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  Chapter 6—Testing the Limits

  “I can hardly flex my hand,” Lydia said, watching the green gloves she wore barely budge. Dariela had lent them to her, claiming her father had bought them to protect his hands from broken glass and other sharp items at work. Lydia’s fingers were stiff, trapped from all the padding inside. Already her wrist was numb from the way the glove’s cuff cut off the circulation from the rest of her arm.

  “Then just karate chop it,” Dariela said, slashing her hand through the air as she propped up an old hefty wooden door. The glass was cracked into jagged teeth and the innards were partially eaten by termites, yet it held up well. It was part of the forgotten pile of trash Dariela’s father added to daily from his junkyard and had meant to fix up to sell. “You’ll be able to move them soon. Give it time to mold to your hands.”

  Lydia regretted telling the whole truth. She had shown Dariela her arms and legs.

  After Dariela was convinced that there had been no negative side effects from the storage room accident that she should feel responsible for, she proposed that they test Lydia’s newfound strength. After deliberating it for a few moments, Lydia had agreed. The car incident had finally sparked enough doubt, and she wanted to be sure of what she was capable of.

  Now, however, she didn’t want any part of Dariela’s experiment. Her hands were sore from the car and had been very red when the girls had come home. So who knew what willingly punching through a solid door would do? Lydia felt that this experiment was pushing it too far.

  But Dariela was insistent and whined for her to try. “If you have super strength, then you should be able to dish out and take any punishment without feeling a thing!”

  “This isn’t one of your comics,” Lydia said, reminding her. “The doctor only told me I had more muscle. Besides, the car hurt.” She was convinced that attempting this new feat would be damaging to her hands.

  “Maybe that was a fluke. Come on! Let’s test it! The most you’ll do is smash your fingers.”

  “Gee, thanks for the encouragement,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. But she walked up to the tall, imposing door anyway. Drawing her arm back and balling up her hand into a fist as best as she could, she made a big show of pretending to punch the wood hard. It vibrated and some rot was shaken loose, but it stood firm.

  Dariela knew she was faking. “Actually hit it!” she said, standing behind the door like a boxing trainer holding a punching bag.

  Lydia sighed and hopped in place for a few moments, ridding herself of any hesitation and jitters. She flexed her hand once, twice, three times, pulled back, and struck the door. A sickening crack was followed by a domino effect of splinters breaking in a flash. Her momentum carried her forward into the door’s frame. She dodged out of the way as the top half swayed back and forth on a thread-like hinge. It finally separated and fell to the ground.

  Lydia stared at it, her hand in pain and crying for her attention. She ignored it and lifted up the half that had broken off. Dariela came up beside her, grinning like a madman and whispered eagerly to her, “Let’s see what else you can do.” She snapped her fingers and gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Hey! You got your camera on you?”

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