Wanda always knew she was different. From the time she accidentally sent a sizzling pan flying across the room to when they were driven out of Transia, their own country, she knew what she was but didn't have a word for it until now.

Mutant

That's what people like her are called; that's what she is: different. A mistake. An abomination. The next step in evolution—this knowledge and term won't come until years later, however.

Still, Wanda always knew that there was just something…wrong with her ever since she accidentally set a camp on fire. And even through the many times her aunt Marya would tell her that there wasn't anything bad about her, still Wanda suspects. Because there is just something that had started a smidge of confidence and arrogance in her over the fact that she can do things that others cannot. But along with that comes the threats, the risks, the secrets that she's had to keep since arriving to America and since gaining her abilities.

First, it started with her. Then this mutant mess just had to include her brother.

When Pietro gained his ability of super speed, that was an entire game changer. In the beginning, Wanda had thought that maybe she'd be the only one with all powers, or, she kind of hoped so—she didn't know why. But in all honesty, she was glad she wasn't alone in this situation; that now, at least her brother knew and could understand her struggle. They'd been through so much: from traveling, being literally ran out of their home town, to starting completely over in an entirely new country, and now high school. One could say that Wanda and Pietro would have so much in common—being twins and all—but oh, what an assumption that was. The Maximoff twins knew each other insides and out, could practically read each other's minds using even vague facial expressions, and have a very close bond, but in no way are they the same.

Not entirely.

It's in little ways—Pietro likes nuts on his ice-cream cones; Wanda likes caramel syrup, which he loathed on ice-cream. Their favorite colors are on opposite ends of the color spectrum. Wanda is studious while her brother can care less about grades, always restless, always needing to move so he barely sits long enough at a desk. Wanda is very careful and somewhat the family peacekeeper; him, not so much. Also, not to mention their differences in sex.

Two sides of the same coin. That's what Marya has always said about them, always calls them. The two are completely different, but fit together well.

Marya fell in love with the twins since the day she saw them swaddled in cloth

Personally, Wanda can't understand it. But like almost everything her aunt says, Wanda just lets it roll off her shoulders as some wise phrase she'll understand when she's older, and nodding that she gets the idea; and as it falls from her shoulder it's tossed into the metaphorical basket containing the abundance of other quotes the woman has told.

Wanda cares for her aunt—that is a given—she and her brother care so much. Mayra always reminds them to be open with their emotions and thoughts, insisting that there be no secrets in their household. But still, the teen feels like there are some things that she just can't tell the woman, and Wanda doesn't exactly know why or what.

But most of it has to do with school things, social thing. Per typical for older adolescences.

At school, Wanda isn't the most popular girl—no, not by a long shot; not that she wants to be either, though she does occasionally daydream about the possibility... But there is no way that she could be either, and Wanda knew that. Wanda knew that she would never be popular. There is no way she could muster enough courage remove the hood from her head permanently, and the things she knew were keeping her from making a lot of changes she only wishes she could.

Without her hood, she fears she'd lose control.

Without her hood, she doesn't know what could happen.

The school could blow up
She could make people fly across the room on accident
Cause another accident of some wild animal charging rapid through the classes

Without her hood, she fears, and fears that something will go wrong and that people could be harmed and she and her family would be discovered and they be arrested or deported or, or, or—

It's happened only once, she can remember, and Wanda is terrified of it happening again. Because of that once, she's had to watch her brother and aunt become defensive and wary, and Pietro practically eliminate any chances of early friendships because of constantly making sure her wellbeing came first. And she's glad that at least he's found these two other mutants at school who's he is friends with, but...

Wanda presses the balls of her palms into her eye sockets.
Her fingers, nails bitten down to the pink ends by anxiety, claw at her face
And in the darkness of her bedroom at midnight, she cries
And screams and cries.

It's happened once that Wanda has lost control in public—once other time at school, and she fears it would happen again.

All she wants is to be normal

And she still hasn't told about the exploding preserving jars that happened that one afternoon
or the very low odds of a crane flying through the school windows of the first floor
that she caused

Wanda still doesn't know that she caused the bathroom toilets to clog and overflow

Wanda Maximoff is that quiet, kinda weird girl in school. She's the one whom others would hear about, and know that she has wavy brown hair, that she's quiet, probably can't dance, and always drinks those orange juice cartons, but she barely shows her face because of that damn red hood. She didn't like confrontation and when it does happen, rude, defensive words always seem to always slip out. That, but mostly incoherent mumbling. Or nothing at all. It depends, really. Side-eyeing has become her trademark answer.

To put it frankly, to many at school, Wanda is odd. She's obviously an introvert, is antisocial, and she has terrible social anxiety. She doesn't exactly get along or fit in with most and she only feels at ease in the wildlife club she became apart of at the end of her first year. She also feels at ease on her own, or with her family.

She did try once, to blend in, to be like others in her classes, but...

She's a misfit in all means of the definition.

She's different and she knows it.

She's a mutant and hates it.

And she hates it. She hates what she can do, she hates what society assumes and stigmatizes, but mostly she hates what she is. More times than preferred, Wanda has caused damage to her family and anything that happens to be a surrounding bystander. She never means to for it to happen, but it does, and without her control. She doesn't like it and tries to keep it from reoccurring, hoping.

She wishes she could make it stop happening.

She once wished for it to all stop, for her powers to go away.

But Wanda knows that that is inevitable—deep down she knows—and she absolutely loathes it. But she can't do anything about it, and so she works to improve her control, that being the best case scenario given by her brother. It's her only option, like Pietro is still learning to slow down more. And to her luck, an incident hasn't happened in weeks now.

In the school hallway, Wanda pushes her hair behind her ear. Her large hood casts a faint shadow over her face.

Maybe now she can muster up the strength to talk to Troy Baxter.

Wanda is standing at her open locker. The small metal door holds as a cover as she stares, transfixed on the sandy blonde socializing with his usual friends near the opposite side of the hall. She swallows the lump in her throat and wills the butterflies in her stomach to slow. They don't however, and she takes a few gulps of air before closing the locker, shuffle her books on her hip, and walk forward.

Troy is a part of the more popular group—with being on the school's basketball team, it granted him immediate status and own small clique. Wanda knows he has relatively good grades so that is a bonus, of him not being a slacker.

But as she nears, the butterflies don't still, and she swallows the tickle in her throat. Her pulse is racing and her hands begin to shake. She balls them into fists instead, shifting to hold the two textbooks in front of her chest.

Others on the basketball team, boys that Troy hangs with, are the tall ones who like to play against others because they know their height and agility is an advantage. And every time Wanda lays eyes on Troy, her stomach does summersaults and her heart sings, and she has to muster up the small spark of courage because she'll have to talk to him sooner or later. They've only spoken on a handful of occasions, most over borrowed writing utensils and to be partners for an in-class assignment, but still.

Wanda clears her throat. "H...hi, Tr-Troy..."

Their conversation immediately comes to a halt, and all boys turn to stare back. Wanda swallows. Troy's eyes are wide. His nearest friend shoots a questioning look. Wanda identifies two of them as those in her history class.

"Hi...um..." Wanda waves her hand. Her palms begin to sweat. Her teeth are chattering like she's cold. She doesn't notice her fingertips glowing a tinge red.

NERVOUS

FIDGET

BLUSH

Wanda pushes her hair behind her ear again, nervously, inadvertently pushing her hood back too.

Troy blinks.

One of the boys in the group nudge his shoulder, this one with a small afro. He chimes, "you're that quiet girl in my class!" And a sly grin spreads across his lips.

Wanda knows a taunt is coming afterwards and stops it, answering him. "Wanda. Yeah." She turns back to the one she had come for. "Um, Troy..." She moves her hands as she spoke, nervous and animated. She casts her eyes down and no one notices the slight purple in her eyes. "I...since, uh, Spirit Week... I-I wanted to see if you were doing, you know, anything? A-and if anyone has asked you yet...?"

Troy's smile seems a bit lazy. "Asked me what?"

"...About Spirit Week. Um, having a partner."

He shakes his head a bit too slowly.

"Ok then..."

Another boy at his side smirks. Wanda can feel the tension rising and the teasing that is surely to come, so, she immediately fears the worse outcome. Her hands burn a bright red from inside her jacket's long sleeves.

"I was wondering...if you and I could, um, partner up f-for Spirit Week. If that's ok with you...?"

He hesitates. "Wanda, right?"

Her gaze falls to the tile floor. She nods, and her face burns in a blush.

"...Sure."

His friends' necks snap to him, startled.

"Why not? I don't have a partner yet." It's spoken with a nonchalant shrug. "Sure," Troy repeats. "Yeah...yeah, I will." He's smiling widely now.

Wanda blinks and is speechless. Her wide eyes must have gave her thoughts away that she is just as surprised because Troy's friends are looking amongst themselves and back at her. There's an awkward pause that ends with Wanda clearing her throat again and suggests to discuss further during their next history class. To her surprise, Troy agrees just as easily.

Wanda wants to sway on her feet, knees weak already from stress and fear.

Their little meeting ends with her nodding and leaves. She's more surprised than shocked from his answer and can barely contain the wide smile that threatens to show when she turns her back.

. . .
. . .

Clarice Wilhelm is one of the most popular girls in school, and she'd like to keep it that way.

Known for her "flawless" hair and fashionable clothes, she is also pretty and attracted all the attention directed at her. She's ideal the girl that she wants all the others to envy and the boys to want. And surprisingly, it's never that hard for her to do.

She has her parents drive her to school in their sports car and they never get out to walk her in and therefore embarrass her. She always smells enticing—like flowers, or peaches, they say—and the nerds can't not let her copy their work that she never wants to do.

So she can't understand why, or more likely how, that weirdo Maximoff is going to pair with Troy Baxter during Spirit Week. An entire week! That girl—Wanda Maximoff—she's so weird and it's so uncommon for someone like Troy to agree!

'What does he even see in her?!' Clarice wonders.

She didn't like him, no, not like that. Besides, she has the three guys she's keeping around until she decides which se wants, all wrapped around her skinny finger, and then not to mention that boy, Thomas. She knew Thomas had a crush on her years ago, and like so many others, but he has liked her since fifth grade and Clarice has, personally, never reciprocated those feelings. She hadn't liked him—still doesn't, in that way—but that isn't going to stop her from sucking up to him and acting like she does to manipulate him to her bidding.

Several years ago—three years to be exact—she convinced the poor brute that he would be able to be a part of the popular crowd if he only get rid of the other two slackers he called friends. One, Clarice knew was smarter than he let on and hoped he'd go on to being one of the nerds, but the other one...she had to conduct a plan to make sure the second wouldn't want to mend bonds.

She made Thomas humiliate his best friend.

LAUGH

POINT

TAUNT

CROWD

Well, to Clarcie, it had all been worth it, and she had gotten a front seat to watch. Now that little silver-haired dweeb is where he belongs: in the background with the other outcasts. Because Thomas is way too pretty and too delicious-looking to be hanging around someone as flat as that. Well, this is all in Clarice's opinion. And the fact that puberty is doing Thomas very well.

But still she wants more, more, more. More attention, more longing and gazes, more bending backwards for her will. She has to have all eyes on her and she hadn't liked what that Maximoff girl had done. Now when Clarice attends the school's basketball games, Troy Baxter wouldn't come over to talk to her, put his arm around her. Instead, he'd probably go to that bitch, Wanda.

The news about Troy arrived the day after it happened, and obviously, Clarice isn't taking to it very well.

In fact, she almost fumes at the thought. She glares at the back of that red jacket's throughout English and Writing class, and since they had assigned seats, had ignored her three friends questions alright. She is annoyed, and a bit more confused. It doesn't ease by lunchtime and her food is barely touched.

Why did he say yes? And from the story told, his friends hadn't objected either. And Clarice just can't understand why.

Mackenzie sits across from her, eating little of her lunch until finally choosing to stop her friend from shooting dangers. "Clarice," Mckenzie chews the bite of her iceberg salad, calls to the short-haired blonde but gets no response. "Hey, Clarice!" she yells and snaps the other out of her daze.

Clarice quickly recollects herself, blinking in response. As due to her queen bee status, there is no way she can ever appear ruffled or out of place—the taunting that would come from that would be an avalanche. She has to always be perfect.

"What's with you?" Mckenzie asks, stabbing at her salad. "You've been bothered all day. What's up?"

Mckenzie sits beside the blonde at the lunch table, always. The numerous others at their table are into their own separate conversations. Clarice considers if whether now is a time to tell, or if she should even tell at all.

Clarice is the popular girl that could have socially everything she could want

So she should be able to handle some quiet wannabe

"Some wise guy getting on your nerves again?" Mckenzie chuckles, swallowing down the last of her salad. She begins going after her fish sticks next.

It's a funny question because they, both girls, could start a rumor and it could get rid of their problems in a couple weeks, spreading across the school in record time and determining yhe rumor, could boost that whom is the subject or completely corrupt their social identity and life.

Their main powers are words and taunting

PERSUASION

"Something like that," Clarice muses, still unsure whether to reveal all her thoughts or not. She can't have anything come back to bite.

Looking around, she can't see that damn red jacket anywhere here in the lunchroom, and she suspects that what's-her-face Maximoff must be elsewhere on campus, though hopefully far from Clarice's perimeter. Either way, the blonde is glad because she just isn't here.

Clarice bites into one of her curly fries and decides to tell. "There's this weirdo wannabe that's really been on my nerves—-"

"You too! Oh my god," Mckenzie throws her hands up in relief and Clarice's brows furrow in confusion. "I've got the same problem! And let me tell you, it the most annoying thing!"

"Really?" A small smile plays on the blonde's features. She doesn't reveal that this too she already knows.

"Clarice—yes! I don't know how I'm going to get out of this one. I think I might have to actually go with him—I mean I already said yes, but I think I might actually have to go with this dweeb to get him off my back."

Clarice shakes her head, making a pitying click with her tongue.

"You'd be surprised at how difficult these little idiots can be, my god," Mckenzie adds with an eye roll.

"One of them got Troy Baxter. I think he's really going to Spirit Week with her."

Mckenzie places down the water bottle that had been raised to her lips. "Who?" Her eyes widen, ever the gossiper.

"That girl. Whatever-her-name-is. Red jacket. In our English class—you know. I think her name's Wanda. Remember we saw her coming out the bathroom when the pipes busted?"

Mckenzie shakes her head. That the name doesn't ring a bell.

"She's the girl who was leaking period blood through her pants in Fitzgerald's science class."

Mckenzie finally snaps at attention, remembering hearing about it. "Wow, that must have been embarrassing," she snickers.

"I know. I'd just die if that happened to me."

Mckenzie catches sight of Troy at his table off to the left. He and other boys are talking, Troy with one leg up on the seat. "No. I mean how embarrassing because I don't think Troy actually likes her. At least, not really."

"Of course he doesn't." But still, there's a spark of uncertainty in Clarice.

They really are the only ones in their own little bubble at their table.

"I don't think he's really that into her."

Clarice asks if that assumption just clicked. "You mean he's using her?" It's spoken more as a correction.

"Of course. Or at least going to ditch her when Spirit Week comes. I mean, who would want to go with something like her? I'd leave her too."

Clarice smirks. Her best friend would undoubtedly do just that if ever in similar situation. Well, what else could she do? Mckenzie is still watching the aforementioned basketball player a few lunch tables away. This whole situation, this entire agreement he had made was a fluke, Clarice knows. It's all an illusion, another cruel joke, and she knows that there is no way Troy Baxter could like someone like basket case Wanda. Besides, Clarice wants all of that attention he could give.

She taps a manicured finger on the tabletop. Both girls don't speak for several minutes, just silently watching and planning.

Beside Clarice, a boy who had previously been in a heated argument cuts off and turns to the blonde beside him. His large arms snake around Clarice's waist to bring her against his side and his nose down to her collar. She smells sweet again, enticing, and hypnotizing, as if he'd so easily willingly do anything she asks. The blonde squeals in his arms, squirming as his stubble begins to tickle her neck.

He breaths deeply. "You smell like flowers," he smiles.

She giggles, out of breath, "it's all natural, babe."