A hormone-fueled teenager.

When I woke up that morning, I had the strangest sensation.

Have you ever avoided 6 cracks in a row on the way home from a fair and only realized it 8 cracks later? Have you ever just dodged a car that missed the stop sign? Or caught a glimpse of the sun without blinking your eyes? Or drew straight lines each and every time on a sheet of paper? Or found yourself making wittier comments than usual?

It was something like that.

I shook my head and sat up, gripping my head. My sleeve rolled down a tad, and I groggily looked at it.

What the--

There was some kind of marking on it. I grabbed it, pulling and pinching at my skin. I was trying to get a closer look when a rap on the door interrupted me.

A girl in casual shorts and a long sleeved crew neck appeared at the doorway. If she looked familiar, that's because she was. My older, passable-looking college attending sister Abigail's face was practically imprinted on my brain over the years, for better or worse.

"Yo, bro."

"Yeah."

"Making breakfast. You want some eggs?"

"Uhh... yeah."

After a brief pause, Abigail rolled her hazel eyes and left back down the stairs. "Oookaay..."

Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out who the hell was drawing on me last night.

pshh!

After some drizzle over my face I twisted the water off and stepped out of the bathtub. I sighed as I looked into the mirror. Still average Daniel.

While texting some of my friends I walked into the kitchen, clothed and ready for another school day. I looked up to see Abigail placing some eggs onto a pair of plates, a brief tingle rattling my skull.

"Wow, those look deee-liciouso," I mumbled to myself in my classically exaggerated Latin accent, and sat down.

"Wow," Abigail suddenly shook her head as she brought the plates over to the table, smiling, "those look deee-liciouso."

I coughed out my water and glanced at her. Well, that was odd. Not to mention that was my line -- I coined that when I was 7 years old and, well, had been trying to shake it out of me ever since.

"Mm-mm," she wafted it through her nostrils and set down the plates on the table. "Here ya go."

Eyeing her curiously, I took the plate and wiped my shirt with a napkin. "Thanks..."

At first I was going to ask her about it, but I shrugged it off as her just catching some of my own quirks. It's what happened when you knew someone long enough, let alone lived with them. I just shook my head, focused on eating some good old-fashioned pre-chicken. Just as I dug in, however, that tingle rumbled through me again, this time bringing a reaction out of me.

It's that feeling again, I dropped my fork in a brief jolt of pain. This attracted my sister's attention and she looked at me worryingly.

"Daniel you alright?"

It's... empowering, and yet... painful. My hands rose to my temples and rubbed them, hoping to make the ache go away.

A sharp breath came across from me, and I looked above to see my sister also furrowing her brow in pain. She winced, placing a hand on her forehead.

Before I could question what was going on, my wrist began to glow. Removing it from my face I watched it, speechless. The mark -- the mark from earlier was glowing!

On my skin!

"What the hell!?" I stood up, chair squeaking against the floor.

A flash of light.

The entire kitchen was dressed in white and negative silhouettes.

Then from the incalculable distance, boomed a disembodied, somewhat androgynous voice. I flinched.

You have been marked.
With this gift you can plant your words, assume your hecklers, invoke or 'emote' your partners, remember the impossible, spill your heart, and command your destiny.
You are the Arbiter, and you are now free to direct your influence over the people around you.
Have a nice day.

flash!

clink!

"Well, brother? You gonna eat it or not?" I was broken from my dumbstruck reverie by Abigail's poking fork on my forearm. She was looking at me like nothing had happened. Like, no flash. No silhouettes. No somewhat androgynous voice.

Was it all in my head?

Shaking myself out of some daze for what felt like the third time that day, I sat up on my chair. Abigail was chewing away on her food while she chuckled at some story her friend posted online. Her finger slid against her phone screen with indifferent familiarity.

My esophagus chugged down a ball of saliva. Her slightly wet, brown hair grazed the table sheet, and her face, while not drop dead gorgeous, was cute. She may not have been model-tier, but for a guy gone enough days without some stimulation and with not many other girls in one given room, she would turn a few heads.

However, she was my sister; I never really thought of her as anything less, anything more.

But... what if it was true? It was almost scary because, in spite of myself, I found myself pressing my palms onto the table and steadily focusing on her anyway, my head still sporadically throbbing, which might have presented an interesting implication. And yet, I felt as if it was coaxing me into putting it to the test, with no other choice. As if I had to see if it was really true.

This... 'arbiter's mark'.

So, I did.

Recalling what had occurred before, I delved into my mind and tried thinking of something, something she would never do -- or, say -- and projecting it onto her. Like a big fat elephant being shoved through a tiny peephole, it hurt.

But likewise, a sudden relief washed over me and what happened next stopped the air from passing through my throat.

"I should take off my shirt," Abigail suddenly mumbled, looking down at her blouse, one hand tugging against the collar, "it's not showing enough boobie action..."

And just like that, she withdrew her hand from her phone, her other from her plate, and dropped them to the bottom of her shirt as she began peeling it off and away.