[WP] You are a teenager with the ability to measure how "Dangerous" people are on a scale from 1 to 10 just by looking at them. A normal child would be a 1, while a trained man with an assault rifle might be a 7. Today, you notice the unassuming new kid at school measures a 10.

      I always said that school would kill me. I mean, who doesn't? It's horrible. You get stuck in a building with hundreds of sick jerks, brain-dead airheads, and painfully awkward nerds. But normally I can deal with it. Eventually I had figured out how to cue the mental iPod and escape into the worlds behind my eyes, coming back out only long enough to answer teachers' questions. The only other time I would notice anyone else was when the threat meter next to their head jumped a level. Most of them stayed around a 2 or 3. Every now and then when Jason got a little too high at lunch, he would jump to a 5, but that was rare. The gym teacher, Mr. Wright, who was ex-Army Rangers, was at a constant 6, but he was the one person in the school who acted like I was a person, so he didn't bother me. No, I liked it in my bubble. Things were coming along nicely in all of my dream worlds and I hadn't failed any classes yet, so it seemed like I would be able to finish this last year and be done with school forever.

      But all of that normalcy changed when I walked into the lunchroom. At first, I wasn't sure what it was. It looked almost . . . bright, like someone had forgotten to put the blinds down over the windows, but at the same time, nothing looked physically different. A little freaked out, I retreated to the corner table I could always count on to be my fortress of solitude in the chaos of high school lunch drama and sat down to breathe and inspect the room more carefully. There. The weirdness was coming from a new kid. He was sitting a few tables away, also all alone, but he was the new kid, so that was normal. High schoolers aren't exactly all little Mother Theresas. He really didn't look strange, though. He looked like your average slightly sheltered kid from a conservative family: short brown hair, non-committal sports tee, simple jeans. He was just normal. At least, that's what I thought until I saw the flashing 10 next to his extremely normal-looking face.

      10? There was no way. The highest I had ever seen was an 8, which had been next to a serial rapist's face on a news broadcast. How could this kid be that bad? I must be shorting out or misreading it. I blinked, looked around the room, stared at my food. When I was sure I had cleared my head, I looked back. The red 10 still hung beside his face. Something turned over in my stomach. I forgot everything and hurried out of the room. I grabbed my bike from the rack outside and pedaled off as fast as I could. I had to get away.

      When I got home, no one else was there, but I hadn't expected anyone would be. Mom and Dad were at work, James was off at college, and Kelly was still at school. I couldn't make myself sit still, though. I paced, I ran a lap around the block, I talked to the dog, I made a sandwich, I even cleaned my room. But nothing helped. How could a high school kid be a 10? My curiosity started beating out my fear. I had to know. Tomorrow, I would talk to him. I would be careful, of course. But I couldn't stand not knowing any longer.

      I hardly slept that night. I kept imagining all the possible reasons for his 10. Maybe he had been cursed as a child. Maybe he was actually a demon in disguise. Maybe . . .  my alarm clock rang loudly. I rushed through getting ready and flew to school. I was so anxious for lunch that I forgot to zone out in class. When lunch finally came, I hurried so I could be sure to sit with him. As I had hoped, he was still all by himself in the lunchroom. I sat down with a thump across from him. He just looked at me, very confused.

      "Hi. You're new, right?"

      He nodded, but his eyes were hard to read. I pride myself on being able to read people, but he didn't look like he felt anything. Secretly, I was impressed.

      "Where are you from?"

      "I need to go."

      He stood up and walked away. I was flustered, then decided to follow him. He owed me an explanation, after all. I ran after him, down the stairs, out the front door, and stopped. This wasn't my world. Well, it was, but it was a dream world I had built years ago. There was the stream with the rainbow fish that could speak, but only in poetry. I stepped forward to look into the water and the world exploded. The dream world melted away and turned into a grey sky. It was quiet. Then I saw him standing next to me as I lay in the street, looking down at me.

      "I'm sorry you saw me. I always hate it when someone notices me, but once you do," he shrugged. "That's how the rules work. I live here, but only if no one notices me. Sorry. Say hi to God for me. Tell Him I'll be a few more years."

      Then he faded and I saw people running toward me. A second later, my vision started to fade too. Stupid ghost. Stupid school. Stupid me. Stupid . . . .
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