“Jade, can you answer the first question on the board?”

Pretend you can’t hear him. Don’t look up. You don’t want to see it. I shifted in my seat and slowly raised my gaze.

There it was, it clung to me like a leach. Melting like liquefied metal into the back of my retina and burning my brain to slush. I couldn’t breathe. Today? How could it be today? What on earth will happen? How will it happen?

“Jade?” Mr. Bam interrupted.

I always wondered why I could see this way. Ever since my mother died I’ve known about the numbers. Mother always told me it was a gift, but it’s been nothing but a burden curse. When I look into someone’s eyes, a number pops into my head. That number is a date: the date they will die.

There are places where kids like me go. Bad kids, bored kids, sad kinds, forgotten kids, and lonely kids, kids that are different. No matter what, if you know where to look, you’ll find us. In the back lanes, behind the shops, or on vacant lots. There are thousands of us, if you choose to find us, though most people don’t. If they do see us they look away and pretend we’re not there. It’s just easier that way. They don’t believe in giving people a chance. Especially kids like us. Do you think teachers enjoy when we show up for class? Or if we fail? Or if we don’t show up for registration the year after? Give it a rest—they don’t want kids like us in their class rooms, and we don’t want to be there. Why did I decide to show up one day? Who knows? It was a bad decision anyway.

Most hangout in small groups, like three or four, I tend to be on my own. I like to find a place where no one is, where I don’t have to look at anyone—where I don’t have to see their numbers.

So no wonder I got outraged when I went down to my favorite spot under the bridge and see that someone is already there. If it was some other junkie I would have left, but it was a kid from Mr. Bam’s class: the edgy, vigorous, mouthy one they call Kade.

He’s tall, Kade. Skinny, with deep straight black hair. One of those people who don’t know when to back off, and stands too close to you. Even when you twist and turn away—he’s still there. He never gets the hint, never reads signals. He makes me feel uncomfortable, but I can’t help but get those stupid butterflies every time his smelly body is around. He moved my direction but I slowly turned. 1242010. Poor tyke, he doesn’t stand a chance with a number like that.

“I figured you’d be down here. You know I’ve been thinking, what you say we get outta here, eh? Just you and me. We could take a trip somewhere. No one cares about us anyways. We’re just dumb teenagers to society.”

Was he bloody serious? He really wanted to take me somewhere? Where would we go anyways, all knows we’d be outcasts as usual.

“No matter what I do you always try an avoid me. You’re the only one I have Jade and you know that. C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Kade said, he was determined to persuade me.

“Where would we go?” I asked, not looking his direction.

“We’ll go to the big city, to the biggest Movie Theatre in London,” he looked over, “it might take us a while to get the money, but wouldn’t you love to get away?”

It didn’t take me long to accept his offer, he made me feel appreciated, cherished, loved, something I didn’t know was possible. The way he looks at me sends chills down my body. Though at the same time, I fear him. I fear losing him. I fear his number every time I look into his innocent eyes.

“Goodnight, Jade.”

“Goodnight,” I replied sleepily, “Oh and mommy?”

“Yes dear?” She said, turning just as she got to my door.

“I know you don’t like me talking about the numbers, but yours is neat. It matches todays date, isn’t that weird?”

She looked at me, eyes full of terror and serenity. She smiled as she shut my bedroom door, tears rushing down her face.

Since my mother died when I was only six, I’ve been living with my aunt Karen. A twenty some, stick-like, black-haired smoker that doesn’t give a bloody hell about me. So telling Karen I’d be gone for the remainder of the day was a piece of cake. She’s always too high on drugs to comprehend anything anyways, lost all her brain cells at age eighteen. A complete failure to society, but who was I to talk?

Her number, 1062015. She’s only got five years to go. Not like I’d miss her anyways.

Karen doesn’t know about me. About the numbers. It was a thing my mom and I kept, isolated. Mother told me to never tell anyone, a promise I will keep forever.

I was able to steal a few bucks off of Karen, along with her 1990 BMW sports car, so we could head to the movies. I couldn’t drive, neither could Kade. But street kids have street smarts, we’d make it work.

When we got out of the darkness of the night and into the theatre, I was able to focus more on Kade. His outdated black sweatshirt was a faded blue from months of wear and his worn out blue jeans hung loosely around his hips. From the looks of his hair it’d seem like he’d just woken up. He defiantly wasn’t dressed to impress, but he impressed me, and it made me wonder.

He wanted to see some movie called Loves Overrated, I didn’t care what we saw, it was just nice to get away. I sat on one of the couches while Kade used the restroom.

As I looked around at the people in the theatre, my heart started racing and my eyes flung from one person to the next. 1242010. 1242010. 1242010. Kade’s number. Everyone, everywhere had the same bloody number. Every small helpless child, every young couple, every worker. Today’s number. Today’s date. Terrorists are going to attack London!

Before I could even think of what to do, a bomb exploded behind me, driving me off the couch and onto the floor. I watched in shock as bodies flung from the same direction, slammed on the floor, and seared right in front of my eyes. The smell of burning flesh made my stomach turn, in seconds, you could have never guessed they were once human. In an instant, people we’re screaming. Some with missing limbs that got blown off were lying on the floor having panic attacks. Others rushed to their injured loved ones, only to cry bloody murder to find them dead. Huge fires started up and the place started to heat up like an oven. Another bomb went off inside one of the film rooms and within ten seconds people everywhere were streaming out of the theatre. Different parts of the theatre were being scattered about and blood and fire incased everything. Mad chaos was breaking loose. I heard a young man yell, that’s when I remembered—Kade!

Just as I gained some sense I stood and looked toward the men’s room, that solid rusty door was the last thing I saw before it burst into fiery flames and came hurtling my way.

I woke up to police sirens, it all happened so fast, the bombing, the burning, the bleeding, I wasn’t sure what had happened exactly. But I knew one thing for sure, all those people with that number. That date. Were gone. Kade—was gone. Kade!

I jumped off the stretcher in the ambulance and onto the sidewalk. I looked across the street at the demolished theatre. No. No it couldn’t be. But his number. Bloody hell!

Then it happened. I felt them roll down my face, a cold wet liquid. Tears? I don’t cry. I never cry. But this, you bet it struck hard.

I stood there motionless. What if I had changed it? Could I have prevented his passing? Could I have cheated death in some way that Kade would still be here? Without him I’m not sure how my life will be. Why him? Why not me? Why do I have to have the curse of seeing numbers? Why do—

“Jade! Jade where are you? Oh God oh please, Jade! Jade!”

I never believed in miracles, or fairy tale endings, but this, this was a phenomenon.

“Kade! Kade I’m here!” I shouted.

He looked my way and when our eyes met, relief and overjoy flooded through the both of us. His clothes were shredded, his body was burned, and he was bleeding badly. I knew he was in some severe pain, he had to be, but seeing me made all the hurt he had vanish.

I stood there, frozen, as Kade rushed across the street towards me, limping some on his right leg. I didn’t care about the numbers. I didn’t care about the theatre blowing up. I didn’t care even about time or space. All I cared about was wrapping my arms around him and telling him how much I love him. How I truly feel. How he makes me feel.

Suddenly a pair of gleaming headlights flashed, and an agonizing scream pierced the somber night sky.