Jacinda didn’t remember how she got home. Vague recollections of telling the cab driver her address, but the dizziness had been so bad, she could only focus on not throwing up inside the cab.

Once inside the front door, she slid to the floor, hoping her parents weren’t home. The pain fueled the dizzy feeling that made her feel as if she was floating. How could her skull be hurting this bad, but her brain feel like it was not attached?

“Jac?”

Her mother’s voice was garbled. She tried to lift her head but couldn’t find the strength. It happened again, Mom, is what she wanted to say, but was afraid if she tried to talk, she would be sick.

“Oh no, baby, not again.”

She could feel her mother move her off the floor. She was sure she was moving her own feet, but couldn’t be certain; she’d have to ask when she came to again. Just please don’t let me throw up on my mother, she prayed silently.

“I knew going to such a large, public place was going to be bad. So many people, too many things to touch.”

She recognized the worry in her mother’s voice and could hear the fear. She’d had to try, just once more to know this would happen to her everywhere, every time. She had only wanted to help an old man get his stuff into his car. The vile thoughts in his mind were hidden behind a warm smile. How could she have ever guessed?

Jac felt her mom’s gentle hands touch her forehead, trying to soothe the ache.

“I’ll bring you a cool compress to help with the nausea. Just close your eyes and focus on staying calm.”

Closing her eyes, Jac took a deep, slow, cleansing breath. Her head was still swimming. I’m such a freak. Wasn’t it bad enough when they pulled me out of school? Thirteen and forced to live without a social life. She wondered if her friends really missed her, there hadn’t been many phone calls in the last few months. I’ll be the ghost no one ever sees.

Rolling slowly and carefully onto her side, not sure which was worse, headache, dizziness, or the urge to throw up all over the place. Her mother’s voice carried from the hallway. She’d called her dad, which wasn’t surprising. She supposed she was lucky her parents hadn’t labeled her a mutant child and put her in some hospital to be studied. They were one of a kind, that much she knew. How many parents would be so accepting of a daughter that saw the past through furniture and other objects? Or that saw someone’s emotions by touching them? Not many, she guessed.

“We’ll get through this, Jac—no matter what it takes.”

She relaxed and let the sleep she was fighting pull her under further. Her mother’s words meant everything to her.