Freakish Accident (part1)

The days passed quietly, one after another, like pages flipping in a book Kyle no longer cared to read. After weeks of questioning, doubting, and quietly testing his strength, he had come to one conclusion: nothing had changed except his mind. His body still ached after gym, his arms still trembled after push-ups, and the mirror still showed the same thin, serious boy with tired eyes and a too-long fringe.

But his brain? His brain moved like a machine now—clean, fast, silent. He understood people's sentences before they finished. Memorized entire lectures without trying. Solved complex math problems before the teacher could finish writing them. It was as if someone had scrubbed off the mental fog he hadn't even known was there.

And perhaps that clarity was what finally made him see the truth.

Leah. She was never interested. Never really saw him—not the way he used to see her, with tunnel vision and wishful thinking. All those brief glances, those tiny smiles, the laughs—they weren't for him. They were just… social reflexes. The kind you toss around to keep things polite.

He didn't hate her for it. Didn't even feel embarrassed. Not anymore.

He just stopped looking. Stopped hoping.

A strange calm settled over him like dust on a forgotten desk. He sat beside her once in English class and didn't even speak. She glanced at him once, maybe twice, but he was staring out the window, mind drifting through clouds and chessboards, never landing.

She had become just another person in a room full of noise. And he—he was something else entirely now.

When the school announced the upcoming field trip, it spread through the halls like wildfire. Posters were taped up on every flat surface: "Nature and Science Week – Hentei National Woods Adventure!"

Teachers handed out permission slips, and students buzzed with energy. The location was less than two hours away, a heavily wooded area with marked trails, a ranger outpost, and, according to Mr. Ellison's exaggerated enthusiasm, "more biodiversity than an Amazonian floodplain."

Kyle's friends, Jason and Kate, were especially excited. They spent lunch sketching plans in the margins of their notebooks—who would bring snacks, who would sneak in energy drinks, what games they'd play on the bus.

Kyle played along, but his mind was somewhere else.

The trip had variables. Too many. He analyzed it instinctively:

• A rural location with limited cell reception.

• A large group of students, split by sections.

• Only three teachers supervising, plus one backup bus driver.

• Unpaved access roads.

• A potential window of opportunity—for someone. Or something.

His mind didn't jump to conclusions. It built possibilities like towers and knocked them down again. Most scenarios ended with nothing happening. But one or two… they stuck with him.

Still, he was just a student. He couldn't call off a field trip based on a vague sense of dread. So he kept quiet. Kept watching.

When the day arrived, students were already screaming and laughing in the parking lot before 8 a.m. Buses lined the curb in a neat row. Kyle's group—Section C—was on the third one. He waved at Jason and Kate, but they were unfortunately, or rather, fortunately already boarding Bus Two where they had been assigned.

Kyle climbed into Bus Three, found an empty two-seater halfway down, and slid into the window side.

He looked out, expression unreadable, as the bus filled with chattering kids and snapping seatbelts. He heard someone sit beside him, barely reacting.

Then, without warning, the girl next to him began to vibrate.

It was subtle at first. A gentle tremor, like she was shivering from cold. But Kyle's peripheral vision caught it immediately.

He turned his head slowly and saw her.

Maya.

The quiet kid. Always alone. Always scribbling in a tiny notebook with a green pen. Barely spoke. Didn't smile. Wore the same grey hoodie every day, rain or shine.

But right now, Maya was trembling so violently that her entire body shook. Her hands lay on her lap, stiff as stone. Her shoulders twitched rhythmically. Her face was pale, lips slightly parted. Her eyes—wide, empty, terrifying—were rolled all the way back into her head.

She looked like she was being electrocuted.

No one else noticed. The bus was full of noise—pop songs, jokes, candy wrappers crinkling, someone in the back yelling about Pokémon cards.

Kyle blinked once, frozen. Then he leaned in.

"Maya?"

No answer.

She kept vibrating, like a phone ringing endlessly in a drawer.

"Maya," he said again, this time lower, gentler. "Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Her body jerked once. Then stopped.

She slumped forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

Kyle glanced around. Still no one had noticed. He gently caught her shoulder, steadying her.

Then her head turned, ever so slightly, toward him. Her eyes fluttered, rolled down. Focused.

She blinked. Her lips trembled.

"…Kyle?" she whispered, voice scratchy.

He blinked in surprise. "You know my name?"

"Yeah," she said faintly. "I watch people."

Part 4: The Vision

They didn't speak for a full minute. The bus rolled on, music blasting, trees flying by outside.

Finally, Kyle asked, "What just happened to you?"

Maya looked away. Her hands twisted together in her hoodie's sleeves.

"You wouldn't believe me," she said.

"I might," he said softly. "Try me."

She took a shaky breath. Then another. Her mouth opened. Closed. Then, like a dam breaking, the words came.

"I saw something. Like… like a flash-forward. A glimpse. Of what's about to happen."

Kyle's eyes narrowed slightly. "To the bus?"

She nodded. Her face was pale again. Her eyes glassy.

"There's going to be a crash. A bad one. We hit something… no, we slide off the road. There's screaming. Smoke. Fire. And then… trees. Everywhere. We land deep in the woods. I saw people bleeding. Someone's leg was twisted. A girl was screaming for her brother. One teacher passed out. The driver's face was—" She broke off, choking.

Kyle stayed silent.

Inside, his mind spun like a turbine. Every detail locked into place like a puzzle he hadn't realized he'd been solving. Every shadow he'd felt since the field trip was announced. Every minor inconsistency. The vibration. The eyes. Maya.

A girl who watched people and said nothing—until now.

"Did you tell anyone else?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No one ever listens. They just think I'm weird."

"Have you seen things like this before?"

A long pause. Then, "it started recently."

"And were they right?"

Another pause. "Every time."