Salvation
She's nervous. Anxious. Irritated. In pain. She doesn't like dealing with people, and there's a million of them here. All whispering. All staring.
After her little... incident in the chemistry lab, she's not exactly known as the most stable mutant around. To give him credit, the Professor has been trying since her infirmary visit. To be nice. To be a little less persistent on her staying here. But just because he's lightened up does not mean anyone else has.
Mostly, people avoid her. She's not sure whether it's because she has a knack of zapping people with static electricity on accident all the time or if they think she'll start shooting electric bolts from her arms again. Those are the nice people. There are others.
"Freak!"
One example in particular is a boy in her chemistry class named Ryan. He sits a few seats away from John. For someone who has to sit next to the newest freak at mutant high, John is pretty relaxed. She's sure she's shocked him a million times in the past two or three weeks, but he never says a word, never flinches, never glares. He sits there and plays with his lighter, and when he's not doing that, he zones out. Sometimes he looks at her. Every time he does, the boy behind them coughs and they exchange heated words. It seems to be their thing.
Coming back into the current world, she notes that the flames in his hands flare when Ryan looks over at her. Biting her lip, she covers her face with a curtain of hair from his glare. Despite the flare, John's face stays calm. She stretches slightly, wincing at the pain that shoots along her shoulders, before she attempts to focus on class. But she can't. John's tricks always distract her. It's a miracle she has a B in this class.
She should be learning about hydrogen bonding, but then the flames turn blue, a new trick of his, and she's hooked. It's almost concerning that the teacher has failed to catch on to John's little trick of hiding his hand in the opening of the desk. He's been doing it for weeks. Scorch marks probably litter the underside.
She envies him, she knows she does. How does he have such control over something as dangerous and unpredictable as fire? Why is his mutation so similar to hers and yet so much easier to keep in check? She's seen him pass the fireplace in the living hall. Not one spark flutters to him. She sits next to an electrical socket and almost blows up her arms again.
She's so concentrated on wondering why his mutation is so simple that, for the first second that it happens, she isn't even paying attention to his flames anymore. But then John coughs gently, and her eyes focus back on his hand. Her cheeks flush into a deep set pink as his eyes observe her reaction carefully.
His hand is cradling a rose made of electric blue flame.
It's the first time she's smiled in a long time.
