I checked my stats, and a few people have read my story, but I don't have a lot of reviews:( I have the next chapter written, but if no-one reviews, I just won't update it. I know it's not great (it's my first fanfic after all) but reviews are HUGELY appreciated, really!

Chapter 4: Crash

We walked and talked for what seemed to me a few minutes, which turned out to be almost 45 minutes when I checked my watch. It was weird, but I felt comfortable talking to him. Still a little intimidated, but comfortable. And also… there was always that weird little feeling of butterflies… I pushed the idea of having a crush on Warren to the back of my mind, but it would randomly surface again for silly little reasons, like when Warren and I held eye contact… then the butterflies in my stomach were more like rabid bats.

"Oops, I was supposed to be taking you home, wasn't I?" Warren said, looking around.

"Yeah… I guess we got a little distracted," I smiled.

"Well, we're near where Layla and Will live, which as about 10, 15 minutes from where you live," he told me. "It'll be quicker if we fly though…"

Fly? Warren can't fly, I thought as I took my jacket off. There was a familiar itching-burning sensation in my shoulder blades, and I could feel my skin stretching as my wings pushed through it. The weird thing about my wings is that they grow. Each time they appear, they aren't actually unfolding or whatever, I'm growing them from scratch, which is why they go through my clothes- they actually grow through the fibres of my top, providing it's a natural material like cotton. It's disgusting I know, but it's convenient because unlike most winged people, I don't have to have special slits in the back of my top to allow them to unfold.

I turned to Warren, about to ask him how exactly he intended to fly, and saw him standing, burning up to his knees. As the flames around his legs grew stronger, he began to rise off the ground. Obviously seeing the look of surprise on my face, he flashed me a grin, which I knew was an almost unheard of occurrence. My stomach somersaulted as I flapped my huge leathery wings, rising off of the ground with him.

"It's just like Medulla's jet pack," he told me when I was closer. "Without the ridiculous flashing lights that he thinks look really cool."

I laughed, and followed him as he turned and sped off in the direction of my house.

We raced each other, speeding down the street as close to the ground as we could go without scraping against it (very painful, trust me, I've done it before), or higher up, dodging lamp posts and trees, running and jumping from roof to roof. There were laws against going any higher up than one storey above the roof of whatever building you happened to be above, because there were dangers of aeroplanes, helicopters, getting in the way of superheroes on their way to a crime scene, or being attacked by geese. (No really, I'm not kidding around)

About 5 minutes later, my driveway came into view. I pointed to it, and Warren nodded, and prepared to land. His landing was quite graceful, considering the speed we were going at. He stumbled forward a few steps when he hit the ground, before stopping and turning in time to see me totally fuck up my own landing. As the ground approached, I bent my legs like parachuters do, folding my wings. But my momentum carried my forward, so I ended up doing a sort of somersault, scraping my right arm along the ground as a skidded to a stop at Warren's feet.

"Shit!" I hissed as Warren bent down to help me. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to a standing position. He was actually quite strong for some-one who doesn't have super strength, which meant that as I was pulled to my feet, I was also pulled forward, so I was almost pressing against Warren, his eyes catching mine and holding them there. It was as if my stomach had dropped away, leaving an empty space where the rest of my internal organs had decided to play a violent game of football with my spleen. There seemed to be an electric current going through my arm from his fingertips, making my heart beat so fast I was vaguely surprised that I wasn't yet suffering from a stroke. His lips, only inches away from mine, breathed warm air onto my cold ones, my body automatically moving towards the source of warmth…

"You're bleeding…" he said, breaking the spell. "Your arm,"

I looked down at the bloody mess of blood, ripped skin and torn flesh, a souvenir from my spectacular crash. It looked really disgusting; the main part of the wound on my upper arm, with various other scratches and grazes all the way down to my hand. As soon as he mentioned it, the pain kicked in. I swore as slight breeze fluttered against my arm, making it sting so that tears formed behind my eyes.

"I need to go clean up," I told Warren, turning away.

Pulling my keys out, I strode towards the front door, trying to act as unaffected as I could, as I fumbled to fit the key in the lock with my left hand.

"Piece of shit," I hissed under my breath.

Suddenly, Warren was there, taking the keys from my hand, unlocking the door, and leading me inside. I walked into the kitchen, opening the cupboard where the first aid kit and medical supplies were, only to be ushered into a seat by the kitchen table, as he opened the medical kit and got some bandages out.

"Warren… if my parents see you here I'm going to be in deep shit," I told him.

"So how are you going to explain how you patched up your arm one-handed?" he asked.

"They're not going to know," I said. "I'm not exactly going to tell them, am I?"

"Some of those cuts are pretty deep," he said, taking the lid off of a bottle of purified water. Or maybe it was disinfectant water. "We need to disinfect them… hang on, this is going to hurt,"

He poured the water over my arm and I cried out in pain as it seeped into the deeper gashes.

"I'm sorry Rain," he said to me "I don't want to hurt you but it's got to be done." Once again he poured the water on my arm, and a muffled cry escaped my lips as I grabbed his shoulder with my left hand, blinking back the tears that were threatening to fall, my arm feeling like it was on fire.

Minutes later, Warren had finished tightening the bandages on my arm. They went all the way down to my hand, although I'd asked him not to. How was I going to explain the bandages to my parents? They had forbidden me from flying until I had learnt what my other powers were. (I was supposed to have quite a few since I was 5th generation super hero.) Also, Warren was probably the last person they wanted me associating with. My parents were strong believers in the fact that kids turn out like their parents, which is why they had relinquished their powers. My moms great grandma had had been the worlds first super villainess, and my grandfather from my dads side had died in jail when I was 7. I don't know why he was in there- my family never talks about my heritage.

If they knew Warren Peace, son of Baron Battle, had been in their house, they would totally screw.

Which is why, after offering Warren a drink I saw the car pulling up into my driveway, I panicked slightly. Without thinking, I rushed him up to my room, opened the window, and thanked him for taking me home and dealing with my arm.

"Here," he said, handing me one of his trademark fingerless gloves. "Wear it until your hand heals. It'll only take a few days. Your parents won't see the bandage."

And with that, he dived out of the window, flames erupting up around his jeans as he rose out of sight. I stared at the glove he had given me for a moment, before slipping it on. It was still warm from his hand, and for some reason the feel of the glove sent a shiver up my arm.

Standing in front of the mirror, I glared at my reflection. "You do not like Warren Peace," I told my self, then turned, sighing.

See, I don't do guys because it always gets screwed up. I know its going to get screwed up, so why bother in the first place?

And Warren Peace of all people? First of all, he is still totally hung up on that Brittany girl, no matter how much he denies it. And second of all, even if he wasn't, he is still pretty much the most unattainable guy in school. You would think it would be one of the popular guys, like Gunn, but no, it was Warren Peace, Sky High's resident bad-boy. And I had stupidly gone and fallen for him.

Bloody hell, it's only my second week here; I've gone and screwed myself over already!