Step Four
Attack on Three Fronts
Detention, Tutoring, and the First Slip-Up
(Did I Mention the Dance Team?)
Part 1
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Things had finally calmed down. Fran and Lily had managed to stop crying. Casey no longer looked as if he hated his very own guts simply because he wore red, and Theo didn't have the nearly irrepressible urge to smash all of the furniture in the library into splinters. It had helped that a mission had called the three Rangers and the rest of their team away, leaving Fran to collect herself and giving the others something else to think about for a bit.
It also allowed Dr. Oliver to peruse the leather journey with the thorny red rose embossed on the cover - Kim's journal. The ink, now darkened with age to a deep violet, burned into the page - and into Tommy's eyes and brain - all the brutal things he had done to the Pink Morphing Ranger when he had been under Rita's spell. Surprisingly, the way Kimberly wrote about the ex-Green Ranger made him feel a little better. The fact that the ex-Pink Ninja Ranger didn't hate his guts with the heat of a thousand suns still filled Dr. Oliver with a peculiar sort of warmth.
Now they were discussing the second-to-latest entry, the one before the evil princess's recounting of the battle with the Rangers. More to avoid contention than anything else, the four teens and the researcher discussed Razielle's admission that she was beginning to like the Power Rangers.
"So she's starting to like them," Theo said, sounding puzzled. He scratched his head, confusion swimming across his features. "That was fast. Doesn't it normally take longer for villains to become good? Zen Aku took almost a year, didn't he?"
Dr. O shrugged his shoulders.
"You guys gotta remember," the ex-Black Dino Thunder Ranger reminded them. "Razielle was a teenager who grew up with a supervillain mom and no non-evil influences. Not only that, but you also have to keep in mind that the attack that sent her to the infirmary planet seriously traumatized her. When she cut her face again after being shoved, it brought on a series of emotional flashbacks. Razielle has always been phobic about cutting her face since her attack. She was upset and unable, due to the nature of her mission, to do anything to retaliate. While she did practice martial arts, it wasn't with any seriousness and her power levels, physically, weren't much to contend with. It was only in her villain form that she was a force to be reckoned with. And then the very people who are her enemies not only take down her attacker, but treat her wounds and take her out for a milkshake. Any teenager would like people who did that for them."
The Yellow and Red Rangers looked thoughtful. The Blue Ranger's face, an open book, still showed his skepticism. But the older ex-Ranger kept his eyes on Lily's face. Despite the physical differences, there was something about her expressions that reminded him of Trini.
The very idea made something hot and sharp bite deep into Tommy's chest. For one frantic instant, the electric beam of blinding headlights filled his vision, the shriek of tearing metal filling his ears. He shut his eyes against the sight, closed his mind. With a visible effort, he dragged himself back to the present.
"She's lonely," Fran whispered. Her voice, tight and hoarse, trembled. "It's in every line, every word. There's pain, and it's not just from Jason." She turned her tear-bright eyes on the other Ranger ally. "Did she have any friends besides this Nina? And who was she?"
"It always amazes me that Razielle's old and dear friend Nina is actually the dreaded and demented Scorpina, Rita Repulsa's second best general and the wife of Goldar."
"The flying monkey in armor?" Theo's voice practically vibrated with scorn and incredulity. "Wow, he had a wife? That's different."
"Rita and Zedd were married," Tommy reminded him. "Anyway, do you guys wanna hear the rest of this or not?"
"But did Razielle have any friends other than Scorpina?" Fran demanded, wringing her hands until the skin around her thin wrists flared bright crimson. "I mean, what kind of a life is that for a girl? Everyone has friends. Even Bulk and Skull had each other. So... did she really have no support at all? Just this Nina? Whom I doubt, by the way, would have approved of her princess's relationship with Jason."
Tommy nodded.
"Pretty much, until she was a teenager, it was Razielle all by herself. She had her uncle Rito, who was close enough in mindset that they got along for the most part. There were a few cousins, and her two older half-brothers from her father's previous marriage, but those visits were few and far between. Until the six of us came along, that was really it. Hang on a sec," said the older man, scanning the hastily scribbled, blood-sprinkled pages in front of his nose. A weary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "This is about her dance tryouts and other things. Happier things. Do you want me to read them?"
He glanced up at Theo and Casey, already sensing the girls' answer. The Blue and Red Rangers nodded once, almost in unison. It was almost as if they'd rehearsed it.
" 'I'm back. I finally figured out how to angle the water so I could write in here. The water is ice cold. Shards of liquid ice stab my legs, but the cold air and the even colder water soothe the burn on my sternum and breasts. Luckily, I had worn plate armor to the battle. I wonder if the cyber-armor of the Power Rangers had helped JasonorBillyat all. Deflected that knife in theRed Ranger'sback, perhaps....
" 'The blisters on my skin are fat and ugly and dead looking. Disturbingly, I have the intense and almost irresistible urge to pop them all, but that's the easiest way to catch an infection from my wounds. Not to mention, it would hurt like blue fire. Instead, I let the frigid shower ease the pain and write in my journal. Some of my words will be distorted by stray water droplets, but that's all right. I'll go back over them later, make sure they're legible. I need to escape, to sink into my happier memories. My shoulder burns. The wound gapes open like some sort of hungry mouth, dribbling blood onto my skin. The water around me flows pink and red and cloudy towards the drain. Blood is not so easily washed away as some people think. Only memories can hide the crimson staining my skin.
" 'Happy memories, like that second week of school. The bus ride, which was an experience in and of itself, and class with the Rangers, and the tryouts in the middle of that purgatorial week. As boring as the information my brain was being bombarded with was, I had a lot to look forward to.
" 'Trig was one of those things. Trig, and my second opportunity to infiltrate those goody-goody Power Rangers.' "
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By Thursday of the next week, I had finally remembered to bring a freaking mechanical pencil. Actually, in my defense, I'd remembered on Tuesday, but somehow I'd managed to lose my only pencil during the passing period between lunch and Trigonometry, so I'd had to borrow one from Jason.
Again.
But this time, I had him.
It. Had it.
And him. I had them both. Ha.
You know how a lot of super villains in movies and on television and stuff have these great, epic, sweeping lines that just knock the socks off of all of you normal people? And everyone's like, "Oooh! How did they get to be so evil?" And it's so super impressive?
I'm not one of those super villains.
We were getting our assessments back (boo! hiss!) finally, since somehow Mrs. Appleby had failed to get them graded by Tuesday. Probably too busy holding up a Frito truck due to menopausal stress. Or she drowned in a vat of vanilla-flavored pig lard. No, in case anyone has noticed, I do not like my Trigonometry teacher. Ask me why. Go on, go ahead, ask. You'll never guess the answer.
She gave me after school detention for two months for "fighting" and "causing a disturbance." My job? Tutoring any unfortunates unable to pass muster in my math class. Not that I was any great shakes at this sort of thing, but somehow, I'd smacked face-first into this fate. Hopefully, it would prove useful.
"How did you do?"
I glanced over my shoulder, hiding behind several strands of frizzy feeler so that my expression was slightly hazy. Behind me, the Crimson Crusader leaned his cleft chin on one hand and leaned toward my seat. I might have been intimidated if the white and - was that pink? - plaid shirt hadn't covered his massive, Arnold-Schwarzenegger-style biceps. The crimson and ebony bandanna tied cowboy-fashion around his neck, the knot a few inches beneath his bobbing Adam's apple, didn't help him. As it was, he looked like a stereotypical redneck. How did I know what a redneck was? I Googled it. This invention known as the World Wide Web would be the downfall of Terran civilization. But the rather nauseating image of Mr. Ridiculous in Red as a redneck made it pretty easy to keep my rampaging teenage hormones to myself.
Instead of actually answering, I tried to play it cool by simply shrugging. For one thing, I didn't have my test yet. How in the heck was I supposed to know how I'd done? And for another, I couldn't seem to make my throat work. Don't ask me, because I don't know why. But those big brown peepers were staring intently into my face and my cheeks were on fire. Since there weren't any fire extinguishers on hand, there was only one thing for it. No talking. If I opened my mouth, the flames would probably spread to my tongue and I'd do something stupid under the delirious spell of my agony. You know, like spill my guts.
It was something I'd had to deal with all weekend and most of this week. After the sort-of rescue from the Bulky Butt-munching Brain-Fart from Planet Pig, a bizarre and incredibly frustrating sense of guilt began gnawing on my internal organs around the area of my esophagus. Having heart burn and a potential ulcer weren't potential side effects of this mission that I'd considered before. That and my breeding-hormones coming fully online. Argh!
Jason's eyes still scorched my face. The fire raced from my cheeks into my brain. I could hear gray matter sizzling in my skull. Were the roots of my hair smoldering? Did anyone see my follicles smoking? Jeez, I hoped not.
A sheet of paper hit my face like a slap. A corner of the page managed to slice the corner of my mouth. I immediately tasted blood and froze. My face....
"Rachel?"
Deep bass rumbled through my sinuses like thunder. The sound shook some of the panic gripping my brain loose. With a doggy-style full-body shake, I tried to wrench myself away from a night a couple years before, where I ran down an alley, my teleporter sizzling in a puddle somewhere far away, footsteps pounding like hell behind me. Pain sang through my cheeks, through the scar pulling at my face, a phantom of old fears and night terrors. I could feel the edges of my school desk biting into my fingers. My eyes were wide open, but darkness pressed around me, shot through with burnt sienna glows from street lamps.
My legs jerked and spasmed, trying to run. But there was nowhere to go. Nowhere, and I was trapped by wood and steel and plastic all around me. Icy air seared my lungs. My breath fogged the night. Knuckles cracked audibly and painfully as the pressure against my desk forced the bones to grind like tectonic plates. Mist clung to my face, or was that only sweat? It was summer in Angel Grove. Why was I so cold? Goosebumps ripped through my skin, mountains of chill on my flesh. Frigid pain sank its teeth into my joints.
A bell screamed, shattering the nightmare. I blinked, shuddered. The classroom. Mrs. Appleby's classroom, my Trigonometry class. With wide eyes, I saw everyone jumping to their feet, rushing out into the halls as the pudgy teacher tried to call them all to order. What was going on? What had I missed?
"Rachel?"
Someone snapped their fingers in front of my face. I shrieked and jumped nearly out of my skin. When my eyes registered Jason's concerned face, I nearly cried. My legs shook, my hands shook, my chin shook. Tears were an imminent threat. I couldn't... couldn't let myself... all over a stupid cut.... Struggling to regain my composure, I refused to even look his way. I knew what would happen if I did. For some bizarre reason, composure was the furthest thing from my mind around this irritating Terran. My eyes remained locked on the frizzy feelers in front of my face.
"Hey... you okay?" The Red Ranger's voice held a faint touch of laughter, as if he wasn't sure if I were pretending to be as deranged as I probably really was. When I didn't answer him, he added, voice more serious, "Rachel? Talk to me. What's goin' on?"
"Nothing," I replied, gathering up my books. With a single slip of a few pages, I sliced several layers of skin open over my knuckles. Fire raced through my fingers.
Stupid rule against backpacks. I could've just grabbed my purple and black backpack and run out of here long ago if I'd had it, but instead I was forced to carry my books. My scarred and bleeding hands shook as I rounded up my four mechanical pencils. Hastily sinking teeth into my lip, I clenched my fists.
"Well, I... uh...." Jason trailed off, and despite my ever-present directive, I didn't try to help him continue. Suddenly, I could barely think, I was so tired. "How'd you do on your test?" He finally asked. It was obvious he was trying to make small talk.
More to shut him up than anything else, I glanced at the paper. At the bleeding red letters, I froze in place, shocked. There was absolutely no way... that was just impossible. Math was one of my better subjects. Yet somehow, my placement test had managed to get marked with a humongous, obnoxious D. If I remembered my studies of the Terran education systems correctly, that was the second-worst grade possible.
I slapped the paper into the Scarlet Sissy's open hands. One knife-fine edge sliced my palm. There was nothing I could do to stop the scream of frustration from escaping my mouth. I hated being clumsy. My clumsiness resulted in paper cuts, and paper cuts freaked me out.
"Whoa, chill out!"
"Shut up! That hurt, and-" I sputtered into silence and sucked on my cuts, alternating between my bleeding palm and bleeding knuckles. A sigh forced its way out of me. I hadn't meant to yell. The flashback to that night on the Planet of the Oceans - one of the few worlds my parents had no interest in conquering - when I'd been attacked in the floating capital... the memory still scorched my mind. It hurt to even breathe in this crowded prison of concrete and steel and glass. I had to get out of here.
Rough calluses landed on my shoulder. My muscles locked. My breath stuck in my throat, cut my mouth and lungs. The heat from the Red Ranger's skin burned me through my sleeve. Boys were always so warm....
"If you need to talk, I'm here. Here's my number."
He put a slip of paper in my suddenly limp hand. The edges crinkled when I moved my fingers at all or flexed my palm. I could see crimson slashes, almost like blood, against the whiteness and the blue lines like veins. Without a word, his thick fingers curled mine around the slip of paper. His palm cradled my bleeding knuckles. I was certain the blood from my palm would stain the tiny scrap he'd written his phone number on. The ruby drops on my knuckles would smear crimson on his hand. Still, I didn't care. My heart held itself suspended in my chest, waiting... waiting.
"If you want to talk, gimme a call," Jason added in a deceptively calm voice. Brown eyes smoldered in his face. I couldn't even nod. After what seemed like a million years, he released my hand and left me in the Trig classroom, staring after him like a lost puppy, unsure as to what had just happened.
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" 'Of course, if anyone is reading this they're probably wondering how that could be a happy memory. I'm not sure I can adequately explain it,' " Dr. Oliver continued, then flicked a glance at the kids. Theo looked confused, Casey satisfied, and Fran and Lily eager. So far, this entry hadn't inspired any of the suicidal impulses from earlier, or the severe depression. Good. The Ranger ally wanted to avoid all that if at all possible. He continued, " 'It was my first real interaction withJason. Yes, I bit his head off and then spat it out and stuffed it up his....' " Tommy trailed off, skipping over the crude language with a gentle ahem. " 'And yeah, it was rather tense. But that was all right.' "
Tommy suddenly remembered his own first, personal, one-on-one encounter with Razielle. It had been later in the day. For all the classes he'd shared with the strange, new girl, Kim and/or Trini had kept her in their grasp. It was only after school, as he was heading out to his green Volvo, that he'd run into her by accident as she pulled a pale lilac duffel bag out of a two-tone, black and iridescent purple and blue, '82 Corvette.
"Going somewhere?" He remembered asking her. When she jumped, the crown of her head collided with the metal doorframe.
"Ow!" This exclamation had been followed by several curse words, though these were tempered by random expletives, such as dragonflies, crumpets, and fudge muffins! Feeling bad, he'd escorted her to the gymnasium for dance team tryouts. He hadn't even noticed her bleeding hands.
" 'Did I call Jason that night? Not on your life. What kind of pathetic piece of pitiful-ness do you think I am? Besides, I was too exhausted after tryouts. Those dance team auditions aren't exactly a walk in the park. More like a marathon run through the park. Sometimes it amazed me that I could dance so well, but I couldn't do anything else. I can't run for more than a solid minute without suffering respiratory failure or tripping over myself. I'm no fighter. But dancing... I can do a can-can a show girl would envy. Tryouts proved I was a wimp... but it also proved I had potential.
" 'Tryouts... another happy memory.' "
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In my ten thousand years of cryogenic stasis in the space dumpster, courtesy of Floating Head Guy From Hell, I had lost most of my limberality. No, that's not really a word, but it works. I could touch the tops of my feet, right beneath my ankles, but before being wrongfully imprisoned in the Intergalactic Trash Bin, I'd been able to put my palms flat to the floor without feeling any sort of burn. Surrounded by the Airheads from Planet Blonde - and Princess Pinky Pie - the sad fact of my inflexibility reminded me that I was in truth an intergalactic princess from the dark side who was having too easy a time of impersonating a transvestite hippopotamus.
No longer did the Crab Walk call me master. The Bridge... I couldn't cross it. Pointe? I'd never gotten it. Shuffle, ball, change? I kicked myself in the ankle. Almost immediately, this little grayish blue spot exploded beneath my skin. High kicks? Arabesques? Cheer leading moves? Beyond my reach, all of them.
After each failure, I forced my eyes away from the Perky Princess Club from Bitch Land. Some of the Varsity cheerleaders tittered behind their lotionized hands and perfectly manicured fingernails. Oddly enough, Miss Pretty in Pink didn't join in. Probably because I was accidentally-on-purpose looking.
"All right, Miss...?" The dance teacher scanned his clipboard, which I knew held my name somewhere in its grasp.
"Zech. Rachel Zech."
"Miss Zech. Why did you want to join the Dance Team?"
Why did I want to join the dance team? Staring at the shiny white spot on top of the bald man's head, several answers popped into my brain. Because I loved to dance. Because Kimberly was on the team and I needed to spy on her. Because I hated being in this hellhole with all of these stupid Terrans who didn't know spit about anything worth knowing and I couldn't stay here without something to make my life bearable. Because I loved to dance. But I was so out of shape. What would these people say if I told them the truth? Sorry, can't pass muster just yet, I'm still not limbered up from extended vacation inside a space dumpster. Yeah, that'd go over big.
"I want to learn," was all I said.
"Learn what?"
How to be the girl turned into a swan, or a dying fairy or some other pretty and graceful thing in a ballet. How to do a kick-line, which I'd seen while spying on Terran television stations. A woman named Liza Minelli impressed me a lot. She did this radically innovative dance with a chair and a bowler hat.
"Learn to dance."
"Well, maybe this isn't really for you," the teacher, Mr. Johnson, told me. His face pinched up in a half-wince, and I saw his eyes drop to the rolls of fat hanging over the waistband of my pants. Varsity witches giggled behind me. I realized he was telling me I was too... fat. Too out of shape and too fat. Then his ice cold eyes slid up my body to my face, and then to my hair, which looked like a ball of static carpet fuzz. Bushy white eyebrows shot up into the air. He didn't like my hair, either, or my face.
"Can I audition?" I demanded, locking my eyes with his. I hoped they looked like acid. "We haven't gotten to the actual dancing part."
"Well, if you can't do these simple moves-"
"I'm recovering from an extended hospital stay," I snarled, hoping my mother was eavesdropping on this conversation so Uncle Finster could supply the proper paperwork. Trying not to fidget - a sign of a lie, to some people - I added, "I need to get back in shape. Give me a month. The season doesn't start until September, anyway. But I have a dance you might like to see before you kick me out of here."
There was a flash of black from the corner of my eye. Adam Park, a boy in my History class, with curly black hair and a talent for funny voices, had his video camera rolling. Great. He was filming the auditions for the school news show. If I screwed up, everyone would see it. Ice flooded my face.
"Fine, let's see it," Mr. Johnson snapped, waving one hand impatiently.
When my music clicked on and I'd shimmied out of my shoes and jacket, I put my head down and sighed. I had to wait. Dance, I had learned, was all about timing. Wait too little or too long, and you missed the rhythm of the moves and ruined the whole thing. And with every song, there was an intro, a series of notes and beats before the singer began to tell you the meaning of the music. For those moments, the song belonged to you. It was all about what you wanted it to be about. It reflected what it pulled from your heart, your soul.
In this case, it was about ten seconds of silence, followed by a wind blowing, calling across emptiness. Then... her voice. Their voices. The duet known as t.A.T.u. For Terrans, I was impressed with them. Friday, in my room, I'd used our computers to research popular music for Terrans, partly for my disguise and partly to help me with the auditions that I knew I would take part in. Though t.A.T.u. wasn't exactly popular, the style fit with what I wanted.
Danger hummed across my skin, and I threw myself forward, into the music, running away from the world, slamming into it, a madwoman waltzing on a battlefield surrounded by heat and metal and death. Burning acid heat flooded my body. Pain raced through my veins, but I ignored it. Hands dancing on the air, head slamming, body jerking and spinning and tumbling like a marionette - I danced in front of these people as if I would die.
Later, Adam gave me a copy of the tape. I was surprised at how I looked. When I danced, there was no real conscious thought - it was all muscle memory. So the expression on my face surprised me. There was so much pain and hope there, and I'd had no idea....
The audition ended with me crumpling into a heap as if I'd been murdered, my throat cut and my life gone. Eyes wide, I lay with my head down, sweat dripping from my face, plastering my hair to my forehead. I gasped for breath. Lungs burned, heart pounded, ribs and calves and shoulders ached. But it was out, all of it, the rage and the hate and the fear....
"You'd better be up to standard when practice starts mid-August, or I'm gonna cut you. No second chances."
That was all Mr. Johnson said to me. But it was enough. I limped out of the gym smiling, even though I was freezing in my sweat-soaked leotard and tights. Adam waved at me. Somehow, my arm managed to raise itself in a half-wave, though my shoulder burned. A hot shower would be in order when I got home.
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Author's Note: this is a two-parter because if I made it a one-shot chapter, it'd be almost 10,000 words long. That's too long since most of the other chapters are about 5-6,000 words. So... yeah. Reviews? I like to show that, while Razielle is a supervillain, she is a teenager with the same sorts of problems teenagers have. And I also like showing that you don't have to be skinny to be a good dancer.