Free Awash in Talent by Jessica Knauss

anything other than my stupid patch.
    Melinda’s act was hard to follow and I didn’t notice what anyone else said, so when it came to me, it still seemed like I had to compare myself to platinum. I covered my mouth to muffle the name of my fire-dampening element, but Todd said, “What was that? Say it again.”
    “My name is Kelly,” I repeated, putting my diaphragm into it. “And my kryptonite is sulfur.” I wondered if I’d started a blaze on my face. I couldn’t feel my cheeks as I smiled, bracing myself. It was the same sinking, sick feeling I had with Uncle Jack a month ago. The laughter bubbled under the surface. I could feel it coming.
    “Fire, but not brimstone,” Melinda said in a way that questioned the possibility.
    Then it started. Todd snorted and the teacher, Ms. Matheson, barked a laugh over the snickering that was growing so sinisterly in volume. She clapped her hands over her mouth and composed herself to say, “There is no shame in any kryptonite. Hush. Quiet! My weakness is lead.”
    She reached into her purse beside her—I’d thought she was just kind of weird to keep her purse with her in this situation—and pulled out a key ring with no keys attached to it, but several irregularly shaped rocks that must have been made of lead. She certainly hefted it as if it weighed a ton. “I can’t wear lead against my skin because it would poison me like a regular person, in addition to taking my pyrokinesis away.”
    The laughter died down with the new distraction. I thought of getting up and walking out, but Ms. Matheson continued and I had to hear. “I have to carry these pieces of lead with me at all times so I can get to them in an emergency, like a diabetic or something. I can’t even put this charm as far away from me as the conveyor belt when I go through airport security. Believe me, that can add to the difficulties of a trip.” Then she smiled so sweet and silly at all the newbies, they had to chuckle.
    I loved Ms. Matheson then. She looked at me and I could tell that was exactly what she wanted—a new friend from among the outcasts. She must be a weirdo in her life, too, with no friends her own age. I looked away and stayed quiet, hoping no one would remember me for the rest of the orientation. When Todd and Ms. Matheson finished explaining about curfews and hall passes and field trips, I stood up as slowly as I could, my every movement calling attention, in my mind, anyway, and slipped out. Without a hall pass.
    I hid in the girls’ locker room, pretending I belonged there whenever a class came in to move things in and out of lockers and put on sweat pants. Maybe the leftover humiliation is what gives me a nervous stomach whenever I head off to PE now. Eventually, I checked my phone and it was 4:45, which I’d already noticed was the opening time for the dining hall. I followed the last group of students out of the locker room and fell into the line with the trays, then the silverware (how are you supposed to know what to take before you’ve selected any food?), then the soup station, salad bar, entrees, build your own stir fry (I felt nervous and puzzled by the use of open flame here), dessert cart, and beverages. I was overwhelmed with choices and the tray was preposterously heavy when I turned toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the dining area. I considered dropping everything and running away when I saw that the tables were built for just two diners, and they were all occupied in that manner. Then I noticed the group I’d come in with and my heart danced. Those eight students had pushed four tables together, boldly asserting their right to change their environment. There was space on the end of their conglomeration, so I marched right up to it and slammed my tray down—because my arms were shaking with the weight, not because I thought it would be a friendly thing to do.
    All eight of them looked from the source of the clatter to my hands, and upward along my T-shirt to