The overhead fluorescents of Northwood High hummed with an unsettling efficiency, much like the entire universe to Lily Evergreen. She knew, with absolute certainty, that Mrs. Davison was about to ask for the answer to question seven on the pop quiz. It was about the socio-economic impact of the Industrial Revolution, a topic Lily found profoundly unstimulating, mostly because she'd already scrolled through Mrs. Davison's thoughts on it during breakfast. The answer, of course, was 'urbanization leading to widespread poverty and social stratification.' Lily barely bothered to lift her pen.
"Lily?" Mrs. Davison's voice, a predictable blend of hopeful prodding and impending disappointment, cut through the quiet rustle of frantic test-takers. "Do you have the answer?"
Lily sighed internally, a sound unheard by anyone but her own perpetually unimpressed mind. Of course, I have the answer. I have all the answers. I had the answers before you even wrote the questions. She scribbled it down with an elegant, bored flourish, then pushed the paper forward. Mrs. Davison peered at it, a flicker of surprise (and a mental note to 'check Lily's understanding more often') passing through her consciousness. Lily, already done, returned to staring out the window, where a squirrel was contemplating the existential dread of a fallen acorn. Its thoughts were surprisingly complex for a rodent.
This was Lily's life. A relentless, inescapable symphony of human thought, every secret, every petty grievance, every unexpressed desire laid bare before her. It wasn't a gift; it was background noise, a constant, dull roar that made everything predictable and, consequently, profoundly boring. She could bend spoons with a thought, teleport across town in a blink, or subtly influence a teacher's mood to avoid an annoying assignment. But what was the point? The outcome was always known. The thrill, if there ever was one, had evaporated years ago, leaving only a residue of weary indifference.
Lunch was, predictably, a kaleidoscope of culinary despair. The cafeteria, a petri dish of adolescent anxieties and stale air, was currently buzzing with thoughts of lukewarm tater tots and the ongoing saga of Jessica from cheerleading's clandestine relationship with a senior from Westview High. Lily knew the entire story, including Jessica's plans to break up with him by text after school. So dramatic, Lily thought, picking at her decidedly non-Korean-fusion-inspired chicken patty. And so predictable.
Her internal eye-roll was legendary, even to herself. There was, however, one sliver of the day that held a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of interest. A craving. A deep, persistent yearning that even her omnipotent mind couldn't quell by mere willpower alone. It was the siren call of something sweet, something rich, something preferably Korean.
She mentally scanned the school's immediate vicinity. No Korean restaurants within a two-mile radius, a travesty for a town of this size. The vending machine downstairs held only stale chocolate bars and sugary sodas – utterly beneath her sophisticated palate of craving. Her mom, Akari, bless her dramatic heart, would undoubtedly have some store-bought shortbread cookies, but Lily could already taste their bland, floury thoughts. No, this required precision. This required strategy.
The bakery down on Elm Street has those honey-butter pastries, her mind supplied. And the small Korean grocery store by the bus stop just got a fresh delivery of tteokbokki and maybe some hoddeok. Her stomach gave a tiny, un-nonchalant rumble. This was a true weakness, one that occasionally propelled her into action more effectively than any moral imperative.
"Lily, are you even listening?" Chloe Miller's voice, bubbly and bright as always, popped through the general cafeteria din. Chloe's thoughts, a riot of hashtags and TikTok dance trends, were easy to sift through. Currently: Is my highlight blinding? Does this angle make my nose look weird? Should I post about this really good-looking new transfer student?
Lily, who had been meticulously plotting her post-school Korean food pilgrimage, blinked slowly. "Yes, Chloe. You were saying something about, uh, the optimal lighting for your next 'GRWM' video?"
Chloe's eyes widened, a mental exclamation point appearing in her thoughts. Wow, Lily actually pays attention sometimes! "Exactly! And I just realized, with the way the sun hits the science wing at 3:15, it's perfect! But that means I'd miss my ride with Seth."
"Seth wouldn't mind waiting," Lily said, casually. She'd just 'nudged' Seth's thoughts a moment ago. He was currently contemplating the perfect shade of ochre for a stormy sky. His brain was easy too, though far less cluttered than Chloe's. Seth's thought on the matter now was simply, Chloe's art is important. A few extra minutes are fine.
"Oh my god, Lily, you're a lifesaver!" Chloe gushed, already pulling out her phone. "You just get me!"
Lily just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. It wasn't "getting" her; it was reading her blueprint. She'd done it automatically, a simple telepathic flick of the wrist. It required less energy than actually having to explain the science wing's lighting angles to Chloe. Her mind was already on the fragrant, spicy thoughts of a freshly made bowl of tteokbokki.
The rest of the school day was a blur of similar, minor interventions. She gently steered Priya away from a scheduling conflict that would have sent her into a mental spiral of stress, just by 'suggesting' a different approach. She corrected a factual error in the school newspaper's internal draft by subtly influencing the editor's memory. All in a day's work. All effortless. All boring.
By the time the final bell shrieked its freedom song, Lily was already mentally halfway to that Korean grocery. The hum of adolescent excitement filled the halls, but Lily just felt the usual dull throb of anticipation for her sole, true indulgence.
Nothing, of course, until her eyes landed on him.
Near the main school exit, a crowd had gathered around the new transfer student everyone had been whispering about. Kyle Bartlett. He was bigger than she'd imagined, a little awkward in the way he shifted his weight, his perpetually messy bun somehow endearing. His face wasn't conventionally attractive, but there was a genuine warmth in his eyes as he patiently answered questions from a gaggle of curious sophomores. Lily had read snippets about his arrival in the principal's thoughts, but hadn't paid him much mind. Another predictable human, another mind to sift through.
But as she mentally reached out, a habitual, almost unconscious reflex, her powers met nothing.
No thoughts. No internal monologue. No chaotic stream of opinions or anxieties or secret crushes. Just blankness. A vast, silent void in the noisy landscape of her mind. It was inexplicable. It was impossible. It was, for Lily Evergreen, the first genuinely unknown thing she had encountered in years.
Her mental eye-roll was gone, replaced by a flicker of pure, unadulterated shock. The prospect of sweets and Korean food, just moments before her sole focus, faded into the background.
Who is this guy? And why can't I hear him?
A peculiar flutter, a sensation she still hadn't fully cataloged, bloomed in her chest. Annoying? Intriguing? Definitely confusing. And, as she admitted only to herself, kind of… fascinating.