"I'm doing fine," I answered with a smile. I glanced over at April, who was lingering behind, her hands stuck into her jacket pockets. April was a striking black woman with brightly dyed red hair. She was tall, with broad shoulders and a very flat chest. I was admiring her yellow jacket as she stood there, nodding her head at me. I nodded back in response, as I never really spoke with April on a regular basis.

"You need to tell me what happened, I've heard too many rumors. It's all freaking crazy," Irma said, pulling my attention away from April.

"Yeah, it's all kinda unreal," I responded, glancing over at my grandfather. He was still at the front of the store, chatting with the owner Mr. Clarke. Immediately, Irma's gaze locked onto my silver streak. She reached out to touch it as if she didn't believe it was real.

"What's up with this?"

"Ah, well..."

I wasn't sure how to explain my streak. The doctors thought it might have been from shock due to my incident, but I didn't think getting sliced with a knife really warranted such a shock. Logically, my classmate turning into a giant monster would have been a better reason. Except I had seen it happen once before, to my homeroom teacher and it didn't shock me white then. I was at a loss.

Irma was staring at me, waiting for an explanation.

"I don't know, it just kinda showed up," I admitted. "Maybe I'm just getting old."

"I've never seen a gray streak like this before," Irma scoffed, attempting to pull it out of my braid. "It looks so silver, it almost glitters." I stiffened slightly as she touched it.

"Babe, maybe she doesn't want to talk about it," April chided softly, placing a hand on Irma's shoulder. Irma pulled away, apologizing for her forwardness.

I shook my head, looking over at the boxes of dyes on the shelf. "Actually if you can help me figure out which dye to use, I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure, what color do you want?"

"Just black," I insisted.

Irma made a face. "Boo, that's boring! Go purple or pink. Oh, unless you like blue?"

"My school would kick me out for sure," I laughed. I was already in trouble for so many unexcused absences that I was skating on thin ice as it was.

Irma seemed somewhat deflated by my lack of enthusiasm for the brighter color but helped me pick out a good permanent black dye anyway. As we parted ways she made me promise to hang out with her at her booth during the next farmers market or sometime later. I watched as April and she walked away, hand in hand, smiling as they went.

Grandpa snuck up on me, asking me if I was ready to check out. I yelped out a 'no' and ran frantically down the aisle grabbing a few last-minute essentials before we paid. The owner, Mr. Clarke, glanced nervously at my arm and a wave of pity rolled over me.

I guess now would be a great time to explain another talent of mine. Something I have kept a close secret until recently. I have the ability to sense other people's emotions. The power itself is kinda hit or miss and it doesn't work on everyone. I found over the years that some people were just better at concealing themselves than others, but touch did make it easier. An overabundance of emotions from a person at times will cause me to mirror their feelings. This meant I would burst into tears or get irritated at strange times in my life, and I still do.

I gave Mr. Clarke a strained smile before grabbing the bag of purchases. We stored the bag in the truck before walking down the street to the local diner, a place called Zoe's. It was another hole-in-the-wall location, where the booths were too small and they had tables crammed any place they could get them. The food was simple but good and I always ended up getting a burger as I was a creature of habit. Since it was late afternoon the lunch rush was gone and we had the place to ourselves. Grandpa was so large that he could only sit at the table closest to the window, pushing the tabletop back a few extra inches for good measure. He would grumble to our waitress, Maggie, each time and she would just shake her head. As I ate my burger I could feel the stares of people passing through the diner, and the employees themselves.

It feels like the whole town knows what happened, I thought. Yet they would never know the whole story.

The schools were letting out as we left the diner, slowing down traffic until we got to the outskirts of town. We traveled down the main road until I saw the familiar hills leading up to our farm. The large old-fashioned sign reading 'Hartmann Farms' was a welcoming sight.

I was out of the truck and hovering at the back door to our house in mere moments, excited to be back home. Grandpa laughed as I rushed inside, taking in a deep breath so I could experience all of the familiar scents in our kitchen. It was filled with the most amazing spices and plants, something I missed while in that sterile hospital.

"Hello kitchen, hello living room," I called out, spinning around in a slow circle.

"I'm sure if the house could talk it would say hello back," Grandpa said.

I smirked at him, taking off my brand-new winter coat. The last one had been slashed and soaked in my blood and then the EMTs had cut it off when I got to the emergency room, so it was no more. Its replacement was a deep charcoal gray with princess seams, large black toggles, and a thick hood with a fuzzy lining.

"You know, with how things are going in my life, I wouldn't be surprised if the house could talk," I joked, putting up my coat.

Grandpa huffed out a laugh, walking down to my room to deposit my duffel bag, which had traveled to the hospital at some point. I gathered all of the dirty clothes, throwing them into the laundry before returning to my room. Mine was the master bedroom in this small farmhouse, given to me by my grandfather upon moving in. At the time it was because he claimed he didn't need the space, but I found out later it was because as an earth elemental, he preferred to sleep outside in or near the ground.

Calling my bedroom eclectic would be an understatement. None of my furniture matched, the walls were covered in all sorts of art, photography, and pieces of fabric I found appealing. A string of fairy lights danced around the posts of my bed, always giving my room a soft glow. The ceiling was covered in cheap glow-in-the-dark stars and moons, which long ago lost their glow due to age. I had at least five pillows on my bed at all times, all my favorite, each more different than the last. The best part of my room was the glass doors leading to the balcony, which had a comfy armchair sitting in front of it. From that spot, I could see the pond and the forest. It was my favorite place for reading beside the living room loft. There was a folding screen near the balcony doors, covered in all sorts of scarves and purses I never used. My computer sat in the far corner near the bed, silent as it had been turned off, I'm sure, at some point during one of our many power outages. Our tiny farmhouse didn't have the best wiring but we made do. On stormy nights there were more than a few times that we had to eat dinner by candlelight before someone from the power company came out to fix the wires leading to our house.

I flopped down on my bed, smacking my injured arm a little too harshly. I groaned and I hoped I hadn't busted any of my stitches, trying to ignore the stinging pain. I reached out to hug my plush shark and favorite alternate pillow, rolling over to my side as I did. It felt so good to be home. I just wanted to stay here forever, but I knew that tomorrow I would have to face all my fellow classmates and go to school. Only seven more months until freedom.

I curled up with my plushy, burying my face into its soft fuzzy fabric. I was about to doze off when I heard a voice calling my name.

"Diana!"

I sat up, rubbing the small bit of drool from the corner of my mouth. "In here!"