It wasn't exactly unusual for the residents of the Bayville Boarding House to cause chaos within the halls of Bayville High. There were more than a few teachers who would've vehemently claimed that it was commonplace.
What was unusual was for the group of individuals in question to be genuinely bewildered by the same chaos that they were causing.
Todd Tolensky was usually in trouble for throwing spitballs and, if some of the louder-screaming valleygirls were to be believed, eating flies. Lance Alvers could be blamed for harassment of weaker students from whom lunch money could be easily garnered. Pietro Maximoff was generally responsible for any and all forms of sexual harassment. Tabitha Smith raised all kinds of hell, particularly those that involved small explosive devices in bags and lockers. And though Fred Dukes rarely took an active hand in such foolery, by no means did he discourage the others from doing so.
It was some small mercy to the school that Pietro was absent on this particular morning; but nonetheless, it was memoriable in its own way.

----

Lance sighed and leaned back in his chair, pen grasped loosely in one hand. Mr. Walsh was blathering on about European Socialism. Lance didn't care. He wasn't European, he wasn't planning on becoming European, so who gave a shit? They could be Fascist Capitalist Anarchists for all he cared, and it still wouldn't change the fact that he needed sleep(1). He wouldn't have even taken the class if not for the fact that he needed it to avoid flunking.
Well, that and the fact that Kitty was in this class.
He sighed with relief as the bell rang, marking the end of the first period; immediately those around him began to close their books and rise from their seats. As Mr. Walsh headed for the door, mumbling something about homework, he closed his textbook, picked it up and turned to -
His pen was still in his hand.
Lance blinked at the pen. It was stuck to the palm of his hand as though with glue, despite the fact that he was exerting no effort whatsoever to hold it there. He shook his hand slightly and the pen stayed there.
"What the fuck?" he muttered. Putting his book back down, he grabbed the pen with his other hand, pulled it off - and it came off easily. No problem at all.
Except that now it was stuck to his other hand.
Again, he shook the pen, trying to dislodge it, but it stayed firmly where it was, unmoving. Suddenly, interrupting his struggle with the offending writing implement, thought that Todd or Pietro was playing a prank popped into his mind. Growling, he rose from his seat and brushed at the offending pen.
Next to him, Kitty blinked. "Lance? Uh, what are you doing?"
He held up his hand and the pen in question. "Some wiseass gave me a trick pen."
She pouted sympathetically. "Aaw. Is it glued on or something?"
"I think so."
Kitty paused for a moment, thinking; then she tore a sheet of blank paper out of the back of her book and grabbed his wrist. "Here, hold on a moment..."
Her hand protected by the sheet of paper, she grabbed the pen in his hand and tugged.
It remained stuck.
Frowning, Kitty grabbed his wrist in her other hand and yanked at the pen. It remained stuck. She blinked. "Lance, what the hell is wrong with this thing?"
"I'm betting Pietro had something to do with it. Or Todd."
"Like, ew. I am not getting involved in this if either of them..." her voice trailed off. "Lance?"
"What?"
"My hand is stuck."
Withdrawing her hand left the sheet of paper plastered over Lance's hand; her other hand was stuck firmly to his wrist. He pulled his wrist back, jerking her arm with it.
"Ow! Careful!"
"Son of a..." stepping back, Lance tripped over his chair. With a bellow, he fell over backwards, his feet jerking up; Kitty only managed to not be pulled back with him by phasing through his hand. As it was, she still stood there in shock as he spectacularly fell onto his ass, feet lashing out. One foot connected with his desk, which soared spectacularly into the air, grazed the ceiling, and crashed down in the centre of the thankfully empty room.

There was a moment of dead silence as they both stared at the effect of Lance's single, glancing, accidental kick. Then they looked at each other.
"What the hell was that?" Kitty asked.
Lance blinked and looked stupidly down at his hands. "My pen fell off," he answered her. "That's good, right?"
"I think so." Kitty stared at the desk. "That was one hell of a kick."
"Yeah."
"Lance, is this normal?"
Staggering to his feet, he shook his head. "Normal for you or me, or normal for a prank from one of those two jerkwads?"
"Ew." She shuddered. "Like, I am so happy I don't have to live with those two. Even Kurt knows better than to pull something like this in school."
"Trust me." Lance glared down at the offensive pen, lying on the floor. "By the time I'm done with 'em, they'll know better too."
Nodding, Kitty wrapped her arms around her books and stepped back. "Um, maybe you should pick that desk up? I, like, gotta get to Math..."
"Yeah, sure." Lance waved a hand at her. "Catch you later, Pretty-Kitty."

----

It was a part of the day that Todd loathed. Not that any part of the day was particularly interesting for him, except for maybe his graphic design classes. But they didn't count because the Art teacher made Mystique look downright motherly in comparison.
No, this was an even worse part of the day - walking from one class to the next, right after second period. And what made it worse was that it was at these times that he was vulnerable to attacks from the idiots of Bayville High.
"Tolensky!"
Case in point.

Turning, Todd saw Duncan Matthews and his loyal ass-rimmers, Greg and Simon. Dressed as ever in football jackets and jeans, they were advancing on him with a decidedly predatory look about them. For an instant Todd considered trying to walk away, but it was pointless. He was in a crowded hall with nowhere to run. Then he considered putting a gob of slime across Duncan's face and laughing as the jock suffocated to death, but he wasn't in the mood to be lynched by an angry mob today.
This was followed by the realisation that this was pretty much what was going to happen anyway, so he dealt with it in his usual manner - resignation.
"Whaddya want, Matthews?"
Duncan smirked. "Whoa, Tolensky. I could've sworn you didn't look happy to see me there."
"Imagine that. What is it, yo?"
"Well, you see..." Duncan shrugged. "I forgot my lunch money today."
"Huh."
"Yeah. And these guys forgot theirs too." At their cue, Greg and Simon looked suitably contrite; Duncan gave a nasty little grin. "So we were thinkin' that our good buddy Tolensky would be sure to lend us his to tide us through the day. Whaddya say, Tolensky?"
"Wastin' yer time, dawg."
Instantly Duncan stepped forward, standing over Todd. "Did you just refuse?"
Todd rolled his eyes. "I ain't even got lunch money or lunch. Even if I wanted to fork over summat, I ain't got nuthin'."
Greg narrowed his eyes. "So go get it. You're supposed to be some fucking great purse snatcher or something, ain'tcha? I bet you got a shitload of money you ain't sharing with us."
"I got nuthin'. You want money, go rob someone else, yo? I feel like shit."
Simon sneered at him. "Well that's good, Tolensky, 'cause you look like shit, and you smell like shit. So feelin' like shit just makes it perfect."
"Besides," Duncan reasoned. "We don't steal. That's what scrawny little pricks like you do. So we're askin' for you to give us some money, as a gift. That's reasonable, right?"
"Look, I gotta get going-"
Duncan slugged him in the shoulder.
Todd winced as he saw the blow coming. Usually this kind of impact would knock him against the lockers, he'd bang his head, his arm would be numb for ten minutes. And, yeah, he could've dodged it or blocked it, but Mystique had been very clear on this one - he wasn't supposed to know how to fight unless it was on Hood business. So all he could do was brace himself for the pain.
Which never came.

Both Todd and Duncan blinked in surprise as Duncan's fist bounced off Todd's shoulder with no visible effect. Todd felt the force of the blow rock him back a step, and he still cringed out of the expectation of pain - but that was all. No actual pain, no real feeling of being hit.
Of course this only served to make Duncan angry. Eyes narrowing, he grabbed Todd by the collar and pushed him against the wall. "You fucking holding out on me, Tolensky?"
Too surprised to be scared, Todd blinked. "Nope."
"You better not be."
Pulling Todd back slightly, he slammed him against the wall again, harder. Todd once more failed to react; Duncan swung back one leg and kicked him in the knee. With his boots, it should have dropped Todd to the floor with a bruise that would last a week; instead it was Duncan who hissed in pain and stepped back, his foot feeling like he'd just kicked a block of granite. Glaring furiously, he bunched one hand into a fist and slammed it into Todd's stomach before stepping back.
Todd had time to wonder why he wasn't gasping for breath and clutching his wounded leg before he saw Simon's fist rushing toward his face.

Everyone in the hall stopped at the sound of a cry of pain which almost - but not entirely - covered the brittle snap of a breaking bone. As one, they turned to see what had happened.
What they saw stunned everyone. Todd Tolensky, standing with his back to the lockers, surrounded by Duncan and his cronies - one of whom was holding a very obviously broken hand and dancing in pain as drops of blood dripped onto the floor.
"Fuck!" Simon roared. "Fuckitty fuckitty fuck! You little shit!"
Greg stared. "Dude, what the fuck just happened?"
"The little shit moved his head and I hit the lockers!"
But you didn't, Todd thought wildly. You hit me square in the fuckin' face. I oughta have my brains leakin' out my ears right now. Instead it don't even hurt and you got a broken hand.
"Is that so, Simon?" came a voice from behind them. Duncan and company froze, then turned to look at the coldly angry face of Principal Kelly. Everyone stood very still for a moment before Kelly shook his head and took Simon's good arm in one hand.
"Well, then," he said. "I'm sure you'd be happy to tell me the details of what happened - as well as what inspired you to attempt to attack a younger student in the first place - while we visit the nurse, hmm?"
The jocks opened their mouths to protest; a look from Kelly silenced them. Evidently there was going to be no favouritism today from the principal.
"Mr. Tolensky," Kelly said. "Aren't you expected in history now?"
Not trusting his voice, Todd nodded and raced off down the hall, pushing his way through the still-stunned spectators.
He wasn't hurt. Not even a little bit.
What the fuck is goin' on?

----

It was during the start of the fourth period that the earthquake happened.
As seismic activity in Bayville went, it was fairly unspectacular; no more than a minor tremor that quickly died down. A few people raised their heads, laughed a bit, and went about their business. In fact, only one person seemed seriously upset by the tremor.

"Fucking Lance," Tabitha muttered. "Always spoiling the mood."
"Huh?"
Sighing, Tabitha did her pants back up and stepped out of the chemistry closet. Her confused-looking partner came out after her, rearranging his own clothing. "What is it? Did the quake spook your or something?"
"Something like that." Tabitha straightened up her hair and sighed. "Sorry, honey. Gonna have to take a raincheck."
"What? How come?"
"I just remembered I gotta be somewhere."
"Huh? What, the earthquake reminded you that?"
Tabitha snorted. "Sweetie, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."
Blowing the unfortunate boy a kiss, she sashayed out of the Chem lab and into the hall.

As soon as she did, her expression changed from pouty sex-toy to angry bitch. She'd just been getting into things and Lance went and distracted her. The poor guy - she thought his name was Roger, but she wasn't sure - had been following her around with his tongue hanging out for days. And since she had nothing better to do, she'd obliged.
And then Lance triggers off a quake and spoils the mood.
It wasn't like she had this sort of trouble controlling her own powers. Sure, Lance claimed that his were extremely sensitive to his mood, which was his explanation for being such a grump all the time. But she was fairly sure that was a load of crap. In his position, she'd do better, she was sure of it.
Even so, Mudslide had managed to get pretty decent control over the past couple of months. So if he was firing up, it probably meant something bad was happening, and she had to go check it out.

Oh, and kick him in the balls for ruining a perfectly good quickie. Also that.

----

On the other side of the school, as the tremor hit, Fred was sitting under a tree and sighing. He always had this hour free on Friday mornings, and he usually took the opportunity to stock up on energy. If he didn't, he got weighted down by his bulk - one of the more unpleasant side-effects of his powers - and nearly went into a coma(2). Since he didn't appreciate people making jokes about someone his size passing out from hunger, he tried to keep his energy levels up.
To this end, he had a small fund that he always kept stocked up. Despite his mind not being the quickest around, he was pragmatic and logical, and surprisingly frugal to boot. This, combined with the fact that nobody in his right mind would try to steal from someone of Fred's size, anger, and fearsome reputation, left him with sufficient money to keep going when he needed it.

But now, looking down at the five Mars Bar wrappers on the ground next to him, he felt... odd. Almost too full, like he hadn't needed to eat them. Which was ridiculous, because he knew the way his body worked, and this was a part of his routine that he was always comfortable with.
Still, having eaten them, he felt like it hadn't been necessary. And now the extra sugar was making him twitchy and restless, which was such an alien sensation that he started to wonder what was wrong with him.
These thoughts stopped when he saw the sun glinting off the windshield of a car. Not a bad car, though not as nice as Lance's jeep. He liked that jeep, it could hold his weight just fine. And he guessed that he liked Lance, too, though the older boy really needed to unwind once in a while and just be a kid. Not that he'd ever tell that to Lance, even though Tabitha told him that a lot. But Tabitha was nice too, in her own way. She treated most guys like idiots and flirted with them, but not Freddy. He guessed that maybe he shoulda been insulted that she didn't flirt with him, but the payoff was that she actually talked to him, like he was the only guy she thought it was worth the effort to be friends with. Well, except the Fuzzbutt. But that was just weird, 'cause the Fuzzbutt was a freak. Todd and Lance hated the Fuzzbutt especially. And Freddy liked Todd, and he liked Lance too, because Lance had a nice jeep -
Whoa, he told himself, cutting off his line of thoughts. Calm down there. You're soundin' like Pie-Pie. He's always goin' on like he's got a bad case of ADD, Pie-Pie is. Heh, Pie. I like pie. Tasty. But I dunno if I want a pie now, 'cause I'm not that hungry, which is weird 'cause I'm always hungry. But after the candy I dunno if I wanna eat more. I'm feelin' too energetic, like I gotta burn it off or somethin'. Maybe I oughta crush somethin'...
Then he saw the basketball, rolling out from under a bush in response to the tremor.

Freddy didn't like basketball. Sure, he was big and tall, and if he blocked someone with the ball there was no way they were getting around him. But he was too big, and he didn't like running around playing sports all that much, and the other guys on the team made fun of him, which he hated. So he didn't like basketball.
But now, looking at that basketball, rolling across the court, he was almost hypnotised.
There was nobody around to make fun of him. If he was slow, nobody was going to laugh at him. He could do whatever he wanted. He had all the time in the world, and he wanted to do something...
He was standing on the courts holding the basketball before he really knew what was happening. For a second he blinked, wondering how he'd gotten there so quick, and then decided it didn't matter.
He could worry about stupid things like that later. At the moment, Freddy wanted to play basketball. He wanted to play basketball now.

Giggling a little, he lined up the hoop and took his first shot.

----

Covered by a blanked, lying on the couch, curled into the fetal position, Pietro trembled.

His clothes were burned. His hair was singed. His skin was reddened in some places, blackened by soot in others. Various parts of the Boarding House looked like crater impacts had occurred.

He was very scared. Tabitha had left bombs everywhere.

Dad hadn't answered his cellphone, Wanda was out of town, and he couldn't exactly call up school and demand that Tabs come home so he could yell at her. And every time he thought about running to school and catching her, more of the damn things appeared and blew the crap out of him.

So he just lay on the couch, trembling, hoping to God that someone would come home soon and take care of him.

He was very, very scared.

----

(1) Loosely quoted from Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
(2) A quite logical explanation for Fred's appetite inspired by the Nutter-Foxglove (NutGlove?) fic, Misfits.