Helen Truax tapped her pencil against the sheet of scratch paper, trying to work out a particularly difficult math problem.  She tucked a lock of rust-colored hair behind her ear as she concentrated.  “C’mon,” she murmured.  “You’ve got this.”  As she was working out the math, the phone rang.  Helen breathed a sigh of relief – finally, a break – and extended her arm to reach the far-away phone.  She answered it.  “Truax residence, Helen speaking, who’s calling, please?” she greeted.
	“Oh, it’s you, freak.”
	The hand holding the phone shook violently.  “A-Abby?” Helen asked.  She hadn’t heard from her sister in almost five years.  “Is that you?”
	“Jesus, did being born with superpowers mess with your brain?  Yes, it’s me.  Is Dad home?”
	“I- Yeah.  Yeah, he is, what do you need?  He’s in the barn.”
	“Just go get him.”
	Helen stood up and set the phone down near the receiver and ran out to the barn.  “Hey, Pop!” she called as she neared the door.  “Abby’s on the phone!”
	Peter Truax looked up from the tractor he was fixing.  “Abby?” he asked, sounding as equally confused as his youngest daughter was.  “Haven’t heard from her in years- why would she-“
	Helen followed her father back into the house, the blue porch steps creaking under her weight.  She slid her hands into her pockets, leaning against the door as she listened to her father talk.
	“Abby, honey, slow down- no, she isn’t-“ Peter exhaled sharply and covered his eyes with his hand.  “Abby.  Look, it’s not her fault.  She can’t help who she is, what she… I raised you better than that, don’t you dare call your daughter that.”