If I had a dollar for every time I said, "I'm just a normal kid," I could definitely pay therapy for the number of near-reality-breaking occurrences I'd experienced lately.
Take this morning, for example. It started with Zoe's toothbrush flying out of the bathroom like it was escaping a murder scene. I didn't freeze time or anything—it just launched. I passed past the bathroom and heard her exclaim, "THE TOOTHPASTE IS ALIVE," which, curiously, wasn't even in the top ten weird things that had happened this week.
By the time I got to school, I had one goal: blend in. No hero antics. No time freezes. No mystery trench coat dudes looking through windows like they were auditioning for a low-budget espionage movie.
And yet, the cosmos, in its infinite pettiness, said: Bet.
It started with lockers.
Specifically, locker 348B. Mine.
It refused to open. Not jammed. Not broken. Just... rejecting. Like it had a personal vengeance against me.
I tugged again. Nothing.
Then, as if taunting me, the locker snapped open on its own. No one touched it. The handle turned. The door eased open like it was in a horror movie.
I froze.
Rohan, walking passed with a cereal bar in his mouth, slowed. "Did your locker just... open itself?"
I slammed it shut. "Nope."
He squinted. "I think your locker might be haunted."
"Then it fits right in with the rest of my life."
I raced away before he could ask further questions—because inside the locker, for a split second, I'd seen something that shouldn't be there.
A flicker. A shimmer. Like static. Like the locker had glitched.
English class didn't help. Ms. Pritchard was in a weirdly serious mood, giving us some theatrical speech about narrative tension and how even the slightest moments may anticipate enormous story twists.
She glanced squarely at me while saying it.
"I'm just a side character," I said under my breath.
The fluorescent lights overhead fluttered. I glanced up sharply. So did the kid in front of me. So did Ms. Pritchard.
The light hummed unnaturally—like time itself was hiccupping again. I held my breath, willing my power to stay put.
It did. For now.
But Ms. Pritchard didn't break eye contact for the rest of the session. I couldn't tell if she was suspicious of my essay... or my existence.
At lunch, things got worse.
I sat with Rohan, who was droning on about this new Marvel show on Disney+. I only half-listened—because across the cafeteria, the trench coat man from the science fair was returning.
He was sitting at a corner table, pretending to read a school newspaper. From 2009.
"Is that guy reading about Obama's inauguration?" I whispered.
Rohan blinked. "Who brings a newspaper to school?"
Someone who isn't from the school, that's who.
Then the man looked up.
Right. At. Me.
And smiled.
Not a regular, welcoming smile. No, this was the I-know-you-stole-a-burger-and-broke-space-time smirk.
My stomach flipped.
"Bathroom," I told Rohan, bolting upright.
"Dude, your tray—"
"I'll time-travel back for it."
In the corridor, I didn't go to the bathroom.
I located a supply closet and slipped in, slamming the door shut behind me. Then, for the first time in days, I spoke the words I knew I'd regret:
"Hey, God of Mistakes? You still alive?"
There was a boom, a shimmer in the air, and then a man in a Hawaiian shirt and bunny slippers appeared—mid-sip of what looked like a pineapple smoothie.
"Manjil!" he cried, thrilled. "What a surprise. Were you missing me?"
"No," I deadpanned. "I'm being stalked by a trench coat man and glitching lockers. I think someone's onto me."
He sipped noisily. "You are kind of a cosmic anomaly. Eventually someone was going to notice."
"You said I'd be safe."
He shrugged. "I said you'd start hidden. Big difference."
I resisted the impulse to throw a mop at him. "I'm thirteen! I shouldn't be on some interdimensional watchlist!"
The god blinked. "Thirteen? Already? Wow. Puberty's a ticking time bomb with powers like yours."
"Helpful. So helpful."
He poked at a shelf, knocking over a package of staples. "Look, kid, your ripples are spreading. Your strength is gaining attention. Not simply trench coat dude. There are... others."
"What kind of others?"
He looked up. And for once, he was serious. "The kind that don't like mistakes. The type that erase them."
I felt chilled.
"Is this why you dumped me in Marvel world? You knew this would happen?"
He winced. "I mean, I hoped it wouldn't. But you did take a burger from Tony Stark, so…"
"ONE burger!"
"Time-stopping burger theft is a red flag."
I moaned and scratched my temples. "So what now?"
He patted my shoulder. "Now? You survive. Keep merging in. Don't get caught. Oh, and maybe avoid scientific fairs for a while."
"You're the worst god ever."
"I've been called worse."
Then he went, leaving just a faint whiff of coconut and bureaucracy.
When I finally came back to class, Ms. Pritchard lifted an eyebrow but said nothing. But I could feel the tension in the air. That something-watching-you kind of tension.
After school, I passed locker 348B again.
It clicked open.
I didn't look inside this time.
Instead, I strolled past it—and continued walking.
Because something inside the locker was shining.
And I wasn't ready to find out what it was.
Not yet.