Author's Note: Written for Warehouse 13 AU Week 2013 on Tumblr. Inspired by the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series (the books) because I read the original five a couple of months ago and couldn't stop thinking about Warehouse 13 during it. :s I did make some changes from the canon setting because I had too much fun fleshing out the non-Poseidon cabins. This will be six chapters long. All chapters will be posted by the end of this week (by 10/19/13). They're complete. I just have some editing/rewriting to do before posting. Many thanks to ohthesefeelingz (Maria) who is my awesome beta who thwaps me on the head when I get dialogue crazy and eff up the pacing. :D Hope you guys enjoy! (And yes, I'm returning right back to Love Spoilers after this week. And no, you won't be left hanging with the coded note.)
Myka Bering did not want to be at school.
Yes, that's right. Myka Ophelia Bering, the most brilliant kid in the fifth grade class, wanted to be anywhere but at school. Strange until you realize today was field day. Field day was what her school called the last day where instead of lessons and assignments and all the normal things a school should do, all the classes played games and competed in races. It was essentially one long recess complete with picnic lunch.
Myka hated recess. Recess was only fun if you had friends to play with, and Myka had no friends. She was tall and gangly with wild, curly hair and thick-framed glasses. She'd been diagnosed with dyslexia when she was five and struggled when she was forced to read out loud to the class. Yet, still, she scored the highest grades every year. The other kids hated her.
Her teachers had never helped with this. They either praised her too much for being so smart despite her disability or they eyed her suspiciously, half-certain she was faking her troubles with reading. Both reactions only added fodder to her classmates' bullying.
So Myka kept quiet. When she zoned out (because she always zoned out during class; she couldn't help it, her attention just drifted elsewhere), she did her utmost best to do so by doodling on her paper and not staring about the room. It was difficult to train herself to do, far more difficult than training herself to sit still and not raise her hand to every question. Her desire to see everything going on in the room was so strong - no, not desire. It was a need. A burning need that had existed in her gut for as long as she could remember. If she couldn't see every person in the room, if she couldn't know what each person was doing at every moment, she became anxious for reasons she couldn't pin down. Her father had lectured her over and over how silly it was to be anxious. Nobody was going to hurt her when her back was turned, nobody was plotting against her. She was simply being paranoid and childish. These lectures never calmed her. For one thing, there was a sharpness in his tone like the words strained him to say. For another, it was abundantly obvious her father had never survived grade school. The taunts and pokes only ever happened when her back was turned.
Home wasn't any better. Her father hovered and made demands and her mother (step-mother, honestly) sometimes looked at her with a strange mix of fear and pity. Myka would work hard to follow the rules and be good only to get in trouble for something as simple as checking the mail. When faced with bullying that followed a particular logic and parental lectures that seemed utterly random, Myka found she preferred the bullying. And as the school bullying died down over the years to basic teasing on the playground and only then, when it was too cold or wet for her classmates to do anything else, Myka found school even more bearable. By fifth grade, the children had largely settled into ignoring Myka, and Myka hid from the loneliness by focusing on her grades and memorizing her history book.
Field day didn't allow for a person to hide with history books. It drug a person out kicking and screaming to make them socialize with the other children. Field day was not bearable.
"I pick Myka."
Myka sighed and shuffled off to the left side of the gym. Now, she was being forced to play dodgeball, and what's worse, Sam had chosen her first for his team. He actually expected her to play. That was her fault really. She'd made the mistake in P.E. a few months back to show that she was actually quite athletic. During that game, she had become the last one in for her team, and three dodgeballs were thrown at her at once. What else was she supposed to do, but catch one of the balls while ducking the other two? She hadn't even had time to think about it, she'd just done it. She'd been able to bring a teammate back in for catching the ball, and her side went on to win the game. Ever since then, Sam thought of her as some sort of dodgeball guru, a trump card for victory. It was miserable.
"Just lay low right now. If we get picked off too early, we'll need you to catch throws and bring us back in."
He didn't need to tell her that. Myka knew their strategy for dodgeball. It was the same strategy every time. The only reason it worked was because the other team never targeted her. No one else in their class had been able to let go of their idea of Myka the Weirdo for these games and therefore, couldn't conceive of her as a threat. That was always her advantage.
The first game was an easy slaughter. Myka hadn't needed to do anything but stand in the back and sidestep a couple of times to avoid stray balls. But the tides turned in the second game. Most of the balls went to the other team right away and Myka's was stuck trying to defend themselves. It wasn't their strong suit. They lost half their team in the first minute.
Myka kicked into action then, looking for throws to catch, tugging teammates out of the way of an incoming ball - though no one seemed to appreciate that form of help. She fed balls to Sam, easily the best thrower in the class, but the other team was also aware of this fact, and it only painted a bigger target on Sam. A ball finally knocked him out when Myka was chasing down another on the other side of the gym. Myka was the last one left.
Sam didn't look upset at being knocked out. He just clapped and cheered her on, fully expecting her to catch a throw and bring him back in. Myka looked across the gym. The other team had one ball and four people left. The rest of the balls were on her side. She set the ball she was holding down on the ground and watched the other team.
A lot of shouting filled the gym. She's not allowed to hoard the balls, she needed to pick the balls up and throw out the other team. Everybody had an opinion except for Sam who continued to cheer without direction, blindly trusting his champion dodge ball player.
Myka tuned everything out and kept her eyes on the four still opposing her. She could see every movement they made, could sense their growing impatience to get on with the game. Katie, the other team's captain, held their single ammunition. Katie was impulsive. Myka could out-wait her.
It didn't take long for Katie to break. Just seconds later, she took aim and launched a line drive at Myka's knees. She'd purposely made it difficult to catch. Myka would have to dodge it.
Except dodging it would still leave the game four on one, and Myka knew once she started throwing the balls, the other team would launch them right back. She'd be out in moments.
It took a quarter second from the time Katie released for Myka to drop to the ground just to the side of the throw. She reached out for the ball and snagged it as it came sailing past her head. She rolled to her back and held the ball up in the air.
"That doesn't count! She's on the ground!"
"The ball didn't touch!"
The teacher blew the whistle. "You're out, Katie."
Katie stomped off the court as Myka clambered up to her feet. She looked over at her team on the sidelines. Sam was already standing up, ready to reenter the game, but a kid in the back caught Myka's eye. He was bouncing on tiptoes, arm stretched high, saying "Ooo pick me! Pick me!" It was the new kid, the one who - strangely - had just shown up today for their last day.
She wouldn't be able to explain it later (the boy would say she had a vibe, but Myka doesn't remember any special thought or feeling she had at the time), but something compelled her to nod her head and say, "Okay."
Sam stopped in his tracks. "What?"
"I pick the new kid," Myka pointed.
The new kid whooped and bounded over. Sam looked shocked, but Myka didn't get a chance to apologize before he walked back off the gym floor. The new kid grinned at her.
"I'm really good at dodgeball."
"Then why were you sitting out already?"
The boy grinned wider. He held out his hands, asking for the ball. Myka surrendered it, though her brain was catching up to her actions and was questioning her choice to bring this kid in. Why hadn't she just brought in Sam like always? Sam would have been a much more reliable choice if they were going to win the game.
The remaining three opponents were getting antsy without any balls to their side and were calling at them to throw. The new boy responded by rearing his arm back and letting the ball fly. It was a speeding bulls-eye to one of the girl's stomach. She was out before she even realized he'd thrown. The boy on the other team dashed over to grab the ball before it rolled back across the center line. The new boy was ready with another ball and hit the kid in the shoulder as he bent over.
It was two on one now. The momentum was back in their favor. Lauren, the last one standing on the other side, realized this and didn't make for a ball just yet. She eyed the new kid wearily.
So the new kid could throw. Had Myka seen this out of the corner of her eye earlier? Had her subconscious taken note and prompted her to bring him back in the game instead of Sam?
The boy lined up his aim again and threw. Lauren jumped out of the way and again, didn't go after the ball. It hit the wall and bounced off to the side of the gym. The boy picked up another ball. They only had two left. Another was resting near the center line, maybe near enough to tap over. The rest of the balls were deep into their opponent's side.
This wouldn't work. Lauren was just going to use Myka's tactics and either catch a throw or dodge every ball until they were out. They needed to do something different.
"What's your name?" Myka asked. The new boy halted his throw.
"It's Pete."
"Pete," she repeated. "Don't throw yet."
She thought she saw him frown at her, but she had her eyes locked on Lauren. She crept over to their other ball and kept watch that Lauren wouldn't suddenly throw at them. But Lauren didn't seem eager to act until she knew what Myka was doing. Good.
Myka picked the ball up. She glanced at Pete and hoped he would understand the signal. "Hey, Lauren," she called out. She threw her ball, high and arcing, towards the other side. Lauren looked confused but moved to get under it. It was an easy catch for an out, a give-me. Lauren didn't have a choice. "Pete!" Myka yelled, but the ball had already left Pete's hands. He'd thrown it so fast, she hadn't seen. Lauren definitely didn't see, her eyes still trained on Myka's ball. Pete's throw hit her square in the leg.
The teacher blew the whistle. "That's game."
Myka's team cheered. Lauren had been hit by Myka's ball too after being startled by Pete's. Pete laughed and turned to Myka, hand raised.
"Nice one," he said. Myka hesitated a second, but then reciprocated the high five. She gave him a small smile.
"Okay, switch sides. Bring all the balls back to the middle," the teacher said.
"Ready to win again?" Pete asked. Myka's smile widened.
"Try not to get out this time."
Myka and Pete played together the rest of field day. Well, in truth, their whole class played together as the activities were always some kind of group effort, but there was an extra level of awareness between Myka and Pete after the dodgeball game. Myka noticed that Pete hung back in the activities, too, never volunteering, never showing much effort until put directly in the spotlight. It was also clear, whenever he made the effort, he was an above-average athlete who could have been in any JV sport he wanted. But he didn't talk much to the other kids, and Myka couldn't tell if it was because he was new or because he was shy.
He didn't talk much to Myka, either, but he sat with her at lunch and ate her cookie (he asked first). In the afternoon, they were lined up next to each other during the 400 meter race, and he nudged her and grinned like they'd been best friends all their lives. The acknowledgment fired up some sort of competitiveness in Myka. She sized him up, realized she was almost an inch taller than him, and decided to put her long legs to use for this race.
"Remember, guys," the teacher said. "All the way around the track."
The whistle blew and the six of them on the line took off, spraying black cinders from the outdated track in their wake. Pete was sprinting, like the others, and pulling away. Myka ran a bit behind him, waiting to see if he'd slow up.
He did, at the halfway mark, about fifty meters after they'd lost the others. None of them could sprint a full lap, and the other kids had gone out too fast. Myka smiled and sped up to overtake the lead.
Pete groaned when she passed him. He pushed to stay up with her, but could only hold on for a few more feet. Myka laughed and ran on.
She rounded the curve, cinders giving way briefly to overgrown grass until she was clear for the homestretch. Her legs and lungs burned. Footsteps crunched behind her, so she knew Pete hadn't fallen too far behind. Still, it was a surprise when he pulled up by her shoulder and then inched ahead. Myka pushed her legs into an all-out sprint where it didn't feel like she had control of her limbs anymore. Pete did everything he could to match her, and, neck-in-neck, they hurtled through the final meters, fighting not to die first.
Then, Pete fell back. Just an bit, but it was enough for Myka to know she had the race. She refused to ease up, though. Pete was still too close and the finish line was just there. She could rest on the other side of it.
Her foot pounded over the line scuffed into the cinders. Pete crossed less than a second behind her.
"Nice job you guys!" the teacher said. "Seventy-one seconds, Myka. Impressive!"
Myka panted and doubled over. Pete tumbled to the ground and flopped over on his back. The other kids in their race were back at the curve. One of them had even stopped to walk.
Legs feeling like rubber, Myka turned and walked over to Pete. He shaded his eyes against the sun and looked up at her. She grinned.
"I beat you."
"You cheated."
"What? I didn't cheat!" Myka sat down on the track beside him, because while she hadn't cheated, she had definitely used up all of her strength. Standing was too much work when she was still catching her breath.
"You ran on the grass."
"Because the grass had grown over the track."
Pete mumbled something else with the word "cheat", and Myka grinned again. She walked the toe of her foot over to nudge his arm.
"I beat you," she sang. Pete stuck his tongue out, and she laughed.
"Off the track guys," the teacher said, making Pete and Myka drag themselves over to the grass. "We need to start the next race."
Myka was exhausted by the time she climbed onto the bus to go home. She'd never tried so hard at field day before. She collapsed into a seat near the front and set her bag on the floor. Pete sat down across the aisle, much to her surprise.
"You ride this bus?"
"Today I do." He was looking out the window. He cringed at something and sunk low into his seat. "Uh oh."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Pete said. "I just stayed too long."
Myka frowned, not able to make sense out of that. The bus pulled out of the parking lot. As they drove down the main road, Pete craned his head around to look out the window behind them. After a moment, he turned back forward and looked more relaxed.
Myka let him be and pulled out Treasure Island from her backpack. The jostling of the bus made her dyslexia worse, but she was determined to read. She was three-quarters of the way through the book and wanted to finish it over the weekend.
Twenty minutes later, the bus stopped in front of the Bering & Sons bookstore. Myka marked her place, grabbed her bag without bothering to slide the book in before, and got off. She heard the bus driver say something behind her and turned around. Pete stood in the doorway talking to the driver. The words were muffled by the sound of the bus engine, but it looked like Pete was trying to get off the bus with her. Pete nodded at something and hopped down the steps. The bus driver caught Myka's eye and waved before closing the door and driving away.
Myka looked at Pete. "What are you doing?"
"Going home with you," Pete said.
"What?" Myka's eyes grew wide. "No. No, you can't do that," she said, shaking her head. "My dad will be really mad because I didn't ask first."
"So we'll ask him now."
Myka shook her head. "He'll still be really mad."
Pete glanced around like he was searching for something. "Well, can we at least go inside?"
It was sunny and hot on the sidewalk, and Myka wasn't allowed to linger outside. So she said okay and led him into the store. The bell rang overhead as they entered.
"You live in a bookstore?" Pete asked.
"I live above a bookstore," Myka corrected. "It's my dad's."
Pete walked towards a shelf to trace a hand over the spines and then wrinkled his nose. "Do you have any comic books? I like those better. More pictures and superheroes."
Myka huffed and walked through the store to find her dad. She spotted him coming out of the back store room.
"Dad," she said.
"Home from school?" he greeted. "Tracy's bus came and went already. She's upstairs eating a snack. Go on up and you can get one too."
"I'm not really hungry," Myka said.
"Ooo, I am," Pete said, stepping into the aisle with them. Mr. Bering frowned at him.
"Did you bring a friend home with you?"
"I didn't bring him," Myka said. "He followed me."
"Followed you?" This made Mr. Bering narrow his eyes more. "Just who are you, son? Why are you following my daughter?"
The sharp tone seemed to stun Pete. He didn't answer right away and when he did, the words were mumbled. "She let me play dodgeball."
"What? Dodgeball?" Mr. Bering glared.
Pete shuffled his feet. "At school," he added.
Mr. Bering still didn't look pleased. Myka knew she'd be in trouble for letting Pete stay. She should have made him go to his own home. Her dad had forbidden her from bringing people over without permission ahead of time.
"Please Mister ..." Pete stopped like he was searching for a name and realized he didn't know one. "Myka's Dad, can I stay? I swear I'm a good kid, and I can be really quiet, too. You won't even know I'm here. Except, I kind of eat a lot, but I don't have to eat. I can stop eating and be really, really quiet, I swear."
Mr. Bering held up his hand. "Why do you want to stay so badly?"
"I don't want to go home yet."
"I can see that, but why?"
"Because I can't yet."
"Why not?"
"Cause it's not safe," Pete said.
Mr. Bering stared hard at him. "What do you mean it's not safe at home? Why not?"
"Um, because," Pete fidgeted. "Because… … nothing. Never mind." He shook his head. "I was making it up, I'm sorry. I'll leave." He turned and walked away, feet dragging as if he really dreaded leaving. Seeing the back of his t-shirt still sooty from the track and an even dirtier backpack slung across it, and knowing he was the new kid at school and possibly in town, all made Myka's stomach drop and she looked up at her father.
"Please, Dad."
Mr. Bering called out to Pete to stop. He walked over to the boy and put his hand on his shoulder to direct him to turn around. He spoke low to Pete, just out of earshot, and his manner was gentle, more gentle than Myka had ever seen or known her father was capable of. It made her squirm and look away.
After a bit, her dad asked a question loud enough for Myka to hear. "Who are you?"
"I'm Pete."
"I know that, but who are your parents?"
Myka focused hard to hear the conversation now. It was important for her to know who Pete was, too, if he was going to be her friend.
"My mom's name is Jane Lattimer. I don't know my dad's."
"You don't know who your father is?"
Pete shook his head.
Mr. Bering stood up straight and beckoned. "Come here." He led Pete over to the register and pulled out a book Myka recognized by the cover. It was a book on Greek mythology and one of the only books she didn't get in trouble for reading when she was supposed to be working. She had her own copy of it up in her bedroom. Mr. Bering opened the book to a certain page and showed it to Pete.
"Is this what you saw?" Mr. Bering asked. Myka wandered closer to see what they were looking at.
"Almost," Pete said, examining the picture. "But the one I saw was way scarier."
Myka could see the image of some bird-snake creature with two heads, but didn't get a chance to decipher the title of the section before her dad snapped the book shut.
"And where'd you last see it at?"
"Back at school. I was on the bus before it found me."
Myka was confused, but Mr. Bering nodded. "Alright, you'll stay here for now. Myka, show him upstairs. Tell your mother I'll explain later."
Myka and Pete were both surprised.
"And neither one of you go near any windows," Mr. Bering added. "I mean it."
"Dad," Myka said with a flush. It wasn't the order - Myka was usually forbidden from going to the windows - but that her dad had given the order in front of a guest. It was embarrassing. She wasn't entirely sure why she wasn't allowed near windows or what her parents were afraid of. They seemed to expect her to attract someone's attention one day, someone dangerous.
"Yes, sir." Pete nodded like this command made perfect sense to him. Well, at least Myka didn't have to feel embarrassed, though she was becoming more confused by the second.
Myka and Pete went upstairs to the Bering apartment and met Mrs. Bering and Myka's younger sister Tracy in the living room. Tracy was sitting by a large pile of certificates and stickers that were probably end-of-the-year awards she'd won and wanted to show off. Jealousy flared within Myka.
"Who's this?" Mrs. Bering asked.
"Pete," Myka said. "Dad said he'll explain later." Mrs. Bering, of course, looked concerned at this.
"Are you Myka's boyfriend?" Tracy asked with a mischievous grin.
"Um... no," Pete said.
Myka didn't want to deal with Tracy, so she turned and walked off to her room without another word. Inside her bedroom, she took off her backpack and located her Greek mythology book. She began flipping through the pages, searching for the bird-snake picture. She wanted to know what her dad and Pete had discussed.
Pete walked in and halted a step later. "This is your room?" He sounded incredulous, and Myka assumed he was staring at her collection of books. The volume of her collection was enough to stun anyone even if they didn't know about her dyslexia. Myka was rather proud of it.
She found the picture of the bird-snake and stared at the title. It was a long strange word filled with a lot of vowels, but Myka knew what it was supposed to say.
"You told my dad you saw an Amphisbaena?"
"An amphis-what?"
Myka held up the book and pointed to the picture.
"Oh," Pete said. "Yeah, back at the school."
Myka frowned and glanced down at the picture and then back at Pete. "These aren't real. They're a mythological monster. You can't have seen one at the school."
"Well maybe I didn't, but I definitely saw something a lot like it." Pete got on her bed and crawled over to the bookcase at the head of it. "Are any of these comic books?"
"No," Myka said. What was with this kid and comic books? What was wrong with regular books?
"Dang." He sat back on his heels. "And your dad really doesn't sell any downstairs?"
"No, we only sell real books."
Pete didn't get defensive and try to claim comic books were also real books. He just became sad. "Oh. I'm not good at reading real books."
To another eleven-year old, this statement wouldn't have much of an impact. It might make that child feel sad too, maybe they'd try to comfort Pete by saying books were dumb or by naming a subject they were personally bad at. But to a dyslexic Myka, this statement held a potentially big meaning.
"What do you mean you're not good at reading?" she asked.
"The words get jumbled up when I try. Well not words, the letters." Pete looked around the room and pulled up a bit of her bed cover to twist in his hand. "Did your dad say there was snacks?"
Myka wouldn't be side-tracked, not when she'd finally met someone like her. "You're dyslexic?"
Pete sighed. "Yeah." Then, he added, "But I still know stuff! I'm not dumb."
Myka could only stare at him, her hands tightly clutching the mythology book. "I'm dyslexic, too."
Pete finally looked at her. "Really?" Myka nodded, and he started to form a small smile. Then, it faded. "Nuh uh, you have all these books."
"So?"
"So you can't be dyslexic. You read."
That was too close to what her second-grade teacher had tried to argue. Fury rose up inside Myka. "I am too dyslexic. I just work really hard."
Pete moved to sit down properly on the bed and leaned his back against the wall. "So it's hard for you to read, but you do it anyway?"
"Yes." Myka shut her book with a louder than normal pop, but at least Pete had swung his shoes off of her bed now. It was a completely unrelated action, but it still mollified her and kept her from stepping over and hitting him.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you work so hard to read?"
Maybe she'd still hit him after all. Except Pete hadn't sounded snotty when he'd said it; he'd sounded simply curious. Myka stared down at the Greek mythology cover. "Because I don't want to be left out."
She couldn't say what she'd be left out of if she didn't read. The stories within the pages, maybe. Left out by her dad - he'd never ignored her, but he'd also never given her the attention she wanted. One reason or another, she sensed something important was contained within books and she refused to miss out on it because her stupid brain twisted some signals around.
"Yeah," Pete said. "I hate being left out, too."
Later in the evening, when the bookstore had closed, Mr. Bering came upstairs and spoke with his wife. The conversation was tense, and Mrs. Bering shot Myka that look again, the one Myka couldn't understand. They announced that Pete would be staying the night with them, and, after getting the number from Pete, Mr. Bering walked away to call Pete's mom. Myka and Pete sat down at the dinner table where Mrs. Bering had set out meatloaf, peas, and mashed potatoes. Pete's face shone like it was Christmas.
Myka wanted more information. She was still confused why Pete was staying here instead of going home. "Where do you live?"
"Ohio," Pete said as he tried to get the peas to stick to the mashed potatoes on his fork.
Myka didn't recognize that address. "Where's that street?"
"Huh? No, Ohio like the state."
"That's where you're from?"
"Yeah," Pete nodded and chewed on his food.
Myka laid awake in her bed, still considering why and how Pete had traveled from Ohio to Colorado all by himself. Pete had spent the evening watching television with Tracy and was now curled up in a pile of blankets and pillows on Myka's floor. She thought she should've offered him the bed since he was a guest, but he'd seemed content enough on the floor. Though,maybe that was just the three helpings of meatloaf he'd eaten. Or maybe he was used to not sleeping in a bed.
Myka rolled over and stared at Pete over the edge of her bed. "Are you a run away?"
Pete was silent for a moment and then whispered, "Yeah."
"Why'd you run away?"
"Because I had to."
"But why?" Myka asked.
"Something... there was something bad," Pete said. "It was going to hurt my family, so I left. It chases me, so I figure if I keep running, it won't go back and hurt them."
His voice had become shaky, and Myka was struck by the idea that Pete might be holding back tears. Fear crept into her stomach because this boy was so much more than a new kid in her class. He was scared and on his own, and Myka had no idea how to help him.
"What's chasing you?"
"That chicken-snake your dad found in that book."
"The one that's not real?"
"Oh, this thing's real." Pete sat up and looked like a new puppy the way the blankets swirled around him. "Can I tell you a secret?"
"Okay."
Pete looked around even though no one else was in the room to overhear them. "I'm a superhero."
That was not a secret; that was a lie. "What?"
"Or I might be, I think," Pete said. "I haven't heard my origin story yet - every superhero has an origin story. But I see weird stuff sometimes - not just the snake monster, but all kinds of things, like one time I saw a lady disappear into a tree. Like not inside it like a bird or anything, she actually faded into the tree. My mom said it was my imagination, but I think she knows something and just isn't telling me."
"You think you're a superhero?"
"Yeah! But I haven't really gotten my powers yet or just no one's found me to tell me them. Like Superman didn't know he was super when he was kid. He came to Earth as a baby, and he figured it out later because he was really strong and fast and stuff. Which I'm really fast and stuff too. Like I can throw a football like," he mimed throwing a football and made whooshing sound, "and it always lands where I want it."
"Like in dodgeball?" Myka asked. She wasn't believing this story. Honestly, she wasn't.
"Yeah, like dodgeball!" Pete said. "I'm just really good at throwing. And maybe that's why I can't really read or sit still. Maybe I'm an alien from another planet so I don't fit in with humans, and I'll be like a superhero to them when I grow up."
"Or maybe you're just a regular person like me with dyslexia and trouble paying attention in class."
Pete considered this. "Maybe you're an alien too, and that's why I wound up here. Because we're both the same kind."
Myka shifted on the bed. She didn't want to be an alien "Well, we can't be the same because I'm faster than you."
"What?" Pete's mouth hung open. "Nuh uh! Well, I'm a better thrower than you."
"Nuh uh!" He was, but he hadn't seen her actually throw so he couldn't know for sure.
"Yeah huh, look." He threw a pillow that hit Myka in her face.
"Hey!" Myka tumbled to the floor to retaliate. They wrestled and swung pillows at each other, both giggling without restraint, until Mrs. Bering came in to make them go to sleep.
