I had been in the real world long enough to know how act like a typical high school male. So, after jumping over a barbed wire fence because I refused to pay the five-dollar admission fee into the football game, I let my acting skills go to work. And, damn, I was seeing an Oscar in the future. Then again, portraying a young adult male wasn't that hard. I would flaunt my deformed English, while spicing it up with some invented curse words that were all around not understandable; turn my head to the side, spit out something that should've been digested three months ago, while being proud of the meager distance I could make the large globule fly. But, most importantly, the key to being a true high school male was to walk with my cock leading the way.

On the other hand, females weren't much better than the asinine guys; the only thing I found an ordinary female good for was an occasional fuck or two. Even then, I'd tire as they would drone on about how utterly beautiful I was, and then wanted to talk all sentimental about "our love-making". It was a clean cut fuck. Nothing more.
God, I hated ordinary people.

Thank the Blue Lady I never was one.

The high school stadium, was, as Kyle had predicted, packed with every hick in a twenty-mile radius. On one side, the home team-a flurry of black and gold-swarmed into their massive silver stadium, screaming their hearts out while a bunch of insolent bandzies paraded stupidly on the field, killing time until the football team burst onto the scene. Anorexic cheerleaders squeaked out pathetic pep cheers that the caffeinated crowd ignored anyhow.

Across the large green football field, a smaller, more dilapidated bleacher packed with the rival team of blue and gold screamed out angry cat calls, impatient with the wait it took for the jocks to come stampeding onto the field. Finally, the band people marched down the field into two rows and stood at attention, letting their instruments glisten under the gigantic lights.

I leaned onto the fence that separated the stands on the home side from the field. Technically, an entire track for running wound itself around the field before fences made barriers, but nonetheless, I was apart from the main attraction. Resting my elbows on the fence, I bent over so that my ass stuck out to be admired by all. Anyone dared to slap it, though, they were going to be eating out of theirs.

Suddenly, the high school world exploded as the dinosaurs in football helmets rushed out onto the scenes grunting their school names and bellowing to one another. I smiled cynically to myself at their dumb wittedness, and tried to decide which one would die before the night was over. Eenie, Meenie, Minee, Mo. Catch a football jerk by his toe. If he hollers, kill him slow. Eenie, Meenie, Minee, Mo.

After several minutes of watching the idiots beat each other up, I turned away from the fence and began sauntering down a strip of sidewalk that led to the bathrooms. In the character I was playing, walking wasn't merely a physical action; it was an art. The shoulders had to be slightly twisted so that the individual blades were in an opposite motion to the feet. If I was stepping with my right foot, the right shoulder needed to be leaned backwards to a slight degree. A little lazy slouch was always appropriate as well along with the downcast eyes that were still able to observe everything. I resisted the urge to grin as I thought how damn good I was.

During my aimless cat-walking in which I looked for Kyle and Jack, I caught many a snippet of conversation that made me want to burst into hysteric laughs. Like I already said, ordinary people were just so damn ordinary.

"…well, Shaun says that he's, like, just at his cousin's for the weekend, but I really think he's, like, with that other chick…"

"…what did you get on that Geometry exam? I think I must have failed it, it was so hard!…"

"…and I go by the screen-name of Pixel and write all these stories on the Internet for this TV show…"

"…me and Cassie? Yeah, I told her we 'were just going out as friends', but after tonight? Oh man…"

"…have you seen Jack? I think he must have, like, twisted his ankle or something 'cause I saw him limping or something towards the bathhouse…"

Instantly, I stopped in my tracks, whipping around to watch the two cheerleaders as they sashayed by me. Jack? Kyle's Jack? Quickly, I glanced around, searching for the bathrooms, and found them to be up the tiny hill that was around the back of the football field. Hurriedly, without trying to be too noticeable, I trotted towards them.

Inside the ill lit bathroom, I found a typical set up of cracked urinals, a few individual stalls that offered little, if any, privacy, and a row of dirty sinks. I glanced around the room, listening for any suspicious noise, and when I had found none, I went over to one of the urinals, and unzipped my pants. Just as I was ready to take a piss, I heard a low sniffing sound coming from the closed door of the stalls. Keeping one hand below my belt so that I could finish my business, I leaned backward slightly, trying to peer around the separations of the individual stations. With my precise eyesight, I caught the white cleats of a football jock huddling next to the toilet. Sighing heavily, because I was sick of having to baby-sit second-rate people, I zipped up my black pants and went over the door.

I knocked three times in a quick, rapid motion before the stall opened and out sauntered a football jock, wiping at his nose, trying to hide the fact he had been crying. Yet, I wasn't an idiot-and the only other thing bloodshot eyes were caused from were drugs, so I assumed that this boy had been sniveling like a big pussyfooted baby.

"It's yours if you want it," he said to me, barely making eye contact. He limped heavily over to the sink, where he clasped the white sides in tanned fists, studying himself in the mirror as I inspected him from behind.

He was a little bit shorter than I was, but not by much, considering that I also was a few years older than he-and light-years ahead in finely tuned genetics. His mop of neatly buzzed hair was a pale shade between dishwater blond and all-out Californian surfer bleached blond, of which I couldn't be sure either way because of the dirt and grass smeared into it. There were matching green streaks up and down his large, muscular arms that were annunciated from his years of training for jock kingdom. The nose, upon which a thin strap of bandage rested, was highly defined and caused a dark shadow to trickle down the rest of his angular face. His face was angular, harsh and jagged, prone to looking more at ease in apprehension and turmoil than in happiness. But, in the bleak lighting, what grabbed me most of all was the number seventeen on the back of his jersey.

Jack.

I had found him at last.

Jack glanced at me from behind and then back to the mirror, "Look, man, do you want something or not?"

"You Jack?" I asked, rapidly adjusting to the modern slang of the high school world.

"Yeah. What 'bout it?"

"Didja know your dad's 'ere?"

Jack turned around rapidly, his eyes burning with both fury and questioning. He approached me, but safely kept his distance. Like a typical sportsman god, he believed that he was invincible, and that none could stop him. I, though, was about to change all that.

"Kyle's here?" he asked, his voice dropping a decibel as if he was afraid we were going to be heard.

"Yeah man," I replied as I leaned against one of the shortened walls that divided the different urinal areas. "He came to see ya."

"Bull-shit," Jack hissed and turned away.

"You enjoyin' football?"

"What? Wait, who the hell are you?"

"Call me a friend, if you will."

Jack snorted and rested his hands on his hips. I quickly scanned his body over and noticed the swelling ankle on his right leg. So, he wasn't quite as strong as he perceived himself to be.

"Looks like you got banged up pretty bad," I continued, forcing myself not to laugh with impish delight that he was unknowingly falling right into my hands. He should have left when he had the chance. He never would now.

"Not that bad," Jack countered, his dark eyebrows scrunching together on the bridge of his nose. "I'm going back in third quarter."

"And if you don't?"

"What do you mean, 'if I don't'?"

"Exactly that. What if the coach finds somebody to replace you because you're not quite fast enough or swift enough with that bum ankle? You lose a position, you could lose some scholarships."

"I doubt it…I-I'm team captain!" Jack sputtered with childish fury, crumbling before my very eyes. At first I had been slightly opposed to the idea of him joining me because of his high social status. Now, I realized he was just as manipulative as any other human that I had taken control of. Take away all his shoulder pads, cleats, jerseys, and jockstraps, and I would be left with nothing but a loner who snivels on the inside. He would be mentally-and physically-extinct by the time I was through with him. My brother's death would not be in vain. The anomalies would not eat my brother's flesh merely because a seizure cost him his life. This modern Jack would see to that.

"Team captains can be replaced-can't they?" I asked, pushing him more than I probably should have. But, I knew how to play my cards well. If I pushed too much, a couple of swaggering smiles, and fake grins would do the trick.

"But-I-it doesn't…what are you saying I should do?"

"I can help you. I know someone who can make you stronger, make you better than what you really are," I told him, finally reverting back to my regular English instead of the horrendous slang I had recently adapted.

"Who?"

"Call her the Blue Lady."

"The Blue Lady?" Jack scoffed, obviously disbelieving. "What are you? Some voodoo pot head?" He snorted and began to walk out the door. "Whatever man."

In a flash, I was standing in the doorway, blocking his exit like a dark monster, while I relished in the stunned expression that overtook his delectable face. "You were saying?" I asked, casting a fiendish grin in his direction, even though I owed my speed mainly to good genetics-something that he would not have-and the luck of the Blue Lady.

He nodded blankly, swallowing his Adam's Apple, which had undoubtedly risen in the back of his throat. "I believe you."

"Good," I smirked. "Be here. After the game. We start at midnight."