August licked the cookie batter off her fingers, eyes watching the exit of their spacious kitchen from which her mother had just left. She wasn't to eat any of the dough, as she was on a diet. Or, it seemed in her case, she was always on a diet. As a child, she had been allowed to dress up and collect candy, but at the end of the evening she had to trade it in for the equivalent in healthy, alternative snacks.<br/><br/>The cookies themselves were not for August, but for her twin brother Parker. He was going on a band trip to Italy, and they were having a bake sale to raise funds. While he would be off exploring a beautiful culture and having fun with his friends, August would participating in a live TV show about how much of a freak she was.<br/><br/>It hadn't been her idea. Most things weren't.<br/><br/>August was used to cameras. She was used to people telling her what to do. What she wasn't used to was the idea that her 'ability' was interesting to people, and that she would be observed because of it. Telling Parker about her abilities had been a relief. Telling her mother was a regret.<br/><br/>The show was better than being poked and prodded by scientists, sure, but seemed much more frightening. How was August supposed to deal with freaks? The thought was harsh but then, she was a freak herself.<br/><br/>Maybe she could close her eyes and let her spirit drift off to Paris, like she had when she was little. She would walk the streets, visit the Eiffel Tower and The Louvre.<br/><br/>If only. August couldn't keep her spirit out of her body too long or she began to feel sick and was forced to return. And sometimes her spirit body couldn't lift things, and she was really just an invisible mist.<br/><br/>August was ready to take another fingerful of the batter until she heard her mother's voice drift in from the stairs. She froze and spun around, braided hair whipping back. Her mother was on the phone, speaking intently to someone in a business-like tone. It was a tone she used with August and Parker most of the time.<br/><br/>"Yes, yes. 9:00? Good."<br/><br/>August's mother was now in the kitchen, pacing. August remembered as a child that she would follow her mother's pace and pretend to talk on the phone. She had wanted to be a businesswoman just like her, independent and successful. It turned out that August was neither good at numbers or communicating with people, so the dream didn't pass the age of eleven.<br/><br/>Snapping the phone shut, August's mother turn to her and smiled. "You have everything packed, sweetheart? They're coming tomorrow to pick you up."<br/><br/>August nodded, thinking to the three suitcases in her room. Two held clothes, and the other had her personal items. She imagined that there would be some sort of costume designer or makeup artist on the set, even if it was meant to be reality TV.<br/><br/>Tears suddenly began to form in August's eyes. She didn't want to leave Parker, or her house, her clothes, her Boston Terrier. She stepped forward and planted her head in her mother's chest.<br/><br/>"What if I go, and I want to go home?" She mumbled through her tears, as her mother stroked her hair.<br/><br/>"Then I'll come get you." Her mother held August for a moment longer before pulling away.<br/><br/>"Now stop that, I just had this shirt ironed."