Of Regrets, a Small Town, and a New Friendship

Kitty's POV

"Later, losers.

Avalanche"

The note is written on Blob's crinkled report card, smells vaguely of Toad and pizza, and was actually meant for The Brotherhood.

The note had left The Brotherhood somewhat puzzled when the first received it, but it become clear after Lance didn't show up for weeks, then an entire year. Today's the anniversary of the day Lance left. I can't count the times I've stared at this, trying to find the reason. There isn't much to read between the lines when there were only two lines and one was a signature, though.

"Kitty, are ya starin at that thin', again?" says Rogue's distinctly accented voice.

"No," I jump to a sitting position from my bed, hiding it behind my back, "I mean; what?"

"Ah can't believe they haven't kicked Fred outta high school with those grades," Rogue says, walking by me to pull something out of her drawer.

"Huh?" my head has to crank some gears, "Ur, yeah." I laugh nervously.

Rogue turns to me with hands on her hips, which means she's getting down to business. So not good. "It ain't your fault Lance ditched," she says, "'Sides, that boy ain't nothing but trouble."

"I know," I say, because I do know. More than she does, anyway. Lance called me that day, and I didn't answer. I was still too mad. I hadn't answered his calls for a long time; since we fought The Brotherhood in the school parking lot. I wish I had answered. I wish he had told me what happened. I tried to call him after that, but his phone had been disconnected.

"Then toss that," she says, pointing to the note, "It smells like Toad."

I nod, squeezing it into a ball and throwing it into the wastebasket.

"Let's go get breakfast," Rogue says, gesturing for me to follow.

I fix my covers and catch up with her.

After breakfast, I go digging in the wastebasket.

One Year Ago

Lance's POV

Benson smelled like cow manurer and I had to swat flies while I walked. I had no idea how I ended up here of all places, but I regretted it. It must have been at least 95 degrees; I briefly considered drowning the flies in my sweat.

I had saved up over the summer to run away from Bayville and my life there. Now, I was approaching a brand new, sparkling life at Benson High School in NowhereVille (I had been enrolled by a crazy old lady). Wasn't my life just peachy keen?

Either way, I was a Junior walking around with a schedule and trying to find rooms based on their numbers. I guess I looked pretty lost, because before I knew it I had a girl over my shoulder trying to be helpful. She had just came from the girl's restroom when she caught sight of me.

"Hey, Freshmen," she said, her voice carrying a musical element that made me want to strangle the happy right out of her, "Need help?"

"Not a Freshmen," I said, without pausing my walk, "Transfer student.

"Ooh," she said, joining my stride, "Where are you from?"

"None of your business," I said, attempting to wave her off with my hand.

"Oh, yeah? Cool."

I was suddenly struck with the sensation of talking to someone's voice mail. You know those people who are like "hi, this is so-and-so" in such a normal tone its almost as if they want you to trick you?

"I mean," she added, "We need someone with a mysterious past. Most people around here are from here, so you already know everything about them."

I was somewhat torn between being relieved she wasn't a robot and being annoyed she wasn't pissing off, so I just kept walking quickly and looking for room 126.

"By the way, I'm Marlee Skies," she said, "What's your name?"

I paused, frowning at my schedule. How did I end up back by room 107? I gave up, "Where the hell is 126?"

Marlee's lips kind of wriggled into a smile, "That's pretty long. Can I call you 126?"

"It's Lance Alvers," I said.

"Okay, Lance," she said, "Fortunately for you, I have the same class. Follow me." As she started down the hall, I realized she must have had some kind of thing for blue clothes and ribbons. She looked like a speeding sailboat.

I was about to share a class with an overly friendly blue sailboat.

Did I mention my life was peachy keen?

Actually, I spent more than just a class with Marlee. Marlee insisted on talking to me until the teachers head popped and he gave her and I gave an assignment on the first day (even though Marlee was the one talking). We met up in the park, after school, to work on it.

"Find leafs and name them with this spiffy leaf-book," Marlee said, waving said book high enough that it seemed she was trying to wave it in God's nose, "Easy."

"Whatever, Marlinda," I said. During 1st period roll call I learned two things. First, Marlee's name was Marlinda. Second, she hated the name Marlinda.

She shot me a glare, leaf-book still in the air, "It's Marlee."

"Right," I roll my eyes, "Let's just find some leafs."

Marlee cheered up unsurprisingly fast. We spent about a half hour collecting leafs, before a screeching interrupted us.

"Get back here, you bitch." It's a deep, gravely man's voice.

"No, let go of me!"

I spun around to see gruff looking man, clutching a women by her wrist. The man wore a wife-beater and torn jeans. His chin was covered in stubble and a cigarette hangs from his mouth. The women reminded me of Kitty. She has a light pink tank-top and super short shorts with sandals. She was terrified, eyes wide and knees shaking. She looked ready to cry.

He's holding her wrist, I realized, just like I had once grabbed Kitty's wrist.

Like, let go of me! Kitty's voice rattles in my brain. My stomach constricts itself. This man was a creep; his eyes were crazed.

"Let her go," I heard myself say, voice cracking not from fear but the uncomfortable feeling in my gut. Stepping up for this girl, I was suddenly Summers.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, "Let me handle him."

I had forgotten about Marlee and only then did it occur to me that we were the only ones in the park. Wait, let her handle it? I thought Is she crazy?

"What are you going to do about it, punk?" the man said, turning to me, "This bitch broke up with me. No one breaks up with me."

I tried to shake myself from my dream-like state. "I wanna bet?" I asked, fists balled, ready to shake the earth if I had to.

He reached down in his boot and I glimpsed something shiny. No f***ing way.

Marlee, to my bafflement, stepped in front of me. She raised her hand in "stop" motion towards the man.

"Move stu-!" I stopped myself as the knife went flying from the man's hand, lodging itself into a tree. I was fairly sure my jaw dislocated.

"I suggest," Marlee said, too sugary sweet like the voice I imagined Barbie might have, "You leave." She held her arms in front of her, bent slightly with fingers fanned out.

He was frozen, but his mouth moved, "M-Mutant. . . Mutant freak!" Then, he darted.

"Th-thanks," the girl squeaked, but then ran, as well. People are so grateful.

I stare at Marlee, "You're. . ." a search my mind for a way to fling knifes into trees, "A telepath?"

She smiled dryly, "I can control wind movement."

"Huh."

"I'll leave," she said, walking away in a way that seemed bizarre and uncharacteristic for her.

"Hold up," I said.

She stopped and turned to look at me like a dear in headlights. Weird.

I sighed. I didn't like Marlee, but I thought that freaks should stick together or at least have an understanding.

I focused on pulling and pushing the earth, creating a small tremor as a result.

Marlee, after teetering and gaining her balance respectively, cocked her head, "Did you?"

"Yep," I said, my arms folded in front of my chest.

Her face lit up, "We should totally be super heroes!"

"What?"

Author Note: Wow. Marlee is a mutant! No one saw that coming. Major plot twist. Haha. Anyway, review or comment if you have time. It would make my day. :) I'd like to hear any ideas.