Chapter 2

Ben had just ascended the long, white staircase to the second floor of the large, metropolitan school. Pausing on the final landing, he leaned on the railing and watched the immense herd of students shuffling to lockers or to classes. The crowd seemed to flow through classroom doors like a fluid, and he realized that perhaps if he went to school in a smaller town he would know and get along with more of his classmates. Ben's father, a successful journalist and novelist, had grown up in a town appropriately named Smallville, which lay just 20 miles south of the outskirts of the city. For being so nearby, Smallville was a startling juxtaposition to Metropolis. Metropolis was the New York City of Kansas, but Smallville was the Kansan Mayberry. Ben idly wondered how his life would've been different had he grown up there. He knew he enjoyed the time he spent there every summer with his farming grandparents, Jonathan and Martha Kent. There was a sense of community in Smallville that he could find nowhere else. He knew dozens of people in the town better than the handful he knew in the city. Maybe, when he graduated from college, he would move there.

Lost in his thoughts, Ben didn't hear until too late the steps approaching him. Before he knew it, he was pinned against the wall with a very unwelcome face glaring at him.

"Hey, Kent," his attacker said with a smirk on his face.

This was Gary Fangler. He was a stocky, athletic boy with red highlights in his blonde hair and a ring in his left eyebrow. Ben had known him almost as long as he'd known Francesca, but unlike Francesca, Gary never was a friend to him. In elementary and early middle school, Ben had learned to fear him. He even wondered if the slight unruliness of his hair was due to the culmination of the countless swirlies he'd received courtesy of "the Fangster." In the third grade, Gary, who had had an intimidating stature even at that age, had cornered Ben just outside the cafeteria and had demanded that he pull Farrah Walters' hair. When Ben repeatedly refused, Gary sent him home with a bloody nose and two black eyes. His parents had repeatedly asked the school and even Fangler's parents at one time to take some action, meanwhile advising Ben to do his best to avoid him. But it seemed that no disciplinary course would deter Gary. He appeared to take the detention or whatever else was offered to him with little resistance and only waited for it to be over so he could resume his intimidation of his bespectacled punching bag.

Ben recalled his fifth grade science project. He had spent countless hours at Metropolis Public Library, reading, copying, highlighting, and drawing meticulous diagrams for his "Overview of the Mesozoic Era." His parents had even procured the luxury of a large cedar backboard instead of one of cardboard. Among the items that graced this fine board was a profile of Compsognathus, the smallest dinosaur, and the famous Tyrannosaurus rex, the largest. He also had a thorough description of what really constitutes a dinosaur, a two-paragraph commentary in which it seemed he was trying desperately to dispel the persistent myth that man and dinosaur once coexisted, and pictures and descriptions of little-known dinosaurs such as Pachycephalosaurus and Ornithominus. Finally, he placed a list of "Fun Facts" on one side panel, and on the other, a description of each theory about the cause of the great reptiles' demise followed by an analytical paragraph advocating the evolution-into-birds theory, using the half-reptile, half-bird Archaeopteryx as his main support.

Ben wasn't sure if he was ever more proud of something he'd done in his life. He even remembered wondering if he could save it for the Science Fair later that year. But Gary Fangler had other plans.

Ben had dropped off his paleontological wonder at school the day before it was due, as most other kids had chosen to do so that it would be ready to present the next morning. He had been disappointed when a substitute teacher had been there, hoping to show his masterpiece to Ms. Falley. But disappointment turned to horror when he walked into science class the next morning to find the "Overview of the Mesozoic Era" in worse condition then kindling wood. All that was left were dozens of jagged pieces of wood and torn paper. It looked like one of the carnivores it described had chewed it up and spit it out.

Minutes after he was greeted with this horrific sight, it was discovered that a fire ax case not far from the classroom had been broken into and the ax stolen, and graffiti was all over the surrounding walls. That same day, Gary Fangler was found guilty of his first act of vandalism. An accomplice confessed and told the whole tale. Apparently, Gary's original plans were to just "dirty up those prison walls," as he had put it. But when he had passed the fire axe, he had broken the case with an evil grin and seized the axe as a trophy. Finally, on his way out, he had passed by the door to Ben's science classroom and peered through the window. Ben could just see the smirk on the Fangster's face as he used his dad's presumably stolen credit card to unlock the door and made short work of the testament to the Mesozoic era.

Fortunately, Gary had at least become more subtle in his malevolence towards Ben. Starting around the end of seventh grade, Gary generally would leave Ben unharmed, both physically and academically. All it would cost him was his math homework, an English essay, or whatever other assignment Gary had decided to blow off the night before. Ben had complained repeatedly, but once again the population of the school worked against him, and it seemed that administrators were doing all they could to regularly discipline a few of the multitude of troublemakers that graced the halls of Metropolis High. To keep both his conscience clear and his skin un-bruised, Ben had quickly begun writing two of whatever assignment he anticipated would be in demand the following day. One, which he kept hidden, would be the one he would keep to turn in. It almost always earned him yet another A. The other, which he surrendered to Gary, he designed and executed specifically to bring its bearer a D. "D" for "decoy," he would muse. Fortunately, with the advent of honors classes in high school, he now shared only two electives with Fangler, so the scope of the assignments Gary could coerce him into doing was significantly reduced, but Gary had continued to make do.

By the time Gary had caught on, he had found himself a one-way ticket to juvy hall. Now, it seemed, the Fangster had returned.

"You're back," Ben observed flatly.

"I never got to thank you for that F you got for me," Gary said. He then furrowed his brow in mock puzzlement. "I was just wondering how it is that I get my work from you, and yet you always get A's and I always get D's or F's."

Wow! Maybe he's not as slow as he lets on! Ben thought sarcastically.

Gary looked his victim up and down. He then smirked. "You been working out, Kent?" he asked. "Tryin' to beef up for lil' ol' me?"

Ben could've sworn he saw a trace of apprehension in what he assumed was a remark made from pure mockery and sarcasm. He sighed. "Look, Fangler, I'm really not in the mood today. Not that I ever actually want to be graced with your presence, but today is really not a good day."

"Since when do you decide when it's a good day or not?" Gary said coolly, lifting Ben a few inches off the floor, still pinning him to the wall.

Some kids are saved by the bell. Ben groaned as he heard the bell ring. Gary let him down, obviously very pleased with himself. "Looks like everyone's star student is late for class," he chuckled bitterly and strutted off to what was probably a remedial class. Ben glared after Gary's retreating form for a second before taking off towards his health class. Fortunately, the halls were by then all but empty, which gave him plenty of room to run. And run he did.

With every step, he picked up speed, accelerating at a rate that surprised even him. Within five seconds, he was traveling at a brisk run. He continued to accelerate, expecting to start puffing and sweating any moment. He didn't. In fact, he was sprinting like a relay runner yet felt as if he was leisurely walking. As he continued to accelerate, Ben saw his surroundings zoom by him at a speed almost comparable to that of the view through a car window. Still, he shed not a drop of sweat nor felt any shortness of breath at all. Ben looked down at his feet and saw them moving at unnatural speed. It was as if someone had videotaped him running and was fast-forwarding the film. The sheer and astonishing ease with which he was still running fueled his continued acceleration, and before he knew it he was zooming down the halls so fast that his mind could barely keep up to navigate and tell his body where to go. For a brief instant as he approached the door to room 603, his surroundings became a blur as they zipped behind him at warp speed.

Ben stopped abruptly and looked at his watch. It was 2:35 and 32 seconds. The bell always rang at 2:35, which meant it had taken him a mere half-minute to get to a classroom almost at the other end of the school! Ben shook his head, perplexed and disturbed. First he can see through solid surfaces, and now he can run as fast as an automobile? It was official. Something was happening to him. Something big. And he had no idea what it was. He felt an infant panic growing in his mind. But he willed himself to stay calm and reassured himself that he would figure it out sooner or later, and then he would decide what to do about it.

He opened the door and entered the unusually spacious classroom.

"Ah, so you are here," Ms. Jeuno said.

Ben nodded sheepishly to the athletic woman who had greeted him and sat down silently. He tried to clear his mind for class, but that had become impossible. He felt as if he was living in a Twilight Zone episode.

"OK," Ms. Jeuno announced, calling the chatty gathering to order, "today we're going to go over the musculoskeletal system. Bones, muscles, tendons, ligaments, that sort of thing. How many of you read the chapter last night?"

Ben had read the chapter, but his hand didn't go up. He was too distracted by another sudden episode of see-through vision. He rubbed his temples and blinked, and his vision returned to normal. Ben shuddered. He'd had his share of unusual days, but nothing compared to this! He was used to having those days when unexpected situations seemed to come out of nowhere, such as a phantom homework assignment or an assembly he hadn't anticipated. But today was downright eerie! What on God's green Earth was going on?

For perhaps the first time in his academic career, Ben Kent simply could not concentrate. Most of the teacher's words went in one ear and out the other. Ben couldn't help but turn the day's bizarre events up and down and inside and out in his mind, his analytical mind trying and failing miserably to come up with a reasonable explanation.

The last bell of the day sounded and jerked Ben out of his reverie in what seemed like a very short period of time. Ben stood up and slung his book bag over his shoulder casually, but the teacher's voice stopped him before he reached the door.

"Ben, you have a few minutes before you have to catch the bus, right?"

Ben nodded, regarding her quizzically.

"I wanted to discuss something with you."

Ben shrugged and walked up to her desk.

"Pull up a desk and sit down," she ordered gently.

Ben complied, still wondering what this was about.

"You're one of the smartest kids at Metropolis High," Ms. Jeuno began, "so I don't think I need to remind you of my lecture on anabolic steroids. The side effects, the dangers, all that stuff. You probably remember it all."

"Most of it," Ben confirmed. He recalled that steroids increased muscle mass but had several dangerous side effects, many of them affecting the reproductive organs. As a classmate had so cleverly paraphrased it once, "they can make your balls shrink." Considering how males often took great pride in their masculinity, Ben was surprised that that often wasn't enough to discourage their use.

"Look, I'm not here to punish you or even turn you in," the teacher continued gently. "But I want to help you if you're having a problem. Maybe you could see your guidance counselor…"

"Wait…" Ben cut her off, perplexed and a little offended. "You think I'm on steroids?"

The teacher nodded, firmly and yet gently, as if wanting to play the role of a therapist rather than that of a disciplinarian.

"Where did you ever get that idea?"

The teacher looked at him as if it were obvious. "Look at you! Two months ago, you were one of the skinniest kids here. Now, you look better than most of the boys on the football team! Nobody develops that kind of muscle in just eight weeks!"

"What muscle?" Ben asked, genuinely puzzled.

"You mean you haven't noticed?" Ms. Jeuno asked very skeptically.

"Look, I don't know what's going on with me," Ben said, secretly referring not only to his supposed muscular growth but also the other two strange abilities he had been experiencing, "but I swear, I am not on any steroids. I'm not on anything."

"Then explain your new musculature! I know boys' muscles grow a little in puberty, but they don't grow like that!"

"I can't explain it!" Ben said in frustration. "I don't know what's going on. I really don't. But I am not taking anything. I'll get a blood test if you want."

Ms. Jeuno looked at him, skepticism dancing in her eyes. Ben knew he would be hard pressed to convince her that he was clean, but she seemed to accept his apparent obstinance. "It might come to that. But for now, just be careful. And if you are taking something…I urge you to get help wherever you feel comfortable. I know you get bullied, but escaping that isn't worth what steroids can do to you."

He nodded. "I know. Thank you for your concern."

Ms. Jeuno nodded, and Ben found himself a little annoyed at the vibe she was sending him that seemed to say, "I'm offering you a way to work through this before you get in trouble. It's not my fault if you don't take it." Slowly, he turned to leave.

No sooner had he stepped out than that mysterious ocular muscle moved again and he found himself looking around at seemingly un-walled classrooms and the contents of closed lockers. He blinked, and it was over.

Ben shuddered once more. "Could today get any weirder?" he muttered.

Resembling a zombie, he found his locker, put away his array of textbooks, retrieved his jacket, scarf, cap, and gloves, and made the five-minute trek to the front entrance of the school. He paused before the front doors, his mental wheels turning over and over as he robotically put on his denim jacket, and worked his hands into his woven red gloves. Little noticing the crowd around him, he bemusedly wound his checkerboard scarf comfortably around his neck and placed his wool cap snugly on his head, leaving only a few locks of his dark hair exposed. He remained deep in thought as his hands automatically pushed open the doors and he exited onto the front yard of campus.

The gold letters spelling out "Metropolis Senior High School" loomed over Ben as he emerged from the curved stone transom surrounding the wide doors. Metropolis High was a large school, built mainly of brick with white stone accentuating the borders of the dozen windows on each of its three floors. The surrounding campus was wide and, in warmer months, luxuriously shaded by a multitude of low-rise trees. But in the middle of December, the trees were bare, and a thick layer of snow lay on the ground like a huge white blanket. A row of bushes decorated either side of the cobblestone walkway that joined with the sidewalk on one end and led to the entrance on the other.

Alongside the sidewalk was a line of school buses that stretched about a few blocks on either side from school property. Equally as long was the line of students along the sidewalk. They were all constantly loading onto the buses, but the number just arriving in the crowd seemed to equal those that entered their buses at every moment, and the mass maintained a relatively constant size. Ben knew this scene well. He knew that the long, thick line of chatty peers would begin to dissipate within another five minutes. But his mind remained on the oddities of the day.

"Hey, kid," his obese bus driver interrupted his ponderings, "you goin' home or not?"

Ben nodded and stepped up into bus number 407. The hum of about forty voices greeted him and enveloped him as he made his way down the narrow walkway between seats. Finding an empty seat towards the back, he set his book bag next to it and sat down.

He noticed, half to his pleasure and half to his dismay that Francesca and Jo were sitting across from him. "And I'm like 'Why? Do you like him or something?'" he heard her say to her dark-haired companion. "And she's like 'Well, do you think he likes me?' I said, 'How would I know? You wanna find out, ask some of his friends or something. I don't know.'"

Jo flipped her wavy hair and replied. "Well, you know, Zoe's really shy. It probably took a lot of courage just for her to ask you."

"I know, and I hope for her sake, he does…because she seemed to be, like, totally obsessed with him."

"Well, maybe it would help if she put some thought into what she wore. I mean, she doesn't even try to look her best," said Jo. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I talked to that witch Velma Franklin today!"

Francesca squealed.

"I just walked up to her and I said 'You know Josh, that really cute guy you like? Well, he touched my ass today in the hall, so I don't think you two would make it.' He really did it by accident, but…she doesn't have to know that."

"Serves her right," Francesca said with finality.

"Yeah."

"Ooh!" Francesca squealed again as a sudden thought occurred to her. "I heard Andrew say I had cool boobs!" she reported, looking as if she'd just won American Idol.

"O-kay. Not exactly the sweetest thing to say, but at least you know you're in good standing with him!"

"I know!" Francesca said excitedly.

"You think he'll break up with Danielle and go with you?"

"I don't know. Cross your fingers."

"I will. I think Danielle's getting a little chunky, anyway."

"She probably sleeps around, too."

Grace, obviously very satisfied with herself. "I know," she said. "I…uh…wrote something to that effect on the bathroom wall yesterday."

Francesca squealed for the third time. "You're bad!" she giggled.

Ben shook his head, dumbfounded. He had heard enough. This vengeful, judgmental, superficial, and sometimes downright arrogant girl still called herself Francesca Mánquez? He knew adolescence was a time of change and finding oneself, but what the process led to was supposed to be an improvement. Whatever was going on with Francesca just wasn't quite right.

He pulled out his portable CD player, which already contained a Michelle Branch album, put on the headphones, and filled his ears with the sounds of "All You Wanted." Michelle Branch kept him occupied all the way home.