This is intended to be a teaser into my work-in-progress YA urban fantasy series Powers. I do not intend to share the whole thing, but I would love to know what other people think. Please  contact me directly with feedback!

Please keep the following in mind as you read:

• There is a tabbing issue in the document on this site that I cannot figure out how to stop as well. I apologize for the annoyance.
• This novel needs 30-40,000 more words.
• I will be looking over the metrics of how you read to see which areas are going well and which aren't.
• If you have suggestions or there is something you would like to see more of, please let me know!

            Ordinary. A word that’s understood as that which is normal, commonplace, or standard. Most people take for granted just how ordinary they are. After all, to them it’s just… ordinary. But I will never be like Jimmy Caldwell with his stylish hair, perfect physique, and awesome Mystic talent. I will never get the attention of a girl like Bianca Pond, with her delicate fingers hanging from Jimmy’s arm as she flirts. God. She doesn’t even realize I exist. And there is one simple reason for that:

            I will never be ordinary.

            My mom insists that my lack of power makes me special, unique. She doesn’t walk in my shoes. She doesn’t know what it’s like to feel utterly pointless. She doesn’t know just how amazing it must be to be ordinary. I don’t want to be unique.

            Looking around the auditorium, buzzing with the voices of more than one hundred of my fellow classmates, I don’t feel special. I’m invisible. The sound is like a freight train charging right at me. It reminds me of just what this day means to the rest of my life: a husk of nothing. Across the aisle, William Hutchins and Bobby Man are talking about the jobs they are starting after graduation, working for one of the biggest construction companies in the city. They talk like it’s a hard job to get when more than fifty percent of the Mystics who graduate end up working in construction or technology. Now if they were boasting about landing Mystic jobs in chemistry or geology, I might be a little more impressed.

            But they aren’t trying to impress me. They don’t even know I exist. Instead, the two of them are flirting with a couple of other girls in our graduating class. I roll my eyes as Bobby leans toward Chelsea and gives her a cheesy line about something I don’t even care about. At least they have jobs.

            I look away. That’s when I see Bianca coming toward me. Her long black hair is tied back at the sides, graduation cap settled neatly (perfectly) on top. Sudden waves of fear hit me and I sit up straighter in my chair, smoothing my graduation robes. I flash an awkward smile at her just as I realize all she wants is to get past to her seat. The smell of her citrus shampoo fills my nose, washing away the stench of stale sweat in the large room. Heat burns my cheeks. Heart hammers against my chest. All the air is knocked from my lungs. A strangled croak escapes me and I want nothing more than to melt into the uncomfortable metal chair and wish away my existence. The only hope I have of escaping this awkward moment unscathed is that maybe she still doesn’t realize I exist.

            No one does. And why should they? I have no talents. I’m a freak of nature. Nice job, Ugene, I think as she settles in her chair. Way to be even more worthless.

            “You okay?”

            I can feel the blood pumping through my drums. Is it fear or shame?

            “What?” I ask. The sound comes out as a croak. Great time to hit puberty again, dude.

            “You look sick,” Bianca says, sweeping her hair over her shoulder. Those dark brown eyes regard me for the first time. Absolute humiliation and fear run through me anew, a volcano about to erupt and melt me to molten flow. If only I was that lucky.

            “I—uh—” No other words rise to the surface of my boiling volcano. They are swallowed by the absolute heat of embarrassment. I clear my throat to try again, but her attention is drawn away.

“B,” Rose says as she sits in the chair in front of me and turns to face Bianca. “I hear Jimmy might be working with your brother at Paragon Diagnostics.”

“Maybe,” Bianca says. “I talked to Forrest, and he’s supposed to be getting Jimmy an interview next week for a position training as a biological engineer at PD. No promises from my brother, but he made it pretty clear to me that if Jimmy can show off his talent with human biology the way he did in class here, there’s a good chance that a Mystic position will open for him.”

The news shocks me out of my volcanic embarrassment, and the ground starts to rumble beneath me. Well, not really. If the ground really rumbled I wouldn’t be so worried about my future. It would mean I had some Mystic talent and could maybe find a job and support myself instead of spending the rest of my life in my parents’ basement. If only I could be so lucky.

Still, the very idea of Jimmy working for Paragon Diagnostics is laughable. Sure, his Mystic talent is pretty awesome, but Jimmy isn’t exactly the brightest Mystic or Divinic in the class. There had to be someone else who is more qualified for that sort of job training. Sam Knots, for example. Sam is brilliant at Mystic natural biology. Or Paige, who has pretty awesome skills as a Divinic. Some rumor said that she is on her way to becoming a doctor, though. It’s probably a better use of her skills than Paragon Diagnostics research.

Something hits the back of my head, making the graduation cap pop off like the cap covering the volcano, preparing it for eruption. That familiar embarrassment settles over me. I try to brush it off as an accident, but the sound of snickering from the next row makes it clear that it isn’t. Part of me wants to stand up on my seat and scream as long and loud as I can. Scream until my voice gives out. Scream until there is nothing left in the volcano to spew forth. Eighteen years of suppressing my dislike for everyone around me threatens to wash me away.

“Knock it off,” Bianca snaps over her should at the assailant.

I don’t bother looking back. There’s no point. Not only do I have no way to defend myself against anyone in the room, but the humiliation of being defended by a girl is too much for me to face. Graduation might be the start of a new life of worthlessness for me, but at least I can say it gets me away from these people. I hold my tongue and stay in my seat, leaning forward to grab the cap and put it back on.

At the same time as Bianca.

Her hand and mine make contact over the edge of the cap. A rush of warmth jettisons through me. What would it be like to experience this warm, smooth touch as a Physic with Touch talent? How do they not explode from pleasure at simple things like touching someone else? Instead of seizing this moment, I freeze. For one painfully long moment my fingers linger over hers. That moment feels like the length of a movie. Longer.

Bianca picks up the cap and hands it to me. Our eyes meet, and I say nothing. Do nothing. All I can do is stare at her dark brown eyes, trapped somewhere between space and time.  Immobilized. Then she makes it worse.

She smiles.

Now I’m sinking, sinking to the deepest depths of the ocean. I get cold, sweaty, clammy hands.

“Here,” she laughs.

With a robotic, stiff motion, I take the cap from her and put it back on, wishing it would hide all of the emotions I can’t cover.

“You’re the Powerless kid, right?” Bianca asks, as if we didn’t share dozens of classes with each other over the course of, well, our lives.

There is some small part of me that is happy she knows I exist, but I can’t help feeling resentment. The Powerless kid. That’s it. That’s all I am to anyone.

“Yeah,” I say, probably less than pleasantly.

“What’s it like?”

I turn my gaze to her, staring blankly. “What do you think?” No, no, no. Idiot! Come on, the first words you give to her make you sound like a jerk. Maybe she didn’t notice.

Bianca flinches, her smile quickly evaporating. With a flip of her hair over her shoulder, she turns her attention away from me. And I know. Any chance I had at striking up conversation is dead. “Whatever. Just trying to be nice.”
            I try to find something apologetic to say. Anything. I just want her to look at me again. But before I get a chance to open my mouth, the music for the ceremony starts and a hush falls over the crowd. I glance around the crowd to the left, spotting my parents sitting side by side, mom snapping pictures of me sitting in my seat, doing nothing, like the paparazzi after some celebrity. This is it. The beginning of nothing for the rest of my life.

            At the end of the ceremony, students file out in organized lines to await the mob of well-wishers, family, and friends on the school green. I feel myself drowning in the din of noise and mass of bodies, trying to look over the heads of people taller than me to find my parents. Students cluster together with their friends and families for group photos. The blond bob of my mother’s hair comes, and she envelops me in her arms and kisses my cheek.

            “Ugene, I’m so proud of you,” she croons in my ear.

            Dad stands just behind her, smiling at me, but I can see that something about him is guarded. Mom might be able to ignore my uselessness in the world, but my dad knows what this day means. It means a lifetime of his worthless son sitting in their basement, living off them.

            Let’s get this straight right off. My parents are middle class. Mom is a Telepath—her mind is tuned to the minds of others—and she works in sales. Her income is completely based off commission, and she’s never been very good at her job. Her skills as a Telepath are weak. Telepaths don’t necessarily read the minds of others. Some are telekinetic. Some have an innate sense of direction. Others have ESP. My mom falls into the latter category, but barely.

Dad is a Physic—his muscles are slightly more developed than most people—and he has worked in a factory since long before I came around. Since his high school graduation. Not all Physics are like him. They have some ability that is physical: enhanced strength, senses, muscle memory, that sort of thing. His strength is only slightly higher than average, which didn’t qualify him for some of the more posh jobs, like firefighters or professional athletes.

Anyway, the point is that my parents don’t struggle overtly, but they aren’t exactly made of gold. There is no retirement fund, no starter fund for my life (and let’s face it, they don’t need it), no real savings to speak of. They can’t afford to have me living off of them forever, and I am very aware of this. Especially today, under the scrutiny of his gaze.

I pull away from mom and take off my cap, then unzip the graduation gown. “Can we just go home?”

“No friends with pictures?” mom asks, looking around.

I feel stunned. “Friends?”

“Marion, don’t embarrass him more,” dad interjects, and I’m not sure if I should be grateful or resentful. Is he trying to help me escape? Or is he pointing out my one major flaw in a very harsh way?

“Gavin Powers.” My dad turns. My gaze goes to the man who spoke up. He walks over, smiling broadly. “I’ll be… that is you!” My dad steps in front of me, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and I try to step aside so I can see this man with greying brown hair and broad features. “Morton Caldwell.” He holds out his hand to my dad. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

My dad shakes this man’s hand, and I get the distinct impression that I’m being stashed away behind him so that he doesn’t have to talk about me.

“You have a kid here today?”

And now there’s no avoiding it. Mom pulls me proudly around so that this stranger can see me. “Our son, Ugene.”

“Marion, you look great!” Morton beams at my mom, and I can tell right away that he is a Telepath, too. Probably an actor. Or a business man. “So Ugene, what will you be doing now?”

At this, I notice my dad’s expression shift slightly. More shame-faced. This sort of question always reminds me of just how little I am in this world. How useless.

“He’s still looking at his prospects,” dad responds quickly. Too quickly.

Morton nods and leans closer to dad. “I hear there’s a kid in this class that doesn’t have any sort of Talent. Ever heard of such a thing?”

Dad flushes and has the good grace to act astonished. I’m a disappointment. The biggest sort of disappointment any father would never wish for. Powerless. “Well… It was nice seeing you Mort. We have to get going. Graduation things to attend.”

Without giving Morton a chance to say more about it, dad ushers my mom and me through the crowd. I can sense his eagerness to get off the green before anyone realizes that he is the father of a Powerless.

Out of the corner of my eyes I spot Bianca with Rose and their other friends. The girls are laughing and smiling like this is the beginning of something wonderful, and the end of a life of slavery at school.

And for them, it is.

            The basement was transformed into a recreation area when I was fourteen. It was about that same time my dad gave up hope I would ever gain any powers at all. I added to the ambiance with posters from some of my favorite movies and games. Currently, I’m comfortable enough on my gaming chair, playing a first-person shooter game that lets me take out my frustration on hordes of mindless zombies. The smell of burrito fills the room, half eaten on the floor next to my chair. I have no idea what time it is, and I don’t really care. It doesn’t matter anymore.

            The first week after graduation I spent most of my time walking around Niagara looking for work. It was fruitless, and I knew it, but I had no choice. It appeased my dad for the time being. A couple of places offered me an interview, but, as soon as they found out I had no power, I was politely dismissed and never heard from them again. I just “wasn’t qualified” for the position. I mean, one was a position as a coffee caddie in an office. My only responsibility would be to get coffee and food to the other employees from the break rooms. But since I’m not a Telepath, I’m apparently not coordinated enough to deal with the occasional trip. A little coffee spilled on the floor, or jelly from a doughnut was unthinkable. It was a clear sign of what the rest of my life would be like.

So I quit looking.

            The second week after graduation I spent most of my time eating chips and whatever food I could find in the fridge. The gaming chair became my throne, and nothing short of hunger or the occasional need to piss would move me. Now I spend all my time in the world of games, wishing I was really there fighting zombies or racing cars. At least I am useful in the games.

            Occasionally, my mom calls down to make sure I’m still alive. My dad has taken to ignoring the fact that I exist in his house at all. It’s been pretty peaceful, all things considered. I live down here ignored by the world, and my parented generally are happy to leave me alone. Until now. The basement door creaks open on worn-out hinges, alerting me that my mom is likely coming to check to see if I’m alive again. It’s been a couple of days since she did, so I figure it’s overdue; the stairs creak beneath her weight as she descends partway.

            “Ugene, come upstairs,” my dad says. And I’m surprised. I haven’t spoken to my dad since my last failed interview. The sound of his voice startles me upright.

            “Yeah, dad.”

            He appears halfway down the stairs, looking me over with clear disgust. Except right now it probably has to do with the fact that I haven’t taken a shower since yesterday… or the day before. Doesn’t matter. The point is I probably am a sorry sight.

He scans the rest of the basement, noting the changes I made. Most of the stuff that was in my room is now in unbalanced piles in the corner. Comics, games, movies. My pillow and blankets wait for my next nap on the beat-up brown sofa near the outer wall. Dad’s lips pull into a thin line as his attention returns to me.

“You have an interview today in an hour,” he tells me, like I shouldn’t be surprised. Like I should feel guilty because I’m not ready.

“What?” I half turn in the seat to get a better look at him. “An interview. But I haven’t—”

“A friend of mine from work knows someone who owns a restaurant.” Dad doesn’t even let me finish, and I suppose there isn’t a point as he explains. “They’re looking for a busboy and are willing to consider you for the job, but you have to be there in an hour.” He looks me up and down again. “Presentable.”

Willing to consider me. The words feel empty. Considering me doesn’t mean hiring me. Whoever this person is, they probably owe a favor to dad’s friend.

“Well?” dad says, and I can hear the impatience in his tone and see it in the way he stands there, waiting expectantly for me to just jump up and run like a good little boy.

Regretfully, I save my game and turn the system and TV off while he heads back up the stairs. On my way to shower and get ready, I can’t help feeling a little badly for my dad. To him, this looks like a real opportunity. But I know the truth. I’ve been through this already. They won’t hire me. I’m a favor and nothing more.

By some miracle, I make it to the interview on time. Barely. The name of the restaurant, Lettuce Eat, gives itself away as a real award winner before I even walk in. It’s not exactly a dive, but it isn’t the nicest place in Niagara. The aroma of fried food and eggs hits me as soon as I walk in and my stomach grumbles. It’s now that I remember I left the half eaten burrito on the floor at home. Mom won’t thank me for that.

A waitress smiles at me as I enter, making her way between tables like she could do it blindfolded, approaching me. She probably can do it blindfolded. For all I know, she is a Telepath with perfect memory, or a Physic with muscle memory. I almost shrink back to leave as she approaches.

“Welcome to Lettuce Eat,” she says, smiling brightly. Ten years ago she might have been pretty, but a lifetime of waiting tables has clearly worn her down. The nametag stitched on her shirt reads “Joan,” and I can’t help but think what an ordinary name it is. “Just you today?”

“Um, yeah,” I stammer. Great first impression. “I’m Ugene Powers. Here for an interview for the busboy job?”

Joan’s shoulders sag with relief. “Oh thank god. I’ve been bugging Harvey to hire someone for weeks now!” She shifts the tray, tucked neatly under her arm. “I’ll go get him. Why don’t you have a seat over there?” She points at a table for two near the window, then quickly makes her way through the tables again to disappear through the kitchen door.

With awkward steps, I move toward the table and sit, hands folded together on the hideous tablecloth covered with pictures of various vegetables. Domes lamps shaped like what I assume to be lettuce hang above each table, coated in a few years of dust. The patterned tiles on the floor are so worn down that I can almost see the baseboards beneath. Only two tables are occupied. One couple is trendy Mystic types in a very natural sense of the term. The other table has four girls not much older than me all giggling and talking like they have been here for hours and have to talk about the entire history of the world. And it’s all so amusing to them.

This would probably be a good time for me to explain Mystics a little more. Mystics are naturally tuned. They can either understand or manipulate nature, which gives them the widest base for job placement. Mystics and Physics are the most common of the four categories of power. That also means they compose the majority of the lower, labor classes. Very few Mystics and Physics find their way to great careers. Mystics sometimes look very much like their power suggests: like hippies. Usually, those Mystics end up working in nature somewhere, as a farmer or ecologist. Hell, I would even take that at this point.

 “Mr. Powers?” The deep voice pulls me from my thoughts. I can’t help but jump a little.

The chair scrapes the floor as I stand to shake the hand of the man I can only presume to be Harvey. His grip is firm.

“Sir,” I say, trying not to wince under his hand.

“You can call me Harvey,” he says, motioning me to my chair again.

We sit across the table from one another, and I can’t help noticing just how broadly built he is. It is clear he fits the stereotype of Physics—tall, broadly built, muscular. I never could understand why Physics with enhanced Taste or Smell are built like a Physic with enhanced strength. Probably something to do with the genetic code.

“So tell me a little about yourself, Ugene,” Harvey says, settling back comfortably. “I can call you Ugene, yes?”

I nod, and it takes a moment before I realize he isn’t about to say anything else. It’s my cue. “Oh. Well, I graduated from Lincoln High about a month ago. Been looking for a job ever since, but I haven’t really found a clear focus, you know? I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet.”

For a second, I think I might have said the wrong thing, but Harvey smiles at me. “I don’t think anyone knows what they want to do with their life,” he says. “We all just move from one thing to the next, searching.” That seemed interesting to me, but before I could ask he continued. “What was your core focus at Lincoln High?”

That was the dreaded question. A core focus is a telling sign of what talent you possess. I never really had one, but I did have particular interests. The sound of soft voices at the other tables drift to me. The smell of food in the kitchen filters through to me. My eyes are drawn to the door.

“Sciences, mostly,” I answer. It was a true enough statement. I didn’t excel at anything because I have no powers, but I did enjoy learning about sciences. “And writing.”

“What sciences were most interesting to you?”

“Biological, mostly,” I say. “I’m interested in how the body works the way it does.” That’s also true. There has to be some reason I am the way I am. The answer is somewhere in science. Unfortunately, only Divinics and Mystics land those jobs. Without a power, I am completely disqualified for that sort of job.

“So, you are a Divinic?” Harvey asks, brows lifting. Is he impressed?

Well, time to let him down gently, I can’t help thinking. “No.”

“Mystic?” he guesses, and I shake my head. Harvey sits forward, forearms resting on the table. “You aren’t a Physic.” His calculating look makes me uncomfortable. I hate when people look me over and assume I can’t possibly be a Physic just because I’m not tall enough. Not strong enough. “So you’re a Telepath. Well, that could make for a good busboy. What is your talent?”

I hesitate. “I don’t have one.”

The words come out slowly. Harvey just stares at me like I grew an extra head. The silence is awkward and painfully long. Suddenly, he bursts out into laughter.

“Oh, now that’s a clever joke!” The words almost vibrate the floorboards as Harvey laughs at me. “I like you! I never would have thought to answer with that. I might save that for the next time someone asks me.”

Harvey wipes tears from the edges of his eyes, and I just watch him flatly. Not exactly the reaction I was expecting. The amusement dies with slow, awkward chuckles as he watches my reaction, realizing I’m completely serious. Then the silence becomes very real. The calm before the storm blows in. Harvey and I just watch each other. Finally, he cocks his head in a very birdlike way and regards me curiously.

“You’re serious.” The way he says this leaves me feeling uncertain if he is asking or telling me. I only nod again. Harvey sits up straighter, smoothing his pants with those enormous hands. “So,” he has to pause to clear his throat before continuing, “you have no powers. At all. You’re power disabled?” He rubs at his brow and sighs heavily, adjusting in his seat. “I thought that was like… an urban legend or something. I didn’t know it really existed. Well, Ugene, I—”

The bell above the door rings as a small family enters the diner. It serves as enough distraction for both Harvey and myself to have an excuse not to talk to each other for a minute. He watches Joan greet the patrons and escort them to a table.

The clock is ticking, and I know that at any moment he will dismiss me as politely as everyone else. This is my last chance to sway him.

“Harvey,” I say, hoping that he won’t reject me outright. No time for him to talk. This is it. “I know I’m not your typical busboy. I can’t keep the plates from hitting the floor. I can’t anticipate the needs of co-workers or clear a table in a few seconds, but it doesn’t mean I can’t do the job.”

“Ugene,” Harvey sighs, turning his attention back to me. “It isn’t that. It’s just… Labor laws have pretty tight restrictions on who can do what.”

He shifts, and I can tell he is about to get up. I jump to my feet faster than I knew I could move.

“Please.” I can’t cut him off as he stands. “Just give me a week to show you that I can do this. One week. You don’t even have to pay me for that week.”

Patrons in the diner are looking at us now. I try not to look, not to let them know I know they are watching, witnessing my shame. But Harvey notices. He notices and hesitates. One week of free labor has to be enticing. And if I can just get that one week to show him that I can do the job, it could make all the difference.

Before Harvey even speaks, the slope of his shoulders gives him away.

“Ugene, I’m sorry,” he says, and I can see he really is. “It’s nothing personal. But there are accommodations that have to be made to disabled workers, and I just can’t afford it.”

Disabled? I’m not disabled!

His large hand falls on my shoulder, and I can see the sadness in his eyes. “I wish you all the best, but I won’t lie. It’s gonna be tough out there. You might want to learn a little more about who is willing to hire disabled workers.”

Then he walks away. The weight of his hand moving from my shoulder feels like a mountain sliding into place. Disabled. Is that really how the world sees me? I want to stand on the table and scream that there is nothing wrong with me. But it won’t do any good. If I want a job, I need to learn more about disabled worker laws.