Disclaimer: I don't own Young Justice. At all. Not even a little.
"Wake up!" There was a click as Ethan flicked on the lights, and a bright electric glare flooded my room. Moaning, I burrowed deeper into my soft sheets and pulled the covers over my head.
"Five more minutes, Ethan," I mumbled.
"No!" There was a dull thud as a pillow hit the back of my head. "You've been late for school three times this week. I won't let you be late again."
I moaned in response, and I swear that I could tell that Ethan was rolling his eyes.
"You've got five minutes to get your lazy butt down the stairs, or I'm leaving without you. And I don't think you want to ride the bus."
It was true. Personally, I would rather take my chances with the electric chair than the school bus. Rolling lazily out of bed, I shuffled over to my worn white chest of drawers (chipping paint and all), where I pulled out a top and pants without checking to see what they were. They turned out to be a green turtleneck and a worn, pale blue pair of jeans-plain, but comfortable. I had never really been all that interested in what I wore.
Before dashing into the bathroom, I paused to glance in a full-length mirror. I frowned at what I saw—bushy red hair, skin so pale that it burned at the mere suggestion of sun, a splash of freckles over my nose, no curves to speak of. But what I hated the most were my eyes. They were a vibrant green, and Ethan called them pretty (though Ethan also said my hair was "nice", and we all know what a lie that is), but they were the exact shade my dad's had been. And I hated them for that.
Turning from the mirror, I dashed into the tiny bathroom, almost slipping on the baby blue tiles that were still damp from Ethan's shower. I didn't bother with makeup, not because I didn't like it but because I had never learned to put it on, and, okay, I may have overslept a bit. Instead, I shoved my toothbrush into my mouth, and began brushing vigorously.
"Two minutes, Lissie!" Ethan called up the stairs.
"Coming!" I hollered back, although it probably sounded more like "Mrph!" because I was talking through my toothbrush.
I spat into the sink and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. Snatching a hair elastic, scraping my frizzy hair into a ponytail without the aid of a mirror or brush, I dashed out of the bathroom and downstairs. Ethan already sat at the kitchen table, his blonde hair catching the sunlight as he flipped lazily through the newspaper, his hazel eyes scanning the words. He was 28, but with his muscular body and tanned skin, age didn't stop girls at my school who saw him from flirting. He had set out a bowl and cereal at my place. I grabbed the bowl. Inside, the face of Mickey Mouse grinned up at me, reflecting a cheeriness I didn't feel.
"Nice of you to join me," Ethan commented drily.
"Yeah, whatever," I mumbled, dumping some cereal in my bowl. I skipped the milk, instead opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of hot sauce, which I dumped vigorously over my cereal.
Ethan made a face at my breakfast choice. "Must you do that? It's disgusting."
I shrugged, my mouth already full of cereal. "Ish gud," I mumbled through my bite. It was, too. Normally, I didn't like the dry health cereal that Ethan bought-it tasted like cardboard and stuck to the roof of my mouth. But hot sauce made all the difference.
He sighed. "You ready for school?"
This time, it was my turn to make a face. "Why can't I just homeschool? It would be so much…safer."
Ethan sighed. "I've already told you, I don't have the time or resources to homeschool you. Besides, you're plenty safe at Greenwood."
I sighed. "I'm safe, but with me around, the other students aren't. And anyway, Greenwood is a crap school. They practically have to hire security guards to make sure the delinquents don't beat each other up." Okay, so the security guards bit might have been made up, but the crap school part wasn't. It was a school of airheads and delinquents, where most of the kids should have been sent to juvvie a long time ago. And of all the delinquents, I was Delinquent Numero Uno. I practically had reserve seating in the detention room.
Ethan rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Greenwood High is a fine school. And besides, you've got friends there."
"Please. I don't have friends—just people who hate me and people who hate me more. I'm the school pyro, Ethan. That doesn't exactly make you a lot of friends."
Ethan sighed, his blue eyes sad. "Are you still on that? You know, those cafeteria fires really weren't your fault."
"They were completely my fault. And even if they weren't, the other kids don't know that."
Ethan smiled and in a sudden show of kindness, put his tan, rough hand over my small, pale one. "Then just change your rep. Don't set off any fires today. Your day will be great, you'll see."
I didn't bother arguing that reps (Did Ethan really just say "rep"?) weren't just changed like that. Instead I sighed. "I'll try," I mumbled.
Ethan grinned. "Try? There is no try. There is only do and do not do," he said in a freakishly accurate impression of Yoda.
"Fine. I'll do," I consented. I shoved a few more bites of cereal and hot sauce in my mouth, then dumped the bowl in the sink. I was about to grab my bag and head out the door, but I stopped and turned. I bit my lip.
"Ethan?" I said, my voice suddenly sounding small and weak. "Ethan, what if…what if I don't do?"
He smiled, but his eyes betrayed worry. "Then…we'll just have to pray that the Justice League doesn't find out. But I promise, it'll be okay. We'll work through it."
I smiled, relief coursing through me. Grabbing my backpack off of its hook, I ran outside, ready for the long walk to school. I was already out the door when I heard Ethan call to me.
"Happy birthday, Lissie," he called out through the door. I smiled.
"Happy birthday," I whispered, liking the way the words sounded.
Happy birthday to me.
School. Here at Greenwood, "Hell on Earth" was a more accurate description. Student-made posters in garish colors lined the walls, advertising everything from that night's dance (which I would not be attending) to various clubs (that I didn't belong to). I suppose the posters might have been trying to make the place more cheerful, but they didn't do much to help the appearance of things. Let's just say that whoever had designed the school had been entirely too fond of the color brown.
Sighing, I side-stepped a fist-fight between two gang members in the hall. The teachers were pushing back the crush of students straining to get a better view of the fight, but they weren't interfering, probably because they were expecting the boys (men, really) to pull out guns or knives and try to kill each other. It wouldn't have been the first time. I headed to my locker, where I would grab my books and stash my backpack before heading to class. I was just opening the locker when I heard a high-pitched giggle.
"Oh, Aaron, you're sooo…" I winced and plugged my ears, blocking out the noise before I could hear the end of the sentence. Speaking of people who hated me…
Vanessa Simon stood, just on the other side of my locker door. Actually, stood wasn't quite accurate. The girl was draped around her boyfriend-of-the-week, Aaron Greene, like a cheap scarf. He was the captain of the soccer team and ruggedly handsome, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. Normally, he was one of the most confident guys in the school, but his cocky smirk had been replaced by a goofy grin. Clearly, he was in ecstasy. I felt a pang of sympathy for his girlfriend, Stella Daniels, when she found out.
Then again, one could hardly blame the guy. Vanessa was easily the most popular girl in the school, and had risen to the top of the social ladder almost as quickly as I had sunk to the bottom. In addition, she was drop-dead gorgeous, with perfect chocolate curls, olive skin that had never seen a zit, baby blue eyes, and perfect curves that I would have sold my soul for. Yes, the girl was gorgeous. On the outside, that is.
Vanessa glanced up from her shameless flirting and noticed me, timidly peeking out from behind my locker door. Crap. As soon as she saw me, her perfect lips parted into a cruel grin. She leaned over and whispered something in Aaron's ear, probably something along the lines of: Wait for me a bit, babe.
Casually, she sauntered over to me, leaning against the locker. "Hello, Elizabeth."
I closed my eyes, desperately trying to ignore the feeling that I was a fly and had just been caught in a spider web. "Hello, Vanessa."
I tried to stay calm, but inside, I was a mess of terror. Please, I prayed desperately. Please don't make me talk to her.
A shrill buzz rang out through the hall—the five-minute warning bell. "Thank you," I whispered aloud.
Then I turned to Vanessa and grinned. "Sorry, Vanessa, I'd love to talk, but I've got first-period English with Mrs. Schmidt, and you know how brutal she is in the morning."
I'd expected Vanessa to leave, but she just smiled that same smile that had the kind of cruel beauty that a panther is reported to have the second before it rips your throat out. "What a coincidence! I have the same class. I'll walk with you."
"Um.." I mumbled, desperately trying to think of an excuse. "Uh…what about Aaron?"
"That's O.K. He doesn't mind. Right, darling?" She turned to Aaron and flashed a supermodel-worthy grin—a real smile this time—that probably stunned him into complacency.
"Ye—I mean no—I mean, anything for you, babes," Aaron finished stupidly.
"Good boy," Vanessa grinned, and I resisted the urge to gag. I wondered if Aaron knew that she was talking to him like a dog, but when I turned back, he was smiling just as dumb as ever. No wonder—Aaron was about as sharp as a beach ball. Fortunately, Greenwood high was an intelligence=optional kind of school, so he got by pretty well.
Vanessa grinned and hooked her arm through mine as we began walking.
"Why are you talking to me, Vanessa?" I asked, never one for tact.
She feigned confusion. "Why, we're friends, aren't we?"
"Not really."
Vanessa sighed. "Fine. I wanted to tell you something. You know that blonde boy you live with?"
"My brother?" I asked. It was a lie, but one that had become so familiar that I didn't hesitate to tell it.
"Yes, him. Though how someone that hot is related to you, I'll never know. Anyway, that company he plays secretary at is one that my daddy just bought."
"What are you playing at?"
Vanessa widened her eyes innocently. "Moi? All I wanted to tell you was that my daddy is now your brother's boss. Now, what could that mean for him? Let me think…"
I rolled my eyes. "Don't think too hard, Vanessa, you might hurt yourself."
Her face tightened into a glare, and she didn't look remotely the beauty queen she was. "Why you little...Your brother is hot, I'll give him that. But no amount of hotness will save him—or his job-if you cross me. So watch yourself, Elizabeth."
My stomach turned unpleasantly as I caught the threat. Hastily, I pulled out of her grasp and ran into the classroom, bowing my head so she wouldn't see my face. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of seeing the fear. I knew that she could—and would—follow through on her threats.
I slid into my desk and buried my head in my hands.
"Elizabeth Reynolds," I heard the speaker address me and looked up.
Mrs. Scmidt was glaring at me, her sneer exaggerating her already deep wrinkles. "You're late. Detention." I sighed, disappointed. The fact that Vanessa had been later than me and not punished hadn't slipped by me, but I wasn't surprised by it. Vanessa was frequently given better treatment than the rest of us commoners. Why that was the case was anyone's guess, but I had a hunch that it was because of her rich father who helped pay most of the teacher's annual bonuses.
"Now, class…" Mrs Schmidt began, and I groaned softly, sliding low in my seat, already dreading the lecture on nouns and infinitives that was sure to ensue. Mrs. Schmidt's lessons had the entertainment value of the packet of instructions that came with Ethan's blender.
A flash of movement caught my eye, and I glanced over. One of Vanessa's lackeys, Haylie (I think), was fiddling with a piece of paper. She was writing a note, but she was making it extremely obvious, like flashing a signal. Was she insane? Did she want a detention? I turned away, covering my smirk with my hand. It really wasn't my problem, and besides, seeing one of Vanessa's henchmen punished would make a great birthday present.
Sure enough, Mrs. Scmidt swooped in and snatched the note. "Detention, Haylie," she said smugly. Handing out detentions was one of the few joys in Mrs. Schmidt's empty life. "Now, class, shall we see what enthralled Miss Haylie enough to distract her from the lesson?"
She unfolded the crinkled notebook paper, and I grinned, glancing over at Haylie, but she didn't look mortified like she should have. Instead, she looked almost…smug.
The sound of Mrs. Schmidt clearing her throat snapped me back to attention. I smiled as she began to read, but my grin was soon replaced by an expression of horror.
"Elizabeth Reynolds is such a…Oh! I can't say that word," she exclaimed, and as the first peal of laughter rang out from the class, I could feel myself blush, a hot rush that spread all over me, turning my entire body cherry red. Slowly, I covered my ears, not wanting to hear the rest, but the laughter from the class, and even Mrs. Schmidt, was enough.
Tears pricked at my eyelashes, but it didn't take long for the hot embarrassment to be replaced by an even hotter hate. How dare she write that note? How dare the teacher read it in class? The heat rushed in waves through my body, accompanied by a tingle in my fingers and toes.
Oh, crap.
By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late to do anything about it. A final heat rushed through my body, and then…
Fwoom. The note erupted into flame even as the teacher read it. She screamed frantically and dropped it, stumbling backward over her podium. I almost laughed, but thought better of it, knowing that laughing would be incriminating evidence that I had caused the fire.
The flames shot up in a roaring column, scorching the ceiling. A natural fire would have burned out long ago, but this fire was anything but natural. Students in the front were shrieking and falling over themselves to get out, pushing others toward the inferno in a desperate attempt to get out of harm's way. In fact, everyone was heading in a crush toward the exit. Everyone, that is, except me. I sat, shell-shocked in my seat, stunned at the damage I had caused—no, was causing. Finally someone nudged my elbow.
"Come on, Elizabeth, you'll be burned to a crisp if you stay here." I followed whoever it was obediently, but I knew that it was physically impossible to get burned. For me, at least.
The hall outside was a crush of shrieking, sobbing students. Smoke and a smell of scorched hair billowed out from the classroom and into the hall. Sirens sounded in the distance—firefighters. I fought my way through the throng and burst through the doors in front of the school where I sunk, defeated, to sit on the steps.
I had done it again.
A/N: So? First chappie done! I have a couple more on my computer, so the next one will probably come soon. And, before I get any complaints about it, I apologize if I screwed up that Star Wars quote. I'm stupid, I know.
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