Forget Tiptoes

Shelby crept down the stairs, taking long steps and testing each potential foothold for creaks. Pausing on the bottom step, she glanced toward the door on the far side of the dining room. The piece of cardboard holding it open a fraction of an inch was still dimly visible in the gloom. Wonderful. Light spilled from the half-open kitchen door, and she could hear her aunt and uncle talking quietly behind it. Less so.

A “mrroooww” from the floor in a tone humans usually reserve for sarcasm interrupted her musings. Eric’s gray long-haired tabby--Shelby had nicknamed him Mop, though he didn’t much resemble one in anything but personality--stared up at her. She knelt and scratched his ears to keep him quiet.

“So when’s that cross country meet?” Aunt Carla.

“It’s on a Saturday.” That one was her uncle. “I’m not sure if that’s this one or next week.”

“So it’s this weekend.” Score one for inanity. Sleep deprivation's a terrible thing.

“Might be. I’ll look it up.” Didn’t they have anything to talk about that would be worth eavesdropping on?

As if they’d somehow read her mind, they fell silent for a few seconds.

“Do you think it’ll be a snow day?” asked Aunt Carla.

She’d take that as a no.

Regardless of how engrossed they were in their discussion, they would probably notice if she darted across their field of view. Could she just stroll in and say she was getting a cup of water? No. She wouldn’t be able to get away again. A distraction? Absolutely.

She’d been waiting to try this for weeks.

Shelby shoved Mop aside, closed her eyes, and mentally reached for the den. Each tiny speck of metal along the way gleamed silver in her mind’s eye. She called the trick “shark-vision.” The description wasn’t exactly accurate, but whatever.

The sequence of electromagnetic manipulations corresponding to the TV’s power button was nearly muscle memory. Mashing buttons on the remote to turn up the volume was harder, but when the afterdark silence was broken by the sound of a robotic tyrannosaurus thrown through a building, Shelby could hardly keep from crowing. Eric had indeed left Age of Extinction in the player.

“What was that?” Carla.

“Kids must’ve left the TV on,” said her uncle. “I’ll--”

Shelby leaned against the other side of the door and exhaled slowly. She had to be more careful about flaring. She didn’t know her limits yet, shouldn’t chance it…

Oh who was she kidding. Superpowers were awesome, shooting lightning was awesome, and she’d been able to pull off every trick she’d attempted to date, so the “limits” must be some distance further than screwing with machines and occasionally emulating an LED. She readjusted her hood, bounced off the step, and fell into an easy lope. She had a fair amount of time until dawn. “One night’s work,” Watson? He’d never had an agenda like hers.