I was twelve years old when I discovered my powers.
My parents were arguing over breakfast. They disagreed about the toast. He thought it was burnt, and she didn't.
It was an argument with no beginning, and no end. It was like breathing, with some breaths raspier than others, and taking in less air. Today, there was hardly any air at all.
You're spoiled, my mother said. Anyone can see it.
You're spoiled, too, my father said. It's your way, or no way.
They stopped and looked at me. Maybe I would take sides.
Then I smelled it. The milk was in the refrigerator, across the kitchen, but it seemed right under my nose.
The milk, I said. You can't use it. It's soured...