"And they let you do it?" asks Amy, incredulous.

"Oh yeah," I say. "Every single day since the school year started. My parents brought me two. Well, I brought two with my allowance, but this was back when my parents weren't letting me out of the house, so they went into town and purchased the trenchcoats. They're still not really letting me out of the house. It's more like I just leave the house and they accept it."

She sighs, which causes the feathers in her hair to waver slightly. "That's so rough. I can't stop thinking about you and your parents not getting along. It's just not fair. You were so close."

"Don't I know it," I say, rolling my eyes. It almost alleviates the crippling emotional pain that's flooded my system, but right now, I'm a lot more concerned with Amy's comfort. "But you lost your friends. It's more like no one wants to affiliate with us now, so no big deal."

"It's not like I didn't make some more. I'm friends with Maris, Endina, Lilith, Alya... well, Alya's not doing so hot right now. She really misses her girlfriend..." She trails off again. I see her form flicker and practically squeeze the Eye until it almost bursts.

"Alya has a girlfriend?" I ask, suddenly more involved in gossip than I've been all year.

"An alien. You should ask her about it. I'm sure it's the same way in your world," Amy says. "I felt for her so much, but it's sympathy now, not empathy. Things trail off when you and the person you talk to about your emotional crises don't have the same problems. Alya's thrown herself into trying to reverse-engineer the eye, but Finch doesn't know where it came from, no one else even believes that I'm seeing you, and I sure can't tell the teachers. Feds are horrifying."

"No, no, they're super chill. You just have to talk to them," I insist. "Do you at least know how to activate it?"
"I was going to ask you how you know how to turn it on. I can't control anything." Amy shrugs.

"Nope," I say. "I'm going to have to go soon. My parents will be up any second. Heck, they're probably already up. I keep my voice down, but they probably wouldn't care if I was several extra levels of delusional." I make a teasingly grim expression. "Speaking of such, wish me luck today."

Amy pauses. When she's sad, she looks like one of those angel statues you see in church, gracefully somber in a way no mortal could ever be. (I'm not religious, but I appreciate good art.) "Should I... do you think I should tell Reema about Sarah? I haven't told anyone anything you've told me, or even so much as alluded to it. If they knew, if they took you away, it would be just as bad as things were before this."

My eyes slide towards the door. "Don't."

"Wasn't going to," she confirms, "But it's always nice to get validation for terrible decisions or lack thereof before you make them. I'll see you, Renard."

"Love you," I tell the open air, my voice dying as my voice chords tie themselves into knots. The bedroom is empty, save for the light pouring in from the sad winter sun, who timidly admits itself in. Four minutes until I need to leave, as the clock informs me, and I haven't left bed yet. My stomach growls with dissent.

Downstairs, my parents have lapsed into our new kind of normal. Dad's reading the paper. Mom's busy with breakfast, including bacon, which used to be a previous-Derrick thing. I eat it thankfully, take out my premade lunch, and say, heading out the front, "Have a nice day! Love you!" It rings out slightly more confidently, a compensation for earlier failures, and I get a quick nod of acknowledgement.

Everything is going so right, and so poorly. I feel the heavy weight of the morning as soon as I step into the car, which smells like oil and spite. Ms. Haven and Mr. Harring aren't there, instead, I get another agent, whose dark hair curves around her head.

"Let me guess. They're tired from handling teenagers?" I ask.

The driver turns the keys. The ride over is quiet, save for some incredibly sparkly pop music playing in the background to disguise the awkwardness.

"So, your name is..." I ask.

There's no answer. The woods roll by at an accelerating pace, becoming a copper blur and then an almost sickening dark stain. The snow is melting under the sheer force of the blue sky, if not the anemic sun, and even though I can barely make out trees, I keep seeing deer everywhere. They're waiting for me. I crawl towards the middle, or as far as I can lean when I'm in my seat, and for a second there is no glass. This is a fox thing. I grab the Eye, even though I know she won't come.

Still, I can at least imagine her heartbeat, and right now, thankfully, that's enough.

"Is everything I did with Harring and Haven a breach of protocol, Ms...?" My breath catches.

In the rear view mirror are hundreds of eyes. The woman speaks in a familiar voice, "Are you finding the ride satisfactory?"

I stifle a scream as we pull right into school. The car jolts to a stop and I clutch my stomach, eyes leaking tears, and my jaw is clenched so hard against my face that all my muscles in the area hurt. Still gasping for air, I watch as the woman turns around and says, "Is there a problem, Mr. Renard?" Her face is normal.

"Everything is hunky-dory," I tell her. "Please let me... out of the car now." Before asking for an invitation, I hop out of the car and dash for it. The halls are loud, everyone around me is still a total stranger, although they've adjusted by now to the sight of Extras. Really, I'm just looking for a few vague facts, Amy's friends, who deserve a good face punching right about now.

Two girls talk nervously in the corner on their way to class. I follow them up the stairs, which feels like some massive breach of tradition, and one of them turns around. "Can I help you?" she asks.

"Are you... Beckett Price?"
"Uh, yeah."

"Did you know Amy Rivers?"

"Uh, who? Sorry. The bell's about to ring."

I can't argue with that, so I let them leave, fists still clenched.

"They don't know you," I say to the open air.

People are watching. I remember, not for the first time, that I hate eyes. It had to be eyes, of course, every facet of this magnificent crown of fuckery had to be studded with creepy black human eyes, my eyes had to be rimmed in such a manner that no one would mistake them for a human's, your eyes had to go dull as all the light left your body. I see them like lanterns set in the skulls of everyone around me, peering out of personal voids into a world that they can hardly understand, that none of us do, and all the motion around me seems to cut the air, so that my vision is nothing but dull streaks of movement and people boring into my soul.

"Derrick?"

Ms. Reema finds me in the corner of the stairs having a panic attack. No one is hurt but the railing, which has several claw lashings in it that are my fault. I feel like one of those birds that get stuck in an airport, so clearly out of place that it's almost funny. I wipe the tears off my face as she situates me in her office. I'm still shaking, like my whole body's been set to vibrate (paging: call for Amy. Amy. Pick up. Amyyyyyy.), but I manage to at least look the poor woman in the eyes while she speaks to me.

"I've already contacted Ms. Shinke. This meeting is long overdue, Derrick. Mikayla told me you'd been having complicated visual and auditory hallucinations. She also thanked me, discreetly, I believe, for my 'gift'. I'm glad you all are making use of it. Your contributions have been more useful than anything I've received thus far from even the government, although this is partially due to unorthodoxy on my part... regardless, we're not here to talk about me or the world. We're here to talk about you."

"I like talking about other things," I say. "When I'm alone, all I do is think about myself. It gets a little boring. I'm like the oatmeal of conversation topics. Serviceable, but not tasty. You have to put things in the oatmeal to make it taste good. You want to talk about Mikayla and I? Sure. Amy and I? Definitely. Really, though, the best way to make oatmeal good is to not eat it. Throw all your oatmeal away. Burn it. Literally buy anything else besides oatmeal. It's not that difficult. There's a whole world of breakfast foods, Ms. Reema, and you can do better than oatmeal."

"Derrick, I appreciate your thoughts, but you are derailing this conversation."

"There's always time to talk about breakfast in the public school system. Do you want to talk about cereal? Cereal actually isn't that healthy. That 'part of a balanced breakfast' thing is villainous slander. Most cereals are just cardboard covered in sugar. In fact, some of them don't even have sugar! Did you know Special K was made as bland as possible because people believed spicy food led to--"

"Derrick." Ms. Reema says, folding her hands. "Several students have come to me reporting visions. You are not alone."

I pretend to be surprised by this, though if there's anything you can count on in life, it's that the Extras, all of the Extras, will be a catastrophic mess. "Oh. Woof."

Ms. Reema slips me a sheet. "These aren't unusual occurrences for Extras. Since yours are magically oriented, it can seem like they have far greater significance than they do, but they're more similar to PTSD than any kind of magic. We have ways to make sure you get help, strategies for dealing with attacks in public, and the like."

"What if these... hallucinations... started lining up with..." I pause. "Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you have no information on Amy Rivers, whatsover?"

She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Derrick, but if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. I've looked through everything we have, including normal school records. As far as they're concerned, she doesn't exist." She moves her hands around, fidgeting with some paper on her desk. "I don't mean to invalidate your experiences, but I'd like to suggest that you drop it."

"Alright. Fine. Consider it dropped. That just means that if anything really weird starts happening, I don't have to tell you about it."

"I'd very much still appreciate it if you wanted to tell me about what she's been like. Does she act like the Amy you knew? Does she occupy physical space others can not phase through? Do other people acknowledge her when she's there? Are your memories of her ever intercut with particularly traumatic experiences you've had?"

"Yes, haven't tested it, not really, aaaaand no, besides remembering that I failed to keep a loved one safe. If that's all you want, then I'd like to ask you for something myself. Ms. Reema, what are you doing with Sarah Revere?"

"There are procedures in place to deal with Extras who for some reason need to leave the program. As she's expressed a desire to go, we'll accommodate her. It's probably best for the other students as well, as things are going to be somewhat strained in the next few weeks. It's nothing that need concern you, Derrick." She smiles.

"It does, but whatever," I hoist myself onto my feet. It feels like I've been in this chair for hours, but I guess that's what intimidatingly friendly counselling will do to you. As I exit, I say, "I'm personally just shocked anyone would choose to have this happen to them. I tried to outrun it my whole life."

"She wouldn't be the first one."

I turn around. Ms. Reema sits in her desk, smiling sadly.

"It's not worth it," I say. No, wait. Without this, I never would have met Amy or Mikayla, not to mention anyone else in the classroom. The statement is so disingenuous that I can't believe it came out of my mouth. "It is and isn't. You grow a lot. Some things really suck. I don't know how to quantify it."

"Thank you, Derrick," says Mr. Reema.

Once again, I have fallen into the brutal trap of the child psychologist. My hands clench into infuriated claws and I eventually just stalk out, taking a motivational sticky note with me as I go. You've already slain the dragon. Now go get the princess! Oh man, Amy and Mikayla would resent this one. I kind of want to believe Arthur wrote it, but it's not his hand writing, which is thick and masculine, like Arthur. No, this is sort of scribbly, almost rambling, with big loops in the gs and ys. It's kind of cute, so I put it on the inside of my jacket. Like I could pull it out whenever: hey kids, want to buy some motivational sticky notes?

Entering the classroom, I catch the tail end of Biology, which, as far as I'm concerned, I've already surpassed my quota for by mentioning 'tail', a technical term for a large appendage on some vertebrates and others that comes from the posterior. Yep. Someone hand me an 'A'. Sarah's spot is empty, I break another pencil, and I keep messing with the Eye. Alya does look a little sad, off in her corner, now that you've mentioned it.

I don't know how I could possibly approach this.

The lunch bell comes, and with it, an open recess in conversation. I watch Alya with her noodles, which she moves around her plate the same way I moved around my food back when you were the only thing that occupied my mind. Alright, so that's not entirely false for the present day, but I'm in a better place.

Arthur pats Mikayla's back as he passes. "One down, fourteen to go, Mikayla. If you don't have someone in mind to pick on next, I'd like to nominate Owen."

Mikayla swings around angrily, lip pursed, probably ready to slam him into the next dimension, but Arthur walks away free. I consider punching him, too, especially because everyone at the table heard that. They're all quiet. There isn't, per say, a break in the table, but our membership is light today. Hoshi did the right thing and left, regardless of if we're 'allowed to' or not, although she went off to sit with Dustin in another corner. Hey, I don't like social isolation, I like social isolation. Anyways, I'm between Maris and Mikayla, or a rock and a hard place.

I scrawl down a note on my phone and pass it over to her. Maris. I was with Ms. Reema today and she mentioned other people had been to her to talk about hallucinations. You're still getting visions?

Maris massages the curves of her hand, tracing where the dark fabric of her glove meets her actual finger. Of course. She grabs my phone back, types more, and slings it back with an incredible amount of gusto. This is going to keep getting worse, isn't it?

The awkwardness at the table or the hallucinations?

Both!!! :( She looks my way. Mikayla peers over my shoulder.

"Mikayla. Chill," I say.

"You, Mikayla, and Finn are the ones figuring it out, right?" whispers Maris.

Mikayla takes my phone out of my hand, writes something, and passes it to Maris.

Maris nods. I snatch my phone back.

The whole table's watching us.

"I'm sorry for being popular with the ladies," I tell all my bemused classmates.

This is met by a round of laughter. Needless to say, half my primarily female class wouldn't date me if I were the last man on Earth. (The other half is taken or male and straight.) Actually, they might for the purpose of furthering the human race, but let's just say no one would be happy about it. There would also likely be several hang-ups about my anatomy... yeah this is a bad tangent. Point is, I have one perfect match, and I might just have her back. Maybe. If I ever figure out what's going on and the world doesn't end in the next few months.

By the time I've gone through this entire digression, we've regressed back into silence. "So," I say.

"Didn't expect that," Brittany says.

"The phone thing?" I ask.

"Anomalies at the zoo?" asks Mikayla.

"No. You know," she says. "Elephant in the room."

Arthur nods slowly, hands crossed in an imperial manner. "Doesn't really matter."

"What?" asks Alya. "You have to be kidding me. We just lost a classmate."

Castelia snorts. "She wasn't a classmate. I agree with Arthur. Doesn't matter."

"Dream-classes? Any input?" asks Brittany. "She was in your circle."

"No," Mikayla says. "I don't feel bad about it, either."

Finn shrugs.

"That closes it," Brittany says.

"Amen," Mikayla mutters, finishing her soup and moving on to her rice.

"We're not that bad, are we?" asks Maris. "She really went off."

Arthur says, "Depends on the day of the week and how many of you are on PMS."

"That was incredibly sexist," snaps Mikayla.

Arthur puts his hands up. Brittany puts both hands on her face. "I apologize for my boyfriend. He gets his manners from a neutered version of Fantasy Europe."

"Finn is also from Fantasy Europe and he's not a jackass," Mikayla says.

"The respecting women juice is water," Finn says. "Water and basic human empathy."

"I want that on a t-shirt," Alya says, slamming her hands on the table. Did I completely imagine any melancholy I saw in her? She's back to normal.

"Anyways, Arthur, you're free to start flinging shade around when you get off your ass and start helping us save the world again instead of sitting in the corner pretending that you're too cool to be an Extra," Mikayla jeers.

"This is highly disrespectful, Mikayla," Arthur says.

"Yikes. Guess you'll have to turn me into the authorities," she says. "Would not be hard for you. In fact, it's just about the easiest course of action you could take, pretty boy."

Arthur cracks a smile, and the table erupts with murmurs of agreement and dissent, but to my surprise, nothing escalates. Instead, Alya chips in with a quick "Mikayla, you are a menace" and soon the whole class is slinging around insults like food. All of us have griefs to air, I get slammed five times for flipping my jacket lapels, and I make sure to pitch in with some less than private thoughts about shifty inventory, in-classroom make out sessions, and a certain someone emotionally oscillating faster than a sine wave. (Mikayla punches me for that last one, right in the side.)

"Guess we are pretty bad," Olive says.

"Guess so," Brittany says, "but whatever."