"Fire. Air. Water. Earth. For as long as anyone can remember, stories have been told of the four nations that lived together in harmony, joined as spokes on a wheel with the great Republic at the center. Such legends were old when Rome was built, inspiring its famed Senate. Throughout the ages, only the Avatar, master of all four elements, could bring balance to the world."

"Is this going to be on the test, Mr. Verelli?" interjected an impatient freshman. Focus was drawn from the slide projected on the screen at the front of the room, and all eyes drifted between the student who spoke to the thirty-something man who was teaching World History I at this small, blue-collar high school in West Virginia.

"Yes," the interrupted social studies teacher said with a sigh of frustration. "Everything is on the test. You've taken a standardized test every year since you were in third grade. It's on there, otherwise I wouldn't have time to talk about it." Mr. Verelli clicked, somewhat nonplussed, to the next slide — a timeline entitled Avatars through the Ages. "Certainly, quite a few people have claimed to be the Avatar, even going to elaborate lengths to perpetuate the hoax, as in the case of Richard the Lionheart. The sad truth is that humanity stopped keeping careful track of the Avatar long before we started writing history down. In fact, some scientists argue that there is compelling evidence to indicate that there is not only one or always one Avatar. In other words, they think that it is just a extremely rare hereditary occurrence."

At the back of the classroom, an ordinary looking girl had been trying to ignore the increasing number of stares, glares and jeers as the lecture progressed. Her appearance was so average that it was either a mathematical oddity or meticulously cultivated - brown hair cut in a trendy style, brown eyes, department store clothes, even a picture of the latest boy band featured prominently on her binder. Yet, it would also be painfully apparent to even the most casual observer that she was a pariah among her peers at that moment. A full half the class was taking each of Mr. Verelli's uses of the word "bender" as a treacherous insult spoken by the ordinary looking girl. By the half-way point of the period, she just put her head down and hid in a fortress made of her folded arms. Mr. Verelli noticed the girl's discomfort, but had little choice but to continue covering the material.

"Historians frequently debate who was or was not the, or rather 'an,' Avatar. Of particular interest to the reincarnation debate are recent texts that indicate that the 5th Dalai Lama, Lobzang Gyatso, was capable of bending all four elements, but no other Dalai Lama has shown any bending proficiency whatsoever save for the current Dalai Lama, His Holiness Tenzin Gyatso, who is a talented airbender. " The man pondered what he just said, as if only really hearing it for the first time. "Certainly, both stories of reincarnation cannot be true."

The teacher clicked forward through a variety of paintings, tapestries and old black and white photographs to illustrate a variety of points as he speaks. "However, despite the spotlight on Avatars, they were not the only benders to have monumental impact on the course of history. While some of you may have heard the name of the impregnable earthbender citadel of Ba Sing Se, I would bet you have no idea how the earthbenders who built Ba Sing Se continue to impact politics to this day." Mr. Verelli paused, clearly expecting someone to ask a question.

Silence fell over the room, deafening — the only sound a student surreptitiously texting under her desk.

Slightly crestfallen, Mr. Verelli demanded, "Put the phone away." After putting his game face back on, Mr. Verelli continued, "How could possibly still matter, you ask? Archeologists generally agree that Ba Sing Se was in the area now known as Afghanistan..."

"My dad's over there," piped one kid, thankful to have a moment's relevance in an otherwise onerous lesson.

"A lot of people's dads are over there," agreed Mr. Verelli. "and it isn't just in the last few years. Time and time again, every major military power has tried to capture Afghanistan and failed miserably. It has become known as the 'graveyard of empires,' and this pattern can be traced back basically as long as such things were written down. It's a good bet that such sieges have been going on since the Fire Nation first attempted the feat so long ago in the mists of time. If you've got family in Afghanistan, you can blame Fire Lord Sozin. Other examples incl..."

A synthetic tone sounded through the speaker mounted over the door. It was one of those sounds that was supposedly more soothing than a traditional bell but ended up just being harder to hear most of the time.

"...we'll pick up here tomorrow."

Students quickly zipped up their bags and rushed out to their next classes - all except for the girl with her head down. Only after everyone left did she pack up her things.

"Are you alright, Marie?" asked a genuinely concerned Mr. Verelli.

"Can I just go to the library until this unit is over?" Marie implored.

"You of all people need to..."

"I don't care. I don't want to know. Please? I'll get an excuse from my mom if I have to."

The teacher frowned for a moment before promising, "I'll call her tonight and talk about it."

"Thank you!" exclaimed the girl with clear relief.

Mr. Verelli shook his head sadly as he watched Marie leave the classroom.

In the hallway outside Mr. Verelli's classroom, Marie was greeted by a smiling boy with a punk rock aesthetic; his clothes featured black, as in his leather jacket, and primary blue, as in his flannel shirt and Chuck Taylor shoes. His anti-establishment ensemble was complemented nicely by a bold blue mohawk. "Are you ready for our biology test this afternoon?" he asked amicably as he matched her pace to engage in conversation. It only took a moment before he noticed Marie's malaise. "Hey, what's the matter?"

"It's that time of year again," she explained, as if that were all that needed to be said. Her gaze remained fixedly on the aging floors as she walked, filling her with a deep sympathy for the once-straight seams between the floor tiles. She, too, knew how it felt to not be quite as perfect as she used to be.

The boy frowned and furrowed his brows, trying to figure out what that cryptic statement had meant. A glance backward answered everything, as he realized that Marie had just emerged from a social studies classroom. "It's not going to be that bad. It's only going to last a month or two." Upon reflection, the boy appended, "Back in fourth grade, we only spent a week on it!" This tactic proved to be ineffectual as Marie neither responded nor even looked at him. "At least you only have to deal with it once a year. On top of the yearly unit on benders in history, every day in Spanish class has been a nightmare for me." He gestured towards his just-a-little-too-brown-to-be-Caucasian skin. "To make matters worse, Señora made us all pick Spanish names. I've been trying to get people to stop calling me Pedro for years, and now they HAVE to call me that."

This finally got Marie's attention. She stopped and turned to the boy, looking up from the yellowed floor tiles at last. "Oh, Pyotr...I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Pyotr assured Marie with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm just trying to remind you that you've got to learn to roll with the punches like water off of a ducks back."

Marie frowned a bit, clearly skeptical.

In response to the renewed frowning, Pyotr demonstrated with exaggerated lugubrious motions of arms and wavering quality of voice. "Liiiiiiike waaaateeeerr. Waaaaater!" This improvised dance finally brought a smile to Marie's face. "There you are! All better. This is why water is the element of healing."

"Thanks, rock star," Marie giggled, using her pet nickname for Pyotr. "I'll see you at lunch."

Pyotr patted Marie comfortingly on the shoulder before waving and heading off to his third period class. Marie waved goodbye before doing the same, taking a left turn at the intersection where Pyotr had gone straight through.

Pyotr almost didn't make it in make it in time for Shop, and that would have meant sweeping the floor all period. As usual, Mat was waiting outside the door, not wanting to be even a single second early to any class, even if it was her favorite. Her Germanic descent was apparent in every detail, from the broad shoulders to the pure blonde hair in a short-backed cut which complimented her cunning blue eyes.

While a lot of the kids in school had some bending proficiency, only a handful in the entire district ever practiced the skill enough to do anything more difficult than blowing out a candle. Mat was different, she was an absolutely first rate metalbender. Being in shop class gave her an excuse to practice every day. Though the shop teacher, Mr. Edgar, was not crazy about the prospect, Mat was known to drive in every single nail, staple, or screw with her bending. During the first grading period, Mr. Edgar had tried several times to break Mat of this habit, considering it to be unsafe and, like most Americans, a little unsavory. However, nothing was going to get between Mat and her bending. Moreover, the Bending Non-Discrimination Act, passed by Congress only a few years prior despite State support for close to three decades, prevented Mr. Edgar from outright forbidding it.

Though she had only moved into the district this year, Mat and Pyotr had quickly been lumped together as "those benders" by most of the school. While Mat happened to be a metalbender, Pyotr was a firebender, by virtue of the whatever deadbeat had fathered him during a one-night stand – never to be seen again. Pyotr's mother, Nadia, was Russian and fiercely proud of her identity as a first-generation immigrant. It was Nadia's background growing up in a Siberian village replete with waterbenders that led to Pyotr's fascination with the philosophy and trappings of waterbending despite being a firebender.

The speakers chimed the start of the period just as Pyotr walked through the door, and Mat nonchalantly sauntered in behind him with little more than a millisecond before the chime ended. Today had been scheduled as a work day, so the two benders proceeded directly from the door to their shared station. As freshmen, they had only eligible for wood shop, but both looked forward to being able to take metal shop as upperclassmen.

"I heard that the seniors are going to learn how to weld this week," began Pyotr as he got out all his tools.

"Woop de doo," remarked Mat as she got their half-finished bird house off the shelf. "The metalbenders who work at BMW can just splice two pieces of metal together stronger than any welding."

Pyotr gave Mat a wry smile before confessing, "Last night, I tried to see how hot I could make my fire on two nails. They got red and sort of stuck together, but they fell apart as soon as they cooled down. Welding torches must be ridiculously hot." After consulting the directions, Pyotr began measuring out the remain boards to be cut.

"Hey, why don't you freaks stop talking about that bending stuff? Nobody wants to hear about it." complained a jock at the next table.

To which, Mat rebutted, "Why don't you stop talking about that basketball stuff?" She took a moment to pantomime trying to remember something. "I mean, it's not as if you've won a championship in the last ten years. Nobody wants to hear about what losers you all are." Pyotr politically restrains a laugh, still having aspirations for the football team.

"That's enough of that," declared Mr. Edgar from the front of the room, "none of you is done, so none of you has time to be mouthing off." The teacher's hearing was fairly poor from years of working with power tools, but he always seemed to pounce on the slightest mention of bending. Moreover, his assertion just wasn't true. Mat and Pyotr would be done half way through the period. While most teams lost time with bent nails and hammered thumbs, Mat's bending made a straightforward task like assembling a bird house a breeze. However, the warning was sufficient to diffuse the gathering tension in the air.

Pyotr and Mat worked quietly for several minutes before becoming fed up with the silence. "My band's got a gig on Saturday. It's a battle of the bands up in Pittsburgh."

"How are you going to get there?" Mat pondered. "You aren't even old enough to drive."

"Jake, the drummer, is a junior. He's going to drive us up using a van from his dad's grocery store."

"Wow, Pete, you are like totally hardcore and junk," Mat teases with a fake valley girl voice. "Like, I bet the other punk rock bands will totally show up in an ice cream truck to try to show you up."

"Shut up," Pyotr laughs with a mockingly hurt tone. "Pass me the wood glue."

By lunch, most of the morning's angst had recessed to the far corners of Marie's mind. After social studies, she had language arts, which was great because she enjoyed language arts classes the best. It always made her feel better when she got to write something. One of the few pieces of good advice Marie's psychologist had given her was to keep a diary. Despite a self-conscious opinion of her own writing skills, Marie had an ongoing fantasy of writing a book that would someday get a Hollywood adaptation. Pyotr and Mat joined her several minutes later, laden with cafeteria trays containing grilled cheese and tomato soup.

"So then I stapled the sleeve of his shirt to the nearest telephone pole," bragged Mat to Pyotr as they sat down at the table. Mat was so far out of the bending closet that the most bigoted students were often picking fights with her. She'd gotten pretty badly hurt once, but that only made her more willing to prove that bullying benders was a bad idea. On the bright side, it kept people from openly tormenting benders with weaker personalities.

Just recently, Mat had been suspended for ten days and nearly expelled after saving a scrawny Japanese-American boy who was getting a hard time for his waterbending. During the biology unit on plants, the boy had tried to help the teacher demonstrate capillary action by bending the water within the bean plants that the class was growing. Mat had stumbled upon the poor waterbender being beaten up by three seniors after school that very day. It took firefighters with the jaws of life to get the three bullies out of the lockers by the time Mat was done with them. The parents of the bullies, of course, claimed that Mat had initiated the whole thing and wanted to press charges. Only the fact that the entire incident was caught on security tapes saved Mat. Having gotten to know Mat, Marie felt that Mat had demonstrated profound level-headedness by merely restraining the bullies. In fact, that was one of the things Marie liked best about Mat. Mat had never caused more than a few bruises to any of her assailants.

As the two friends sat down with Marie, Pyotr attempted to pick up conversation where he had failed earlier in the morning. "Are you ready for the biology test next period, Marie?" he queried.

"It wasn't that bad," Mat assured through a slurp of soup. "I just came from biology. The only hard part was labeling the diagram."

"Oh, man, I hate diagrams," Pyotr whined. "I always come up one short on the terms."

"Pete, are you honestly telling me you phonetically memorized that entire German metal song that you like so much, but you can't remember a dozen vocabulary terms?" Mat criticized.

With a shrug, Pyotr explained, "Biology tests don't have a beat."

"C'mon, rock star," Marie interjected, "just put all the terms into the lyrics of a song, then."

Pyotr tilted his head to the side, pondering Marie's advice. After a few moments, he became stymied and asked, "What rhymes with endoplasmic reticulum?" Both girls laughed at that.

"Biology curriculum?" offered Mat.

"Oh! That's good!" Pyotr decreed. He quickly unzipped his backpack for a pencil and the notebook he kept just for such moments of inspiration. As he scribed the newly fashioned lyrics, he mumbled them aloud to feel how they rolled across his tongue. "If...I want to... pass this...biology curriculum..." He looked up for a moment, "Thanks, Mat." Returning to his task, he continues, "I need...to be able to...find the...endoplasmic reticulum."

"That's great, Pete, but you probably should have started on this about a week ago."

"She's right, Pyotr. You've barely got enough time to finish your lunch before class starts."

"Can't eat. Creating." Pyotr pushed his lunch tray to the center of the table to make more room for his notebook.

Mat took that as an offer and quickly commandeered his untouched sandwich. Marie was going to object, but Mat preempted, "It's my cut of the profits for the song."

Across the cafeteria, someone had stood up on a chair and was trying to quiet the room. It was one of the cheerleaders, so it didn't take long for her popularity to win the attention of most of the students. "Don't forget that Friday is our big basketball game! If our boys win it, they'll be going off to regionals!" A cheer resounded at that suggestion. "And, there will be a qualifying judge for our cheerleading squad. We've really got a great shot to go all the way..."

Some crass boy shouted, "I thought you were gonna save it for marriage?" before being manhandled back into silence by the rest of his table.

"Gross," the cheerleader opined with a look of distaste. She took a moment to remember the rest of her script before continuing, "All the way to the national championships! You all know how awesome Alyssa has been since she joined the squad her freshman year, and this year she is our head cheerleader! So come out to the game and support both team and squad! Go Sentinels!"

In a reasonable approximation of unison, most of the cafeteria echoed, "Go Sentinels!" before returning to their food.

Pyotr, still single-mindedly scribbling lyrics, had completely ignored the entire scene, but Mat and Marie had paid attention. With a derisive snort, Mat gossiped, "I heard that Alyssa's dad won't let benders join his church. He's not even the minister, just a deacon!"

Marie expressed her confusion, "How could he do that if he's not the minister?"

"Well, I guess Alyssa's mom is in charge of the welcoming committee or some such," Mat relayed, "and so she goes around to the houses of all the people who want to formally join the church. Once she's in their house, she can do all sorts of snooping to figure out if there are any benders in the family. If they're normal, Alyssa's dad rolls out the red carpet. If not, well...he makes people feel unwelcome enough that they decide not to join the church."

"How do you know that?" demanded Marie.

"Common knowledge," Mat deflected. In order to prevent any further interrogation, Mat showily slurped down Pyotr's bowl of tomato soup then commanded. "Pete, bell's about to ring. Take back your tray."

"Huh? Sure." Pyotr put away his notebook and generously took back both trays though having eaten from neither.

Marie got up to throw away the remains of her packed lunch and follows Pyotr to the garbage collection area. Once out of Mat's earshot, she inquires, "How come you let Mat treat you like that?"

"What? The food? I don't even like tomato soup."

"And the trays," Marie reminded Pyotr.

"I dunno..." Pyotr mumbled sheepishly.

"Pyotr..." Marie scolded gently.

"I...well, I'm proud to know someone like Mat," Pyotr admitted. "She's just so...totally at peace with who she is and won't let anyone so much as hint that there's something wrong with her. I wish I could be as honest about my bending as she is about hers." Mat swiped the disposables from the trays into the garbage cans and dumped the dirty dishes into the return chute.

"You use your firebending to do the pyrotechnics for you band," Marie countered.

"That's not at school, though."

With an exasperated huff, Marie argues, "Ok, well you talk about all that Water Tribe stuff all the time in school, though."

"Only to you and Mat." Pyotr turned to look across the cafeteria at Mat. "I wish I could be half as brave as she is."

Marie looked at Pyotr in a new light. She had always assumed that he was the same person all the time, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe she only got to see Pyotr as he wanted to be. Marie committed herself to investigating this possibility. She didn't normally like making waves; but, until Mat had come along, Pyotr had been the only one who had remained friends with Marie after her accident. Pyotr had earned the right to be happy, and Marie felt it was her duty as a friend to help make that happen.

A tone reverberated through the cafeteria, ending the first of the three lunch periods.

The rest of the day passed without incident, unless you were to count a biology test as an incident. As Marie disembarked from the bus, she could see her mother waiting by the front window and wearing a concerned expression on her face. Marie knew at once that Mr. Verelli had called, as promised, but that it had not gone as Marie had intended. Knowing that a capital-T Talk was awaiting her in the living room, Marie steeled herself against the bad news that was sure to come. The girl took a moment to look left and right along the row of nearly identical small houses and wondered how many other students were coming home to bad news. She walked anxiously across the lawn, sprinkled lightly with spring snow. It wouldn't be long until warmth returned with the birds and flowers. Remembering Pyotr's words from earlier in the morning, Marie reminded herself that, like winter, this too would pass. The front door, as Marie had suspected, unlocked. There was no avoiding the Talk if her mother, though the girl would certainly make the effort.

"I'm home!" Marie called in her best impression of a cheerful voice. "I've got a big biology test tomorrow, I'm going to head up to my room to study."

From the living room adjacent to the entryway, her mother called, "Wasn't your biology test today, Marie?" in a level voice that revealed nothing save for an intent to hide her feelings from her daughter.

Unable to lie directly, Marie mentally scrambled. "Oh...right! And I did fine on it, so I'm going to go up to my room and play a video game to reward myself!" Marie bolted for the stairs.

"Marie Christine..."

Oh no. Middle name. "Coming, mom." Taking her foot off the first step, Marie shrugged off her backpack and coat then dutifully marched into the living room. Obeying a gesture from her mother, Marie took a seat on the couch while her mother loomed over her.

"Mr. Verelli called today," her mother began. "He said you want to skip his class."

"That's not what I said," insisted Marie.

"School is important, you'll never get into a good college if you start skipping classes."

"He's doing a unit on benders," the girl explained.

Marie's mother sat down on the couch and put her arm around her daughter reassuringly. "I know, honey, but you can't keep avoiding it forever."

"Why not? Lots of people do a really great job of pretending benders don't exist."

Knitting her brows sympathetically, Marie's mother explained, "Not everywhere is like here. Someday you'll leave this small town far behind and live a full life where you can accomplish whatever you put your mind to."

"Will I be able to fit in?" Marie asked, already knowing the answer.

Changing the subject slightly, Marie's mother mentioned, "Mr. Verelli offered to stay after school to tutor you. He said he wasn't really comfortable with 'separate but equal' but felt that your case merited an exception. I'm not really sure what he meant by that, but he clearly wants to help you."

Horrified, Marie clarified, "I have to get EVEN MORE bender history now?"

"No," her mother assured, "He'll let you go to the library to research bender history during his class and he'll discuss it with you after school. And he's willing to extend the offer to your friends Peter and Mathilda."

Marie thought hard about this. On one hand, she wouldn't have to face all the other students during the lessons on bender history. On the other hand, she'd probably end up learning a lot more about benders than if she just suffered through the class. "Deal. Although, I don't think Mat will do it. She's going to think I'm a coward for running away from class."

"Mathilda," starts the woman, but she pauses to correct herself after hearing Marie's use of the shortened name. "Mat... is afraid of things too."

"She sure doesn't show it, mom."

"Sure she does. That tough act she puts on..."

"It's not an act," Marie asserts with absolute certainty.

"Well, it means she's afraid to be vulnerable. She's going to be very lonely when she grows up if she can't learn to trust people."

"She trusts benders," Marie suggested.

"Being a bender doesn't automatically make someone trustworthy any more than it makes someone..." Marie's mother chooses her next word very carefully, as if selecting from oft-heard comments, "unnatural. Besides, I bet that Mat acts just as tough in front of Peter as in front of anyone else."

"That's true," Marie admitted. "In fact, sometimes more so. I think it's because Pyotr idolizes her a little bit."

"Does he really?" Marie's mother ponders aloud with an enigmatic smirk. "Then make sure Peter is the one to ask Mat to attend the sessions after school."

"Um, okay?" the girl agrees.

"Good. I love you, Marie."

"I love you too, mom"

"Ok, you can go 'study for your biology test' now. Dinner will be ready at six."