Author's Note: Future chapters will be a lot longer. And maybe more angsty, but if anything bad comes up I'll warn for it in the AN. I haven't written a lot of Evo fic, let alone for these characters, so please bare with me as I get the hang of it. This is sort of a prologue/set up; after this each chapter will cover the whole length of one day as opposed to a single scene. I just thought it stood better on its own as a mini-chapter.


"Look under Magla," Alex said impulsively.

And that was what got him into all this trouble. That was the phrase that sealed his fate; the reason he would end up skipping a week of school, the cause behind him seeing parts of the country he'd never known before... It was the Pandora's Box of words, but he didn't know that. He didn't even know there was a Box in this case. All he was trying to do was help. Later on, when enough time had passed that he could relay the story to others in his usual joking manner, he would start it with the disclaimer slapped in front that he didn't know what the heck he was doing. He was Alex Summers, surfer dude, typical bro, maker of lame quips. He wasn't psychic and if a psychic had told him what this would've led to, he'd have laughed in their face.

If he'd thought about it all before he said it - which he hadn't, at all - he wouldn't have spoken to her. She scared him back then. She wasn't quite right. Alex was a pretty mellow human being, and he didn't have a whole lot in common with her. They didn't hate each other, as far as he knew, but there was nothing there for them to build a friendship off of. They had nothing in common. He had smiled and waved at her once or twice and been ignored. She clearly didn't like him, so he should've shut his mouth - he just didn't realize until after he'd said it that this might not be a good idea. He gulped and steeled his nerves. I am not afraid of some Goth chick. I am not afraid of some Goth chick. Yeah, and maybe if he clicked his red sneakers together he'd wake up in Kansas, too.

Wanda whirled around angrily, mouth opening to retort, but then her brow furrowed as she processed what he'd said. In the dim light of the morning, she looked a lot less intimidating than usual. More tired, worn down. "Magla?"

Delierately oblivious to the danger he was in, he pointed over her shoulder to the computer. "The name you're searching. It's usually an Americanized form of Magla or Maglaja. My Sociology teacher was telling us about name changes and how immigration forced them on people in the past."

She looked taken aback. "I..." she paused, searching for something to say. "Thank you. I didn't know."

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly realizing how awkward this was. He hadn't meant to blurt it out, but the sight of her so frustrated and shaky, curled up by the computer after hours - well, before hours, actually - made him instinctively reach out to her. It reminded him of himself. Alex looked back at her and tried to meet her eyes as best he could. Magda Bacovic, the screen in front of him said. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Is, uh, whoever you're looking up Slavic? I might be able to help. My Soc. teacher said some stuff about last names - I think it's in my book, actually." He shifted his backpack off his shoulders and unzipped the bag casually. "It should be in here somewhere if you want to borrow it. Just have it back to me by lunch."

"Why are you helping me?" she asked sharply, voice suspicious. She was trying to be intimidating, but came across more as weary. "I'm not your friend."

He held out the book to her regardless. His eyes were sympathetic and his voice sincere. "I saw Pietro looking that name up, once. Just the first one. And I don't know how you two know her, but... I know what it's like not to know what happened to someone, that you loved."

There was a tangible silence. Then she took the book, scanning the page he'd flipped it to. "Did you help Pietro?" Her voice turned choked and angry again. "Does he know where she is?"

"What? No! He couldn't find anything and he told me to mind my own business." He started to reach for her shoulder to be comforting, instantly thought better of it, and then reminded himself of the grudge between the siblings. This wasn't his business and for all he knew this was a really sensitive topic he'd stumbled onto. He had to play it cool. Somehow he managed a coherent reply despite the increasing tension. "It's not like that, Wanda. He couldn't turn anything up and I hadn't taken Sociology yet. Whatever's going on, he's just as lost as you are."

Her fists unclenched, slowly, leaving wrinkles in the pages. "Where's your locker? I... I'll give this back. I promise."

"It's 134, down by the Science and Biology lab," Alex said cheerfully, as if he was just hanging with anyone. "You might want to get a book out on Etymology from the city library if that doesn't help."

She swallowed heavily. Her expression was unreadable. "Thank you, Summers."

"It's cool. If you need anymore help, I know Ms. Asaji is crazy into geneology. Might want to hit her up, see if she can help you find whoever you're looking for. She's wicked cool." He smiled. "And good luck with whatever you're looking up. I hope it works out."

"Thanks," she said softly, and he grinned at her again, a little less awkwardly this time, and exited the computer lab smoothly.

Alone, Wanda turned back to the screen, took in a deep breath. Her mother had gone by a lot of different last names, but it had never occurred to her the first might have changed. She shouldn't get her hopes up that any of these results would be remotely relevant. The odds of her finding her mother were slim at best and she knew that. Hope sprung eternal, but hope also brought her crashing down to Earth every time she tried it. When she changed the name to Magla Bacovic, the search engine gave her fifty two new results. Each had a small photo beside it. She scrolled down, and then abruptly froze.

If Alex Summers had been in the room then, she'd have kissed him, if she could get herself to stop crying.