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Title: Namesake Summary: There is no such thing as coincidence, not when you stop and think about it. Author's note: Just something I typed out on a slow day at work. I've been used to the nickname for sometime now, but today was the first time Mom heard it. She got this really weird look on her face. Sort of white and hurt; like last summer when Jimmy Barger hit me in the mouth with a baseball bat. It was an accident, Jimmy didn't mean to do it. I could hear him, apologizing and crying from somewhere far away while that sharp copper taste flooded my mouth and nose. Like sucking on a handful of pennies. Mom had that same look on her face then. I took my time buckling the seat belt, hoping she wouldn't say anything. And already knowing what she was going to say. "Honey, why did he call you that?" she waits until we are away from school and stopped at the first traffic light. Now what do I do? Play dumb? No, that's a bad idea. She'd see right through that in a heartbeat. "It's just a nickname, Mom. I just ignore them." "But how did you get that particular nickname, Will?" I dodge the question and stare at my sneakers. They're coated with a layer of playground dust. I bet I could write my name in it. "Honey?" I look out the window at the brick buildings we pass. For just a second I can pretend that the car is sitting still and the world is moving, instead of the other way around. I hear her sigh. "It's because I know things," the words are out of my mouth quickly, and I'm wondering why I said it at all. "Because you now things but don't know how you know them? Will, do you understand that makes you special?" I nod and rub my hand over the scab on my knee. It's remnant of last Thursdays little league game. Sure, I know that it makes me special. But special ain't all it's cracked up to be. Special is almost always different. And people don't like different that much. "So.. What happened?" We're almost home now and nudge my notebook with one dusty sneaker. I've got geography homework. I hate geography. "Mrs. Tine gave us a surprise test in math yesterday, and I passed it. A lot kids didn't, and then she told us it was a mistake. She gave us the wrong test. It was for the sixth graders. She asked me.." The words I was going to say just sort of slip away and my face burns with embarrassment. "She asked me if I had cheated. I said no so she started asking me a bunch of math questions. Stuff we'd never studied. And I answered them." "Wait a minute. She asked you all this in front of the class?" "Yes, and they all stared at me. At first they laughed, but then they stopped laughing." "And that's when they started calling you Spooky?" We're parked in front of our house, and I want to get out of the car. I want to go inside and see what's on TV. Most of all, I don't want to talk about this anymore. "I just ignore them," I say again, picking up my books in one hand and reaching for the door handle with the other. "There are worse things then being called Spooky." "I'm not sure your Dad would agree with you on that one," Scully whispers as she watches her son cross the lawn. ~fin
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