drownedinlight (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drownedinlight) wrote2011-03-05 07:11 pm
drownedinlight) wrote2011-03-05 07:11 pm
Entry tags:
Experiment
Today was rainy, and it gave me a headache, so no homework was accomplished. Somewhere around two, I got this idea and it ran away with me. And it's still not done yet. See piece word count.
Start of the Project, Day Zero:
I don’t know why I agreed to do this study.
Well, that’s not true, I know why—they’re paying me $1,000 a week, for as long as I match their test profile, to take a pill, watch a video a day and go into their facility once a week. I need the money for when I start college in a year, and having a part time job for two years already barely earned me enough money to buy my car. And well, I’m eighteen so it’s not like I can’t participate in selling my body for science. I just know I won’t qualify for many scholarships because my parents make just enough money, and well, I’m smart, but definitely not smart enough to earn a score high enough on one of the standardized tests that a college is going to offer me a full ride just to go there.
The thing is there’s just something about this that gives me the creeps.
Maybe it was the cold white facility they had. Seriously, everything was white, even the metal and the plastic there. Maybe it was because they asked me to strip down to my underwear while the female doctors took my measurements, then my blood pressure, then some of my actual blood. (Actually, that part was kind of like what I had to do at the doctor’s once.) Maybe it’s because of the IQ test—seriously, who has you take an IQ test for these kinds of things. Maybe it’s because I don’t understand the drug they’re having me take.
They said it was almost like a performance enhancement drug, and they wanted to the crash effect of it. No, it was not be used for “athletic endeavors,” one of the doctors said. It was more likely to be used on people who had been in accidents, or had strokes, to help them recover. And I thought, hey, if I can be a small part of someone recovering from an accident or a stroke, I’ll help them. And they even gave us our checks on the way out the door.
But it still creeps me out.
Week One, Day Three:
So we’re supposed to write down if we’re noticing anything unusual about ourselves, but I still feel the same. Even after the walk I take every day (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention we have to participate in some form of exercise. Later, if we survive the test rounds, we might have to do something more extreme), I just feel pretty normal.
The videos they have us watch are nothing special either; they’re history channel caliber documentaries. We’ve had one about Leonardo da Vinci, Ancient Rome and modern day weapons so far. Mostly, I’m trying to concentrate on getting my summer homework done for my AP classes in the fall, working enough at my job to supplement my experiment income and ignoring my little brother.
Week One, Day Seven:
Today, I drove to the facility and let them do all of their measurements and samples and stuff. They say the drug has like a .01% chance of hurting me, or something like that, but that they don’t want me to be the .01%. Probably more because they don’t want to get sued rather them really caring about each individual life.
The head doctor leafed through my journal and saw that I was keeping a full one rather than just writing down the scientific stuff.
“I like it, keep it up,” he said. “It’s good to document everything, so that way even if you don’t think something strange is going on, we might be able to tell if it is, for sure.”
All that walking must be good for me, though. They say that I’ve lost two pounds. Great now only forty or fifty more to go before I’m actually a healthy weight. I’m not even joking, they wrote it down in their notes.
Week Two, Day Four:
I walked to the library today to finish out all of my summer homework, though I didn’t really get all of it done. I have to say though, all the practice for Calculus must be making it easier, because I haven’t had homework this easy since algebra, and I’m doing Calculus 2, even. I also bought some fruit off of the vendor in the café for lunch. Oh yeah, I’ve also been craving fruits and veggies a lot lately. Is that normal? I mean I know you crave something because your body thinks you need it, but I’m usually pretty good about getting enough vitamins, even if it is through horse pills.
Week Three, Day One:
So, I’m now $3000 dollars richer, three weeks older, and nine pounds lighter. I’d already written my entry when I went to the facility last night, and they told me I had lost an additional seven pounds my second week. I wouldn’t have really been concerned, but I’ve heard that loosing too much weight all at once can be bad for you.
“Well, I’d say you’re losing at a healthy rate,” the head doctor told me. “Usually, accelerated weight loss is a bad thing if it’s unnatural, because of sickness or a pill, and this pill is not designed to increase metabolic rate at a pace to make you lose more weight. Just so people can eat more to help them regenerate muscle. The fact that you’re exercising and eating a healthier diet only is the only real thing helping you burn off fat. What would really help you is if you tried to counter the fat loss with muscle gain.”
“Which will help me loose more fat, too,” I pointed out.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” I think I made a face because he said; “Now I don’t mean it like you should be pretty because all the girls on TV are. What I mean is it would be best if you lost this weight to better improve your healthy in the future. It looked like you were steadily gaining weight in the past, and with your family history of disease, this could have led to any number of things, such as diabetes.” I couldn’t really argue with that, now could I?
Now I’m doing a regimen of sit ups, push-ups and weighted exercises to help build some muscle. And maybe it’s a little Bridget Jones but I think I’m going to start recording my weight.
Week Three, Day Six:
I had to belt up my pants today, so I checked: I’ve lost another six pounds.
Other people are starting to notice too, like my boss at my part time job at the book store. He stared at me for a good five minutes, trying to figure out what, exactly, had changed.
“Have you lost weight?” he asked at last.
“Yeah, about fifteen pounds,” I said. “I’ve been working out a little and cutting some of the junk out of my diet.”
“You’re lucky you’re so young that it’s as easy as that. Let me know when you stop loosing and I’ll order you another shirt.”
Yeah, it’s easy, but that’s the part that bothers me. It just feels weird. Like my body’s changing or something and I have no control over it.
Week Four, Day Three:
I went for a run today. I am recording this because I don’t really run a whole lot. I don’t like running. Running leaves me winded and my throat raw, and my legs aching. Therefore the fact that I did a mile run around the loop at the park and then ran home is a little strange for me. So I’m writing this down.
Oh, and I’ve lost another four pounds. That makes nineteen pounds total.
Week Four, Day Six:
I haven’t written the past two days or so, because I’ve been hallucinating while bedridden.
I got a fever two days ago, and it was light at first, so I called in sick, and went to bed at ten in the morning. By that evening when my mom got home, it had only gotten worse and it pretty much staid worse all through the night and next day when my fever finally broke. Mom said that the highest it got was 103.2°. She almost took me to the hospital, but then it finally started to go down. Apparently, I also sweat so much that I lost about five pounds while I was asleep and hallucinating.
Week Four, Day Seven:
“Are you feeling better?” the head doctor asked.
“Yeah, um, though I wanted to ask… is fever a side effect of this drug you’re having me take?” He shook his head,
“Actually you’re only about our fifth recorded case for a fever while on this drug,” he said. “And we’ve had hundreds of people take it, so we’ve ruled out those cases as just strange happenings. I’m curious though, since you wrote down you had hallucinations, what did you see?”
“I don’t think they were actually hallucinations,” I said. “I just think I could hear my family talking around the house through the vents and things, and since I was so feverish, it didn’t quite make sense.” He smiled and nodded.
“That sounds much more reasonable.”
Week Five, Day Two:
Yesterday I took the ACT (with Writing) and today, I took the SAT. I thought it would be murder doing the two tests two days in a row, but I felt fine—better than fine, actually, I worked out a lot of the answers in my head without really thinking. My writing wasn’t even really that bad, though I felt a little rushed on both, but that’s how they’re supposed to make you feel. In fact, I went home afterwards and did my exercises I was feeling so good. I suppose it finally hit me that I have five grand in my savings account. And tomorrow’s the fourth of July, so I get to go and celebrate with my family (provided it doesn’t rain, but it always rains, and we always have fireworks, so I guess it’s cool). I just feel really fantastic.
I wonder if that’s a side effect of the drug.
Week Five, Day Five:
Had to go in for a five week physical with some of the other people still taking the drug. The doctors want to compare us side by side, so that’s why it moved days for this week. There were only about ten people there, but I recognized a few from school, including Joseph Emerson. Joe and I knew each other from the geek circles at school, but it looked like he had shot up a good six inches, and put on enough muscle that he looked more like a jock. Apparently, he had also been working on his self-esteem because he walked right up and hugged me.
“How have you been? You look great,” he said. I had lost a lot of weight, over thirty pounds at this point, and even more fat, so I smiled, and said,
“Thanks, you look pretty great yourself.” The self-esteem wasn’t that high, because he did blush a little. “I’ve been okay. I’ve been working at least six hours a day, more if I can so I can earn some money for school.”
“You mean more money,” he said. “But yeah, I’ve pretty much been doing the same thing, making as many deliveries as I can. Have you applied for any schools yet?”
“No, just took my standardized tests this week. When I see how well I did I’ll start filling out my applications. Where are you thinking of going to?”
“I’m thinking about applying for the the state schools, a few out of state, I’m applying to a few of the ivies. But I only just took my ACT and SAT this week too. We must have been at the same ones but in different rooms.”
“Yeah, must have because I don’t remember seeing you. Good luck with the ivies though,” I said. “I would apply, but I think it would be a waste of eighty bucks.”
“Hey, you never know. Besides, if you do get in they pretty much help you and any way they can to go there.” I shook my head. “I’m serious, a lot of the schools take a lot of merit to get in, so they pretty much only have need based scholarships.”
“Yeah, but my parents make sixty-grand a year,” I retorted.
“And an ivy league school costs about eighty-grand or something like that, per year,” he said. “They’d help you work it out. And aren’t you like Native American or something? You could help increase the minority at any school.”
“I’m more WASP than native.” I punched him in the arm. “Now you would get that minority scholarship.” He smiled white teeth even brighter against his dark brown skin.
“Well, after two-hundred years of slavery, I think we deserve a couple million dollars in education.”
It was then one of the doctors called the ten of us together and had us climb onto some treadmills. We ran for a good half-hour, and then they had us do some weight training exercises, as well as pull ups, sit ups, the like. We ran an obstacle course a couple of times, and then did group exercises. After we stretched out, they had us take a paper test, which I assumed was an IQ test.
“That was a little brutal,” Joe said when we walked out.
“It’s just the adrenaline dying; you’ll be fine in another half-hour or something when your endorphins kick in.”
“Do you know what you’re talking about?”
“Not really.” I flashed a smile at him. “Hey are you hungry?”
“Why, you asking me out?” he said.
“No, I’m asking if you want food after that particularly ‘brutal’ workout.”
And yeah, he agreed to go. It wasn’t really a date, but it still felt like one, and that was really cool. My first date. Joe even kissed me on the cheek when we left the burger joint we went to go grab a bite at. I mean, it’s not a first kiss or anything, really, but he gave me his number and I gave him mine so we could do it again when we both weren't working or doing other stuff. Yeah, it was a pretty good day.
Week Six, Day Four:
Not much to report really. Joe invited me to go shooting after my early morning check up in a few days. I told him about how I had wanted to learn lately, and he said his dad’s a cop and goes hunting occasionally, so wouldn’t mind showing us the finer points of doing so.
Week Six, Day Seven:
There are officially no more holes on my belt that can make a pair of my pants fit comfortably, I had to wear a pair of capris I out grew years ago that I found shoved into the back of one of my drawers. I told the doctors this while they were noting my weight and they nodded along.
“Well, since it is an effect of the regimen we have you on, I think we can reimburse you for some new clothes,” the head doctor said, making a few notes in my ever growing file.
“I thought you said the pill didn’t really cause weight loss,” I said.
“No, but we’re having you work like we would have a patient work, and ever since we began to suggest a diet for you some time ago, that has had an effect as well. So, naturally, you’re dropping a few clothes sizes. Others have gained some due to all of the muscle they’ve put on. We figured it would happen in the long term of the regimen, so we left a little space for a couple sets of clothes.” I decided not to argue that, even though they were paying it for me on top of the grand they gave me every week, because hey, I was their guinea pig, and well, free clothes! “Just don’t go over two hundred, and I think it should be fine.”
Shooting with Joe and his dad was actually really fun. Mr. Emerson was nice and patient with me; even though I didn’t have much trouble aiming or firing. He actually asked me if I had ever been shooting before, but of course I hadn’t.
“Oh, well, some people do pick it up really quickly,” he said. “I guess you’re just one of them.”
So yeah, shooting was cool.
Week Seven, Day Two:
My sister came home to spend a little time with the family and found out what I had been doing and how much I had been getting paid, and how much weight I had lost, and she was pissed.
“I can’t believe I didn’t get a chance like this when I was living here,” she complained. I could have told her that they had been running these tests for years perfecting the drug, so she could have had the chance while she was here going to college if she had looked for it and taken it. “You get all the luck,” she said. I said I had to go to work and left. I also forgot to invite her shopping for when I got off of work. I did not forget to ask her to join me for my evening work out and run if she was so interested in losing weight. I left her in the dust.
On a side-effectual note, I have been getting headaches. They vary in intensity and length and even when I get them, but I’ve been getting them consistently enough since about five days ago that I think it’s worth writing down now.
Week Seven, Day Five:
There’s no real way to explain this, so I’m counting it on the weird meter.
Today was the day I was able to check my ACT and SAT scores.
Today was the day I found out I got a 36 and a 2400 as my scores.
This isn’t possible.
It’s not that I’m unintelligent; it’s that I’m not that intelligent. There is no way I should have been able to score near perfectly (my writing was off on both, but not enough to change the averages). I felt like I couldn’t tell my family, because they would know something was up, so I called Joe.
“Have you checked your test results yet?” I asked.
“I’m on a delivery run, so no. Why, what did you get?”
“Could you tell me your pin and stuff, so I can check?”
“Why does it matter?” he asked.
“’Cause it does, I just want to see what you got.” By breathing was getting heavier now, I could hear it through the phone.
“Myra, calm down,” he ordered. “Is something wrong? Did you bomb the tests?”
“No, I didn’t bomb,” I said choking a little. I had started to cry and my nose had started to run.
“Then what’s wrong, how did you do?”
“I got a perfect score!” I yelled. “On both of them, that’s what’s wrong!”
“Baby,” I liked the way he called me that, even though we hadn’t really even been dating, and I was still kind of crying, “Baby, what’s wrong about that? That means you studied, that you did really good.”
“No, it’s wrong because I know myself, Joe, I know I would have done well—I’ve done okay on the practice tests. I just can’t have gotten a perfect score! And I’ve tried refreshing and rechecking the page, just to makes sure I did everything right, but it’s still—” I started chocking and I couldn’t breathe.
“Myra, you need to take deep breathes, you’re going to start hyperventilating. Breathe in, now let it out.” I listened to him over the phone, trying to take the deepest breathes that I could, and eventually it felt like my throat wasn’t closed up anymore. “Listen, if you’re so concerned about it, maybe you should call them. Make sure you got the right scores. But just try and be happy. You can get into any school in the country now—maybe a few outside of the country. And listen, I’ll come by tonight, and we’ll go see a move or something to take your mind off of it.”
After I calmed down, I told my family that the documentary the facility had me watch today made me cry and that Joe was going to come by to take me out and cheer me out. Mom asked if I had checked my scores. I told her I got a thirty and a 2000. They were ecstatic.
Week Eight, Day One:
Today’s the day that it finally happened. My hands are shaking as I write this, and up until now, I wasn’t even sure what the it was, just that it was coming.
Ever since last week, I’ve been keeping a separate journal. I tore the entry from day five out so that they couldn’t tell what I had written in a panic. I didn’t tell anyone at the facility about my scores when it came time for my check up, and I almost ripped up the check when I got home, but I couldn’t.
Today, I worked a twelve hour shift and stayed until closing time. Unfortunately, the book store I work at is in a mall complex, so when I got there this morning the parking lot was packed, and I had to park towards the back. When I locked the front door of the store, I got a bad feeling as I looked out over the dark parking lot. My car was one of two in the lot, and somehow it just didn’t feel right. But I had to leave, so I walked out onto the black top, trying to stay as close to the street lights as I could.
When I passed by the other car in the lot, I realized there was a man sitting on top of it, smoking a cigarette. I watched him as he took a drag before he dropped it on the ground and stopped it out. He stood up off of the car, and took a step forward. That was all I needed—I ran.
I had become quite fast over my last two months of exercise, but I was scared and trembling and even though I made it to my car, I didn’t get my keys out before he made it to me, pushing me on top of the hood, and reaching for my jeans. I tried pushing him off but he held me firm and finally I yelled,
“Stop it!”
And he did. He simply stopped moving, though he held me in place. “Get off,” I ordered, and he did. “Go home, don’t do this ever again,” I told him. Slowly, he walked back to his car. I heard the car start and sank down, resting my head against my tire.
I don’t really remember how I did it, but I pulled my cell phone out and soon heard Joe’s voice on the other end.
“Hello,” he said.
“Are you busy?” I asked.
“Just got done for the night.”
“Could you come and get me. I don’t think I can drive.”
I don’t remember this happened either, but when he got there, I was in the car with the doors locked when he got there, and nearly jumped out of my skin when he tapped on the glass. My finger pressed the unlock button as soon as I remembered how, and Joe slid into the car. He took my hand, and he didn’t need to ask me for an explanation, I just started talking.
“What’s happening to me?” I asked him, wiping away at tears I didn’t know I had. “How did I do that? How has any of the last seven weeks been possible?” His grip tightened around my hand.
“I can hear people now,” he admitted quietly. “It started a few days ago, but I can hear what they think. Whatever’s happening to you is happening to me too.”
“They’re doing it to us,” I said. “Whatever they put in that pill, somehow it’s making us like this.”
“That’s crazy.”
“So is being able to hear people think, or controlling them by your will,” I said. “We couldn’t do this until just now. Tell me, what are the odds that of us developing superpowers would be if we hadn’t been involved in this?”
“So, what this is some crazy government testing thing?” he asked. “They’re making superheroes?”
“We need to ask the others about this. If they’re like us, than that proves it.”
“Look, if you’re right, they probably have our phones bugged, maybe our computers too,” he said. “How are we going to find anybody?”
“Did you recognize anyone by name from the physical?” I asked.
“Stephen, but that’s it.”
“Then we find him the old fashion way.” After all, I doubt they have bugs in phone books. Joe never said yes, he just squeezed my hand and all I could do is hope that he would be with me tomorrow.
Piece WC: 4202
3/5/11 WC: same
Project WC: 13981
Almost finished with: Push Comes to Shove by Maud Lavin
About to start: The Wonderful Wizard of OZ by L. Frank Baum.
Start of the Project, Day Zero:
I don’t know why I agreed to do this study.
Well, that’s not true, I know why—they’re paying me $1,000 a week, for as long as I match their test profile, to take a pill, watch a video a day and go into their facility once a week. I need the money for when I start college in a year, and having a part time job for two years already barely earned me enough money to buy my car. And well, I’m eighteen so it’s not like I can’t participate in selling my body for science. I just know I won’t qualify for many scholarships because my parents make just enough money, and well, I’m smart, but definitely not smart enough to earn a score high enough on one of the standardized tests that a college is going to offer me a full ride just to go there.
The thing is there’s just something about this that gives me the creeps.
Maybe it was the cold white facility they had. Seriously, everything was white, even the metal and the plastic there. Maybe it was because they asked me to strip down to my underwear while the female doctors took my measurements, then my blood pressure, then some of my actual blood. (Actually, that part was kind of like what I had to do at the doctor’s once.) Maybe it’s because of the IQ test—seriously, who has you take an IQ test for these kinds of things. Maybe it’s because I don’t understand the drug they’re having me take.
They said it was almost like a performance enhancement drug, and they wanted to the crash effect of it. No, it was not be used for “athletic endeavors,” one of the doctors said. It was more likely to be used on people who had been in accidents, or had strokes, to help them recover. And I thought, hey, if I can be a small part of someone recovering from an accident or a stroke, I’ll help them. And they even gave us our checks on the way out the door.
But it still creeps me out.
Week One, Day Three:
So we’re supposed to write down if we’re noticing anything unusual about ourselves, but I still feel the same. Even after the walk I take every day (oh, yeah, I forgot to mention we have to participate in some form of exercise. Later, if we survive the test rounds, we might have to do something more extreme), I just feel pretty normal.
The videos they have us watch are nothing special either; they’re history channel caliber documentaries. We’ve had one about Leonardo da Vinci, Ancient Rome and modern day weapons so far. Mostly, I’m trying to concentrate on getting my summer homework done for my AP classes in the fall, working enough at my job to supplement my experiment income and ignoring my little brother.
Week One, Day Seven:
Today, I drove to the facility and let them do all of their measurements and samples and stuff. They say the drug has like a .01% chance of hurting me, or something like that, but that they don’t want me to be the .01%. Probably more because they don’t want to get sued rather them really caring about each individual life.
The head doctor leafed through my journal and saw that I was keeping a full one rather than just writing down the scientific stuff.
“I like it, keep it up,” he said. “It’s good to document everything, so that way even if you don’t think something strange is going on, we might be able to tell if it is, for sure.”
All that walking must be good for me, though. They say that I’ve lost two pounds. Great now only forty or fifty more to go before I’m actually a healthy weight. I’m not even joking, they wrote it down in their notes.
Week Two, Day Four:
I walked to the library today to finish out all of my summer homework, though I didn’t really get all of it done. I have to say though, all the practice for Calculus must be making it easier, because I haven’t had homework this easy since algebra, and I’m doing Calculus 2, even. I also bought some fruit off of the vendor in the café for lunch. Oh yeah, I’ve also been craving fruits and veggies a lot lately. Is that normal? I mean I know you crave something because your body thinks you need it, but I’m usually pretty good about getting enough vitamins, even if it is through horse pills.
Week Three, Day One:
So, I’m now $3000 dollars richer, three weeks older, and nine pounds lighter. I’d already written my entry when I went to the facility last night, and they told me I had lost an additional seven pounds my second week. I wouldn’t have really been concerned, but I’ve heard that loosing too much weight all at once can be bad for you.
“Well, I’d say you’re losing at a healthy rate,” the head doctor told me. “Usually, accelerated weight loss is a bad thing if it’s unnatural, because of sickness or a pill, and this pill is not designed to increase metabolic rate at a pace to make you lose more weight. Just so people can eat more to help them regenerate muscle. The fact that you’re exercising and eating a healthier diet only is the only real thing helping you burn off fat. What would really help you is if you tried to counter the fat loss with muscle gain.”
“Which will help me loose more fat, too,” I pointed out.
“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” I think I made a face because he said; “Now I don’t mean it like you should be pretty because all the girls on TV are. What I mean is it would be best if you lost this weight to better improve your healthy in the future. It looked like you were steadily gaining weight in the past, and with your family history of disease, this could have led to any number of things, such as diabetes.” I couldn’t really argue with that, now could I?
Now I’m doing a regimen of sit ups, push-ups and weighted exercises to help build some muscle. And maybe it’s a little Bridget Jones but I think I’m going to start recording my weight.
Week Three, Day Six:
I had to belt up my pants today, so I checked: I’ve lost another six pounds.
Other people are starting to notice too, like my boss at my part time job at the book store. He stared at me for a good five minutes, trying to figure out what, exactly, had changed.
“Have you lost weight?” he asked at last.
“Yeah, about fifteen pounds,” I said. “I’ve been working out a little and cutting some of the junk out of my diet.”
“You’re lucky you’re so young that it’s as easy as that. Let me know when you stop loosing and I’ll order you another shirt.”
Yeah, it’s easy, but that’s the part that bothers me. It just feels weird. Like my body’s changing or something and I have no control over it.
Week Four, Day Three:
I went for a run today. I am recording this because I don’t really run a whole lot. I don’t like running. Running leaves me winded and my throat raw, and my legs aching. Therefore the fact that I did a mile run around the loop at the park and then ran home is a little strange for me. So I’m writing this down.
Oh, and I’ve lost another four pounds. That makes nineteen pounds total.
Week Four, Day Six:
I haven’t written the past two days or so, because I’ve been hallucinating while bedridden.
I got a fever two days ago, and it was light at first, so I called in sick, and went to bed at ten in the morning. By that evening when my mom got home, it had only gotten worse and it pretty much staid worse all through the night and next day when my fever finally broke. Mom said that the highest it got was 103.2°. She almost took me to the hospital, but then it finally started to go down. Apparently, I also sweat so much that I lost about five pounds while I was asleep and hallucinating.
Week Four, Day Seven:
“Are you feeling better?” the head doctor asked.
“Yeah, um, though I wanted to ask… is fever a side effect of this drug you’re having me take?” He shook his head,
“Actually you’re only about our fifth recorded case for a fever while on this drug,” he said. “And we’ve had hundreds of people take it, so we’ve ruled out those cases as just strange happenings. I’m curious though, since you wrote down you had hallucinations, what did you see?”
“I don’t think they were actually hallucinations,” I said. “I just think I could hear my family talking around the house through the vents and things, and since I was so feverish, it didn’t quite make sense.” He smiled and nodded.
“That sounds much more reasonable.”
Week Five, Day Two:
Yesterday I took the ACT (with Writing) and today, I took the SAT. I thought it would be murder doing the two tests two days in a row, but I felt fine—better than fine, actually, I worked out a lot of the answers in my head without really thinking. My writing wasn’t even really that bad, though I felt a little rushed on both, but that’s how they’re supposed to make you feel. In fact, I went home afterwards and did my exercises I was feeling so good. I suppose it finally hit me that I have five grand in my savings account. And tomorrow’s the fourth of July, so I get to go and celebrate with my family (provided it doesn’t rain, but it always rains, and we always have fireworks, so I guess it’s cool). I just feel really fantastic.
I wonder if that’s a side effect of the drug.
Week Five, Day Five:
Had to go in for a five week physical with some of the other people still taking the drug. The doctors want to compare us side by side, so that’s why it moved days for this week. There were only about ten people there, but I recognized a few from school, including Joseph Emerson. Joe and I knew each other from the geek circles at school, but it looked like he had shot up a good six inches, and put on enough muscle that he looked more like a jock. Apparently, he had also been working on his self-esteem because he walked right up and hugged me.
“How have you been? You look great,” he said. I had lost a lot of weight, over thirty pounds at this point, and even more fat, so I smiled, and said,
“Thanks, you look pretty great yourself.” The self-esteem wasn’t that high, because he did blush a little. “I’ve been okay. I’ve been working at least six hours a day, more if I can so I can earn some money for school.”
“You mean more money,” he said. “But yeah, I’ve pretty much been doing the same thing, making as many deliveries as I can. Have you applied for any schools yet?”
“No, just took my standardized tests this week. When I see how well I did I’ll start filling out my applications. Where are you thinking of going to?”
“I’m thinking about applying for the the state schools, a few out of state, I’m applying to a few of the ivies. But I only just took my ACT and SAT this week too. We must have been at the same ones but in different rooms.”
“Yeah, must have because I don’t remember seeing you. Good luck with the ivies though,” I said. “I would apply, but I think it would be a waste of eighty bucks.”
“Hey, you never know. Besides, if you do get in they pretty much help you and any way they can to go there.” I shook my head. “I’m serious, a lot of the schools take a lot of merit to get in, so they pretty much only have need based scholarships.”
“Yeah, but my parents make sixty-grand a year,” I retorted.
“And an ivy league school costs about eighty-grand or something like that, per year,” he said. “They’d help you work it out. And aren’t you like Native American or something? You could help increase the minority at any school.”
“I’m more WASP than native.” I punched him in the arm. “Now you would get that minority scholarship.” He smiled white teeth even brighter against his dark brown skin.
“Well, after two-hundred years of slavery, I think we deserve a couple million dollars in education.”
It was then one of the doctors called the ten of us together and had us climb onto some treadmills. We ran for a good half-hour, and then they had us do some weight training exercises, as well as pull ups, sit ups, the like. We ran an obstacle course a couple of times, and then did group exercises. After we stretched out, they had us take a paper test, which I assumed was an IQ test.
“That was a little brutal,” Joe said when we walked out.
“It’s just the adrenaline dying; you’ll be fine in another half-hour or something when your endorphins kick in.”
“Do you know what you’re talking about?”
“Not really.” I flashed a smile at him. “Hey are you hungry?”
“Why, you asking me out?” he said.
“No, I’m asking if you want food after that particularly ‘brutal’ workout.”
And yeah, he agreed to go. It wasn’t really a date, but it still felt like one, and that was really cool. My first date. Joe even kissed me on the cheek when we left the burger joint we went to go grab a bite at. I mean, it’s not a first kiss or anything, really, but he gave me his number and I gave him mine so we could do it again when we both weren't working or doing other stuff. Yeah, it was a pretty good day.
Week Six, Day Four:
Not much to report really. Joe invited me to go shooting after my early morning check up in a few days. I told him about how I had wanted to learn lately, and he said his dad’s a cop and goes hunting occasionally, so wouldn’t mind showing us the finer points of doing so.
Week Six, Day Seven:
There are officially no more holes on my belt that can make a pair of my pants fit comfortably, I had to wear a pair of capris I out grew years ago that I found shoved into the back of one of my drawers. I told the doctors this while they were noting my weight and they nodded along.
“Well, since it is an effect of the regimen we have you on, I think we can reimburse you for some new clothes,” the head doctor said, making a few notes in my ever growing file.
“I thought you said the pill didn’t really cause weight loss,” I said.
“No, but we’re having you work like we would have a patient work, and ever since we began to suggest a diet for you some time ago, that has had an effect as well. So, naturally, you’re dropping a few clothes sizes. Others have gained some due to all of the muscle they’ve put on. We figured it would happen in the long term of the regimen, so we left a little space for a couple sets of clothes.” I decided not to argue that, even though they were paying it for me on top of the grand they gave me every week, because hey, I was their guinea pig, and well, free clothes! “Just don’t go over two hundred, and I think it should be fine.”
Shooting with Joe and his dad was actually really fun. Mr. Emerson was nice and patient with me; even though I didn’t have much trouble aiming or firing. He actually asked me if I had ever been shooting before, but of course I hadn’t.
“Oh, well, some people do pick it up really quickly,” he said. “I guess you’re just one of them.”
So yeah, shooting was cool.
Week Seven, Day Two:
My sister came home to spend a little time with the family and found out what I had been doing and how much I had been getting paid, and how much weight I had lost, and she was pissed.
“I can’t believe I didn’t get a chance like this when I was living here,” she complained. I could have told her that they had been running these tests for years perfecting the drug, so she could have had the chance while she was here going to college if she had looked for it and taken it. “You get all the luck,” she said. I said I had to go to work and left. I also forgot to invite her shopping for when I got off of work. I did not forget to ask her to join me for my evening work out and run if she was so interested in losing weight. I left her in the dust.
On a side-effectual note, I have been getting headaches. They vary in intensity and length and even when I get them, but I’ve been getting them consistently enough since about five days ago that I think it’s worth writing down now.
Week Seven, Day Five:
There’s no real way to explain this, so I’m counting it on the weird meter.
Today was the day I was able to check my ACT and SAT scores.
Today was the day I found out I got a 36 and a 2400 as my scores.
This isn’t possible.
It’s not that I’m unintelligent; it’s that I’m not that intelligent. There is no way I should have been able to score near perfectly (my writing was off on both, but not enough to change the averages). I felt like I couldn’t tell my family, because they would know something was up, so I called Joe.
“Have you checked your test results yet?” I asked.
“I’m on a delivery run, so no. Why, what did you get?”
“Could you tell me your pin and stuff, so I can check?”
“Why does it matter?” he asked.
“’Cause it does, I just want to see what you got.” By breathing was getting heavier now, I could hear it through the phone.
“Myra, calm down,” he ordered. “Is something wrong? Did you bomb the tests?”
“No, I didn’t bomb,” I said choking a little. I had started to cry and my nose had started to run.
“Then what’s wrong, how did you do?”
“I got a perfect score!” I yelled. “On both of them, that’s what’s wrong!”
“Baby,” I liked the way he called me that, even though we hadn’t really even been dating, and I was still kind of crying, “Baby, what’s wrong about that? That means you studied, that you did really good.”
“No, it’s wrong because I know myself, Joe, I know I would have done well—I’ve done okay on the practice tests. I just can’t have gotten a perfect score! And I’ve tried refreshing and rechecking the page, just to makes sure I did everything right, but it’s still—” I started chocking and I couldn’t breathe.
“Myra, you need to take deep breathes, you’re going to start hyperventilating. Breathe in, now let it out.” I listened to him over the phone, trying to take the deepest breathes that I could, and eventually it felt like my throat wasn’t closed up anymore. “Listen, if you’re so concerned about it, maybe you should call them. Make sure you got the right scores. But just try and be happy. You can get into any school in the country now—maybe a few outside of the country. And listen, I’ll come by tonight, and we’ll go see a move or something to take your mind off of it.”
After I calmed down, I told my family that the documentary the facility had me watch today made me cry and that Joe was going to come by to take me out and cheer me out. Mom asked if I had checked my scores. I told her I got a thirty and a 2000. They were ecstatic.
Week Eight, Day One:
Today’s the day that it finally happened. My hands are shaking as I write this, and up until now, I wasn’t even sure what the it was, just that it was coming.
Ever since last week, I’ve been keeping a separate journal. I tore the entry from day five out so that they couldn’t tell what I had written in a panic. I didn’t tell anyone at the facility about my scores when it came time for my check up, and I almost ripped up the check when I got home, but I couldn’t.
Today, I worked a twelve hour shift and stayed until closing time. Unfortunately, the book store I work at is in a mall complex, so when I got there this morning the parking lot was packed, and I had to park towards the back. When I locked the front door of the store, I got a bad feeling as I looked out over the dark parking lot. My car was one of two in the lot, and somehow it just didn’t feel right. But I had to leave, so I walked out onto the black top, trying to stay as close to the street lights as I could.
When I passed by the other car in the lot, I realized there was a man sitting on top of it, smoking a cigarette. I watched him as he took a drag before he dropped it on the ground and stopped it out. He stood up off of the car, and took a step forward. That was all I needed—I ran.
I had become quite fast over my last two months of exercise, but I was scared and trembling and even though I made it to my car, I didn’t get my keys out before he made it to me, pushing me on top of the hood, and reaching for my jeans. I tried pushing him off but he held me firm and finally I yelled,
“Stop it!”
And he did. He simply stopped moving, though he held me in place. “Get off,” I ordered, and he did. “Go home, don’t do this ever again,” I told him. Slowly, he walked back to his car. I heard the car start and sank down, resting my head against my tire.
I don’t really remember how I did it, but I pulled my cell phone out and soon heard Joe’s voice on the other end.
“Hello,” he said.
“Are you busy?” I asked.
“Just got done for the night.”
“Could you come and get me. I don’t think I can drive.”
I don’t remember this happened either, but when he got there, I was in the car with the doors locked when he got there, and nearly jumped out of my skin when he tapped on the glass. My finger pressed the unlock button as soon as I remembered how, and Joe slid into the car. He took my hand, and he didn’t need to ask me for an explanation, I just started talking.
“What’s happening to me?” I asked him, wiping away at tears I didn’t know I had. “How did I do that? How has any of the last seven weeks been possible?” His grip tightened around my hand.
“I can hear people now,” he admitted quietly. “It started a few days ago, but I can hear what they think. Whatever’s happening to you is happening to me too.”
“They’re doing it to us,” I said. “Whatever they put in that pill, somehow it’s making us like this.”
“That’s crazy.”
“So is being able to hear people think, or controlling them by your will,” I said. “We couldn’t do this until just now. Tell me, what are the odds that of us developing superpowers would be if we hadn’t been involved in this?”
“So, what this is some crazy government testing thing?” he asked. “They’re making superheroes?”
“We need to ask the others about this. If they’re like us, than that proves it.”
“Look, if you’re right, they probably have our phones bugged, maybe our computers too,” he said. “How are we going to find anybody?”
“Did you recognize anyone by name from the physical?” I asked.
“Stephen, but that’s it.”
“Then we find him the old fashion way.” After all, I doubt they have bugs in phone books. Joe never said yes, he just squeezed my hand and all I could do is hope that he would be with me tomorrow.
Piece WC: 4202
3/5/11 WC: same
Project WC: 13981
Almost finished with: Push Comes to Shove by Maud Lavin
About to start: The Wonderful Wizard of OZ by L. Frank Baum.