WILLIAM GRAYSON KING
You looked at the name printed on your schedule. You prefered your initials, but until you got established here you would have to answer to William. You had just moved to a new school in the city where your dad had gotten a job. You say "Dad", but you were actually adopted; your real parents, whoever they were, had abandoned you on the steps of an orphanage as an infant. If they could only see what you were now, they might have been smart enough to keep you.
Your first class was gym, which was fine by you. You were hoping to check out the pool, as you planned to join the swim team. You had been state champion back at your old school in Kansas, but then there weren't a great number of swimmer's in that state. You were anxious to find out what California had to offer.
After peeking into the pool area, you headed for the locker room. But once inside, you realized you weren't alone. On the far side of the room, hidden from any wandering teachers by a row of lockers, two large bullies were harassing a smaller kid, probably a ninth grader. You knew you had to help, but you didn't want to create a scene on your first day.
"Hey, kid, what're you doin' here?" one of them guffawed. "Shouldn't you be down in the elementary?"
"Tell you what," the other said, "if you give us you're lunch money, we won't turn you in for bein' up here."
The kid knew where this was going, and was trying to avoid confrontation by doing absolutely nothing. He did not speak, did not move, did not show any emotion on his face. He would be hard to play poker with. But the bullies were getting bored.
"What are ya? Stupid? I said give me your money!"
Suddenly, the bullies had their underwear over their heads and their wallets came out of their pockets to repeatedly slap them in the face. The two ran out of the locker room, yelling for help while the kid looked stunned. You tried to leave, but he spotted you.
"How did you do that?" he asked, his voice quivering slightly. So much for not making a scene. You would blame him for losing his poker face, but then, who wouldn't?
"I don't know what you're talking about," you try to shove it off.
"Bullshit."
"Okay, so maybe I did do it, but you have to figure it out for yourself."
"Aw come on, it's not like I have a giant group of friends to run and tell."
The kid's unfallible logic was actually making you consider, but you still had reservations. Your powers allowed you to alter any physical or dimensional aspect of your world and impose influence on peoples' thoughts, but free will was ultimately their choice. If this kid chose to run and tell someone, you could make him a mute, or make the other person deaf, but that seemed kind of drastic.
"How about you spend the week trying to prove I can trust you," you told him. "On Friday, I'll consider revealing my secret."
He seemed mildly disappointed, but followed you to the gym. It turned out it was a mixed-grade gym class that he shared with you and the bullies. They were still rubbing their asses from the wedgies and had forced their wallets back into their pockets. They had a look of suspicion and fear as they saw the kid. You laughed inwardly.
"This ought to be a fun school."
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