Chapter 3: The Wrong Table
Rating: PG13 – Themes of self-discovery, subtle magic, and social tension.
Ysabelle Cruz was never like other girls.
She didn’t wear glitter on her eyelids or know how to braid her hair the trendy way. She didn’t own any makeup, and her idea of a good time was listening to music while sketching birds. Not drawing them—real ones. The kind with feathers she’d helped heal and set free.
Because Ysabelle didn’t just love animals. She mended them.
When she was younger, her mother thought it was a fluke—luck, or maybe coincidence. A bird falling from the tree. A cat with a limp. A stray dog trembling in fear. Ysa would reach out with trembling hands, press her palms gently over the wound, and then… it would vanish. Like it was never there. The animal would blink, stretch, and then run off, leaving Ysa with an odd warmth in her chest and a sudden, splitting headache.
Trinity had seen it too—but she never spoke of it again. Not once. As if silence could make it go away.
But the powers didn’t fade. If anything, they grew stronger.
At ten, Ysa discovered she could move things without touching them. It started with a chess piece. She was trying to beat herself at the game on a rainy afternoon when the white knight slid across the board all on its own, landing exactly where she imagined it should. She stared at it for a long time, then did it again. And again. Until her nose bled and her ears rang—but she smiled. Because for once, she felt powerful.
Now at seventeen, she had learned to keep those talents hidden.
Until today.
Ysa had been scanning the noisy cafeteria for a free seat when she spotted an empty table in the corner. The sun spilled through the window onto the surface, and it looked calm—peaceful. No one else was sitting there, so she slid into the chair, set her tray down, and took out her small, worn-out pocket chessboard. She set the pieces and, out of habit, began to move them with subtle flicks of her fingers—though they didn’t touch the plastic at all.
Her eyes narrowed in concentration. One piece shifted. Then another. The black bishop captured a white pawn, mid-air. She smiled to herself.
Until a high-pitched voice sliced through the moment.
“Oh, my God. She’s at our table.”
Ysa blinked.
She looked up to find four girls standing in coordinated horror: Bella with her ice-blonde ponytail and venom in her glare. Margaret, Gweneth, and Tricia flanking her like matching shadows. The same girls she’d heard about in whispers around the hallways. The untouchables. The girls who could make or break your high school life with a single Instagram story.
“Did she just move something without touching it?” Tricia asked, eyes narrowing.
Ysa quickly clutched her chessboard, heart racing. “I—I didn’t know this table was taken. Sorry.”
“Clearly,” Bella said with a fake laugh. “You didn’t get the memo. This is our spot. Has been for three years. Transfer ka, right?”
Ysa swallowed hard and stood. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ll move.”
But as she gathered her things, something in her chest burned—something deep, ancient, and just barely restrained. Like her soul had teeth.
Bella leaned in, too close. “Be careful where you sit next time, bird girl.”
Ysa blinked. Bird girl? Had she… seen something?
The girls laughed as Ysa scurried off with her tray, her cheeks burning. She sat alone at a bench near the far wall, far from anyone, heart thudding.
She stared at her fingers.
They could heal. They could move things.
But maybe… they could break things too.
And maybe, just maybe, she was done being small.
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