The Multi-Limbed Dilemma

Chapter 2: Unwanted Attention

The walk to school felt like a forced march through a minefield. Every step Diego took sent a jolt of phantom tension through his right shoulder, a constant reminder of the alien appendage currently screaming for freedom beneath layers of cotton and elastic bandage. He kept his right arm pinned tightly against his side, tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, hunched over as if he were fighting a permanent case of the chills.

When he reached the school gates, the familiar roar of teenage voices felt deafening. He tried to blend into the shadows of the brick corridor, his eyes darting toward every student who walked by.

"Hey, Diego! You look like you’re trying to crawl inside your own skin. Everything good?"

Diego jumped, nearly tripping over his own sneakers. He spun around, his right shoulder bumping into a locker with a dull thud. He winced, his face twisting in a flash of genuine agony.

"Oh, hey, Nadiya. I’m fine. Just… tired. Didn’t sleep well," Diego said, his voice straining to sound casual.

Nadiya Cruz raised an eyebrow, leaning against the lockers and crossing her arms. She was the kind of person who noticed things—the kind of girl who read people like they were poorly written textbooks. "Tired? You’re walking like you’ve got a broomstick shoved down your back, and you look like you’re ready to bolt if someone says boo. What’s the deal? You get into a fight or something?"

"No, no fight," Diego said, quickly adjusting his backpack strap to hide the lopsided weight of his shoulder. "I just pulled a muscle. Working out. You know, trying to get into shape for the season. I think I overdid it with the weights."

Nadiya’s gaze dropped to his chest, lingering on the bulky, uneven shape of his hoodie. "Since when do you work out? Last week you told me your idea of a heavy lift was carrying your laundry basket down the stairs."

"People change, Nadiya. I’m trying to turn a new leaf."

"A new leaf that involves wearing a parka in sixty-degree weather?" she teased, though her eyes remained narrowed, searching for a lie. "You’re acting weird, Diego. Like, 'nervous-witness-in-a-crime-show' weird. You sure you don’t need to go to the nurse? You look like you’re about to pass out."

"I told you, I’m fine," he snapped, then softened his tone, forcing a weak smile. "Really. Just need a cup of coffee and some peace. If I stand here much longer, I’m going to be late for Chem, and you know how Mr. Henderson gets."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say," Nadiya said, pushing off the locker. She didn't move away, though. Instead, she fell into step beside him. "I’m headed that way anyway. I’ll walk with you. Unless you’re planning to run away again?"

"I’m not running away. I’m walking to class," Diego muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs. Integration: 12 percent. The voice echoed in his memory, a cold, metallic chime. If it hit 13 percent in the middle of a crowded hallway, he was done for.

They walked in silence for a moment, the friction of his sleeve against his shoulder sending electric tinges of sensation down his arm. He could feel it, the limb beneath the bandage—it was cold, almost unnaturally so, and it was moving. It was trying to curl, pushing against the confines of the fabric like a snake in a sack.

"You’re doing it again," Nadiya said, looking at him sideways.

"Doing what?"

"Twitching. Your shoulder keeps jerking. Is it a cramp?"

"Yeah. A really bad one. Just ignore it, okay?"

As they entered the chemistry lab, the room was already filled with the smell of Bunsen burner gas and old textbooks. Diego moved toward his seat at the back, desperate to disappear behind the stack of oversized beakers on the lab bench.

"Diego, hold up," Nadiya whispered, grabbing his sleeve—the right sleeve.

Diego’s breath hitched. "Don't!"

She pulled back, startled by the intensity of his reaction. "Whoa, okay! My bad. I was just going to ask if you had a spare pen. You don't have to bite my head off."

"I’m sorry," he exhaled, his chest heaving. "I’m just… in a lot of pain. My shoulder. It’s sensitive."

"Clearly," she murmured, though she looked more curious than offended now. "Look, I’ll help you out with the notes today. You seem like you’re one bad move away from collapsing."

"Thanks," he said, sinking into his chair.

Mr. Henderson began droning on about molecular structures, but Diego couldn't focus. A sudden, sharp tremor ripped through his shoulder, so violent that it forced his arm to jerk outward. The fabric of his hoodie bunched and shifted, and for a split second, the distinct, unmistakable shape of a hand pressed against the material from the inside.

Diego gasped, slamming his right arm down against his leg, trying to pin it under his thigh. He felt a sudden, sharp pinch—a sensation that wasn't his own—as if the limb were fighting back against his grip.

"Diego?" Nadiya whispered, leaning in close. "Did you just… what was that? Your shoulder just moved on its own."

"It’s a spasm!" Diego hissed, sweat soaking through his shirt. "My nerves! They’re firing all over the place!"

"That didn't look like a spasm, Diego. That looked like… I don’t know, like something was moving in there. Are you hiding a pet or something?"

"A pet? Are you serious?" He tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled wheeze.

"I don't know, man! You’re acting like a freak," she said, her voice lowering. "Just let me look at it. If you’ve got a medical issue, we need to get you to the office."

"No!" He stood up too fast, his chair clattering to the floor. The entire class went silent. Mr. Henderson stopped writing on the board, his chalk clicking against the slate.

"Is there a problem back there, Mr. Pratama?" the teacher asked, peering over his spectacles.

Diego stood frozen, his right arm pressed hard against his ribs, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked bursts. He could feel the arm, that thing, pushing back against him, struggling to break free of the bandage. The pressure was intense, a burning, bioluminescent heat that he knew was beginning to show through the fabric.

"I—I’m sorry, sir," Diego stammered, his face pale. "I have a sudden muscle spasm. I just need to step out for a second."

"Don't push it, Diego," the teacher warned, turning back to the board. "Get yourself under control."

Diego didn't wait. He grabbed his bag, his movements jagged and unnatural, and practically ran for the door. He didn't look back, but he could feel Nadiya’s gaze burning into the back of his hoodie.

He stumbled out into the hallway, the cool air doing nothing to calm his racing heart. He needed somewhere quiet. He needed to get the bandage tighter, or maybe cut the thing off—though the thought made his stomach flip with nausea.

He turned the corner toward the library, hoping for a secluded corner behind the stacks. But as he hurried, he heard footsteps behind him—rhythmic, persistent, and getting closer.

"Diego, wait up!"

He didn't stop. He pushed open the heavy double doors of the library, the scent of dust and old paper greeting him. He ducked behind a high row of encyclopedias, his breath hitching.

"Diego, I know you’re in here," Nadiya’s voice echoed in the cavernous room. "I saw your shoulder moving, Diego. That wasn't a muscle spasm. I’m not stupid. Just tell me what’s going on, and I won't tell anyone."

Diego slid down to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. His right shoulder was pulsing now, a soft, ethereal blue light beginning to bleed through the black threads of his hoodie.

"Go away, Nadiya," he whispered into the silence. "You don't want to see this."

But the footsteps didn't stop. They moved closer, circling the shelf, closing in on his hiding place. Diego closed his eyes, his fingers digging into his own skin. The nightmare wasn't ending; it was just becoming impossible to keep secret.