Chapter 1:
Ana-James Edwards loved thunderstorms.
She always had, from infancy she had been calmed by the chaos of the storm. Once she was old enough to move independently she could be found sitting cross legged and staring slack jawed at the horizon
as the thunder rolled along.
Ana-James Edwards loved thunderstorms. They comforted her when little else could or would.
Which is why she watched the current raging storm
with sharp hazel eyes as rain drops were pelted with soft thuds against the window as winds exert enough force on each droplet to force them sideways.
She chose one near the top that had splattered with three small splashes and deemed it Tesla, placing her calloused right index finger on the cool glass over its oblong form. Her hazel eyes and her finger tracked the droplet as it made its way through its brethren to join the collection of droplets on the windowsill. The biggest collection of droplets was sitting adjacent to her left knee which she had rested on the window sill.
The thirteen other droplets she had named and tracked had already been folded into the collection. Only one, Newton, had somehow managed to stick himself to the right side of the window deflecting its brethren. Sitting near the bottom inches away from its kin but still standing strong. Her left finger crossed her stomach to rest against it, just in case it also began showing movement.
She focused so heavily on the droplets so that she could almost ignore the whipping wind, crashing thunder, and flashes of lightning outside. For though she looked out a familiar comforting chaos at times all she could see was one she didn't take comfort in.
Instead of a stretch of green astroturf contained between old brick architecture all she could see was the silhouette of a city skyline.
Intead of the select few people braved this weather, all she saw were the spastic movements of panicked people running in all directions as they struggled to get to safety.
Instead of the sounds of crucial conversation around her, that she was making a point to ignore, her mind only registered long gone screams as a city panicked.
That is if she broke her focus for long enough to focus on anything beyond the slowly falling rain droplet.
Tesla was about a quarter way down the window pane when there was a sharp low sound from behind that startled Ana's concentration and had her snapping her head at the other occupants in the room.
The pointed angry glare she originally leveled at the person who interrupted her concentration was replaced by a brief flash of regret then indifference. Because this was not a loud noise used by one of her lab partners to scare her into making an error. Rather a ploy used by one of the many adults around her to pull her attention to the crucial meeting that had been going on around her for the past forty five minutes. The meeting she was pointedly ignoring by staring at the raindrops.
Dean O'Keefe sat behind his large desk, the muscles that would constrict his eyebrows, if he had any, pinched as he ran a heavy hand through his closed eyes and down his large flat nose. His black tie (that traditionally was pushed up to his collar with a double windsor knot was loosened and the top button of his Oxford) lay against. His heavy gray coat was discarded to lay on the desk and his waist coat opened. Showing that the past forty five minutes had not been great for him. He had a dark complexion so general skin discoloration was not a good indication of his mood. Though Ana would guess it fell anywhere between frustrated and angry.
The three Mr. Lithgow's which consisted of Senior, Junior, and III, were all displaying different forms of rage. Senior was red faced and spitting with each syllable. It was easy to deduce that he was the one who had made the sound to pull Ana back into the meeting by slamming a bony hand onto the desktop in front of him. Junior was white knuckled as he gripped the back of his son's chair and glared at the Dean as if his silent judgment would make all the difference. III was slumped in the large brown leather chair looking down at his hands and flexing the bruised knuckles every other breath, no doubt winding up to use them once more.
Dr. Wallace, the only other female in the room, was in the other leather chair. Despite the fact she was, no doubt, just as exhausted by this meeting as Dean O'Keefe, she had yet to devolve in the same way the others had. Her frustration was seen only through a series of small shifts in her chair and a switch of which hand was grasped by the wrist. As well as the pinch in her brow that was covered well by her thick pink glitter cat eyed framed glasses. A small shift of her gaudy tweed skirt against the leather was also a clear indication of her exhausted frustration.
Then there was the hand that rested on her ankle and the teen it belonged to. Harry Osborn was not sitting, having chosen instead to lerk in the background and pace the spacious office as the conversation progressed. He too was frustrated. Carrying his anger with the tension he held in his shoulders, the redness in his hands from his nails digging into his palm, and the tap of his oxfords against the carpeted ground. The general state of his hair was another clue, his dark brown tresses having fallen from its manufactured state of I woke up like this to a state that can only be reached by a constant run of hands through hair (which observation stated Osborn only did when angry).
The noise came from the far side of the room. More than likely from the red faced spit spewing Lithgow Senior who was screaming and throwing his arms around as if theatrics would better help his case. Suddenly the man's unnaturally large unsettling electric blue eyes noticed that Ana had engaged in the conversation.
He took his discovery as an opportunity to advance on her, stopping over with all the speed his walking cane would allow and wagging his left pointer finger out as if to shame her like a domesticated animal. Harry moved first sliding down to block Ana from the incoming man. But Dean O'Keefe was not far behind slamming his hands on the desk .
"Mr. Lithgow, contain your temper or be removed." he began calling for a cease fire as he brushed his hands down his upper thighs and sat back in his chair. He then leveled Lithgow Senior with a heavy glare that would have had smarter men cowering slightly.
"I am sorry for my fathers behavior Dean O'Keefe, but you must understand." He said and Ana closed her eyes at the sentiment to resist the urge to roll them where others could see. She often found people who said you must understand to be the same ones who did not understand what it was they were urging others to.
Lithgow's Juniors continued sentence provided more data for her hypothesis. "We are concerned for Guiseppe's safety." Ana felt her body jolt with a slightly contained snort. She bit her bottom lip and curled her nails into her ankles to fight the urge to burst into a more visible form of laughter. Apparently Osborn found the statement equally outrageous but did not feel the need to temper his laughter like Ana.
"And clearly the pair show no remorse." Lithgow Junior pulled one hand from his son to rest it against his fathers shoulder and pushed down slightly to restrain him. It was not the case that Ana found Lithgow's statement humorous due to a lack of remorse, though if she were completely honest remorse was something she did not feel. But rather the fact that if a betting person were given the fight statistics they would no doubt put their money on Guiseppe Lithgow the Third and call it easy money.
Which it would be seen as Guiseppe Lithgow the Third was a mountain among teenage boys. Standing six foot and four inches and adorned with muscles that came from both playing defensive tackle on the gridiron and being one of the best wrestlers in the conference.
Meanwhile Harry Osborn had recently broken six feet in height but held the elongated limbs and proportions of a boy who was not yet comfortable in his own skin. If the gossip that followed the Oscorp heir was to be believed the boy was not unfamiliar to hallway brawls. But punching a few jocks in Midtown did not mean he was in no way a for the formal and informal training of his opponent.
As for Ana, well Ana still stood under four feet when adorned with the kitten heels required by the school uniform. To make matters worse she was slim with little to no muscle mass. The belief that Osborn or Ana had the physical ability to have injured Lithgow in the span of the fifty seven seconds the fight lasted was a bit comical.
The Dean pulled the attention back to himself with the ease of a man who had spent many a year calming angry parents and disciplining unruly teens.
"We have a no tolerance fighting policy," and that was funny as well, seeing as many students at the school fought with no worry for reprimand. He went on to explain how it was through this policy his hands were tied. That he was powerless to use his judgment to make a call. Though Ana knew it wasn't lack of power but lack of interest in getting involved that had him laying out a blanket punishment. The Osborn's and Lithgow's were both too powerful for the school to lose. Their pockets ran too deep.
And Ana herself, well that was a different matter altogether.
"Two days suspension," The Dean said, "generally it would be three but with the upcoming holiday break we thought it was best if everyone started fresh after Thanksgiving." The Lithgow's grumbled but dismissed themselves without outright argument.
Osborn moved to do the same but paused at the door once he opened it, motioning for Ana to join him. It was yet another show of comrade that she questions. Considering that Osborn had been at the school since last spring and had never once spared Ana a glance before yesterday afternoon.
"Please shut the door behind you Mr. Osborn." Dean O'Keefe said with a wave of his hand. Harry did not move instead he shifted so he could better look at Ana.
"Kid?" He asked, his voice holding the promise to remove her from the room if she did not wish to stay. It wasn't a promise he could make good on but Ana appreciated the sentiment nevertheless.
She didn't wish to stay, that is. She wanted to leave the room with the bitten smile of Lithgow or the practiced ease of Osborn but she couldn't.
She decidedly did not meet his gaze and shook her head. Knowing that the Dean would have more to sit before she was permitted to leave. A loud crash of thunder had her eyes tracking back to her window. She wondered if the Dean would allow her this distraction.
He wouldn't, she knew that because Dean O'Keefe was worried about more than her fighting and as such would not be satisfied with leaving the conversation there.
So she rolled her shoulders back, attempted to take in a deep breath that skipped in her throat. Met the deep wood door frame next to the striking gray eyes of Osborn and nodded.
Osborn looked as if he may protest but in the end, O'keefe is impatient so he nods and allows the heavy door to close behind him.
And with it, her chance to get out of the coming conversation.