Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25 (Book 1)
Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25: Part 1 – Chapter 7

If you’ve ever had a black eye, you’ll know what my day was like. Everyone just stared at me like I was a freak or something. By the end of the day I was walking with my head down and my eyes partially covered by a copy of the school paper—the Meridian Warwhoop. Still, the day wasn’t all bad. I didn’t see Mr. Dallstrom once, and there was no sign of Jack or his friends. I figured I had probably scared them off for at least a few days.

As I walked into biology, my last class of the day, I noticed Taylor Ridley staring at me. I ignored her gaze and sat down.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t look at her. As usual my tics started.

She leaned toward me. “Michael.”

I didn’t even know that she knew my name.

The tardy bell rang and Mr. Poulsen began walking up and down the rows of desks, handing out our tests.

“People, today’s test comprises one-fifth of your final grade, so you don’t want to rush it. I want complete silence. N’er a word. You know the penalty for cheating, so I won’t elaborate, except to remind you that it’s an automatic F and an unpleasant visit to Mr. Dallstrom.” (Is there any other kind? I thought.) Mr. Poulsen walked to the front of the classroom. “When you’re done with your tests, bring them to me, then go back to your desks and sit quietly.”

I could see Ostin squirming in front of me, happy as a pig in mud. He loved tests. Sometimes, for fun, he’d download them from the Internet and quiz himself. Clearly something was wrong with him. I pulled out my pencil and began.

Which definition best describes a chromatid?

Protein/DNA complex making the chromosome

Molecules of DNA with specific proteins responsible in eukaryotes for storage and transmission of genetic information

Five kinds of proteins forming complexes with eukaryotic DNA

Each of a pair of identical DNA molecules after DNA replication, joined at the centromere

D, I thought. D? Or is it A? I was mulling over my answer when a folded piece of paper landed on my desk. I unfolded it.

How did you do that?

I glanced around to see who had thrown it. Taylor was looking at me.

I wrote back, Do what?

I looked up at Poulsen, who was at his desk reading a book, then threw the note back. Within seconds the note was on my desk again.

You know. I saw you do something to those boys.

I sent her another note.

I didn’t do anything.

Taylor wrote back.

You can trust me.

I was writing another denial when I heard Mr. Poulsen clear his throat. I looked up. He was standing at the top of my row, staring at me.

“Mr. Vey. Those notes wouldn’t have something to do with the test we’re working on?”

I swallowed. “No, sir.”

“Then you picked the wrong time to share your feelings with Miss Ridley.”

I blushed while the class laughed. He walked toward me. I was blinking like crazy. “I think I was quite explicit about the rules. Hand me that note.” I looked down at the paper. I couldn’t give it to him. If he read it aloud everyone would know.

“Wait,” Taylor said. “He didn’t do anything. I was the one passing notes.”

He looked at Taylor and his expression changed from stern disciplinarian to gentle educator. I think even he had a crush on her. “What did you say, Miss Ridley?”

“I wrote the notes, not Michael.”

He looked at Taylor in disbelief. She was the model student, incapable of such a shameful act. Then, while he was looking at her, Taylor did the strangest thing. She smiled at Mr. Poulsen with a confident smile, then cocked her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. Suddenly Mr. Poulsen looked confused, like a man who had just been awakened from a nap. He blinked several times, then looked at Taylor and smiled. “Excuse me, what was I saying?”

“You said we have forty minutes left on our tests,” Taylor said.

He rubbed his forehead. “Right. Thank you, Taylor.” He turned back toward the class. “Everyone keep at it. You have forty minutes left.” He walked back to his desk while everyone in our class looked back and forth at each other in amazement. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I looked back at Taylor.

“You can trust me,” she mouthed.

It took me the whole class to finish the test. In fact, I ran out of time on the last three questions and just randomly circled letters. Ostin had finished the whole thing in less than fifteen minutes and strutted to the front of the room to turn in his test, unaware that the rest of the class was staring daggers at his back. For the rest of the period I could hear him sneaking cheese puffs from his backpack.

After the bell rang, Ostin and I walked out to our lockers.

“Man, that test was cake,” Ostin said. “I can’t wait for the next one.”

“You’re a freak,” I said.

Suddenly Taylor grabbed my arm. “Michael, we need to talk.”

“No we don’t,” I said. I kept walking, leaving her standing there.

Ostin looked at me in amazement. “Dude, that was Taylor Ridley you just brushed off.”

I looked at him. “So?”

He smiled. “That was so cool.”

Taylor ran in front of me and stopped. She looked at Ostin. “Excuse us, please.”

“Sure,” Ostin said, looking thrilled that Taylor had spoken to him.

After he’d taken a few steps back, she turned to me. “Please.”

“I can’t,” I replied.

“I need to know,” Taylor said. “I really, really need to know.”

I just looked at her. “What did you do to Mr. Poulsen?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, mimicking what I’d written to her on the note.

“You did something,” I said. “I saw it.”

“Really? Well, so did you.”

“Nothing I can tell you about.”

“Michael, please. It’s important.” She grimaced. “I’m begging.”

“Dude, she’s begging,” Ostin said, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to be listening.

Taylor turned to him. “Excuse me,” she said sharply.

Ostin wilted beneath her gaze. “Sorry.” This time he crossed to the opposite side of the hall.

I looked at her for a moment, then said, “I’d get killed for telling you.”

“No one will ever know. I promise.” She crossed her chest with her finger. “Cross my heart.”

I looked over at Ostin, who was still pretending not to listen. He shook his head.

Taylor looked at him, then back at me and sighed. “Michael, I really need to know. I promise, I’ll never tell anyone.” She leaned in closer. “I’ll even tell you my secret.” She just stood there, staring at me the way Ostin stared at jelly doughnuts. Then she put her hand on my arm. “Please, Michael. It’s more important than you can possibly imagine.”

She looked so desperate I wasn’t sure what to do. Finally I said, “I couldn’t tell you here anyway.”

“We can go to my place,” she said quickly. “I live just down the street. No one’s home.”

Ostin looked at me in amazement. I could guess what he was thinking. Dude, Taylor Ridley just invited you to her house!

“I can’t,” I said. “I have after-school detention.”

“That’s okay, I’ll wait for you,” she said eagerly.

“Don’t you have cheerleading or something?”

“Only on Mondays and Wednesdays. And Fridays if there’s a game.” She looked deeply into my eyes. “Please.”

Saying no to the girl you have a crush on is hard enough, especially when she’s begging, but I had also run out of excuses. I exhaled loudly in surrender. “Where do you want to meet?”

Taylor smiled. “I’ll just go with you.”

“To detention?”

“I don’t think they’ll try to keep me out, do you?”

“I don’t know. No one ever tries to get into detention. It’s like breaking into jail.”

Taylor smiled. “Then I guess we’ll replace out.”

“Hey,” said Ostin, who had inched his way back into our conversation. “What about me?”

Taylor looked at him. “What about you?”

“I’m Michael’s best friend. Ostin,” he said, eagerly putting out his hand. Taylor just looked at him.

“He’s my friend,” I said.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I want to come with you guys.”

“We can trust him,” I said.

She looked him over, then turned back to me. “Sorry, but I can’t.”

I looked at Ostin and shrugged. “Sorry, man.”

He frowned. “All right. See you guys later.”

As Ostin walked away, Taylor turned to me. “Let’s go, you delinquent.”

We walked down the hall together, something I never thought would happen in a million years. I wondered if Taylor might be afraid to be seen walking with me—like her popularity quotient might fall a point or two (I wasn’t sure how that worked), but she didn’t seem to care. She must have said “Hi” about a hundred times between my locker and detention. As usual I felt invisible.

As we walked into the lunchroom Ms. Johnson looked at Taylor quizzically. Taylor was one of those students who was always the teacher’s pet: perfect citizenship, always got her homework done, raised her hand to speak, never a cause of trouble. I once overheard a teacher say, “If only I could have a classroom of Taylors.”

“Do you need something, Taylor?” Ms. Johnson asked.

“No, Ms. Johnson. I’m here for detention.”

“I’m surprised to hear that.” Ms. Johnson looked down at her clipboard. “I don’t have you on my list.”

“I know. I didn’t get in trouble or anything. I’m just waiting for my friend Michael.”

Ms. Johnson nodded. “That’s very kind of you, being supportive of a friend, but detention isn’t a place to hang out.”

Taylor just looked at her with her big, soft brown eyes. “Please? I really think I can help him change his ways.”

I turned and looked at her.

Ms. Johnson smiled. “Well, if you really want to help, I don’t see why not. But you can’t sit together. We can’t have talking.”

Taylor flashed a smile. “That’s okay, Ms. Johnson. I’ve got a lot of homework to catch up on.” She waved to me. “Be good.” She sat down at Ms. Johnson’s table, grinning at me.

I’m pretty sure that Taylor was the happiest person to ever go to detention. Frankly, I wasn’t hating it too much myself. I couldn’t believe that the best-looking girl at school was in detention waiting for me. The lunchroom was at least ten times more crowded than the day before, which meant that there was either a sudden outbreak of misbehaving, or Mr. Dallstrom had had a bad day. I was about to sit at the end of a long table near the back wall of the cafeteria when someone said, “Not there, tickerhead.”

I looked up. Cody Applebaum, a six-foot ninth grader, was walking toward the table, sneering at me. “That’s my side of the table.”

I had no idea what a tickerhead was. “Whatever,” I said. I walked to the opposite end of the table and sat down. I opened my algebra book, unfolded the day’s worksheet, and began doing my homework. About five minutes into my studying something hard hit me in the head. I looked up at Cody, who was laughing. He had a handful of marbles.

“Knock it off,” I said, rubbing my head.

“Knock it off,” he mimicked. “Puny wimp. Go tell your mama.”

Sometimes I felt like I was wearing a sign that said PICK ON ME.

I went back to my book. A few seconds later another marble hit me in the head. I looked up. Cody was now leaning against the wall on the back two legs of his chair. He raised his fist and bared his teeth like an angry baboon.

“Stop it,” I said.

“Make me.”

I went back to my studying. Less than a minute later another marble hit me in the head. As I looked up, I noticed a metal trim that ran along the wall where Cody was leaning.

I don’t know why I did it—maybe I was still feeling great from finally putting Jack in his place, maybe it was the obnoxious smirk on Applebaum’s face, or maybe it was that I was showing off for Taylor. But, most likely, it was the culmination of too many years of being bullied. Whatever the reason, I was done with playing the victim. I slowly reached back and touched the trim behind me and pulsed. Cody let out a loud yelp and fell back off his chair, smacking his head against the wall, then the floor. When Ms. Johnson stood up to see what had happened, Applebaum was lying on his back rubbing the back of his head.

“Cody! Quit screwing around.”

He looked up from the ground. “Something shocked me.”

“Right, Cody. I saw you leaning back on your chair,” Ms. Johnson said. “One more outburst like that and I’m adding two days to your detention.”

Cody climbed back into his chair. “Sorry, Ms. Johnson.”

I looked over at Taylor. She was looking at me, slowly shaking her head. I shrugged.

Ms. Johnson let us out early again. On the way out of the cafeteria, Taylor said, “Nice spending time with you, Ms. Johnson.”

“You too, Taylor.” Ms. Johnson glanced over at me. “Hopefully your behavior will rub off on some of the other students.”

“I hope so,” she said.

Taylor laughed when we were out of the cafeteria. “Stick with me, Vey, maybe my behavior will rub off on you.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. Actually I was happy to stick with her, but for other reasons.

As we walked down the hall, Taylor asked, “What did you do to Cody?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Same ‘nothing’ you did to Jack and his gang?”

I grinned. “Maybe.”

“Whatever you’re doing, you shouldn’t do it in public like that.”

“You should talk. Besides, Cody started it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Taylor said.

I turned to her. “It does to me. I’m sick of being picked on and doing nothing about it.” I opened the door for her, and we walked out of the school.

“I know. But if you keep doing it, someone’s going to figure it out.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

We walked toward the back of the schoolyard. “Where do you live?” I asked.

“It’s just through that fence over there and two houses down. So, tell me about the other day when Jack was picking on you.”

“You have to first tell me what you did to Mr. Poulsen.”

Taylor nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell you when we get to my house.”

Taylor’s house was a tan rambler with plastic pink flamingoes in the front yard and a small grove of aspens on the side. She took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

“No one’s home,” she said. She stepped inside, and I followed her. The house was tidy and nice, bigger than our apartment, but not by much. There was a large wood-framed picture of her family above the living room fireplace. She had two older brothers. Everyone in Taylor’s family had blond hair and blue eyes except Taylor.

“Where’s your family?”

“My parents are at work. My brothers are in college. I usually only see them on weekends.”

“Where do your parents work?”

“My mom works for a travel agency that does educational tours for high school students. My father’s a police officer.” Taylor turned on the lights and led me to the kitchen. “Want some juice or something?”

“No thanks.”

“Go ahead and sit down.”

I sat down at the kitchen bar while she looked inside the fridge. I put my hand over my right eye, which was fluttering like a moth’s wing.

“How about some lemonade?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She poured us both a glass then sat down next to me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why do you blink like that?”

I flushed. “I have Tourette’s syndrome.”

“Tourette’s syndrome? You mean, like those people who shout out swear words for no reason?”

“That’s Tourette’s, but I don’t do that. I do other things.”

“Like blinking?”

“Blinking. Sometimes I make gulping noises. Sometimes I make faces.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “No one really knows why. Tourette’s is a neurological thing, so it can affect any part of my body.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

She thought it over. “Is it okay that I’m asking you about this? I’m not trying to embarrass you. I just thought, if we’re going to be friends, I should know.”

What she said made me happy. If we’re going to be friends… “Yeah. It’s okay.”

Taylor stood. “Let’s sit in the family room. You can bring your drink.” We walked into the next room, then sat down next to each other on the sofa. I took a drink of lemonade and puckered. “Wow. That’s sour.”

“My mom must have made it. She makes it really tart.” Taylor took a sip. “Yep, Mom.”

I set down my glass.

“So,” she said, lacing her fingers together, “are you going to tell me what you did to those boys?”

“You said you’d tell me your secret first.”

Taylor smiled nervously. “I know I did, it’s just…” She looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes. “Please. I promise I’ll tell you. It’s just easier if you go first.”

There was something about Taylor that made me feel like I could trust her. “Okay,” I said. “What did you see?”

“I heard a loud zap. Then I saw Jack and his friends rolling on the ground like they had been tased.”

I shook my head. “That’s pretty much what happened.”

“How did you tase them?”

As I thought over how much I wanted to share, Taylor said, “My dad has a Taser. He also has a stun gun. He showed me how they work.”

My mother had made me promise to never tell anyone about my electricity, but we had never talked about what to do if someone already knew. Or at least thought they did. “I don’t know if I should say,” I said.

Taylor leaned closer and touched my arm. “Michael, I understand. I really do. I’ve never told anyone my secret. But I’m tired of keeping this to myself. Aren’t you?” Her eyes were wide with sincerity.

I slowly nodded. Ostin was the only person I’d ever told about my electricity, and telling him had been an incredible relief—like a hundred pounds falling off my shoulders. I slowly breathed out. “You know when people rub their feet on the carpet and build up electricity, then touch someone to shock them?”

“Static electricity,” she said.

“Right. When I was little I would touch people and it would shock them like that. Except I didn’t have to be on carpet. I could be on anything, and I didn’t have to rub my feet. Only the shock was much worse. Sometimes people screamed. It got so bad that my mom made me wear rubber gloves. As I got older, it got more powerful. What I did to those boys was nothing compared to what I could have done.”

Taylor set down her lemonade. “So you can control it?”

“Mostly. Sometimes it’s hard.”

“What does it feel like when you shock?”

“To me or them?”

She grinned. “You. I can guess how it feels to them.”

“It’s like a sneeze. It just kind of builds up, then blows.”

“Can you do it more than once?”

“Yes. But I can only do it so many times before I start to lose energy. It takes a few minutes to build it up again.”

“Do you have to touch someone to shock them?”

“Yes. Unless they’re touching metal, like Cody was today.”

She nodded. “That was actually pretty cool. Do you ever shock yourself?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know. Electric eels don’t shock themselves.” I took another small sip of the lemonade and puckered.

“You don’t have to drink it,” Taylor said. “I won’t be offended or anything.”

“It’s okay.” I set the glass down. “Your turn. What did you do to Mr. Poulsen?”

A wide smile crossed her lips. “I rebooted him.”

“You what?”

“You know, like rebooting a computer. I reboot people. I think it’s an electric thing, too. The brain is just a bunch of electrical signals. I can somehow scramble them.”

“That’s weird.”

“You’re calling me weird?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not saying you’re weird.”

“Well, I am. And so are you. I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world like us.”

“Unless they’re hiding it like us. I mean, I sat next to you in class and I never knew.”

“That’s true.”

“When did you first notice that you were different?” I asked.

“I think I was around seven. I was lying in bed one night under the covers when I noticed that there was a bluish-greenish glow coming from my body.”

“You have a glow?” I asked.

“Yeah. It’s just faint. You can only see it in the dark and if you look closely.”

“I glow too,” I said. Hearing that she had the same glow made me feel good—like I wasn’t so different. Or alone.

“That summer I was playing wizard with some friends and I cast a spell, only they fell to the ground and started to cry. At first I thought they were just pretending. But they weren’t. They couldn’t remember what they were doing.”

“That’s why Mr. Poulsen couldn’t remember what he was doing,” I said.

She smiled. “Yeah. It comes in handy sometimes.”

“Does it hurt the person you reboot?”

She seemed embarrassed. “I don’t know. It’s not like I do it all the time. Want me to do it to you?”

“No. Do you want me to shock you?”

“No.” She looked at me seriously. “You know, Michael, my parents don’t even know about this. Do you have any idea how good it feels to finally tell someone?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I guess you would.” She lay back into the cushion. “So your parents know?”

“My mother does. My father passed away when I was eight.”

“I’m sorry.” Her expression grew more serious. “So what does your mother think of it?”

“I think it scares her. If she knew I was talking to you about it she’d be really upset.”

“She won’t hear it from me,” Taylor said. “I wish I could tell my parents. I’ve tried a few times, but whenever I ask to talk to them they get nervous, like I’m going to tell them I’ve done something wrong. I guess I’m just afraid of how they’ll react.”

“You should tell them,” I said.

“I know. Someday I will.”

Taylor leaned forward and said in a softer but more excited tone, “There’s something else I can do. Want to see it?”

“Sure.”

She patted the sofa cushion next to her. “Come closer.”

I scooted closer until our bodies nearly touched. I started gulping but stopped myself. “This isn’t going to hurt, right?”

“No.” She leaned toward me until we were touching. “Now think of a number between one and a million.”

“One and a million? Okay.” I thought of the last four digits of my phone number.

“Just keep thinking of the number.” She reached over and took my hand. Suddenly a big smile came across her face. “Think of the number, silly, not me.”

“What, you’re reading my mind?” I asked jokingly. It wouldn’t take a mind reader to know what I was thinking—the most beautiful girl at school was holding my hand. I focused on my number again.

“Three thousand, nine hundred, and eighty-nine,” she said.

I looked at her in astonishment. “How did you do that?”

“I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure that it’s part of the same rebooting thing. I mean, it’s all about electricity, right? Our thoughts are just electricity firing, so when I touch you, your thoughts show up in my brain as well—same projector, different screen.”

Her explanation made sense. “So you can really read minds?”

“Yes, but not without touching. If I were to put my forehead against yours I could see even better.”

I wouldn’t mind that, I thought, forgetting that we were still holding hands. A big smile came across her face. I blushed and let go of her hand. “So all you need to do is touch someone?”

She nodded. “I’ve even been able to read people’s minds if they’re touching metal—like the way you shocked Cody.” She leaned back again. “So what do we do now?”

“First, we need to promise never to reveal each other’s power.”

“We already did that,” she said.

“Right. Second, I think we need to stick together.”

She looked at me with a funny expression. I’m glad she wasn’t touching me. After a moment she said, “That’s a good idea. We should start a club.”

“A club? With just the two of us?”

“Unless you know someone else like us.”

“Ostin should be in our club. He could come in handy.”

“Who’s Ostin?”

“He’s my friend. You just met him at my locker. He sits in front of me in biology.”

“The know-it-all kid.”

I nodded. “He’s my best friend.”

“Does he have powers?”

“No. But he knows a lot about science and electricity. He’s really smart. Like mad scientist smart. His mother told me when he was only six years old, their DVD player broke. Before his father could take it in for repair, Ostin had taken it apart and fixed it.”

“He’s not too smart socially,” Taylor observed.

“That’s a different kind of smart.”

“But can he keep a secret? Because no one can know about this.”

“He’s kept my secret since I told him.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Almost three years. Besides, who is he going to tell? I’m his only friend.”

Taylor didn’t look completely convinced, but she nodded anyway. “All right, he can be in our club.”

“We’ll need to come up with a name,” I said. “Every club has a name.”

“You’re right. How about… the Power Team.”

I frowned. “No, too boring. How about, the Electric Eels.”

“Yuck,” she said. “Have you ever seen one of those? They look like fat snakes with acne. Besides, shocking people is your thing. You could call yourself Eel Man.”

I didn’t really care for the name, though I did like that she referred to me as a man. “And you could call yourself the Human Reset Button.”

She shook her head. “Let’s just stick with our real names.”

“Okay. Besides, we don’t have to come up with something right now. Ostin’s good at this kind of thing. He’ll have some good ideas.”

We sat a moment in silence.

Taylor stood. “Would you like some more lemonade?”

“No, I’m good.”

She looked at the clock above the television set and groaned. “My mom will be home in another half hour. You better go. My parents are kind of strict. I’m not allowed to have boys over when they’re not here.”

I stood. “I need to get home anyway.”

She walked me to the door. “Thanks for coming over.”

“You’re welcome. When should we get together again?” I tried not to sound too eager. “For our club.”

“When’s good for you?”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“I can’t, there’s a basketball game. Aren’t you going?”

“Right. I forgot.” The truth was, I hadn’t ever gone to a school game.

“How could you forget? It’s the regional championship.”

“I’ve just had a lot going on lately.”

“How about Saturday?”

“Saturday’s good during the day. But at night my mom and I are kind of celebrating my birthday.”

“Saturday’s your birthday?”

I nodded. “But we’re really celebrating on Monday, since my mom has to work all day Saturday.”

Taylor said, “My birthday is Sunday.”

“Really? That’s a coincidence.”

Her brow furrowed. “Maybe it’s not. We were born on nearly the same day and we both have electrical powers. Think about it. Maybe it had something to do with the stars being in alignment or something.”

It may sound strange, but I had never considered why I had electrical powers any more than I had wondered why I had Tourette’s. “If that’s the case, then there would be tens of thousands of people like us,” I said.

Taylor shrugged. “Maybe there are.”

“I doubt it,” I said. “Or we would have at least heard of a few of them. I mean, someone pops a zit and it ends up on the Internet.”

“You’re right.” She thought some more. “Were you born here?”

I shook my head. “I was born in Pasadena, California. How about you?”

“I don’t know. I was adopted.”

Now I understood why Taylor looked so different from the rest of her family. “So, we’ll get together Saturday?” I asked.

“Sure. But first I need to make sure my parents don’t have plans. They’ve been on my back lately for being gone too much. I’ll let you know.”

“Great.”

She opened the door for me. “Bye, Michael.”

“See ya, Taylor. Thanks for the lemonade.”

“You’re welcome. Talk to you tomorrow.”

After she shut the door, I took off running. I had just formed an exclusive club with Taylor Ridley. I didn’t need to run. I could have floated the whole way home.