I don’t want to be the last one picked for teams again
Waiting while the chosen vanish from my side one by one
Leaving me alone
Me, the booby prize
I don’t really blame them
After all, I can’t throw, or bat, or catch, or pitch, or run
And as for the last saving grace
No, I’m not popular
I'd like to think that the other kids are afraid
Afraid of my powers
The ball that beaned Ethan
That was me
Chelsea’s broken leg
Me again
Why can’t I use my powers to make me great?
Smack that ball right out of the field
I don’t know
They don’t work that way
They’re only good for evil
The kids aren’t scared of me, though
They don’t realize what I can do
And I’m too afraid to do any really bad stuff
At school, anyway
I’m last to be picked again
Instead of trudging shamefaced to the group
That would rather not claim me as its own
The sky breaks open and rain pours out
It had been clear blue only minutes ago
Game called
I smile, lifting my face to the storm as the others run inside
Yes, it was me.