Not because Maya had threatened her, because something in the look made her stop. Mia waited. 3 seconds. Four. A professor rounded the corner carrying a stack of papers.
Evan stepped aside as if he had been planning to all along. Said, "All you had to do was ask." Maya walked past him. Her heartbeat did not speed up until she was around the corner. That bothered her, not fear, the opposite.
Her body had been too calm. It had known what to do before her mind even finished asking the question. She went straight to the nearest restroom, locked herself in a stall and pressed both palms against the cool metal door. Breathe. Just breathe.
The old instructions returned without permission. See the hands. Watch the hips. Control distance. Do not chase.
Do not react angry. Maya closed her eyes. 7 months had passed. Her body had forgotten nothing. That evening, she took the bus to Brook's Corner and worked through dinner without telling Helen what had happened.
A man at table 6 dropped a fork. Maya caught it against the edge of the table before it hit the floor. The man laughed. Fast hands, Maya set the fork beside his plate. Lucky.
Helen looked at her from behind the counter. She said nothing. The next day, Hawthorne's main dining hall was crowded between classes. Maya carried a tray toward an empty seat near the windows when someone behind her called her name. She turned.
A cafeteria employee, Sandra Lewis, was carrying a stack of metal serving trays toward the dish station. Sandra was 68, broad-shouldered with gray hair pulled beneath a hairet and the patient face of someone who had spent years working around impatient people. One of the trays slid, then the stack shifted. The top tray tipped toward Sandra's face. Maya moved before anyone else understood what was happening.
Her tray hit the nearest table. Her left hand caught the falling metal edge. Her right hand steadied Sandra at the elbow. The tray stopped inches from Sandra's shoulder. The sound of metal rattling against metal rang across the room.
Sandra blinked. Well, Lord. Maya lowered the tray. You okay? Sandra flexed her wrist.
I think so. Maya didn't look at the students who had turned toward them. She didn't look for applause. She crouched slightly and examined Sandra's hand. Does it hurt when you move your fingers a little?
Sit down. Baby, I work here and right now you're sitting. Sandra stared at her, then smiled. Yes, ma'am. Professor Denise Walker had seen the entire thing from a table 20 ft away.
The catch itself was impressive. But that wasn't what stayed with her. Maya hadn't reached wildly. Her feet had moved first. One foot outside Sandra's base, body aligned, weight centered, hands following.
It was efficient in way accidents were rarely efficient. Denise watched Maya help Sandra into a chair, then retrieve the fallen trays. No drama, no shaking hands, no nervous laughter, as if catching 50 lbs of sliding metal had been no more remarkable than picking up a dropped napkin. Later that afternoon, Denise found Maya outside her sociology classroom. Maya Maya stopped.
"Yes, Professor Walker, can I ask you something?" Maya adjusted the strap of her backpack. Sure. Denise studied her for a moment. You ever train?