Philip noticed Jordan’s change in mood when they sat down for lunch.
“What’s up, man?” He opened his lunch bag and unloaded the contents onto the table. “You’ve been extra quiet today.”
Jordan shrugged. He didn’t think he could explain any of this to Philip. And even if he did, there wasn’t even a slight chance he would believe him.
“Tired, I guess.” The same excuse he’d given his mom.
But even as he’d said it, he’d felt an urge to tell Philip he was a nosy prick and shouldn’t ask dumb questions. Jordan had never been mad at Philip. And even when they’d had mild disagreements, he would never call him names like that. His thoughts immediately went to the Shadow Stealer again, making him act out. And that would have fallen into that category.
But he still wasn’t prepared to think the Shadow Stealer was real. There had to be a better explanation.
Philip didn’t press the issue. But Jordan almost wished he would have. He would have liked to not be alone in this.
In gym class, Jordan shuffled his feet while the rest of the class picked teams for dodgeball. He was always last to be picked, unless someone felt sorry for him that day. No one did. And he was grudgingly called to the left side of the gym as the final player.
Jordan didn’t mind dodgeball as much as other sports. He didn’t have to do much running. He only had to pay attention. The part he was awful at was thrown the ball; terrible aim. So, generally he avoided picking one up and did his best not to get eliminated while the star players did what they did best.
But today, he knew something was different before the whistle blew to start the match. There was a strange weight in his legs and he kept bouncing on the balls of his feet.
And then the whistle shrieked, and Jordan found himself flying forward to the line of balls in the center of the gym. And through his shock, his hand grabbed a ball and flung it towards the nearest opponent he spotted. The ball connected, and the opponent, Johnathon Little, stared at him in disbelief.
Jordan ran backwards away from the line, shrugging at Johnathon with a smile. Then Johnathon walked to the bench, face red with both embarrassment and rage.
And the rest of the game continued in a just as shocking manner. Jordan participated like he’d never participated before. Dodging easily, snatching up loose balls, and tagging the players on the other team more often than not. And all the while, his breathing was even and there wasn’t so much as a hitch in his chest. It was as though he’d never needed an inhaler to control his breathing at all. After several outs, his teammates took notice of what he’d been doing and cheered him on.
At some point, Jordan felt like he was standing on the sidelines, watching himself. He was thrilled and elated that he’d somehow broken free of whatever had always held him back.
But as the class wrapped up, and his teammates were slapping him on the shoulder and congratulating him on the win, Jordan realized what it must mean to be watching himself from a distance. He saw a terrible grin on his own face as he looked directly into his own eyes and he knew he was seeing the Shadow Stealer, and not his own face.
And he ran forward, trying to return to his body. But there was a barrier between his physical form, and whatever shadow he’d turned into.
And he remembered what he’d read on the internet that morning. The Shadow Stealer…. You can’t see them, until it’s too late.