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Chapter Eight

The Multimeter

As soon as I got inside the apartment building I knocked on Ostin’s door. He opened, his face bent in disapproval. “So how’s the cheerleader?” he asked snidely.

“I know you’re mad you got left out.” “What did you do, make out?”

“Shut up, Ostin. Do you want to come over or not?” It took him two seconds to get over it. “Yeah, wait.” He ran back into his apartment, then returned carrying a small yellow and black device and a notepad and pen. “Let’s start our tests.” As he was shutting his door, Ostin’s mom shouted, “Where you going, Ostin?” “I’m going to Michael’s.”

“Be careful,” she said.

Ostin looked at me and shrugged. His mom was a little protective. Actually she was a lot protective. I’m surprised she didn’t make him wear a helmet to clogging.

“We’re having dinner soon. Ask Michael if he wants to eat with us.” He looked at me. “Want to eat with us? We’re having fish sticks.” “No thanks.” I hate fish sticks.

He turned back. “He’s not going to eat with us.” “Dinner will be ready by seven. Don’t be late.” “Okay.”

He shut his door while I walked down the hall and unlocked my apartment. As soon as we were inside, Ostin opened his notebook and clicked his pen. “All right,” he said, using the tone of voice he used when he was doing something scientific. “First things first. Today is Thursday, the fourteenth of April. How are you feeling?” “Why are you asking me that?”

“I want our experiment to be accurate, so try to be as specific as possible. Are you feeling more or less electric than usual?” “I don’t ever feel electric,” I said.

“Okay. Usual,” he said, scribbling in his notebook. “Weather is fair.

I checked the barometer earlier and it’s one thousand seventeen mil-libars and humidity is negligible.” He brought the multimeter over to me, which looked a little like a fat calculator with cables attached.

“Okay, clamp these on your fingers.” I looked at the clamps. “I’m not going to put those on my fingers.

They’re sharp.”

“Do you want this to be accurate or not?” I rolled my eyes. “Okay.” I clamped the copper leads around my fingers. They bit into my skin.

“Now, don’t do anything until I tell you.” “Just hurry. These things hurt.” “When I say ‘go’ I want you to pulse with all your power. Five, four, three, two . . . wait.” “What?”

“I don’t know. The screen on this thing just went blank.” He pushed some buttons. “Okay. Four, three, two, one, go!” I surged as hard as I could. The snap and crackle of electricity filled the room and there was a spark from my fingers to the clamps.

“Holy moley,” Ostin said. He set down the multimeter and began writing in his notebook. “You produced eight hundred and sixty-four volts.” “That sounds like a lot.”

“Dude, that’s more than a full-grown electric eel. You could paralyze a crocodile with that.” His eyes narrowed. “You could kill someone.” The way he said that bothered me. “I’m done,” I said. I was taking the clips off my fingers when the front door opened and my mother stepped in. Ostin quickly hid the machine behind his back. I looked at her in surprise. “Mom. What are you doing here?” “I live here,” she said, looking at us suspiciously.

“But you said you were working late.” “You sound disappointed.”

“No, I . . . I’m just surprised.” “I had a headache, so they let me come home early.” Her eyes darted back and forth between us. “What’s going on?” “Nothing,” I said.

“You were doing something. What do you have behind your back, Ostin?” Ostin froze. “Nothing.” His “nothing” sounded more like a question than a statement.

My mother walked up to him and put out her hand. “Let’s see it.” He slowly took the multimeter from behind his back and handed it to my mom. She examined the device, then looked up at him.

“What does it do?”

He swallowed. I was hoping he’d make something up—calculate algorithms or something.

“It measures voltage.”

“Voltage? You mean electricity?” She looked perplexed. “Why would you . . .” She stopped and looked at me. I could see anger change her countenance. “How long has Ostin known?” I swallowed. “I don’t know. A while.” “Thirty-four months and nine days,” Ostin said.

Shut up, I thought.

My mother handed the multimeter back to Ostin. “You need to go home now, Ostin,” she said. “I need to speak to Michael.” “Okay, Mrs. Vey,” he said, eager to get out of our house. “Have a good night.” Run, you wuss, I thought.

After the door shut, my mother looked at me for what seemed like a year. Then she said, “Come here.” I followed her over to the couch. “Sit.” I sat and she sat next to me. For a moment she just held her head in her hands. The silence was excruciating. Finally she looked up.

“Michael, I don’t know what to say to you. Do you know how hard this has been, moving away from our home and everyone we know in California, to come to a new city just so that no one would find out about you? I gave up a good-paying job at a law firm to be a checker at a supermarket.” I lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Mom.” She crossed her arms at her chest. “No, sorry doesn’t cut it. Who else knows about this?” “The boys yesterday. And Taylor.” “Who’s Taylor?”

“The cheerleader who saw me.”

“Did you see her at school today?” “Yes.”

“Did she ask you about what happened?” I swallowed. “I went to her house.” My mother’s eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me that you talked to her about what happened.” I slowly nodded.

She threw up her hands. “Michael, what were you thinking? Now we may have to pick up and start over again. I am so tired, I don’t know if I can do it.” My eyes welled up. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to . . .” “Michael, it doesn’t always matter what you mean to do, it matters what you do. Please, explain to me, why would you risk everything and tell them?” For a few moments I just sat there silently. Then, suddenly, it all came out. “I’m sick of having everyone at school think I’m just some wimpy kid who makes funny faces and noises. I’m sick of being bullied all the time. And I’m sick of hiding who I am.

“Ostin is the only friend I have. He doesn’t care about my Tourette’s or my electricity. He just likes me for me.” I looked up into her eyes. “I just want someone to know the truth about me and still be my friend.” She put her head down. Then she took my hand. “Michael, I know it’s not easy being different. I don’t blame you for feeling this way. It’s just that most people can’t understand your special gift.” “You think this is a gift, Mom? It’s not. It’s just another reminder that I’m a freak.” “Michael, don’t say that.”

“Why? That’s what they call me.” “Who calls you that?”

“The kids at summer camp last June. They surrounded me and said, ‘Let’s see what the freak does next.’ And they don’t even know about my electricity, they were just talking about all my ticking and blinking.” Her eyes welled up with tears. After a moment she asked softly, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you have enough to worry about.” She looked like she didn’t know what to say.

“I’m just tired of everyone picking on me all the time for no reason except they think they can. I’m tired of knowing I could stop them and I don’t. You know who I hate more than them for picking on me? I hate myself for letting them.” I looked into her eyes. “I’m tired of being a nobody.” My mother wiped her eyes. “You’re not a nobody, Michael. You’re a great kid with a big heart.” She kissed my forehead, then said, “I owe you an apology. I was wrong when I said that it doesn’t matter what you meant to do. Sometimes we can’t know what’s right. We can only know that we meant to do the right thing—and that we had the right reason.” “How do we know if it’s the right reason?” “If we make love our reason we may veer off course sometimes but we’ll never be lost.” She put her arm around me. “Michael, I’m sorry for getting mad at you. I was just scared. Ostin’s been a good friend, hasn’t he?” I nodded. “The best.”

“And he’s kept your secret?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad you told him. It’s best to not keep secrets from our best friends.” She crossed her arms at her chest. “Now tell me about this cheerleader.” “I think she’s like me.”

She smiled. “She likes you?”

“No, Mom, she’s like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“She has powers too.”

My mom’s expression changed. “What?” “She showed me. It’s been her secret too. She even glows like me.” “She can . . . shock?”

“Sort of. It’s like she can shock people’s brains. And she can read minds.” “Are you sure?”

I nodded. “She showed me.”

She looked down for a moment, then softly said, “He said there might be others . . .” “What?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing. So, is she cute?” “She’s the cutest girl in the whole school.” “Work that.” She smiled at me. “Why don’t you go see if Ostin wants to go to Baskin-Robbins with us.” I smiled. “Okay, Mom.” I stood and started toward the door.

“Michael.”

I turned back.

“When I start thinking about all the hard things in my life, I think of you and I feel lucky to be me. I could not be more proud of you.

And I know your father would be just as proud.” I walked back and hugged her. “I love you, Mom.” Her eyes moistened. “I love you more every day. Never forget that.” That night I had a double-decker ice cream at Baskin-Robbins— Bubble Gum and Pralines and Cream. Ostin had a triple-decker. My mother didn’t have anything. She just kept looking at me and smiling.