Mutating?

Monday morning sunlight filtered through the blinds like thin blades of light, slicing across Kyle's floor and warming his bedsheets. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, the memory of Saturday's strange encounter lingering like static in the back of his brain.

Agent Maris.

The blinding flash.

And then—nothing.

He had woken up in his bed with a dull headache and a hollow stretch of time missing from his memory. And yet… he remembered everything. Her words, her gaze, the strange pattern of lights on the device she held. Whatever she had tried to do—it hadn't worked. Or maybe it had worked, but not in the way she'd intended.

He noticed it first in History class.

Mr. Halberd droned on as usual about the Roman Empire, his pointer tapping rhythmically against a faded map. Normally, Kyle would drift, barely catching pieces of the lecture. But today, he found himself following every detail—retaining facts, patterns, timelines with eerie precision. It was like his brain had flipped a switch.

"Now," Mr. Halberd said, "can anyone name the three major factors that contributed to the fall of Rome?"

Kyle's hand shot up before he even knew why.

Mr. Halberd blinked. "Yes… Kyle?"

"The empire was too large to govern efficiently, economic instability weakened internal systems, and foreign invasions increased over time," Kyle said clearly, his voice steady.

Mr. Halberd nodded slowly. "That's… exactly right."

He moved on, but Kyle sat back, frowning slightly. He hadn't studied. He hadn't even been paying close attention before. And yet the answer had been there, waiting at the tip of his tongue like it had always lived inside him.

It kept happening.

In Chemistry, Ms. Rivera explained ionic bonding, and Kyle mentally built a three-dimensional diagram in his mind, atoms orbiting like planets with labels and charges glowing above them.

In Literature, he read a page of Lord of the Flies and instantly grasped the themes of civilization versus savagery. He even noticed the subtle metaphors in the dialogue before the teacher pointed them out.

By the time lunch rolled around, he was barely touching his tray again. But this time, it wasn't sadness or confusion. It was focus. Awareness. His eyes scanned the cafeteria like a detective in a crime scene. Every tray. Every backpack. Every whispered conversation.

He could see things now—patterns, tells, micro-reactions in people's faces. The tiniest shifts in posture, hesitation in words, inconsistencies in tone. It was like someone had cleaned the fog off a mirror, and suddenly he could see everything reflected with crystal clarity.

"Earth to Kyle," Kate said, waving a hand in front of his face.

He blinked. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"You didn't even hear me, did you?"

He smiled faintly. "You were talking about your Bio test. You're worried about the punnett square questions. Jason told you not to worry since he got a cheat sheet from his cousin. But you won't use it because you're afraid of getting caught, even though you actually already know all the answers."

Both of them stared at him.

Jason leaned forward. "Okay, what the hell? Were you eavesdropping or something?"

Kyle shook his head, a little rattled himself. "No. I just… guessed."

Kate tilted her head. "That's creepy. Accurate. But creepy."

"I'll stop," he muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

But the flood hadn't stopped. His thoughts were running like engines now—silent, efficient, fast. Even the tiniest details around him glowed like clues. The way a girl at the far table tapped her foot nervously. The way a senior boy near the vending machine glanced at his phone every six seconds. Even the janitor sweeping near the entrance — he noticed the repetition in his strokes, and how he never touched the corners.

It was like his brain had developed a new layer. A machine underneath his thoughts.

Sixth period gym class was always his least favorite. Not because he hated physical activity, but because it meant dealing with Lucas and his crew.

Lucas Rowe. Tall. Stocky. Laughed too loud, walked too slow, and enjoyed pushing people just enough to stay out of detention. He wasn't alone—he had his two satellites, Jace and Brent, who laughed at everything he said like it was gold.

Kyle was changing into his shorts when he noticed it.

There was a strange smudge near his locker latch. A dull oily sheen. Too recent to be old dirt, too deliberate to be a mistake. His hand paused an inch away.

He tilted his head.

"Hey, Kyle," Lucas called from across the room, fake-friendly. "Locker giving you trouble?"

The smirk gave him away.

Kyle exhaled slowly, letting his eyes scan the lock. A faint strip of clear tape stuck near the base. Just enough to signal something—maybe rigged to spray something foul when opened. Or worse, explode glitter like last time.

Without a word, he stepped to the left and opened Jace's locker instead.

A click and a soft pop sounded from his own. A puff of neon pink powder burst from the vent.

Lucas burst out laughing. "Dude! You used the wrong locker!"

Jace cursed, slamming his locker shut, but pink dust had already coated his gym shirt and face.

Kyle turned slowly, voice calm. "Actually, I was just tired of you failing at this every week."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You always use the same pattern. You lean too close to watch, you laugh too early. You put the powder under the latch because last time the glitter bomb under the shelf was too obvious. But this time you used pink, which you used in October on Darren's bag, and that stain is still on the wall."

The whole locker room had gone quiet.

Lucas opened his mouth to retort, but nothing came out.

Kyle picked up his gym shirt, spotless, and walked toward the door. "If you're going to keep pulling the same stunts, at least be creative."

For once, they had no comeback.

That afternoon in English, Kyle was flipping through his notes when Leah slid into the seat beside him. Her perfume hit his nose first—sweet and floral, the kind she wore when she wanted attention.

"Hey, stranger," she said, her voice smooth and light. "Didn't see you at lunch. Everything okay?"

He looked at her, and for the first time in months—really looked. The tilt of her head. The softness in her voice. The way she touched his arm when she spoke.

All of it was calculated.

Like lines in a script. Not necessarily malicious—but not sincere either.

"I've been around," he said quietly.

She leaned closer, brushing his arm again. "I missed our talks. You used to text me at night, remember?"

Kyle's voice was cool. "I stopped because I realized I was the only one reaching out."

She blinked. "That's not true…"

"It is," he said calmly. "You replied when it was convenient. When Chris was busy. Or when you wanted attention. But never when it mattered."

The words landed like a stone dropped in water.

Leah looked stunned, her lips parting slightly.

"I thought we were friends," she said softly, wounded.

Kyle met her gaze. "I thought so too."

He turned back to his notebook, letting the silence close like a curtain. Leah didn't speak again. And for the first time, it didn't hurt.