“Make Ms. Watson ask me on a dinner date this saturday.”


“No? Alright. I’ll tell the Norberts what happened to their kid was no accident and a certain Mark had something to do with it.”

“You made me do it,” muttered Mark angrily.

“Who’ll believe you? I’m their favourite teacher, remember? Go on now. Ms. Watson will break for lunch in five minutes,” ordered Mr. Andrew.

Ms. Watson has always been nice to me. The only one who has. She shouldn’t have to go on a date with a man like Mr. Andrew. Mark leaned on a locker, scanning through the kids, waiting and hoping that Ms. Watson doesn’t come his way. Should I lie about it? But Mr. Andrew will know. He always knows.

Mark untied and retied his shoelaces and pondered over how long it will take him to master his gift. He can’t manipulate Mr. Andrew until then. Ms. Watson won’t like him anyway, she’s smart enough to see through his fake charm. Maybe I’ll hang by the restaurant and make her throw a glass of water on his face.

She was near. When Ms. Watson passed him by in the corridor, Mark put the dinner date worm in her head. To his surprise she turned around and responded telepathically.

Ms. Watson asked, “Did he make you do it? What else have you done at his behest?”