A/N: Hi everyone! I'm baaack! So sorry it took longer than the 14th for me to get back out here, but my trip was the sort of one where you're painting people's houses and building stuff for them. Don't get me wrong, it was actually fun and really cool. But it meant that the only writing time I got when I wasn't too tired or too busy was each day-long bus ride there and back, and on those I was squished into a bus with everyone else listening to rap, so concentration was a little difficult. What little I managed to write on those I immediately scrapped after a second glance in a more thought conducive environment.
So. Anyway, but I started working once I got home and here I am at last, back in ze game! And I'm going to start answering reviews, since I only get a few a chapter. I reviewed a very nice and talented author's fic (Saraleee—the story is How Thorin Met Tauriel and it's one of the best pieces of fiction I've ever read on this website, IMO) a few weeks ago and she wrote me back some lovely responses, so I decided that to start doing the same was the least I could do for my loyal readers! I see the blessings of only having a few per chapter, otherwise I'd never be able to pull it off…I'll just do the reviews for my last chapter, seeing as I have a few too many to go back to the beginning and do them all…though I'd like to you all have been lovely…
Flowerchild23: Thanks lol that was what I was going for! Gwyneth and her family are actually based on a friend of mine and her parents, who are the sweetest people on Earth, as you could hopefully tell from reading.
AthenaLesage: Thank you so much! Wow! You actually had me blushing. It really touches me that my story holds such interest for at least one person out there. And yes, I did enjoy the trip, a lot.
Vampireprincessofempire: Nooo…you can't. Heheheheh. Don't worry about the hyperness
Daeb: Thanks a lot! I really appreciate reviews like this. They make me have some faith in humanity—or the portion that uses the Internet. Stick with the story and you'll find out…
And Gottesblume…I don't know where you went…but let me just say I hope to God you start reviewing again, because your reviews were so nice and so pickily helpful at the same time…
Incidentally, the quotes are from J.R.R. Tolkien. They are all his work, and nobody should assume they are mine. Just in case the copyright police ever come after me.
I don't know how accurate all of my fighting tips are in this chapter, so if you think I'm wrong and you actually happen to have studied martial arts so you have better ideas as to how I should have handled it, PLEASE advise me. I'm not quite Gwyneth, but I'm nowhere near the experienced level.
Chapter 15
Gwyneth
"All right, Sparky, Tinker Bell." Coach Boomer calls out. Kat and Emily walk out in front of everyone. "Ready?"
Emily grinned and winked at Kat. "Ready, Tink?"
Kat laughed a little nervously but smiled. "Yeah."
Emily and Kat had paired up at the beginning of this week. They were by far the strangest duo I'd ever seen in my life. Emily Braun had by now found favor with all of us, but Kat idolized her. She always hangs out in Emily's shadow, but she doesn't really talk…just watches with slight awe, until she's spoken to and she blooms out like the sun. It's actually kind of sweet—a sort of hero worship combined with a slight girl crush. Emily's been helping Kat learn speed and agility in the air by working out her fitness on the ground and forcing her to be quick when she flies or get caught by a shooting net or tranquillizer.
"Okay, do your stuff."
Kat rose off the ground, then suddenly circles around Emily.
Emily freezes, her head whipping around. Kat shoots straight for Emily.
Before I see it, Emily had some kind of gun out. Kat shot straight up into the air just as Emily's net went up, following her.
Kat dodged the net, which is guided and following her, gaining, for several seonds. But then all at once, she collapsed, plummeting towards Emily.
Just as she hit the ground, the net collapsed over both of them, and lumps appeared and began struggling—obviously the two of them.
"Draw!" Coach Boomer calls. "Nice trick, though, Hawke. Next!"
The rest of the period passed in a blur. Warren and I's battle was pretty standard. A pyro vs. cryo fight usually went only so far if neither had an advantage and no flukes occurred. Only in tropical or polar regions, where one would dominate, could the fight really get dangerous. If a pyrokinetic's temperature drops too low, even to a "normal" body temperature, it could lead to hypothermia, even organ failure or worse. The same sort of thing would probably happen to me if my body temperature ever got too high. But such an advantage for such battles is pretty rare.
The last battle, though, fills me with two things—sadness and a deep dread. I try not to look at Warren and think in a feverish litany that this is the last time…I only got a reprieve this week. Next week, I'll actually have to choose a different partner. And when that time comes, I will have no idea what to do.
"Class dismissed!" The crowd sweeps us up and I'm separated from Warren.
After school I head to my locker to make sure I have all the things I need for homework. Sorting everything in my backpack, I closed my locker and started to head down the hallway. Scattered people stood spread out down the corridor, but it was fairly quiet.
I picked up the pace a little to go find my friends, passing classrooms and-
Something slammed into my chest, sending pain shooting through it. I stumbled backwards from the weight, barely managing to not fall over, half-tripping into an empty classroom, just managing to catch myself on the desk and simultaneously banging my hip into the corner of it.
The door slams as I steady myself. My blood freezes.
Speed stands in the doorway, right next to Lash, who's just sending his arm, flattening it, under the door. I'm not sure why until I hear a click.
I am trapped with both Speed and Lash in an empty classroom.
Instantly, my body tenses and my heart starts hopping around like a jackrabbit. S-H-I-T.
"Where's Peace, Snowflake?" Lash grins at me, and my hands start shaking.
Why do I have to have such dangerous powers? With me, there's no disable or slow down, only kill. On and off, deep freeze or nothing. Why can't I have a power like Becky's so I could send those two flying into a wall—maybe tie Lash into a knot except for one arm and force his hand to unlock the door—or at least go under it to wave and flag someone? If I were a technopath like Emily, I could build something devious and spectacular that would tie them up or knock them out, or if I could only fly like Kat, I might at least avoid them.
But I'm just me, Gwyneth freaking Cryokinetic Patrick. I can't do anything without killing them both, and no matter how bad it gets, I can't do that to anyone else. I cannot. Not again. Not again…
"Thought he'd be with you." Speed smirks, folding his arms across his chest. "Seeing as how he's become your freaking bodyguard."
"Whatsa matter, little Snowflake? Don't have anything to say?" Lash and Speed exchange glances. Lash starts to shaking his arms out, stretching each finger individually. Speed cracks his knuckles so rapidly they sound like mini-machine guns.
"You're helpless without him, aren't you?" Speed steps closer. "Why don't you ever use your powers, hmm? All just for show?"
"Come on, we know you have powers." Lash stands practically over me, eyes staring right into mine. "Why don't you use them, dork?"
"Why are you doing this?" My throat had dried up, so my voice came out as a harsh near-whisper. My legs felt like they were on fire but had turned to jelly at the same time, which felt seriously bizarre, but I didn't exactly have much room for thought on that subject. My main concern was to control my voice and not give in to the sudden and powerful need to use the restroom.
"What did I do to you?" Oh, that didn't sound pathetic at all, no sirree. I'd be on, "Oh, please please don't hurt me," in a minute.
"What is you guys' problem? Just leave me alone." There. Finally, the force and anger I was looking for. Resentment wasn't too difficult to bring up, actually.
"Oh, sure. No problem." Speed stepped closer. I backed up, but both of them kept advancing.
Then the classroom turned into a blur. Something snapped my head backwards and I stumbled. Long, elastic bands wound round my body until I could barely move. When I could see again, Speed stood in front of me, his eyes glittering maliciously.
"I think our friend could use a little eyeshadow, wouldn't you say?"
"Yeah." Lash is smirking at me, holding fast. I struggle and twist, which has about as much effect as a spider trying to take a human down with kung fu.
"Yeah. Some right there." He stretches up a finger and points at my right eye. I snap at it, then I realize what they're about to do.
"No—don't-," I shut up, holding still and shaking. Protesting or begging for mercy wouldn't accomplish a thing except to humiliate me even more. And no matter what, I want to hold on to all the dignity I can.
My glasses vanish in a gust of wind. Speed is a blur I can barely see. I try to shrink back, pulling frantically against the restraints of Lash's limbs. My hands are ice cold by now, the piercing vitality crawling, prickling, pushing just beneath the surface. I can barely hold it in check.
My eye closes just as Speed's fist suddenly blurs toward my face.
A red supernova of pain explodes from my eye, reverberating through my face but then concentrated all at my throbbing eye. I try to screw it open, but it's so full of water that I instantly close it. Both my eyes have welled up with reflexive tears of pain.
"Damn, her hands are cold!" Lash's voice comes from a distance.
"Don't worry about it."
"You're not the one who has to hold her."
Speed evidently decided to ignore Lash's comment, because he then addresses me. "Whatsa matter, ice bitch? You don't like your makeup?"
"I think she's crying 'cause she doesn't have any lipstick."
"Dude, I can do better than that. I need to even up her other eye."
"Yeah."
My eyes open involuntarily at this. Speed and Lash waver through my vision. Horror clutches at me. Then my immediate terror is almost forgotten a wave of anxiety. Mom and Dad will see this. So will my friends. If my eye swells up, everyone will know.
"You want some eyeshadow, Ice Queen?"
I bite my lips, despising my shaking limbs. It doesn't help that I can barely even see the two.
"Ow!" Lash's grip loosens a little, then tightens. "Damn, her hands are cold!"
"She's a cryo, dipshit."
"Yeah, but her hands weren't that cold before." A tinge of fear enters Lash's tone. "You don't think she's…,"
"Relax, man. Little freeze girl isn't gonna use her powers. She can't. Didn't you see her in class? She just about had a heart attack when she was using them on Peace, for crying out loud, and he's a-,"
"Okay, okay." Lash still sounds reluctant. "You don't have to hold her, though. If you held her you'd know what I'm talking about."
"Dude, you are such a girl. I swear to God. You're a freaking baby. 'You don't have to hold her'." Speed imitates Lash in a high-pitched, whiny voice.
"Shut up, man."
"You shut up." Speed's voice grows louder as he raises the blur of an arm. I shut my eyes, but waves of fear threaten to choke me—not least because cold nearly overwhelmed me. My pulse and sensed were at a thunderous, all-time adrenaline high.
Then the massive blur flew right up in my other eye, and I couldn't control it anymore.
The icy spray burst out of me, hitting Lash directly. He tried to retract his arms and escape, but the ice which began coating his elastic arms slowed their movements, making them stiffer.
All this I saw in two seconds as in slow motion. Within seconds, Lash stood as a statue, just as cold and unresponsive as TJ, the identical look of terror frozen onto his face.
At least, that scenario flashed through my mind as I stumbled back, my body released to reel back before the glancing punch Speed managed to land before Lash let go of my body.
For a second, I closed my eyes, body crouched, paralyzed with horror, not daring to look and see what had happened.
The sounds of Lash cursing and Speed responding emboldened me to the point where I could actually open my eyes. Lash's arms were coated with frost and looked stiffer than before, like a rubber band left in the refrigerator, but the rest of him remained totally untouched.
Relief made me sag, but at the same time, part of me actually felt a tad bitter. Why had Lash gotten away with cold-stiffened arms and I'd gained a shiner? At least one?
Stop it. I made myself think of how TJ should have been so lucky, and that instantly took my mind off myself.
"She froze my arms!" Lash tried to stretch them, but they would barely move. "I told you she was cold!"
Speed stared at me, and so did Lash. Both boys' expressions held surpise and something new and much too gratifying—fear.
But hatred trumped it, and a moment later, Lash began to move towards me.
"Oh, you are so dead, ice bitch."
"No." I raised my hands and actually powered up, coating them in a white frosty glow. Lash stopped dead in his tracks. I attempted to make my voice as firm as possible. Given the welling anger, it actually wasn't that difficult.
"You're the one who'll be dead if you come another step closer." The words made me cringe inside and involuntarily lean against the door of the closet in my mind that I try never to open. "Back the hell off me!"
Lash and Speed stare at my hands, then I feel their gazes on me. My myopic vision won't let me verify whether it's true.
Then Speed sorts. "Whatever. It's a waste of our time anyway, bothering with this bitch." He turns to Lash. "Come on. We've got better twerps to deal with."
Right before my eyes, my nearsighted, dyslexic eyes, the two bullies who had never before let up, never backed off for anything or anyone save the threat of fiery death, turned and headed for the door. I could only see their blurs, growing more indistinct as they headed for the door and then left me, alone.
I slowly moved around, fumbling with my hands. Miracle of miracles, my hands brush what feels like the earpiece on the desk. They must have just tossed them aside. After a moment of groping, I finally slide my glasses onto my face, and everything comes into focus.
Graudually, the truth dawned on me and I almost did a victory dance around the room. I just made Speed and Lash back off, and I didn't even have to use my powers. They thought I would carry out my threat so, thank the gods, I didn't have to be tested on that.
Then I remember something which chills my exuberance. I just powered up. I threatened Speed and Lash with an icy death—to defend myself, but still.
My head has really started hurting, so I finally leave the classroom. Out of habit, I nervously check all the halls, but neither Speed nor Lash show so much as one stretchy—or not so stretchy, now—finger.
Emily sees me first when I finally walk up to where my friends sit on the grass. She starts to flash that grin, raises a hand to wave—then she stares. The smile leaves her face.
Kat saw her expression change and turns. Her own smile begins to form, but then her dark blue eyes widen and she gasps.
"Oh my…God, Gwyneth! What happened to your eye?!"
"My eye?" My voice rises about an octave as I come to a dead stop. Crap. Oh crap oh crap ohcrapcrapcrapcrap…
"Oh—Gwyneth, what happened?" Becky shoots up to her feet. Within seconds I'm surrounded by questions and horrified, searching eyes and sympathetic exclamations.
"Guys!" Emily yells. Instantly, the other two stop and gape at her.
"Did Speed and Lash do this?" Emily's eyes fix me with their gaze—implacable, compassionate, but inescapable.
The question alone just about makes me squirm—coupled with Emily's probing eyes, I'm rendered silent and evidently helpless to control my face, because after a moment of studying, Emily's eyes glitter with a lethal sheen.
"Motherfuckers."
The term startles me half out of my senses—not because I've never heard of the eff-dash-dash-dash word (come on, people. I have seen A Christmas Story) but because I've never heard it used and upgraded in quite that way.
It drifts across my mind that somehow, connecting one's mother with the queen mother of all bad words is somehow all kinds of wrong, especially considering what the word means, but shocked as I am, I'm more afraid of what Emily's thinking of than what just came out of her mouth.
"Emily?"
Emily turns toward the school. "Where are they?"
"I don't know." All the fear rushes to the forefront of my mind. My hands grow cold but I ignore it.
"Emily, don't. You-,"
"I've had enough. And so have you." Emily started scanning the crowd and then swore softly. "There's the bastards right there."
"Emily, stop." I put a hand on her shoulder, then yank it back-Emily's clothes literally shocked me with the static.
"What is it?" Emily turned.
"Emily, don't. Please. If you do this it'll only make it worse. I scared them off, okay?" Emily stops glowering and fuming and stares at me in astonishment.
"I did it, I scared them off by powering up my hands, and I told them I'd freeze them if they came any closer. Then they left me alone."
"Then what's that?!" Emily pointed at my eye.
I winced. "Okay. They got a hit in before I did that." My voice sounds a little sullen.
Emily relaxed, then I saw her eyes light up. Her interest was growing.
"You used your powers?" She stared at me. "On them?"
"Yes-uh, no. Well, sort of. I mean, I didn't actually shoot that icy spray at them. I just powered up my hands and threatened them."
"Damn," Emily muttered. I wonder if she actually means its too bad I didn't freeze them. "That's awesome, dude. But they can't get away with this. I'll just-,"
"No!" I grasp Emily's arm as hard as I can.
"No, seriously. You can. Not. Do that."
"Why?"
"Because if you do, I will get attacked again. And again, and then it'll go on into this vicious cycle. Please, Emily, just...leave them alone. Don't do it. I probably scared them off. I think they picked on me 'cause they were convinced I didn't have any powers. And now...now that they're not...,"
Emily looks off towards Speed and Lash in the distance, breathing hard.
"Okay, fine." She turns back to me, her blue eyes laser-intense.
"But they'd better leave you the fuck alone, or else-,"
She doesn't complete the thought, but turns away and flings herself down onto the grass.
"What are we going to—oh God. Gwyneth, your eye!" Kat leans over me, her eyes wide with concern and horrified pity. "Oh gosh, it's turning black and blue!"
"It's called a bruise." The anxiety on Emily's belies the breezy sarcasm of her tone. "You should get some ice for that."
"I don't know where the Nurse's office is…,"
"I do." Emily rose, brushing grass off the backside of her jeans. "I can take you there if you want."
"Okay. Oh no. Oh. God." I freeze in my tracks. "She'll ask-and…,"
My friends stand still, silent for a moment, but I can read the frustration in Emily's face. "Say you ran into a door or something," she finally said. "I guess if they'll leave you alone, we shouldn't worry about it. But your parents are gonna want an explanation for the black eye their daughter mysteriously acquired at school."
Emily's prediction came true. Luckily, my parents believed me when I told them I wasn't looking where I was going and slammed my eye into the corner of an open locker. Well…accepted might be a more accurate term. My mom flipped out when she first saw my eye (which did indeed wind up bruising heavily and swelling half shut, which made for a nice picture next morning) but then of course the first thing she wanted to know was how it happened. My dad didn't have too much trouble with my explanation, but a shadow of doubt lingered in my mom's eyes, and when she asked me again, I think I answered a little too quickly.
I could kind of tell she wasn't entirely certain I was telling the truth, and she did finish up her oh-you-poor-baby/medical interrogation fest with saying, "And Gwyneth, you know if you ever have any problems at school, you should tell a teacher or us."
I would have laughed if I'd been in a laughing mood. Telling the teachers I was being bullied by two boys, but—oh yeah, I have cryokinetic powers but I can't use them because, last year…yeah. Not happening. Even if I could bring myself to hash all that out, the teachers would either react like Coach Boomer likely would, or recommend me for counseling, and that second option makes my mind curl up in a fetal position.
I am not exposing myself, my past, and my nightmares to some strange adult and have them analyze it all in excruciating detail. That sounds just about as fun as open-heart-surgery without anaesthetics.
Besides, Speed and Lash are probably not going to be a problem anymore. No problem, no need for a solution.
On Monday, I woke up feeling both bright and rather nervous. I had made them back off…but part of me still wasn't so sure my issues with them were over. To live free, free from care or worry or tripping and shoving and glasses-snatching and tardies…it almost seems too good to be true.
Yet as I arrive on campus, I begin to realize that my fears are groundless. There's nothing to be scared of. Speed and Lash don't even look at me. They're most likely busy annoying other kids, and I feel like a horrible person when I realize that relief actually washes over me when that thought crosses my mind. I don't want anyone to go through what I just went through, but the notion of liberation feels so sweet the reaction was practically unconscious.
When I go into Mad Science, I almost skip back to my seat beside Warren. I realize how much nicer and less tense school can be when you don't feel a target symbol on your back.
Warren stares at me when I hop down into the chair next to him and get out my binder, humming and smiling idiotically.
"So, what happened to your supply of decaf this morning?"
The comment barely touches me. It just makes me grin even wider. I'm feeling far too good to be offended. "I don't drink coffee," I reply airily as I get out my pencil case.
"You sure look happy."
"Mr. Peace! Miss Patrick!" Mr. Medulla's voice calls our attention and I almost jump.
"We are going to be making something new today." Mr. Medulla gives that odd, slightly evil smile and then swoops something out from behind him. "Power-binding bracelets."
A murmur of surprise and eagerness runs through the class, with a couple token groans.
"Yes, yes," Mr. Medulla goes on. "These are indeed the bracelets used on super-criminals in power-secure prisons, such as the Maxville Detention Center for Superbeings, up to and including prisons as famous as Adamantium Facility for the Incarceration of Superbeings."
The slight rise in the temperature emanating from my partner prompts me to turn. Warren's jaw looks tighter and his fists clench for an instant before his face returns to its usual impassivity. But it takes a little longer for his temperature sinks to its normal (abnormal) warmth.
It takes the head or two turning toward us and whispering before I get it. AFIS is probably the most secure "super" prison in the country, or the world for that matter. Its only inmates are five of the most dangerous and powerful supervillains in the world—one of them being Baron Battle. Warren's father.
That little moment causes me to wonder—did Warren know his dad when he was captured? He's about my age, and I was around six or seven at the time, so he must have been the same. Nobody ever seems to know or care about Baron Battle's family, let alone what his son's relationship with his father was like, if it existed at all. Did Warren dislike and fear his dad? It seems impossible to think that Baron Battle could have been a good father. Has he ever visited him since?
Those questions fascinate me, and probably everyone else in school, but I somehow feel very uneasy about asking Warren something so personal. For one thing, it isn't really my business, asking someone such a personal and possibly painful question. For another, Warren seems to avoid talking about his feelings like the plague, and that issue…holy cow.
My attention soon becomes distracted as Mr. Medulla begins to explain what we're doing.
Warren and I set to work. Luckily he usually picks up the instructions before I get a chance, so I don't have to struggle and stumble through reading them, and we can get done faster.
The power-binding bracelet is actually less difficult to construct than ray guns, because the engine is slightly less delicate, and we finish early, despite my moments of distraction. I've never seen Warren so focused and energized as when he's working, or reading. When he's sitting in class or speaking, he almost seems bored, his voice and expression languid as a drowsy cat's. But when it comes time to use his hands, his posture straightens, then bends and his eyes laser in with an almost crazy amount of focus.
After we're done, Warren gets out his book, so I don't attempt to talk to him.
Mr. Medulla passes among the class, examining, trying the bracelets on students, uttering praise or disapproval—the second more often than the first.
As my attention passes over the other kids, I see Speed and Lash near the front, hard at work.
My eyes flick away. Then I look back, surprised.
Huh.
Well. Maybe Mr. Medulla got onto them about their grades dropping, because when they're even in class, neither of those guys seem to do any work unless Mr. Medulla's practically breathing down their neck. This time, he isn't.
The Mad Science teacher circles around and bends over the boys' table. "What have we here?"
Speed's response is lost in the general murmur and distance. But judging by Mr. Medulla's posture and expression, the two boys are making good progress. They seem to be throwing themselves into this particular project.
Huh. Well. I guess a power-binding bracelet could make for some useful pranks if you could sneak it out of here.
Useful pranks. My body goes electric, stiffens as if with shock.
No…no way. I'm being paranoid. I scared them off. Why would they go to such trouble just for me?
Why would they have tried to beat me up?
Who knows?
I carefully wipe my chilly palms on my jeans and pull my book out of my backpack. This is not anything to worry about. I'm overreacting. Those weeks dodging the bullies must have reduced me to paranoia, seeing trouble in little, trivial things. Why would they actually do work in class for some freshman they don't even like?
The end-of-class bell rings, and I pack my things, trying to ignore the little niggling doubt in the pit of my stomach.
Then, just as I pass the table, Lash flashes the power-binding bracelet at me. The look on his and his friend's face is impossible to misinterpret: Wait. Just you wait. We're gonna get you with this.
My stomach drops into my feet. Sweat begins collecting under my arms and in my palms as my body grows cold.
I nearly get separated from Warren, and practically run to catch up, taking deep breaths. It's a miracle he can't hear the pounding of my heart or the fact that I'm practically hyperventilating.
After a few moments of our usual awkward silence, Warren throws a glance my way and then stares harder. "You look sick. You okay?"
The rough tone wouldn't let anyone know that he's concerned. But the fact that he asked does show a marginal bit of worry. If Warren noticed my face…
"Nothing." I give him a plastic grin. "I'm fine. Really."
Warren's face makes his skepticism abundantly clear. But after a moment, he finally raises his eyebrows, shrugs, and turns to face forward.
I try to stay calm as I walk down the hallway. But as each class slides by, I barely notice them. In my mind, I see Lash's hand holding up the power-binding bracelet, his and Speed's faces both knowing and maliciously satisfied.
I am so screwed.
What can I do? I can't tell my friends, they'd insist on telling a teacher. And if anyone, including me, tells, Speed and Lash might get in trouble, but then…they'll know I had to have told someone. And then they'll want to take revenge, and it'd go on, and on…for who knows how long…becoming worse and worse.
The mere thought sets of an image in my head that makes ice burst from my fingertips, coating the pen and making the liquid in it explode right in the middle of Ethics. This explosion, however, only interrupts my worrying and daydreaming. If only I could actually fight! If only my powers were different…but I don't follow that train of thought too far. It won't do me any good—it can't change anything.
Then, in the middle of English, the thought penetrates through my mind. I can't change my powers.
But can I change the ability to fight back?
Warren
I don't usually hesitate to plunge into a book.
Most of the time, it's on my mind before I've even sat down and pulled it out, so I just open it the second I find an opportunity and lose myself as quickly as possible.
But this book had something written in the corner of that first blank page. The ink hadn't faded yet, so it caught my eye as I opened the book—Dear Warren Peace, my aptly named friend: You may not have decided how your life would start, but all you have to decide is what to do with the life that is given you. Sorry for butchering an excellent quote, but whatever…it's worth repeating, and it's in this book! Enjoy it or else! Jk! Anyway.
Just remember, never lose estel—and if you want to know what that means…read ze book. Bwahahahaha. Below that, elaborate Elvish characters graced the page, and beside it the writer had translated them for my sake—Anna.
A peculiar ache rises in my chest as I read the handwriting. Slowly, my fingers skim over the page with a tenderness I'm glade no one expects to—and thus doesn't succeed in—seeing. Anna never really touched the words herself, but her pen did, and it feels like I'm drawing a slight connection through touching words that she wrote. It's something.
Never lose estel.
Estel. Hope.
The brutal irony of those words, in retrospect, never fails to hit me with the crushing effectiveness of a punch to the gut, though it's become just a little less cutting after nineteen months. A little.
Anna's voice still speaks on, telling me that my choices matter most and giving up is never an option. Surrender shouldn't be in the dictionary. She's still telling me this, even after the last time I saw her.
Even after she did exactly what her words still urge me to never do.
I take a deep breath and flip open the first page.
"When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton. Bilbo was very-,"
"Warren!"
The voice's fourth try finally dragged my unwilling attention out of my book. "What?" I growled, then started as I saw who it was.
To her credit, Gwyneth seemed nervous. She had plenty of reason to be—anybody interrupting me in a favorite book was probably likely to wind up as a pile of ash, or at least that's what she'd probably heard. All right, I did briefly consider scorching her hand or her eyebrows—those would actually burn. But I decided against it, since she didn't actually deserve to be hurt. Yet.
"I…I'm sorry for interrupting you-,"
"Good."
"But…it's just…I hope you won't…I have a favor—to ask."
My body tenses involuntarily. I'm not used to people seeking me out—let alone asking me for things.
I'm not in the mood for this. All I want to do now is lose awareness of the world I have to live in for most of the day. But I already know Gwyneth isn't likely to leave me alone until I at least hear her out.
"What is it?"
Gwyneth looks really embarrassed. She refuses to meet my eyes and shifts spastically on her feet as if she needs to use the restroom.
"Well…you see, the—Speed and Lash—you know who that is—who they are, right?"
I respond with a stare.
"I…take that as a yes. So…well, anyway-," Gwyneth shifts again and starts picking at her nails, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. She always seems to need to use her hands whenever she's nervous.
Biting back my frustration with a supreme effort of will, I used my number one proven tactic for backing people into corners and getting things done, whether ridding myself of someone I didn't want around or getting them to stop wasting my time and get to the point, as in this case: I sat there, and just stared. No words, no more blinking than I could help.
It didn't fail me now. Gwyneth stumbled and stuttered for several more seconds, her face growing redder and redder until I thought she might explode. Then, she finally met my stare head-on, and suddenly fell still.
For a moment, this lasted. Then Gwyneth seemed to deflate. All her fumbling and pretense fell away, leaving her somehow smaller than before.
"Okay. All right." She sank down on the concrete slab beside me. "…here's the deal. Basically…," she took a deep breath.
"I've been…I need…,"
Before she could finish the sentence, I lost patience. It's never been one of my strong points anyway. Fire doesn't wait.
When Gwyneth paused again for a split second after those last words, I reached out and laid a hand on her arm, then powered up, not a lot, but just enough to hurt.
"Ow!" Gwyneth yanked her arm away from me. "What the heck was that for?!"
I sucked in a deep breath, praying mentally for another ounce of patience. Just another ounce. "Get to the point, Ice Cube."
"Fine." Stung out of silence, Gwyneth finally began to speak coherently, all the while shooting glares at me.
"I…Speed and Lash have been picking on me. For the last couple weeks."
The slight heat that rises to my hands startles even me. Telling myself that the reason is impatience satisfies me—for the moment. Why is Gwyneth telling me this? Am I supposed to do something about it? What am I, her freaking bodyguard? Just because I agreed to walk her from one class to another…does she think I'm some knight in shining armor who'll solve all her problems? If she knew me at all…
Well, you are in HERO training, after all. Or is that just a fancy title? I can almost hear Mom's voice, just tinged with steel.
Digesting this statement, I still manage to do nothing more than raise an eyebrow, as if to say, 'And your point?'
Gwyneth deflates even further. Her shoulders slump, her whole body following, and her eyes drop. "Okay, look. I…I need help." She swallows hard. "Speed and—see, I…I thought I chased them off, see. I…I told them I'd freeze them if they didn't back up, and they believed me."
"They believed you." I don't have to try and put the skepticism into my voice.
"Yeah." Gwyneth straightens a hair and grins rather sheepishly. It's a strangely disarming grin, as if she realizes the situation is slightly ridiculous but the knowledge doesn't really faze her. "Well, I…I kind of…powered up. Just my hands, so they thought I'd do it in a second…and I told them I'd back off. Seemed to work. But then…then I saw them. This…," she seems about to start into another part of the story, then decides against it, then decides the other way again.
"Remember when we were making power-binding bracelets in class?"
I let out an impatient huff of breath and adjust my body on the concrete. "Explain to me how power-binding bracelets have anything to do with what you're telling me."
"Everything. They, they have plenty to do with what I'm telling you. If you'd just let me explain…," Gwyneth gives her own impatient huff.
I roll my eyes and growl wordlessly. The book is calling my name, and I'm not in a mood to disobey the call much longer. "Fine. Go on and tell me."
The heavy sarcastic tone doesn't deter Gwyneth, and she pushes on. Shy and easily intimidated, Gwyneth might be, but when it just comes to sarcasm or rudeness, she never seems fazed. I have to admit, it's the one quality about her I find least annoying, next to her smile.
"Anyway, they…I saw Speed and Lash holding up their power-binding bracelet and…and pointing at me. And…," she swallows hard. "I'm kind of—no, I'm pretty sure—I'm sure they're planning something."
Don't get involved. This is not my problem. Gwyneth needs to learn how to take care of herself sooner or later.
I ignore the voices in my head and focus on Gwyneth. "So why tell me? Why not tell your friends? I'm sure they could do something."
"Yeah, but-," Gwyneth swallowed hard. "I…I don't know this for sure, but I…do you know how to fight?"
That question doesn't deserve an answer. I just look at her.
Gwyneth seems to get the message. "Okay, forget it. You do know how to fight. The next question: how well can you fight? Can you defend yourself? Could you kick two guys' butts even without your powers?"
"What do you think?"
Gwyneth swallows again. Her eyes flick over my body and I feel a sudden animal wariness, an urge to shift, to move. Her gaze, while not creepy or odd, nonetheless makes me feel uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe I'm not used to people checking me out. Not checking me out in that sense, but…examining me. Studying me. Taking me in. I've never liked people looking at me for too long, at least people I don't know very well.
Finally, Gwyneth looks me in the eye. She then starts to look bashful again, but then apparently gains her nerve. "I…guess? Okay—yes. Yes. I…I don't know, but I…I would say you definitely could kick some butt in a—regular fight."
I wasn't sure how to reply to that. Looking back, I never could figure out exactly what I would have said. But I never had to, because just as I started to open my mouth, Gwyneth anticipated me, and suddenly straightening up like a coiled spring, she blurted it out.
"I…would you teach me how to fight?"
I blinked. Gradually, her words and the meaning registered. I blinked again, twice.
Finally, I managed to form words. "Why me?"
"Because you…well-," Gwyneth swallows and looks more embarrassed than ever, which irrationally irritates me.
"Because I'm the bad boy? I'm the scary kid, huh, so you thought you could pick up some tips?"
"No!" Gwyneth stiffens as if physically stung with a whip. "No! No, it's not like that. I just—look, none of my friends know how to fight. Not really. At any rate, not without their powers. Except for Emily, and she's not even here today, and Becky had to stay for help with Science homework, and I…I didn't know who else to talk to, okay? Besides, I just—I had a feeling that…you could actually defend yourself, okay? Unlike me." Gwyneth's voice, loud and animated and even a little angry sounding up until then, shrank all at once and sounded much younger and lower, as if she finally had to admit a horrible health secret.
"I don't actually enjoy being helpless, Warren." Her voice sounds even lower than before.
It startled me more than I would have thought possible—not least because she actually used my name for the first time—and I actually felt genuine pity towards Gwyneth. I'm not heartless. And I might have gotten myself kicked out of two schools and forced bullies to back off my ass in middle school, but I wasn't born five-foot-seven and a fighter, and until I became one, I had my fair share on the business end of jerks just like Lash and Speed. I know what it feels like.
But I don't just feel pity. Gwyneth's powers aren't something wimpy or useless except in very specific situations. She could freeze Speed and Lash into human popsicles if she caught them right. And she could use her powers to defend herself, but for some reason I've never figured out and never asked, Gwyneth seems absolutely dead set on the principle of never using them except against someone who's immune—someone like me. And while principles are what makes heroes heroes, Gwyneth is not helpless, and we both know it. But she's acting it. And her totally unreasonable stubbornness about this issue kind of pisses me off.
Stubborness? Why, what does that remind you of? Something involving a pot calling a kettle black?
I set my jaw and let that one pass. The downside of being good at sarcasm is that your brain can go on autopilot and start up a snark commentary of every stupid thing you do as if it were someone else.
"You're a cryokinetic." I say it through gritted teeth.
"I told you, I don't believe in using my powers on people."
"Unless they're attacking your friends. Or they're pyrokinetic," I continue relentlessly.
"This isn't funny!" Gwyneth's voice and face tempts me to pity but I shove it aside. This is getting a little much. Not using your powers unnecessarily is something my mom's tried and tried to drill into my head. But Gwyneth's at the opposite extreme, the point of idiocy.
"Then what is it? Because honestly, if you just came here to vent-,"
"I don't use my powers! Okay?!" Gwyneth practically yells, but she turns the volume down at the last second so it comes as a fierce near whisper. Her blue eyes suddenly blaze into mine and I jerk with surprise.
"I don't use them for very good reason." Gwyneth's gaze burns into mine. "I know you might not get it. But if you had the memories I had, you would…hate your powers." She draws shuddering breaths, and her eyes actually glisten…but it couldn't be. Those couldn't be…tears? "So would you just be willing to freaking respect that? I don't think that's too much to ask. Do you?"
Her voice actually chokes a little on the last words. I can't move for a moment, though hopefully Gwyneth can't see that.
If you had the memories I had, you would hate your powers. Not just be afraid of using them on other people. Hate them. What would be so terrible that it could make you hate your own powers?
"What do you want?" My voice sounds a little dry, but at least it's there.
Gwyneth's blue gaze bores into mine. Her teeth gleam in a triumphant smile. Inside, I get a decidedly sinking feeling.
"I want you to teach me how to fight."
One day later:
I sling my backpack to the floor, then shrug my jacket off my shoulders. Both land on the concrete floor, the backpack with a thud, the jacket with a soft plut.
"Oh good. You're finally here." Gwyneth looks decidedly relieved and smiles brilliantly at me. It only makes me less happy to be here.
"I'm here because I have to be. Correction—I chose to be here. Because I felt obligated." I turn to face her with a decidedly vulnerable feeling. I set my face in a dark frown to cover it. My arm rings isn't something I take off unless I have to—that is, if I'm working or in PE or washing or sleeping. I slide it over my wrist and hand, drop it onto my jacket. Cool air washes across my wrist and I unconsciously reach up to cup the inside of it with my other hand.
"Thanks for the consideration." Gwyneth's sarcastic tone isn't perfect, but she's improving. This thought makes my eyebrows climb. Mad Science and a week in PE have taught her a lot. Either that, or she already possessed the talent.
"Okay, from here on, I'm training you. So I make the rules." I fix Gwyneth with my best hard gaze.
"One: You don't argue. You do what I tell you when I tell you to do it. You take my advice and you don't whine or complain. Two: You don't whine. All whining or complaining that 'it's too hard' or 'it hurts' is gonna accomplish when Speed and Lash come after you is getting beaten up."
Gwyneth's face shows considerably more uneasiness than it did when I first came in. But she nods and says, "Okay."
I take a moment before continuing.
"Three: You don't…," I think how to phrase it. "You don't contradict me. If I tell you to do something, if I tell you to keep going, you don't tell me you can't. I'm the one who decides that. If you break a bone or you're bleeding, I'll…probably…stop." I added it just for effect—I'm not going to let Gwyneth fight while badly injured—and I hope I won't make her badly injured, but it has the desired effect. Gwyneth looks slightly horrified, but I push on.
"From now on, the word 'can't' doesn't exist here. If you feel like you can't do something, still do it." I hold her eyes. "Do you have asthma or something like that?"
"Um…," Gwyneth swallows. "All I have is dyslexia. And I'm nearsighted. But that won't make much difference, will it? Long as I have my glasses, I'm good to go."
I barely manage to not crack up. Then the thing she said registers. "You have dyslexia?"
"Yeah." Gwyneth doesn't look really embarrassed—just resigned, as if she senses what I'm going to ask.
"How the hell are you reading books like…that?" I gesture towards the book she set down the minute I walked in.
Gwyneth's eyes turn hard and cool. It doesn't look that menacing when she's several inches shorter than me and about half my size horizontally, but nonetheless it makes her less puny.
"What? I can only read chapter books? Easy reading?" Her voice remains pleasant and conversational. Nobody who couldn't see her eyes would think she was doing anything but joking, but I see them. For the first time since the day we made a truce in Mad Science, I catch a glimpse of the fact that Gwyneth doesn't have unlimited patience either, and I've been testing that.
The realization actually forces a feeling of respect for the kid. She's polite and quiet and nice, but not a pushover. She has a spine, and she's willing to use it. I've known this for a while, yet it still comes as a surprise every time I see it.
"No."
"What then?" Gwyneth's voice is almost too sweet. Then a note of triumph enters. "You don't know much about dyslexia, do you?"
"No." The word almost snaps out.
"That's obvious." Gwyneth's voice is normal again, and her eyes flash with unexpected warmth, as her smile touches her face for a moment. The change is almost total. One minute I can discern all the angles in her face, the sharp, slightly hawklike nose, pointed chin. Then her mouth expands, her keen bright eyes light up, and her face suddenly turns from rather plain to something more surprisingly attractive than before.
"But we should probably get on with it." Gwyneth's voice pulls me out of my study, and I straighten my shoulders, breathing deeply. My senses need to be alert and calm.
"Yes." Despite the exterior I've been trying to put on, a predator's grin pulls at the corners of my mouth. The prospect of a fight fills me with a ferocious, primal sort of joy.
I breathe deeply, settling onto the balls of my feet, clenching and unclenching my hands at my sides, at the ready. In, out. Inhale, exhale.
I have to stay calm. I can't lose control of myself, or I'll hurt Gwyneth. I've been in fights before, and learned martial arts Gwyneth has no conception of. I know what I'm doing. She doesn't, and I have to teach her. If I get too carried away with the thrill of the fight, so to speak…yeah. The pictures my mind conjures up aren't pretty.
"First of all, get in position. You're never going to get anywhere standing with your hands at your sides like a stick."
Gwyneth starts, and an almost frightened expression crosses her face. It's really sinking in, I thought with a sense of grim satisfaction. Now she knows what she's in for. Yeah, Ice Cube, this is serious. You wanted this?
But the moment passes, and Gwyneth balls her hands into fists. She breathes deeply just like I did, and stands opposite me, her feet planted slightly apart.
I roll my eyes and try to calm down. First things first.
Getting out of position, I walk over to Gwyneth, who falters, looking up at me uncertainly. I point to her hands. "First of all, never, ever make a fist like that. You're gonna break your thumbs the first time you punch someone. Here. Like this."
Holding up my hands, I curl my fingers and cross my thumb over them. "See, this way you won't wind up in the hospital."
"Oh." Gwyneth looks sheepish, but obeys. Settling her feet back into their previous position, she glances confidently up. "Now?"
"No." I point to her feet. "You're standing incorrectly. Your position is all wrong. The two most important things in a fight are balance and flexibility. You want to be on the ground, and at the same time be able to move at an instant's notice."
I rock on the balls of my feet, bending my hips in just the slightest way, then turn towards her. "See, this way, if someone punches you, you can just not be there. You can pivot, or you can go after him if he moves. And he will. You can't hit a moving target as easily. He'll know that, but you have to remember that too. You never just stand there and wait for the guy you're fighting to come to you. They'll just take advantage of that and run circles around you and they'll kick your ass."
Gwyneth flinches with every few words. "I haven't exactly been in a lot of fights before," she mumbles.
"I can tell," I mutter. "That's what I'm for. Obviously. Now, let's try and see what you can do."
Gwyneth's eyes show clear fear as I walk to a place a few feet opposite her and settle into position, but she bites her lip and keeps her eyes fixed on me as steadily as she can. She is still there, rocking on the balls of her feet, fists up and at the ready, in the correct way, thank god.
"Ready?" I say the word low, barely opening my mouth.
Gwyneth swallows hard. Her voice remains level. "Ready."
I stare at her for a long moment, evaluating her position, the way her eyes keep flicking to rest on my fists. She isn't really watching me, not the way she should be. If she were taking in what I was doing the way she ought to, she wouldn't keep looking up at my face-it's not going to fight her-and staring at my fists as if they were the head of Medusa.
I fight the impulse to shake my head. Gwyneth has to learn sometime, and the fastest way is the hard one. I should know—it was how I picked most of it up.
I move forward, striking out towards Gwyneth's face. Her arms fly clumsily up to block my punch, leaving her body exposed.
As part of me shouts in protest for what I know I have to do, I draw back my other fist, and quick as thought, drive it into the pit of Gwyneth's stomach.
The cryokinetic crumples, gasping and choking. She falls to her knees and bends double, clutching her stomach. I force down the regret and pity and try not to wince. I didn't like doing that, but while my purpose isn't to hurt Gwyneth, I can't afford to go too easy on her. If I do that, she won't be prepared for real opponents. If Speed or Lash saw a chance like that to get in a hit, they would take it without hesitation. That's the kind of thing I need to prepare Gwyneth for. Doing anything less wouldn't be doing my job. Worse, it wouldn't, in the long run, be fair to Gwyneth.
Gwyneth finally unbent enough to croak out, "What was that for?" Her blue eyes show anger and shock and something like betrayal.
I kept my voice hard and my face blank. "You should know better than to leave your lower body unprotected like that. At least keep an eye on me. You were so focused on what you thought I was about to do that you totally missed the real punch. You have to keep both eyes open, one on the movement you see, one still watching the rest of me just enough to be able to see movement when I make it."
Gwyneth starts to speak again, but I cut her off. "Besides, you don't block every blow like that. See where I'm aiming, hold up just one arm crosswise as a shield. It should work. The other arm can be just hovering around, at the ready."
Gwyneth starts to speak. Her eyebrows furrow, then she winces and bends over, clutching her stomach in pain. I feel a sharper pang of empathetic pain, especially since part of that pain comes from lack of air, but long practice helps me keep any of my emotions from reaching my face.
"I'm going to prepare you for what a real fight would be like. Nobody who's out to get you, in real life, would cut you any slack. And if you think I'm going to, either, you're wrong."
Gwyneth looks up. A flash of familiar instinctive anger fills her face, but she forces it down. She rises slowly, wincing the whole way, one hand still on her stomach.
I wait until she seems to have recovered, then I settle back into position.
"Ready?"
For a moment, I know exactly what Gwyneth's thinking. I should never have signed up for this.
Then she settles back into position. Her thumbs rest perpendicular to her bowed knuckles, pointing up to heaven.
I stare at them until she gets the message and folds them into the right place. She settles back into place, eyes nervously flickering over my every movement.
I take a tiny breath, sighing inwardly. We've got a long way to go.