My mother pulls me from the bench and holds me in her arms. “Oh, don’t cry, baby. This is just me practicing. I’m still here. I know it’s confusing.”

“I don’t want you to go…”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here in front of you. I need you to be brave while I tell you the rest of this story. Can you do that for me? Okay? Thank you.

“I said fight or flight, right? The fighting part will only happen when you really need it to, when you’re angry or upset enough and you can’t escape. It happened to me one time and one time only. I saw something at school that I couldn’t ignore: innocent people getting hurt. I made a choice to fight, baby, and it was worth it. I’d do it again if I had to. But a consequence of that choice is that I’ve had to hide myself since then from people who don’t understand who we are or what we can do. And that’s why, if there’s any chance you don’t have these abilities, I’m gonna do all I can to hide this from you. Because if you don’t know any of it, then maybe they won’t find you. Maybe you won’t be drawn to that school the way I was. But that’s also why I’m telling you now, in a way that means you’ll only hear it if and when you absolutely need to understand who we are.

“I won’t say that what I did back then was a mistake. I’d do it again if I had to. I think the mistake was in letting the anger and guilt from my mother’s death soak into my bones so deep that I lost a part of myself. I’m working on it. I’m trying.

“I want you to know that you are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You’re already more of a warrior than I ever was. I believe with all my heart that if you want to, you can change the world.”

She takes both of my hands in hers and squeezes our fingers together as if to push her love into me by touch.

“When the time comes, if it comes, don’t be scared. Fight. Take risks. Follow your heart. And move forward.”

My mother squeezes her eyes shut, and when they open, they’re glassy with tears. She looks over my head again and gives a subtle nod. “And she won’t remember any of this until… after?”

“No.” A woman’s voice says from directly behind me. I turn again, but my mother’s hand shoots out, gripping my shoulder hard before I can see who’s there.

“Bree, Bree, look at me, baby,” she says quickly. “Just look at me.”