Now, if I had magnetic powers, I could have used that to repel against the earth’s magnetic field. That would have been cool.
“Back to the drawing board.” I took the ice off my knee and stood.
Pops didn’t question me, even though we both knew I needed a break from working on this project. It was a hard task for me when I was in the zone. Some people would call it an advantage to obsess on things with absolute focus, but sometimes it sucked when you haven’t eaten anything in over a day and needed sleep. Once I found something that had the highest percentage to work, I would finally rest.
Turns out that break came two hours and twelve minutes later.
I had the plans for a getaway motorcycle that would form from a backpack that would attach to my suit.
The use of my power and magnets made the creation of this instant motorcycle possible. It would run off the constant attracting and repelling of the magnets, with my power giving it a speed boost. Every calculation in my head pointed to this being the perfect solution to my getaway problem. It would be quick and quiet. Perfect for me, who liked to avoid attention.
Magnetic engines were becoming an accepted theory for cars for the future; why not create the future now?
“All right, let’s go home.” Pops, who was sitting on the desk drawing a more muscular and taller version of himself, looked up and stood to latch onto me, so we could leave.
“You should probably stop and get something to eat before arriving at the apartment. You’ll be too tired to cook anything and shouldn’t pass out on an empty stomach.”
He was right. It was eight in the morning, so breakfast sounded good, and I’m sure he did a body scan after touching me and could read that I was hungry.
“Pancakes sound good.”
Thankfully there was a small diner by my home. The people who worked there were nice and didn’t try to push me too much by over socializing with me. It was a place I felt comfortable in, and no one looked at me like how they did elsewhere…like I was a freak.
“There’s my girl. Been working hard all night again, haven’t you?” Ruby, one of two waitresses on staff right now smiled at me as I walked through the door. She was my favorite waitress.
“Yeah.” I looked down the black-and-white checkerboard tiles on the floor and counted the squares as I walked to my favorite booth. It was empty, as it always was at this time of day. The early morning rush had come and gone. There wouldn’t be many people in here for another thirty minutes. The diner at its best could only fit maybe thirty people in it anyway. Which was fine for me.
Ruby came by to ask what I wanted from the menu, curious if I would switch up my routine, but I never did. Hot chocolate, with a small glass of water on the side, and blueberry pancakes. With two slices of crispy bacon.
She smiled big, and it made me feel warm inside.
Ruby had once told me her life story when I was here, and she’d had a bad day. Single mom of one teenaged girl, she was working to the bone to make sure her baby could go to any college she wanted. Her daughter would sit at the retro bar where they made the food to do her homework sometimes when I was here. Ruby had no one but herself and her daughter, but she was a happy woman. I admired her positive attitude, even though I didn’t understand her jokes.
“Mind if I join you?”
My body tensed, knowing that the male voice I heard was talking to me.
I looked to the man standing next to the booth, who then nodded his head toward the empty seat in front of me.
Did he have a nervous tick?
Maybe he was stretching his neck?
“He wants to sit with you,” Pops whispered into my ear from the opposite side the man was standing.
“Why do you wanna sit with me?”
No one ever wanted to sit with me. Well, besides Ruby, and sometimes their weird busboy Jet, who I’m pretty sure wanted me sexually.
“Why not?” The man smiled, and something about those flashy white teeth and perfect pink lips around them made me feel warm inside—a different type of warm than what Ruby gave me.
“I could be a murderer.” Well, he asked, and that was a perfectly reasonable response.
“At least I’ll have a good last meal before you murder me then.” He sat down, and I simply watched him do it, trying to understand what was happening right now. Of course, instead of saying something, I just continued to stare at him.
He was handsome, which was not a word I gave out to men easily.
His hair was a light brown color and was very messy, like he just woke up and threw some clothes on. I guess the bedhead look worked for him. His body was like one I’d see on a men’s beach volleyball team during the Olympics: Broad shoulders and chest covered in a soft-looking gray shirt.
