Chapter One-Big Trouble.
The clock went tick, tick, tick, methodically driving me crazy. I chewed the end of my eraser, then I started tapping, and didn't stop until the kid next to me stomped my foot and glared, informing me that I was going to die if I didn't stop being an annoying weirdo. Amateur. Didn't know a good beat when he heard it.
My cranky science teacher, Mrs. Watts, called my name. She took a fiendish glee in making me look like an idiot.
"Nicholas Fire, what is the scientific name of a bell pepper?" She turned her beady-eyes on me like a magpie happening upon something shiny. In fact, she looked a bit like a magpie. Or possibly a rat.
"Um..." I stared at her blankly. Should I actually know that, and should I really care? Because I didn't.
When I didn't answer, she said in a superior tone; "Since you do not know the correct answer, I will call upon someone who does." Eying me disdainfully, she did just that. As a result of my silence, some other kids sniggered irritatingly.
I was busy wondering if her sharp, pointy nose would fit in the class pencil sharpener, when, thankfully, the shrill bell rang. I wrinkled my nose. The bell was too loud. Complete overkill on volume.
As I was in the process of leaping up and darting towards the door, I slammed into somebody. The girl just glowered at me. She looked like a Mafia hit-man with...barrettes. Pink ones.
"Watch it, punk," she growled. I took her advice and fled.
The day followed in a similar pattern. P.E. was awful, which was weird. I've always managed to be pretty good at it. If there is running or movement or anything that involves either a lot of energy or a lot of speed, which my foster-mom, Angie, thinks I have tons of, I'm great at it. She says I'm always moving in some way or another. She fantasizes about me becoming a dancer of some-sort, or maybe a circus performer.
Uh huh. Keep dreaming, mom.
Now, imagine a squirrel pumped up on Double Lattes, plus a whole jumbo-sized bag of Halloween candy, plus twenty Mt. Dews. That's about what my hyperness level is...on a day-to-day basis.
...Okay, I admit, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but not much.
Back to my day.
English was a bore. That's fine. It always is. Band was okay. I've always been pretty musical, and the clarinet I play keeps my fingers busy.
Eventually, the final bell rang, announcing that torture (oops, did that slip out?) was over. School was out.
I was just getting ready to leave campus when my day turned bad and I was slammed into a locker.
"Hey, it's the freak," chortled Jason, one of the football team's full-backs. He's a senior in the high school.
"Yeah, the twitchy little dude!" Angus, a linebacker. I don't know where the Angus came in, but he most certainly looked like a big beef Angus burger...a flavorless, really lame one. He's a sophomore. He also follows Jason around like either an obedient puppy or a shadow.
"Hey, freak, d'ya have money?" Jason again. His pale, less-than-intelligent blue eyes were filled with cruel humor.
I began to feel the weird, irrational anger that always came around when something (cough, these two) bothered me.
Unfortunately, it was worse than usual.
"Back off," I snarled through my teeth.
See, usually I just keep quiet and hand over whatever left-over money I have, without kicking up a fuss. Its not really worth fighting for. But today was different. I was tired of being pushed around.
Angus made an irritating honking noise that I assumed was laughter. Jason, sick of sweet-talking, grabbed the front of my shirt and lifted my 115 pound body off the ground just a teeny bit.
"Listen, freshman," he hissed, "I don't have any time for games. Gimme the money."
When I just glared at him, he shrugged.
"Fine then," He nodded to Angus, who reached toward me as if to search my pockets. Suddenly, in one massive burst, all the pent-up anger broke out. Rage engulfed me. These goons had been treating me like dirt for too long. It was time that they learned a lesson.
"Whoa, what's happened to his eyes?" Angus asked nervously.
I felt like I was burning up, filling with molten lava up to my eyebrows.
"Go. Away."
And I made the pushing motion with my hands.
My intention was only to push them a little, to show them how I'm actually not a little bug. I wasn't exactly expecting what happened next.
The two football players went flying across the hallway, and slammed into the opposite wall. Hard. They slid to the floor, out cold.
Sudden exhaustion engulfed me. I collapsed into a heap of clothes, bones, and very freaked-out ninth-grader on the dirty linoleum. Dragging myself off the floor, I staggered down the hallway and into the guy's bathroom. Shouldering aside the door, I stumbled to the grimy mirror, covered with Sharpie scrawlings of names and gang symbols, and stared into it. My reflection, with barely contained terror, stared back. It was a tall guy with wild, bronze hair, large, dark green eyes with streaks of gold and amber in them, ivory skin, and a smattering of freckles across the nose. The face was the face of a troublemaker, with upturned eyebrows, strange, angular features, and high, thin cheekbones at a slant. I turned my head to the side, the me in the mirror copying the movement, and brushed the hair covering my ear away. My ear tapered to a point. Not like a normal, slightly pointy ear like some kids have. Like...something not human.
I turned back to stare at myself, my reflected image doing the same.
"Who am I?"