Chapter Twenty #2
He raises his voice a register to gain the attention of the rest of the class. “Burned right out of its socket,” he explains matter-of-factly, whilst pointing at where his right eye should be.
The class stare back with intrigue and disgust.
“The light we yield is very powerful. The healers could not rebuild my eye, so I have to live with the consequence.”
He flicks the glasses back down so they are covering his eyes again. “I cannot reinforce this enough…do not look directly at your lights for too long. The light of the sun is amazing, but its fire is fierce and deadly… I learnt the hard way so you don’t have to.”
Noted. I definitely won’t be staring too deeply at my light again. I know my eyes are already weird and different, but I’d much rather them be mismatched than gone altogether.
“Oh shit!”
We all swing in unison towards a frantic Trina, who is swearing uncontrollably whilst trying to pat out the blaze that has ignited her hair. The flames dance over each lock and crackle as they burn. Trina is still flapping but struggles to put the fire out.
“PUT IT OUT… PUT IT OUT!” Trina cries in desperation as the flames climb further up the length of her long brown hair.
Mr Herringford sincerely apologises before tipping his glass of water over her head.
Her hair hisses and crackles as the water extinguishes the inferno.
Trina is fuming. I think she would’ve taken out Mr Herringford’s other eye if he hadn’t just saved her from being eaten by the hungry flames.
The classroom now smells strongly of singed hair and smoke, and Trina slumps in her chair.
Her hair is damp and dishevelled, with each singed strand a different length.
It’s going to take more than one visit to the hairdresser to fix that.
She catches me gawking, and I quickly look away.
Alex has been surprisingly quiet through this whole ordeal and just sits quietly in his chair. I guess he can’t really pass judgement when everyone watched him flail in a fiery inferno last week. They all think he lost control of his power and set himself ablaze. But now I know better.
“Trina has just demonstrated very well what can happen when you break your concentration. As you all saw, hair is a great conduit for the flames; all it takes is one strand to come into contact with an orb and ‘poof’,” Mr Herringford says, motioning an eruption with his hands.
“My advice is to tie all long hair back and refrain from wearing any loose clothing whilst you are getting the hang of your Gifts.”
He shoots Trina a warm smile and she sinks deeper into her chair, clearly embarrassed by the whole event.
I look down at the hairband around my left wrist. I always keep one on me just in case I need to swoop my hair out of my face, which is often with curls as crazy as mine.
I pull it off my wrist. I hold it in my right hand and cradle it between my fingers, stretching it out as I normally do, beginning to gather my hair into a low ponytail.
I try to wrap the band around it, but my hand spasms a little, making the hair band ping out of my grasp.
I lean down under the table to pick it back up in pursuit of making my head less flammable.
My right hand tingles again, but I ignore it and scoop the elasticated band from the wooden floor.
I sit up to begin the process again. I open my hand, but the hairband I just picked up is gone.
Confused, I look down at the floor again, where the band lay just a second ago…
but there is nothing there. My right hand jolts again, and a black glow swirls on my palm.
I panic and swiftly close my hand into a fist before anyone sees it, concealing it under my desk.
“Not now,” I mutter to myself in frustration. I gulp and fidget in my seat. My heart is beating so loudly in my chest, I am conscious of the others hearing it.
The tingling sensation floods back to my hand, and I feel a deep pressure in my palm.
The table begins to vibrate, and I have to press it hard into the floor with my left hand to stifle its tremors.
No one has noticed its subtle shaking yet, but the quakes are becoming more frantic, and I can feel more power brewing.
I need to do something fast. I keep my fist closed tight, hoping not to draw any unwanted attention to myself, but the table is still shaking, and I don’t think I can hold it down any longer.
‘Breathe, Asha.’ Oriah’s voice soothes me and calms me down instantly.
I do as she says and take three controlled deep breaths.
The pressure slowly begins to dissipate, and the table stops shaking.
I take a peek at my hand under the table and reluctantly pry each finger open one by one, making sure the darkness has retired.
I am relieved to see the familiar skin of my empty palm.
I place my hand back on the table and decide to bide my time and wait for the bell to ring.
I think I have practised enough for one day.
I reach out for the pen that was sitting on my desk at the start of the class.
That’s strange. It’s gone too. Could this day get any weirder?