I’m not a real witch, no matter what the other kids call me. I’m not a superhero either, despite my powers. Heroes aren’t ugly. The lime-green shade of my new school’s corridors set my teeth on edge. Everyone watched me, the new girl with the target right on her face. My sneakers squeaked as I walked and I felt so completely conspicuous. Cruel laminate flooring. My own body betrayed me as well. I was taller than most girls, which just made me easier to spot. I wanted to love my bright red hair but I hated that it attracted attention to my face. Other students stared openly and gossiped as they pretended to poke through their lockers. A tide of emotion followed their stares, the usual mix of sympathy and disgust that I was used to. That was my superpower — to sense how people were feeling, so strongly I felt their emotions burrowing into my pores. I hated it. I hugged my new textbooks close to my chest. Chin up, Emma. Don't let them get to you. You're beautiful on the inside. I tried to believe that my outer appearance wasn’t important and that real friends would like the real me no matter how I looked.
