C1-Villains

North-East Ohio. 2006.

I hop off from the schoolbus. As the post-dawn sun looms in the distance, and I feel the impact of the cold concrete sidewalk as my velcro-sneakers make contact. The first step to the mammoth vehicle's entrance still comes up to my waist, and driving this vehicle is an obnoxious, bitter woman.

I take one more whiff of the glue-reminiscent exhaust fumes as I begin my soujourn to my home room. Along the way, I see some kids in a circle facing inwards. I rubberneck for a half second to make out the partial outline of another child. From what I'm able to see, this kid doesn't appear to be hurt, and so I keep walking.

I cross through the eastern entrance and begin swiftly walking to my first period; weather. I never understood why we had so many varied classes among the core of Math, Language Arts, Social Studies, and Science. Least of all: Weather.

I round the bend and breach the secondary hallway where my classes are and quickly make my way to the locker in which I'm told to stash my backpack. It never made sense, we had to carry our books and binders from class to class anyway, so why weren't we allowed to use our backpacks?

Moving on, I join the rest of my homeroom and acquire my assigned seat. The teacher isn't in yet, and so my classmates are mainly scattered across the room. Some of them are playing with their quirks. One boy is folding paper without touching it, another girl is impressing her friends by drawing flowers in the air.

The teacher slides in on her cloud. It was always entertaining to me that Ms. Connolly had the ability to create and ride on small clouds and happened to choose teaching weather as a career.

Class begins as usual, she's droning on about air currents and lake-effect snow, and I'm within an inch of passing out. I hadn't slept well during the previous night. While I attempt to prop my chin on a water bottle, I hear a thunderclap.

"Robert! Obviously, you're one of those gifted children who can pay attention without looking at the person who's talking, aren't you?" she remarks for the class. However, still lost in my stupor I say with full confidence "Yes, Ma'am!"

Not expecting that answer, Ms. Connolly pauses for an instant and resumes the lesson.

The day progresses:

Weather

Math

Science

the Special Needs Class

Lunch

Social Studies

Recess

Language Arts

Botany

Gym

and we return to our homerooms to wait for our buses.

On my way out, I notice those kids again. They're walking together, almost in a formation. The leader was Ronnie, he's skinny and athletic. Lacrosse, I think. He was always so proud of his quirk; he could run around faster than anyone, although it was almost like a skip. His legs were able to fold out into something shaped like something between a piston and a rabbit's legs.

Whether in the hall or gym class, he'd be bounding around, and he'd throw that at anyone he could. Back and to his left was Chuck. Fittingly, Chuck, a stout blond boy, could throw any object he could pick up to over a quarter of a kilometer away. This was because of his oversized, gorilla-like arms. Finally, beside him was Michael, a real beanpole. His quirk was perhaps the least practical, but by far the most annoying.

He jaw was square but rounded at the corners like an old-fashioned radio microphone. He could repeat back any one thing that someone said perfectly, as long as he remembered it clearly.

These three were always going on and on about their quirks and admonishing anyone who had one that they considered inferior, or worse, anyone who was quirkless. Chuck would grab a person's bag, books, or even their lunch and always throw it perfectly towards Ronnie. Ronnie, an inconvenient distance away, would frolic around their current victim and persistently hold their goods just within reach but pull them away at the last instant.

Meanwhile, Michael would incessently repeat back the poor soul's pleas. "Stop that please, stop that please, stop that please." Finally, if the victim tried to strike him, the other two would trip them and toss their item in the trash or some distance away.

The worst part of this was: they would either get away with it or get a slap on the wrist in the few times they were consensus around the administration and the teachers was always something like "Boys Will Be Boys."

Unfortunately, today was my turn.

"Hey Jerkus! How's that quirk of yours?" Ronnie shouted as he'd finished his approach. "Hey Jerkus! Hey Jerkus! Hey Jerkus!" Repeated Michael. As I was distracted by the other two, I didn't notice Chuck sneak from behind me. Suddenly, my arms were wrenched backwards by the straps of my pack and I began to fall. Quickly, I caught myself and spun around as this was not the first time this had happened to me.

However, before I could snatch back my bag, Chuck had already pulled back his arm. "Hey Ronnie, go long!" He yelled as he absolutely hurled my backpack down the hall. Quickly, Ronnie raced passed it down the corridor, and with his best impression of a professional goalie, grabbed it out of the air with both of his hands.

"So how does it feel to not have a quirk?! "Chortled Michael."

"I do have a quirk!" I stated. "I took the test, I don't have the joint. Please let me go home" I pleaded.

"I do have a quirk, I do have a quirk!" repeated Michael.

As Michael mocked me, I held my ground and waited for Ronnie to return with my bag. I'd hoped that if I didn't try to reach for it long enough, they would get bored and leave to catch their bus.

Unfortunately, today they must've had a ride coming. We stood there for what seemed like ten minutes, or at least that's what the frequently inaccurate hall clock dictated. Realizing then that I would have to book it to catch my bus home, I finally stated "Ronnie, I need to get going, would ya please give me my backpack back?"

With a sneer, Ronnie put on a heavily sarcastic tone and said "Fine, Chuck, could you give the guy his bag?" With that, Ronnie handed my backpack to Chuck, who, as I reached for it, absolutely launched it toward the far end of the hall. *CLACK* uttered my books as the bag impacted on the door at the far end.

With a snarl of frustration, I began charging toward the doors to retrieve my backpack as my aggressors started in the other direction. "Later, Quirkless-loser!" Yelled Michael as he turned a corner behind me.

Putting in the hardest dash that I could muster, I managed to make it to my bag. I tried to grab it and kick off back in the direction I'd come, but I whiffed at that key instant and killed my momentum. In the process, I lost my footing and *PLAKK* fell painfully onto the tiled floor. I scrambled to get up and grab my bag. Once I was back on my feet, I started an athletic sprint toward the school's main foyer.

With the efficacy of a battering ram, I crashed into the bar that opened the door and broke out into the sunlight... Just as I saw my bus turning the corner onto the road at the far end of the parking lot.

"DARNIT!" I cried. Stomping my feet and kicking at the dust of the concrete curb. I resigned myself to my fate, and began walking home.