Friday arrived with the typical heaviness of year-ends in Forks, wrapped in a mist that seemed to want to silence the noise of the high school. For me, however, the world felt sharper. After Thursday's training, I felt as though my consciousness occupied more space than usual; my senses were alert, catching the drip of water in the pipes and the brush of students' clothes in the hallways with an almost painful clarity.
But I determined that this would be a normal day. A truce before Saturday.
In History class, the atmosphere felt charged. Jasper was already there, sitting with that military uprightness that characterized him, looking straight ahead, but with a tension in his shoulders that betrayed that he knew perfectly well when I stepped through the door. I sat down beside him, feeling that comforting cold that his presence always seemed to emanate.
"Hi, Jasper," I said in a low voice, while taking out my books.
He turned his head slowly. His golden eyes met mine, analytical and deep.
"Mael," he responded with that velvety tone that always made the hair on my neck stand up.
"I wanted to... I wanted to apologize for the other day," I blurted out, scratching the back of my neck nervously. "I know you tried to talk to me and I basically ignored you. It wasn't personal. My mind was still processing the accident and... I wasn't mentally there to be good company. I was somewhere else."
Jasper nodded with an almost inhuman parsimony. His features relaxed by a millimeter, which, in his body language, was almost like a grin from ear to ear.
"I understand," he said, and for the first time, I felt that his voice wasn't just a growl, but something empathetic. "I could feel it. You were... scattered. How are you doing today?"
"Much better," I replied, and this time it wasn't a lie. "Thanks to yesterday's rest, the headache is finally gone. I no longer feel like my skull is a battlefield."
He nodded again and focused on the class. During the next forty minutes, I forced myself to pay an almost maniacal attention to the teacher. I took notes, underlined dates, and analyzed maps. I knew that if I let my guard down, my mind would drift toward the blue "spark" or, worse yet, toward the images of Jasper that my subconscious had manufactured the night before. But despite my efforts, I couldn't help stealing subtle glances at him. I observed the curve of his jaw, the way his long fingers held the pen without moving, and the intensity with which he seemed to listen to things no one else heard.
Lunch was the perfect reminder of why I preferred the silence of the forest. I sat with Bella and the usual group: Mike, Jessica, Angela, and Eric. The topic of conversation was the Spring Ball, and the energy they gave off was exhausting.
"I have to find the perfect dress!" Jessica exclaimed, gesturing with a slice of pizza in her hand. "Mike, have you thought about the color of your tie yet?"
I dedicated myself to eating in silence, ignoring the noise and the adolescent drama. I just wanted the carbohydrates to give me the energy needed to finish the day. Bella, for her part, was in her own world. She toyed with a piece of apple, moving it from one side of the tray to the other while her gaze was lost at the Cullens' table—specifically on Edward.
That look of mystical longing, of "please look at me and disintegrate me with your eyes," was starting to tire me out. It was a crush so thick you could almost chew it. I felt like the only adult in a nursery of people obsessed with romance and tulle.
"Thank God," I thought when the bell finally roared, freeing me from the talk of lace and my sister's eternal sighing.
The last class was Art. Barely had I set foot in the classroom when a blurry, colorful smudge lunged toward me. Before I could react, Alice's arms encircled me in a quick, light hug, as if it were a gust of wind scented with citrus.
"Mael! I was so worried," she said as she pulled away, looking at me with hazel eyes filled with vibrant emotion. "Jasper told me you were better, but I had to see it for myself."
"I'm fine, Alice. Really. The worst is over," I said, feeling that her happiness was so contagious that it was impossible for me to maintain my mask of apathy.
"We can postpone the thing with Esme until next week if you want," she suggested, tilting her head sweetly. "She will understand that you need time to fully recover."
"No," I replied immediately, surprising myself. "I'm fine. I want to go. I don't want to delay it any longer."
Alice's face lit up in an almost celestial way. Her eyes sparkled and she gave me a smile so wide that I felt a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. But, treacherously, my mind—that part of me that now seemed to have a life of its own—remembered the fantasy from the night before. I remembered Alice without clothes, I remembered her hands... and suddenly, the butterflies decided to migrate from my stomach toward lower areas of my body.
I cleared my throat abruptly, feeling a violent heat rising up my neck. I focused with desperate intensity on my easel, grabbing the charcoal as if my life depended on it. I drew shadows, lines, and textures, trying to bury the desire under layers of art. Alice seemed to notice my sudden change in mood, but she attributed it to my usual shyness.
At the end of class, while I was packing up my supplies, I felt recovered enough from the embarrassment to say goodbye properly.
"Hey, Alice," I said, pulling a small piece of paper from my pocket where I had written down my number. "Here. Text me when you're heading to my house tomorrow. That way I'll be ready."
She took the paper with a delicate gesture, her fingers brushing mine for a millisecond that felt like an electric shock.
"I'll write to you, I promise," she said, winking at me before disappearing down the hall with that supernatural grace.
I walked toward the Chevy where Bella was already waiting for me. Friday was over, thank God for that.
The atmosphere in the Swan house felt charged with a static electricity that only I seemed to perceive. As soon as we parked the Chevy in front of the porch, I got out almost without a word to Bella. She looked at me with that mixture of suspicion and curiosity that set my nerves on edge, but I was already on another plane. I needed isolation. I needed silence.
I took the stairs two at a time, locked myself in my room, and turned the bolt. The sound of the metal clicking into place was the starting pistol.
I sat in the center of the room, on the floor, crossing my legs. I closed my eyes and, this time, there was no hesitation. I summoned the blue "spark" in the center of my mind with the familiarity of someone turning on a known lamp. The energy flowed, filling my shoulders, my arms, and finally, erupting from my pores like an invisible tide.
I felt the membrane surrounding me. It was there, two centimeters from my skin, vibrating with astounding fidelity. But today I didn't just want maintenance. Today I wanted space.
I visualized the barrier as a bubble of flexible but unbreakable glass. I began to push.
"More," I whispered through gritted teeth.
The membrane stretched. Three centimeters. Four. I felt the pressure inside my head increase, a familiar sting that began at the base of my skull and spread toward my temples. I didn't stop. I pushed the energy with the mental image of a controlled explosion. The shield reached ten centimeters away from my body.
The pain was immediate and violent. It was as if someone were trying to inflate a steel balloon inside my brain. My teeth chattered from the tension and my hands began to shake. But I saw it: the distortion in the air was now large enough to be a real defense, a security perimeter that no one could ignore.
I maintained the expansion for ten seconds that felt like hours. The effort made me break into a cold sweat, and the metallic taste of blood reappeared in my throat. I retracted the energy all at once, letting it return to its core. I was left panting, my forehead resting on my knees, waiting for the mental earthquake to cease. I had done it. I had expanded my territory a little more. Every time I was getting stronger, even if the price was an exhaustion that left my soul raw.
After half an hour of recovery, I got up and washed my face with cold water. I had to go back to being "normal" Mael Swan. I sat at my desk and opened my backpack. Yesterday I had missed important classes and I couldn't allow my grades to drop; I didn't want to give Charlie any reason to investigate my extracurricular activities.
I pulled out the Literature and History books. I reviewed the notes Angela had discreetly passed me at the end of the day. I focused on the literary analysis assignments, breaking down texts with a mental speed that surprised me. It seemed that the opening of my psychic abilities had also streamlined my cognitive processes. Topics that used to take me hours were now resolved in minutes.
I did my calculus homework, solved the history quizzes, and finished a brief essay on Renaissance architecture. By six in the evening, I was caught up. My mind felt clean, sharp, ready for the challenge of the following day.
I went downstairs just as Bella was taking some vegetables out of the fridge with a face like she didn't know where to start. I leaned against the kitchen doorframe, crossing my arms.
"Leave that, Bells," I said with a small smile. "Today is my turn. You've had enough of putting up with Mike Newton and his theories about the ball all day."
Bella let out a sigh of genuine relief and handed me the knife she had intended to attack an onion with.
"Thanks, Mael. Really. My head is about to explode with all this talk of dresses."
"Go rest or read that copy of Wuthering Heights for the tenth time," I teased gently. "I'll take care of the stew."
She smiled at me, gave my arm a squeeze, and went up to her room. I was left alone in the kitchen, with the sound of the rain tapping softly against the glass. I began to cook with an almost meditative calm. Chopping the meat, dicing the potatoes, seasoning with rosemary and pepper... every movement was a way to anchor myself to physical reality after having been playing with invisible forces in my room.
When Charlie arrived, the aroma of the hot stew flooded the house. The three of us had dinner, sharing light anecdotes. Charlie seemed happy to see the two of us calm and, for one night, Tuesday's accident seemed to belong to the remote past.
However, while I was scrubbing the dishes after dinner, I felt my phone vibrate in my pants pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the screen. An unknown number.
"Just to confirm... I'll pick you up at ten. Bring your favorite pencils, Esme is very excited. See you tomorrow! —Alice"
I felt my heart skip a beat. The butterflies woke up again, and with them, the memory of my training in the forest and the fantasy in my bed. Tomorrow wouldn't just be a work meeting.