Me: Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd we're on!
Jet: This is fan fiction, not a radio station.
Me: (blinks.) That was pathetic, even for you. Are you feeling all right?
Jet: (twitches)
Me: Jet?
Jet: (through teeth) Yes, I am perfectly fine.
Me: Good. I'm glad. (shrugs)
SHOUT-OUTS
malciah: Oh, oops. You mean there are STILL people I haven't given this theory to yet? Well, I'll put it at the bottom of the chapter, so scroll down and finally learn the truth about these innocent looking items... (Also, this chapter will be much longer.)
Mareo and Anime: Hmm, it seems I'm getting behind on my task of revealing ceiling tiles for their true purpose. Well, it's at the end, so scroll down and you'll see.
Jet: (mutters) Maybe I should get some of my fellow muses to start a protest or something. I've run into at least three others who understand how badly muses are lacking in rights...
a dragons wings: Hello and thanks! Neither of them got the room; the family uses it for food storage. (It's very vogue in Utah right now; my family has enough emergency food to last us three months of feasting.)
My PenName is...: Thanks.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own X-men Evolution or M&M's. Oh, the fun I could have if I did...
"What?" I sat up, all traces of exhaustion suddenly gone. "You're kidding me! You've seen it?"
"I think so. It looks a little different in daylight; and there weren't any people in white chemical suits running around it, but I'm pretty sure that's the one."
"Where is it?"
"On the other side of
town. I don't go there often; it's got a lot of gang activity and drugs
and stuff." There was a pause, then I spoke.
"We're gonna have to check it out."
"What?" Sydney asked. Apparently she hadn't thought it out that far.
"How else are we supposed to know what the ghost guy's trying to tell us? Or why the people are following us around?"
"Jen, think. The ghost is trying to tell us that we're in danger. That probably means that we shouldn't be going there."
"We don't know that that's what he was saying." I said, though I knew she was probably right. "Besides, what else can we do? If there are people who are endangering us, we don't know who, or why, or what to do about it. We have two options; be increasingly paranoid, or take the offensive." I thought I heard a gulp.
"But if they're watching us," Sydney said, "Then they'll know we're there."
I was about to say something like, 'where's your sense of adventure,' but I decided that peer pressure wasn't nice, and Sydney was quite probably right.
"It's okay if you don't want to go," I said, feeling painfully my lack of tact, "That's probably the right thing to do. But if people are watching me, and there is a ghost giving me nightmares, then I'm just not built to sit around and wait for them to do something. Besides, if you don't go, then maybe you can cover for me and make them think I'm at your house or something."
"Oh, no. If you're going then I am. I don't know what's happening, but we seem to be in this together. So, will you come over this afternoon."
"If I can, which is most likely." I said. Suddenly I heard a scream.
"What was that?" Sydney asked. "Is someone screaming."
"Yep." I replied. "Something about dragon bunnies. I guess someone else is having nightmares." I gave a nervous chuckle. "Well, see you at school."
"Good bye." Sydney said, and I hung up.
I then paused to consider the situation. It suddenly struck me as how ridiculous this was. A few nightmares, some coincidences, and suddenly we were being haunted and watched. Going back to my room, I reasoned that the only reason the idea had made sense was because I was exhausted and sleep-deprived. I mean, it was perhaps possible; stranger things had happened. (Of which I was living proof.) But was it really that believable?
However, it was kind of exciting. I'd still check it out, and I decided not to mention my doubts to Sydney. Besides, now I had some entertainment to fill the time until school started.
What could come in handy for this kind of thing? I surveyed my room, then in a side pocket of my back pack I put a flashlight, sunglasses, a tie-dye hair scrunchie, some M&M's, and a funky thing called a 'q-baton.' (Not sure how to spell that.) It's a wooden carved stick on a key-chain with a slightly pointed end; it could be used to whack knuckles or poke people, and had become forbidden to bring to my old school after an interesting gang fight.
I also changed into a white-gray tie-dye shirt that's less conspicuous then most of my wardrobe, and rather than sneakers I wore some knee-high lace-up boots my Aunt had given me for Christmas. I wasn't sure if any of that would be at all useful, but it was better than nothing. And it made me feel cool.
School was it's usual level of tedium, though someone did set fire to the girl's bathroom during fourth period. From the reactions of the student body, I gathered that this was not an uncommon occurance.
I met up with Sydney during lunch, and during guitar, to plot our move. We had decided to first go to Sydney's house, then we would sneak out the back and try to find an un-surveillanced route to the weird building; so when the school bell rang we practically ran to our lockers to get what we needed for homework.
When we got to Sydney's house, she muttered to me through the side of her mouth,
"There, next to the rose trellis at the neighbor's house. He's pretending to tie his shoelace, but I saw him stop, and they weren't untied."
I blinked at her, then shrugged. That was weird. The conclusion I'd reached this morning, that we were just paranoid, was suddenly a bit less convincing; the man seemed to be having troubles with remembering how to tie a bow.
We stepped inside, and Sydney said,
"We'd better just hang out and do homework for a while, to put them off guard."
So we did, and almost immediately agreed that the Math teacher needed a hobby that didn't include the torture of innocent students. Sydney had got off a little because she was a teacher's-pet-know-it-all today, but dragging our way through eighty problems was not pleasant.
Before long, I found Sydney bombarding me with questions about life at the Institute. Luckily I didn't have to lie about being mutants or anything; she was asking about the male occupants of the household.
"Really," Sydney said, "It's unfair. Most of the good looking guys in the school are in the same building as you, and most of them even have accents."
"Um." I said. Honestly, I hadn't actually noticed. Well, I'd noticed the accents, but not the way she had.
"I don't know how you can be so apathetic about it; there's Evan, and Sam, and Bobby, and Ray, and Roberto-"At that point I lost it, and started laughing.
"What?" Sydney asked.
"For one thing, I must wonder at who you think is cute. I mean, Ray looks like he has orange feathers glued to his forehead or something! And then you envy me the company of some of these people? You have never met a guy more annoying than Roberto, I can say. And his fan club is down right alarming!" I told Sydney about a girl who, that weekend, had climbed up the Institute wall, through a window, then stole a pair of heart-covered boxers from his room. She then got caught exclaiming over his toothbrush very loudly and excitedly, and took a photograph of Roberto before she left. He had seemed pleased and amused, rather than embarrassed.
"You don't seem to like him very much." Sydney observed.
"Not really. He's very argumentative, kind of hostile, and excruciatingly arrogant. We don't get along well at all; we're officially forbidden to sit within speaking range!"
"Hm." Sydney said. I shot her a look.
"What?"
"Do you think it's safe to leave now?"
"I dunno." I replied. "I suppose it's worth a try. How are we going to get past whoever's supposed to be watching us?"
"We hop the fence to the house behind mine. There's no one home there right now, so they won't mind. We head that direction for a while, then we go to the place."
"You seem to have this planned pretty well. What if they're watching the backyard, too?"
"I didn't think of that." Sydney muttered. "Well, if they're that thorough then we don't really stand a chance, do we?"
"Granted. Well, let's get started." I put down my textbook, and offered Sydney some M&M's.
"I thought you said to get started." She said with a sniff, though she took the M&M's.
"I'm providing energy, so we can endure this... dangerous mission." I explained, then we went to her backyard.
Her backyard reminded me of Sydney's room. It was empty of everything except grass, and even that was beginning to brown. It looked dead and desolate; I shivered slightly, and was the first to go over the fence. Sydney's house didn't seem like a very happy place; maybe there was a reason she acted different every day.
I reflected that my haste was not wise, as I landed in a heap in front of a growling Doberman.
Okay, here it is.
UNIVERSAL CEILING TILE CONSPIRACY FACT
(Do not read this in a room where ceiling tiles are present, for your safety and for mine)
Ceiling
tiles may look innocent, but there is something deep and dark about
them. As a hyperactive, easily bored student at a school where ceiling
tiles are common but ignored, I have observed them frequently. Most
people think that they just cover up the components of the ceiling, but
this is false. There are clues; for example, you would think someone
would make these things impervious to water stains. It can't be that
hard; yet it seems people are afraid to tamper with their design. And
how many teachers have asked daydreaming students to desist in
'counting holes in the ceiling'? Most were obviously doing no such
thing; one must infer that teachers want to bring attention away from
the ceiling tiles, suggesting that they are in on the plot. Also, once
in gym class during a volley ball game, a girl who was fooling around
and getting yelled at by the teacher was nearly hit by a falling
ceiling tile. They then made us play volley ball outside for the rest
of the week.
What am I suggesting? That ceiling tiles are intelligent. Not sentient; more like robots, all connected to a Mother Ceiling Tile, like ants. They brainwash intelligent students into becoming teacher's pets, who will then be forced into becoming guinea pigs for government experiments in order to get extra credit. These experiments are geared towards making more intelligent ceiling tiles, which will be used as surveillance in people's homes, and to invade foreign countries. Yes, these innocent pieces of plaster may not be so innocent after all.
Jet: That was possibly the stupidest thing you've written yet.
Me: Shh, there's ceiling tiles in the bathroom across the hall. They'll hear you.
Jet: Unless, of course, you want to convince them you're not a threat?
Me: Aha. (shakes a finger.) You caught on to my plan.
Jet: Something like that.
Me: Anyway, please leave a review!