CHAPTER THREE: REFLECTIONS ON EVIL AND DEVIANCY

Almost done, was Claire's first relieved thought when she came out of her Hero History exam the following week. To be honest, the plan to study as soon as possible in order not to cram at the last minute, borrowed so stealthily from Peace earlier in the year, had worked so well for her the first time around that she'd breezed through the past six examinations – including the one she'd just completed – without so much as an emotional scratch.

"I think I flunked that last question," her friend, Cindy Ashcroft, whispered to her when Claire reached her locker.

Exam number five – and last – was the next day, but there were two hours yet until the buses came to pick them up. Claire meant to get some more reading under her belt before she tackled the last of the practice essay question that Professor Argot had given them in preparation for the exam.

"I couldn't remember," Cindy continued in her anxious tone. "Did Zizanie cause the French Revolution or was she just along for the ride?"

Claire considered the question as she rummaged through her locker for her Post-It-ridden copy of The Chrysalids. "It's general consensus that she influenced the French to revolt against monarchy since she was against it in the first place," she began, "but it's pretty much up in the air because they were already getting fed up with the royalty's ignorance of the lower classes."

Claire paused, biting her lip in thought to reimmerse herself in History mode. "It's so difficult to pinpoint whether mental powers are used or not. Considering Zizanie died just after the fall of the Tower, I think it's safe to say they were acting on their own beliefs afterward. But before…?" She pursed her lips. "I wrote that it was never proven whether she influenced the citizens or not. It was quite sudden, but not so much that she should have automatically caused it."

"Crap," was Cindy's heartfelt retort. "I completely failed that one," she mourned on a dramatic sigh as she leaned back on the locker next to Claire's. "I wrote that she influenced them from start to finish."

Claire made a sympathetic sound before returning to her little mess – good thing they had to clear it by the end of the week. "Aha, there you are," she suddenly exclaimed before pulling the small book out from under a little pile on the topmost shelf. She had to go up on her toes to reach it, but after some maneuvering and grunting she was finally able to tug it free, a scarf falling out after it.

"Don't say it," Claire warned, bending to pick the woolie off the floor.

Cindy snorted. "I wouldn't dare," she said with a good measure of sarcasm. "Mine's worse. End of the year," she gave as a flimsy excuse. After a beat she switched subjects. "You want to grab a bite? I haven't had lunch yet."

Claire had, before the History test. A snack wouldn't be unwelcome, though. "Sure." She grabbed her wallet out of her bag. "Let's eat outside?"

#

"Beware your brownie," Cindy suddenly said, jarring Claire out of her book.

Claire looked up, eyeing their surroundings for potential brownie thieves, but came up blank. "What?" The closest students sat chatting a few yards away and didn't seem to have moved at all. Nope, no threat.

Then she saw. Cindy coveted her cookie with unadulterated interest, her bagel sandwich already long gone.

"Hey," Claire cried out, batting her hands wildly. "Mine! No touch. My brownie."

"But you're not even eating it," Cindy replied indignantly, as if the fact was a terrible offense. "And I'm starving."

"I'll get to it. My tastebuds are just starting to anticipate," Claire replied in kind.

But Cindy would have none of it. "Just a tiny piece?" she asked sweetly, hopeful doe eyes and all.

Claire rolled her eyes at her book. "No."

"I'll ash it," her friend replied in a threatening voice, her twitchy fingers inches from Claire's knee where the brownie waited.

"I doubt you'd like eating ashes," Claire retorted flatly. Then a random thought occured to her. She grinned evilly. "Pity you can't just heat it up. Then you'd have a hot, melty brownie."

Her friend moaned, longing clear in her pout. "Oooh, you evil, evil thing. Maybe you could ask Peace?" she asked hopefully. "Since you're friend-like and all."

Friends? Claire scoffed to herself. Since when? The most she and Warren Peace had done was have a civilised… non-conversation, really. And being teamed up last week. It wasn't like they talked all that much. "We're not friends," she said simply.

Cindy shrugged, as if she didn't care much one way or the other. "Or something," she said, turning her face to the sun. "At least he's not all 'fuck off' with you."

Claire stared a long time at her book without seeing the words in front of her. The simple remark stilled her in thought. Was he really not? Or was he ever? Whenever she came within hearing or speaking distance of him… he didn't change his demeanour at all. Broody and anti-social? Yes. But he was all bark and no bite. Unless you had a death wish like that kid who'd provoked him last week.

Who in their right mind would want to play with fire, anyway? That really boggled the mind.

"Wow," Cindy suddenly said to her left, "that page must really have a lot of sex."

"Huh?" Claire snapped out of her thoughts, accidentally dropping her book on the grass in the process.

"You've been staring at the same page for the past five minutes," Cindy said with a light chuckle, closing her eyes again to lie her head back down. "I figure, either you're a really slow reader and you've been pretending in class or there's some really kinky stuff happening between the lines and I totally missed it. So what's got you eye-paralysed?"

I'm thinking about a boy.
True. Now, wouldn't that just go over well? Claire groaned, flipping to the next page with more force than was truly necessary. "Nothing," she lied. "Couldn't figure something out." Well, at least that was half-true. Peace was a puzzle.

"Liar," Cindy huffed at her. "We're fighting head-to-head for top marks in English. If there's something you don't understand, then I don't either. Also," she added as a not-quite afterthought, cracking an eye open to peg the general area of Claire's knee, "are you really waiting for your brownie to eat itself?"

Claire rolled her eyes at her friend's food antics. "Oh, fine, miss Crankypants." Really, Cindy was a single-minded ogre when she didn't eat enough. picking at the plastic wrapping, Claire then stuffed the sugar high in her mouth, chewing the moist richness for a long moment, slowly, to let the sweetness roll on her tongue. And also to annoy Cindy. "Ooh, this is really good, Cin. So hot and melty, too. Mm…"

Cindy merely gave her the death glare through that one open eye. "You suck."

How appropriate. Claire suckled her fingers to get at all the fudge. "You bet," she teased around them.

"You disgust me."

"I aim to please," Claire shot right back with a grin.

A shadow suddenly fell over her book just before Invisible Boy – visible at the moment – plopped himself down on Claire's other side. "You girls have such deep conversations," he commented on a groan, stretching back like Cindy. "Did anybody else think this test was murder?"

There were vague sounds of assent from both girls.

"Don't remind me," Cindy muttered under her breath.

"Who's left in?" Claire asked, stealing a glance at her watch. There were roughly thirty minutes left.

"That superhearing kid and Peace," Perry replied, then added, "Was anyone surprised that Speed and Lash were the first to take off? Almost simultaneously."

"Those two are stuck at the hip," Cindy scoffed with feeling, then added, "I secretly wish they'll fail."

"Cin," Perry pointed out, "it's not a secret anymore when you say it aloud." You'd swear it was a grave matter from the way he'd said it.

"No, but one can still hope."

"Mm. Too bad you can't turn people to ashes. Handy, that'd be."

There was a soft giggle as Cindy threw Claire's balled-up plastic wrapping in the general vicinity of Perry's head – but it missed its target by a long shot since she wasn't even looking in the first place. "I'd start with you," she nonetheless guffawed.

"Aw, where's the love?" he whined back, shielding his eyes against the sun as he sat up. Then he groaned when he saw where the thing had landed. "I can't reach it."

Cindy pursed her lips. "I'd ash it from here but… I can't."

"Useless power, if you ask me," Perry mumbled loud enough for her to hear him.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "You're just jealous. Besides, how useful are you when you can't even turn your clothes invisible?"

She did have a point, Claire thought, but when it came to their daily bickering, it was better to let them take each other by the throat fair and square. Problem was, while they were at it she couldn't concentrate on her book. Half-listening, she resigned herself to leaning back, watching the other students hanging out in the balmy early summer sun while waiting for the 3:30 bus ride.

Then she saw Warren Peace emerge from the double front doors, his eternal loose hair half hanging in his face as a sort of dark curtain against the world. Throwing a mild cursory glance toward the courtyard teeming with students, he climbed down the steps and walked over to an empty camping table set off to the side with a well-practised loose gait.

"Frankly," she heard Perry mutter darkly, "you never know when he's going to jump you for breathing his air." As Claire turned her head she saw that he was also watching the pyro take a seat by himself.

"That's going a bit far, don't you think?" she heard herself reply before thinking.

For a long moment Perry seemed to consider her like she'd grown a second head, then he shook his head indulgently. "You need new glasses, Frost."

Unconsciously she touched the rim of her glasses, then replied, mimicking his patronising tone, "I'm just being realistic, Kennan. Give the poor guy a chance; he's never done anything to you. Or anyone who didn't deserve it," she added.

Cindy considered Peace with piercing eyes then shrugged. "She's got a point, actually."

"Humph," was Perry's final – lame – say in the matter before he and Cindy attacked another subject that Claire tuned out completely as she watched Peace pull out his battered copy of The Chrysalids. He must have been reading it a lot for it to end up that way. Then again, he read all the time.

This one was interesting, though, which explained why she was also re-reading it. All about some kids who find out they've got deviant powers that will lead to them being shunned if their society learns about their abilities. When they ultimately do, it gets ugly. Which had often led Claire to wonder about her own society. How exactly were supers treated when they were first found out? What had led to society making them their protectors? And why did supers need double identities in everyday life? The parallels between the plot in the book and the reality of real life fascinated Claire with their similarities and subtle differences.

Some people were just wrongly singled out and rejected. And why? Because of things they had no control over?

As though he could feel himself being observed, Peace looked up, frowning. Claire quickly ducked her head and flipped pages.

#

"How's the book?" Perry asked a half-hour later. Blinking, Claire glanced up and noticed he'd gotten up, along with most of the student population. "Bus time," he announced with a grin, hooking his bag over his shoulder.

Silently, Claire gathered up her bag, book in hand, and followed her friends to the freshman bus where a swarm of people fought for first place in. There were no road bumps in the air, but everyone liked the ride on the actual road itself. Prime real estate? Backseats, of course. Except, yeah, people really fought to get at them. Claire got an elbow in the side a few times until she actually lost her balance when someone stepped on her foot and pushed back. Falling, she yelped and flailed her hands, trying desperately to hook onto something in the nick of time. Which happened. Then she got a look at who exactly she'd groped.

Warren Peace.

"Careful there," he rumbled, righting her.

"S – sorry." She blinked myopically up at him, sliding her glasses safely back onto the bridge of her nose.

"No problem."

"Claire!" Cindy shouted suddenly, extending a hand over a few people in front of Claire. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied as she was being pulled once more into the fray. Then she glanced back at Peace, who elbowed idly, as if it didn't really matter to him where he ended up. People still gulped and let him pass when they saw who it was behind them, though. "Thanks, Peace," she said quietly, thinking stupidly that he wouldn't hear her afterward.

He did. His black eyes bored into hers as he jerked his head subtly in acknowledgment.

She smiled as she finally climbed the steps after Perry and Cindy. What a gentleman.

#

"Would you run away or hide among the normals?"

Cindy's snort spoke volumes. "With strict nuts like them? Are you nuts? Although, with a mental power I guess it's easier to hide as long as you're not found out while communicating in private."

Claire nodded thoughtfully. "With external powers it's harder," she pointed out. "If your control slips, at first…" Trailing off, she let the grim meaning of her words hang in the air.

Cindy agreed with a grunt. "I can't even imagine my mom freaking out about me having superpowers." She'd inherited her power from her superhero dad who helped the forest guards control fires – he was a fire wielder.

"Yeah but see, she's used to it," Perry retorted, cocking his head. "Imagine your dad and you had to hide your deviancy."

She made a face at the image he'd conjured. "What a world," she commented with feeling.

Claire had to agree. Thinking back on her conversation with her mother those months ago, what her mother had said struck her again. Those senators were trying to crack down on us. Someone had resisted, but what if the people had roused against supers? What then? Would they all be living in an incarnation of the Fringes like the deviants in the novel they were studying? Claire felt a shiver course through her.

A loud chortle broke into her thoughts, making her cringe in dread. "Is Frosty cold?" Then she heard the snickers behind her. Wow, they'd actually been silent until now. Or annoyed someone else, more like.

"Get lost," she muttered under her breath to Speed and Lash, knowing exactly where this was going. Ice queen, cold as ice, frozen heart, blah blah blah. She'd heard it all before. People just assumed things because of her power… and the fact that she kept mostly to herself.

Lash dropped his elbows on top of her seat near her head. "How's it feel anyway – oh wait, can Frosty feel? Lemme just warm you up." And his elastic arms proceeded to snake down to her sides.

Speed promptly sniggered like he always did at whatever Lash ever did or said.

But Lash didn't get much of a feel. "I said, get lost," Claire growled on a cold shot, and Lash yelped, withdrawing his hands and blowing on them without much effect. It would take a while for him to feel anything beyond the bone-deep cold.

Cindy, who Claire could tell had been about to step in, sat quite still, a wide smile slowly stretching her lips. "Now, what were we saying?"

Claire turned back to admire her work over the back of her seat, grinning when she saw Lash still working on his hands. "I was saying… thawing hurts a lot. Or so I hear."

"Cold bitch," she heard one of them mutter under his breath when she sat back down again.

#

The next night, Claire's parents took her out to dinner to celebrate her "conquest of her beginning of superacademia" or some other silly nonsense that nevertheless overwhelmed and elated her. Freshman year was finally over, and she'd survived without too much of a hitch. Okay, so she wasn't always in complete control of her power, but she'd made some progress, and anyway Tandy kept saying they'd get better with time and practice. Also, academia itself hadn't killed her so that should be a good sign that she hadn't failed completely.

They ate at the local Japanese restaurant, Fuji – the kind where they made an art show of cooking your food right before your eyes. The chef was quirky in his silly Asian imitations of Hollywood stars, and the waitress, dressed in her beautiful silk kimono, almost caught on fire once when her sleeve brushed on the oiled stove while refilling her father's glass with sake. Ensued a fun interlude where water flew from her mother's glass onto a woman at the neighbouring table, who also threw the contents of her glass, at the right target this time, when she saw their waitress's burning sleeve.

Ah, good times.

"Mm," Fiona Frost sighed, sagging into her husband's side as they all exited the Japanese grill house. "Nothing like a good chicken teriyaki."

David Frost smiled in satiated satisfaction. "Or sushi," he replied agreeably, twirling the keychain that hung off his finger as they walked toward the street where he'd parked the car.

"Thanks, that was great," Claire added, offering them a contented smile as she walked in front.

Her father suddenly pursed his lips and wagged his index finger at her in mock-severity. "Now you'd better have good grades or else…"

Which earned him a light exasperated nudge from her mother. "David…"

"Oh, by the way," he sobered quick as lightning, "the grocery store called."

"And…?" Claire had only been waiting for that call all week in between exams. Nevermind the unspoken rule that grocery stores were always looking, according to Cindy, who did work in the meat section. Pfft, she'd said drily, dismissing her easily with a wave, they're always short-staffed. Make us work crazy hours to make up for it.

Her father made a face, and right then and there she knew – she hadn't got it. She'd looked too uncomfortable, she'd fidgeted too much, she'd… smelled weird? Who knew, but her whole summer was doomed now. Goodbye, extra money.

"Well," he started carefully. "You didn't get the meatpacking job, but you made cashier."

That made her pull up short, frowning in utter confusion. "I didn't even apply for that!"

Her mother shrugged against her father. "They're short on cashiers," she replied, as if that explained the nonsense of them completely ignoring the section on her application where she'd clearly indicated "meatpacking" as her first choice and "bakery" as second. "It's still a good opportunity, honey."

"Um, sure," Claire mumbled as she whirled to walk forward again, biting her lip. Sure, it was bound to be fun, but still – surprising and completely out of nowhere.

And she almost ran into someone as she ruminated over all of that. "Watch where y–" Then, more astonished, "Snowflake?"

Claire, who'd been about to apologise profusely, whipped her head up… and gaped like a fish out of watery means for a few seconds. "Uh, hi," she stuttered at the shadowed form of Warren Peace dressed in even darker clothes. Upon closer inspection, blinking against the feeble light that the nearest lamppost threw, Claire noticed smaller details: grease stains on his black wifebeater; long hair pulled back away from a softly angular face. With his hair down, Peace gave off such a different aura that the change – subtle, really, but distinct – was an instant throwback.

"Do you know this boy, Claire?" her father spoke up firmly, placing his hand on her shoulder in that unmistakably fatherly Let me know if he's trouble move. Claire suddenly remembered her parents' presence right behind her.

"Um, yeah. We go to school together," she replied stiltedly. To Peace she asked, "What are you doing here?"

Pegging her parents with his practised stoic stare, he replied, "Could ask the same of you." Yet after a few beats he glanced away, adding somewhat bashfully, "Just got off work."

"Oh. Sorry. For bumping into you, that is," she added stupidly.

It was already a warm night, but couple it with his body heat that radiated off him naturally, she just felt his presence all the more palpable as he brushed by her. "Don't worry," he muttered. "It's getting to be a habit." And then with a polite nod at her parents, he walked off into the opposite direction and on to the other side of the street.

Claire's mother broke her residual tension when she began, "Was that–"

"Warren Peace," Claire interrupted like an automaton.

"Ah. Thought so."

There was a pregnant pause as they all started walking again. When they'd reached the car, though, it was her father's turn to speak up. "Flame-Thrower's–"

"Yeah," mother and daughter answered in unison.

David Frost started the engine, the motor's drone offering a kind of relief from the moment that had just passed. "He seems gruff but–"

"Mmph," Claire grunted softly from the backseat.


Author's note: Where to start, where to start. Well, in French "zizanie" (zee-zah-nee - soft z's) means "discord". I always found it such a fun word as a kid because it sounds like someone lisping when you say it haha. And yes, French is my mother tongue :)

Also. I read The Chrysalids in high school, and I remember loving it very very much. Unfortunately I haven't read it since grade 7 (where I live high school is from grade 7 to grade 12) so I've had to rely on general memory, but otherwise you shouldn't be lost if you haven't read it. Although I do highly recommend it if you like a good fantasy.

Fuji is a real Japanese grill-restaurant in Montreal. We used to request this silly chef who made Pikachus out of shrimps haha. And the sleeve bit almost happened to a waitress there. She pulled her sleeve away before any flames formed but... what if? ;)

It's very true how grocery store chains are always looking for cashiers. Speaking from experience. No, I'm not advertising.

Yes, I know there isn't much Warren yet. Give it time!

Can't promise such quick updates anymore, though. University just started again and the profs have been piling project after project on us. Never let it be said that Fine Arts is for slackers.