” She glanced past me, and I turned to find Mom and Dad standing in the hallway observing. “I just wanted to thank you,” she continued, looked nervously at her hands, “for saving my life.”
“Uh . . . well . . . ” I heard Mom and Dad step closer.
“You did a brave thing there,” she said, “and it doesn’t look like anyone is giving you any credit.”
“What brave thing did he do?” Mom asked politely, joining us in the entryway.
Melanie looked at both of us in surprise. “She doesn’t know?” she asked.
“Know what?” Dad asked, stepping in. There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Why don’t we go sit down,” Mom coaxed, taking Melanie by the arm and leading her into the living room.
When we were all seated, Dad repeated his question. “What don’t we know, Sting?”
“Well, Melanie—this is Melanie, by the way.”
“Hi,” Dad responded.
“Pleased,” Mom said.
“Melanie was electrocuted a couple of days ago,” I explained, “by a power line that broke and fell on her at the school. She nearly died.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Mom said, bringing a hand to her cheek.
“And I would have,” Melanie cut in, “if it hadn’t been for Sting.”
“And Dudley Do-Good,” I mumbled.
“Who?”
“Uh . . . the Scout kid,” I stammered. “The one that gave you mouth-to-mouth.”
“I read about that this morning,” Dad said, glancing at the paper on the end table.
“What does that have to do with Stevie?” Mom asked.
“Well, from what I was told,” Melanie explained, “they couldn’t get my heart going—the other kids—before the paramedics got there. And I wasn’t breathing, and I guess it got a little tense there for a few minutes. Then Sting touched me and zapped me . . . and my heart started again.”
“He zapped you?” Dad asked incredulously. “And started your heart? With a little bit of static?”
“Oh, no,” she said quickly. “With the power line.”
“What?” he asked, astonished. He looked back and forth at the two of us.
“Let me explain,” I said.
And I spent the next several minutes recounting everything that had happened: Watching her shaking and pulsing. Grabbing the wire with my bare hands—stupid me. Feeling the energy. Zapping her heart once, then having to recharge with the power line to do it again, and again. Finally getting a pulse. Dudley the Scout doing the breathing. The paramedics. The power company crew.
It came out in one long run-on sentence, all jumbled together. I left out the part about opening her shirt.
No sense embarrassing Melanie in front of my parents.
During the story, Mom got a real worried look on her face, and Dad furrowed his eyes deeper and deeper as I went.
And from there, it just seemed the natural thing to tell them what had happened at school with the clocks, and about the TV channels, and about all the weirdness in the kitchen with everything turning on.
“I was afraid of this,” Mom said. “I just knew sooner or later it was going to be more than just little shocks on the arm. He’s going to hurt somebody.”
“There’s no reason to panic,” Dad said. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.”
“Logical explanation?” I asked. “Dad, I picked up a zillion-volt power line with my bare hands. I used my fingertips like they use those paddles in the emergency room. I changed all the clocks in the whole school, for Pete’s sake. What’s so logical about that?”
“We don’t know for sure about the clocks,” Dad defended.
“Yes, I do.”
I had to admit, I was starting to get more than a little worried myself. It was bad enough, always zapping people. That was very annoying, for sure. A real nuisance.
But turning on the disposal by playing with the clock-radio? What if I’d done that when somebody had their hand in there? Mom’s right. I could hurt somebody!
Mom suddenly remembered her manners and stood. “Melanie, dear. Thank you very much for dropping by.” We all stood. “I’m very sorry about your accident, and I’m glad you’ve recovered so quickly. It must have been a terrible ordeal.”
“Yes, well . . . ”
Mom took her by the arm and led her to the door. “And thank you for thinking of Stephen. That was very gracious. Have a good night. Take care, now.”
After Melanie left, Mom leaned heavily against the closed door and just stared at me, her hands behind her back. Dad’s eyebrows had never been so furrowed. And he had his hands so deep in his pockets it was a miracle I didn’t see his fingers down by his ankles.
Neither one moved. It was like they were afraid of me all of a sudden. Afraid to touch me. Afraid of what would happen if they did. Afraid they’d get electrocuted—big time.
And maybe they will. How do I know? This is NOT good.
“I think I’ll go to my room for awhile,” I said. “I’m not feeling very hungry.”
Neither one said a word or made a move as I worked my way safely around them and down the hall.

I’d never felt so alone in my whole life.

Sting! -- Previous Chapter

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	*Sting!* Chapter 4 - A House Possessed -

Sting! -- Previous Chapter


To say that I was on cloud nine would have been the biggest understatement of the century. I practically floated on air for the rest of the day. Even seeing Rodney in the hall didn’t dampen my spirits. I had a friend. Finally! And a girl, at that. In my last period, my random thoughts were brought back down to earth when exam papers were passed around to everyone in the class. I wasn’t too surprised to see a 98% written on the top in red ink. I was always at the top of every class I was in. If there was one thing I was, it was a good student. Of course, I wasn’t distracted from my homework by sports and parties and girls, like everybody else. At least not until today. Most of the kids in the class had received pretty low scores, so the teacher decided we all needed a review. “We’re going to go over every single question,” she said, “and then you’re all going to open your books and bury your noses in the RIGHT answers for awhile.” She ran her finger down a paper on her desk. “Let’s see who got the highest score,” she said, “and he—or she—can lead us in a discussion.” Oh no! I thought miserably. I DON’T want to end up in front of the class. I hate that. Please. Not today. Her finger stopped on a name, and she glanced up at me. I’m a goner! Then her finger moved a little bit more. “Kirsten Ford,” she announced. I was shocked. It was Dean’s girlfriend. Rodney’s friend. I had no idea she ever even studied, let alone got high scores. And she beat me! But I was relieved. At least I didn’t have to get up. The discussion went smoothly, and I managed not to even have to say anything. With twenty minutes left of class time, we were instructed to “bury our noses.” Everyone complained loudly. After only five minutes, one of the boys muttered something under his breath about how ridiculous the whole thing was. A couple of others echoed his sentiments. I thought the teacher was going to get mad, but she just looked up at the clock and said, “Your miseries will be over in exactly sixteen and a half minutes. Now get back to work.” I found myself staring at the clock, and wishing the time would go faster. I was long since done with studying and WAY ready to go home. I turned and leaned back against the heat registers and started daydreaming. Too bad I can’t just move the hands on the clock. I’d always had a fantasy about being telekinetic and being able to move things with my mind. Of course, to make the bell ring, I’d have to move ALL the clocks. They’re all tied together. That would mean I’d have to get into the main control panel in the office. All the clocks run from there. I’d been in there once before, so I could picture it perfectly in my mind. And as I thought about it, I could almost feel the control panel in my hands. There it is, I thought, closing my eyes. The knob that adjusts the clocks. It was funny, because instead of picturing the outside of the knob in my head, I was seeing the inside—like where the electrical contacts touched, sending their signals out to all the clocks in the whole building. All I’d have to do is turn it a little bit this way . . . I pictured the knob turning sixteen clicks, . . . and— RINGGGGGG! The loud, incessant clanging of the school bell abruptly shattered my thoughts. I opened my eyes and stared dumbly at the clock. It was 3:10. Time for the bell. Class was over. Did I doze off? I looked around and saw every eye in the room, including the teacher’s, staring at the clock. They were as surprised as I was. For a couple of seconds, nobody moved—which was very unusual. The sound of the bell generally had everyone racing for the door and out into the hall before it could even quit. But two seconds was the extent of it. As soon as they heard other doors opening and other kids exiting classrooms, the whole class scrambled. Nobody was going to sit around and argue about getting out of class. I joined the exodus, still not quite sure what had happened. In the hallway, on the way to my locker, I overheard the guys in front of me talking. “Hey, man,” the first one asked. “What time you got on your watch?” The second one glanced at his wrist. “Two fifty-six.” “Yeah. Me, too,” the first one said, looking at the display on his pager. I didn’t wear a watch. They always tended to burn out quickly on my wrist, for some reason. “I think the school clocks got messed up,” the second kid said. “Looks like it.” Weird, I thought. The school clocks got messed up. At my locker, I collected what I needed and filled my backpack, then walked home and spent an hour in my room studying. In that one thing, I had to agree with my mom. It was better to get the homework done first. Then I didn’t have to worry about it for the rest of the day. When I got done, I walked through the family room and found my two youngest sisters, April and Heather, arguing about which channel to watch on TV. April had the remote for the TV and Heather had the remote for the VCR, and they were alternately clicking back and forth between two channels. “Come on, you two. Knock it off,” I said, settling into Dad’s recliner. Out of sheer habit, I reached over, grabbed the pole of the floor lamp by the chair, and started tipping it and rocking it back and forth. The girls started yelling and hitting each other, and pretty soon April’s remote went flying all the way across the room. She slapped at Heather’s, and it went flying in the opposite direction. They were both about to go retrieve their controls, when Heather stopped in her tracks and stared at the TV. It was still changing channels back and forth between Nickelodeon and the Disney Channel. “Look at that,” she said. “The TV’s gone bonkers.” She looked at the two remotes on the floor. They both looked at the TV and scratched their heads. “Weird,” April said. Weird, I thought. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I dimly registered the fact that I was swinging the lamp back and forth in perfect time with the channels changing. “You broke it,” Heather declared. “I didn’t break it. YOU broke it. You’re the one that—” “NUH-UH! YOU broke it. YOU had the TV one.” “LIAR!” “LIAR!” “Okay. That’s enough,” Mom said, rushing in to investigate, “or the TV goes off.” I let go of the lamp and climbed out of the recliner. The TV finally settled on the Disney Channel. Mom put her hands on her hips, “Did you two already forget what you learned in church last week? Now think. W – W – J – D. What – Would – Jesus – Do?” Heather looked positively dumbfounded and bewildered, tipping her head to the side. “But Mom,” she said, putting HER hands on HER hips. “Jesus didn’t even HAVE a TV.” I grinned. “She’s got a valid point there, Mom.” “Thanks a lot, Stephen R.” She squatted down with her hands on her knees, balancing precariously on her toes, like only Mom’s can do. “But if Jesus DID have a TV, what . . . ?” I left the room, and they continued their discussion. Weird, though, about the TV. I wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the table. There was a clock-radio sitting there, and I picked it up—AFTER touching and zapping the leg of the table first. That was a habit I’d been forced into while growing up. Never touch anything electronic without discharging first. Mom came in a minute later and started stirring something on the stove. “Is supper ready?” I asked. “Not quite. It’ll be a couple of minutes.” “What’s this doing here?” I asked, showing her the clock. Mom turned and looked. “That? Oh, it’s not working right. I was going to have your Dad look at it.” “Is it mine?” “No. It’s April’s.” I compared the time on the display with the clock on the stove. “Looks okay to me,” I said. Then a funny thing happened. I started feeling pulses coming from the metal underside of the clock into my fingers. I turned it over, half expecting to see something oozing out, like liquid or something. The feelings intensified, and I recognized them as being very similar to what I’d felt with the power line. Only not so strong. I closed my eyes, remembering, and suddenly I sensed wires surrounding me on all sides. I could feel the electricity flowing through some of them, and bypassing others. I could sense motors and electronics attached. I could feel them snaking through the walls and the floor and ceiling—all around me. It was almost like I was running through the wires myself. “Whoa!” Mom cried out. I opened my eyes as she jumped back from the stove, staring at the counter—her wood spoon dripping all over the floor. The blender was running at top speed all of a sudden. Before she could punch the OFF button, the microwave started up, and the electric knife started rattling in its holder. Then the lights in the kitchen blinked on and back off again. “Hey!” yelled Michelle from the other room—the oldest of the three. “The Nintendo went crazy! I lost my game!” “What’s happening?” Mom asked, stunned. The garbage disposal in the sink turned on, making its loud, dry, spinning sound, and the ceiling fan in the family room started turning. “The whole house is possessed!” she cried out. I was stunned. I looked at all the things going, and looked back down at the clock in my hand. I could FEEL every one of those things. I could tell right where they were in the wiring. I could sense their motors turning. I had detected each of them when they started up. “Oh my gosh!” I exclaimed, dropping the clock and jumping up. Everything abruptly returned to normal. The blender quit. The knife, the disposal, the fan. “Oh my gosh!” I said again. “What’s going on, Stevie?” Mom asked, still dripping all over the floor. “Oh my gosh.” I ran down the hall and shut myself in my room, then stood in the middle of the floor staring down at my open hands. “Oh my gosh, this is weird. Too weird.” I threw myself on the bed and stared up at my hands again. “Beyond weird. What’s happening to me?” There was a knock at the door a few minutes later. “Stephen?” It was Dad. “Can I come in?” “Sure.” He pushed open the door and walked in with his hands deep in his pockets. Uh-oh. I’m in trouble. Dad’s got his hands in his pockets. Lecture time. “Hi, Dad. What’s up?” I tried to act normal. “Your mother told me there was a little commotion in the house this afternoon.” “Commotion?” It came out in a bit of a squeak. Dead giveaway. Guilty as charged. “Stevie?” Mom said, pushing in beside Dad. “There’s a girl at the door for you.” A GIRL? I sprang to my feet. Connie? HERE? “Excuse me,” I said, squeezing between them. Dad got the zap. She was standing just inside the door, and I had my mouth wide-open and ready with a big “Hi Connie” when she spun around. “Hi Co—uh . . . Melanie!” I glanced quickly all around the entry way and in the living room. I couldn’t help it. I even walked past her to the open door and looked out on the porch before closing it. “He’s not here. Don’t worry.” “What?” “Rodney. He’s not here.” “Oh. Right.” I breathed a big sigh of relief, and we stood there staring at each other. “OH!” I said, at last. “Come on in. Sit down.” “That’s okay, Sting. I won’t stay long.” “So . . . what’s up?” Looking at her, I was uncomfortably caught between reliving the accident and the relief of seeing her still alive, and remembering how obnoxious she usually was. Not to mention whose girlfriend she was. “I just wanted—” She glanced past me, and I turned to find Mom and Dad standing in the hallway observing. “I just wanted to thank you,” she continued, looked nervously at her hands, “for saving my life.” “Uh . . . well . . . ” I heard Mom and Dad step closer. “You did a brave thing there,” she said, “and it doesn’t look like anyone is giving you any credit.” “What brave thing did he do?” Mom asked politely, joining us in the entryway. Melanie looked at both of us in surprise. “She doesn’t know?” she asked. “Know what?” Dad asked, stepping in. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “Why don’t we go sit down,” Mom coaxed, taking Melanie by the arm and leading her into the living room. When we were all seated, Dad repeated his question. “What don’t we know, Sting?” “Well, Melanie—this is Melanie, by the way.” “Hi,” Dad responded. “Pleased,” Mom said. “Melanie was electrocuted a couple of days ago,” I explained, “by a power line that broke and fell on her at the school. She nearly died.” “Oh, my goodness,” Mom said, bringing a hand to her cheek. “And I would have,” Melanie cut in, “if it hadn’t been for Sting.” “And Dudley Do-Good,” I mumbled. “Who?” “Uh . . . the Scout kid,” I stammered. “The one that gave you mouth-to-mouth.” “I read about that this morning,” Dad said, glancing at the paper on the end table. “What does that have to do with Stevie?” Mom asked. “Well, from what I was told,” Melanie explained, “they couldn’t get my heart going—the other kids—before the paramedics got there. And I wasn’t breathing, and I guess it got a little tense there for a few minutes. Then Sting touched me and zapped me . . . and my heart started again.” “He zapped you?” Dad asked incredulously. “And started your heart? With a little bit of static?” “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “With the power line.” “What?” he asked, astonished. He looked back and forth at the two of us. “Let me explain,” I said. And I spent the next several minutes recounting everything that had happened: Watching her shaking and pulsing. Grabbing the wire with my bare hands—stupid me. Feeling the energy. Zapping her heart once, then having to recharge with the power line to do it again, and again. Finally getting a pulse. Dudley the Scout doing the breathing. The paramedics. The power company crew. It came out in one long run-on sentence, all jumbled together. I left out the part about opening her shirt. No sense embarrassing Melanie in front of my parents. During the story, Mom got a real worried look on her face, and Dad furrowed his eyes deeper and deeper as I went. And from there, it just seemed the natural thing to tell them what had happened at school with the clocks, and about the TV channels, and about all the weirdness in the kitchen with everything turning on. “I was afraid of this,” Mom said. “I just knew sooner or later it was going to be more than just little shocks on the arm. He’s going to hurt somebody.” “There’s no reason to panic,” Dad said. “I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” “Logical explanation?” I asked. “Dad, I picked up a zillion-volt power line with my bare hands. I used my fingertips like they use those paddles in the emergency room. I changed all the clocks in the whole school, for Pete’s sake. What’s so logical about that?” “We don’t know for sure about the clocks,” Dad defended. “Yes, I do.” I had to admit, I was starting to get more than a little worried myself. It was bad enough, always zapping people. That was very annoying, for sure. A real nuisance. But turning on the disposal by playing with the clock-radio? What if I’d done that when somebody had their hand in there? Mom’s right. I could hurt somebody! Mom suddenly remembered her manners and stood. “Melanie, dear. Thank you very much for dropping by.” We all stood. “I’m very sorry about your accident, and I’m glad you’ve recovered so quickly. It must have been a terrible ordeal.” “Yes, well . . . ” Mom took her by the arm and led her to the door. “And thank you for thinking of Stephen. That was very gracious. Have a good night. Take care, now.” After Melanie left, Mom leaned heavily against the closed door and just stared at me, her hands behind her back. Dad’s eyebrows had never been so furrowed. And he had his hands so deep in his pockets it was a miracle I didn’t see his fingers down by his ankles. Neither one moved. It was like they were afraid of me all of a sudden. Afraid to touch me. Afraid of what would happen if they did. Afraid they’d get electrocuted—big time. And maybe they will. How do I know? This is NOT good. “I think I’ll go to my room for awhile,” I said. “I’m not feeling very hungry.” Neither one said a word or made a move as I worked my way safely around them and down the hall. I’d never felt so alone in my whole life.


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