Arcadia was completely different from Winslow, and not just in how it was built.
Where Winslow was basically one big building, Arcadia was two connected by a middle section. They had a proper gym and auditorium, the outside walls were clean of graffiti, they even had a surrounding wall blocking off most of the school.
Winslow had half a fence, broken down and never repaired.
With the two buildings connected by a smaller one in the middle, Arcadia looked like a capital H. The north side was larger and housed the auditorium, the south held the gym and the cafeteria; both still had plenty of space to fit classrooms however.
My placement testing had consisted of showing up on a weekend to the school with over a hundred others, all likely drawn from the Winslow pool of 'students likely to fit at Arcadia,' either through grades, or a lack of school discipline records. Even a few I'd pegged as fitting into the Empire groupings were there. We had been given a short tour to the gym to talk about what was going to happen, then were divvied up to a dozen per class.
No one had singled me out, in fact, no one had given me more than a glance. With the Winslow social circles broken up as they were, I wasn't alone in standing off to the side.
In the end, the testing had been exactly like any other standardized test; no cheating (obviously), if you need a break ask, same as using the restroom, work until you are done or until the time runs out, fill out answers neatly.
I had surprised myself in my placements. In most of my core classes (Math, History, English, etc), I had jumped up at least one level. A few others I was still at the same place that I was at Winslow, but at least the school was different. I didn't know if that was because I had ended up dropping a level at Winslow, if Arcadia had lowered their standards because Winslow, or if the PRT slotted me into better classes based on my past grades.
I hoped it was because of me, and not the PRT or anything else.
Still, once at school I found myself avoiding people, sticking to the sides of the halls, getting the chair furthest from the rest of everyone else. The problem with that was that I wasn't the only one; with the influx of new students taking place over the last few days/weeks, the school's environment was subdued, many were still testing the waters to see what would happen. So I had to contend with others doing the same thing.
It wasn't all bad however, the fact that the trio were gone, combined with hundreds of new faces meant I could ghost along.
Well, mostly.
I joined late into computers class, not surprising, I joined late to all of my classes, but Mr. Douglass seemed nice enough. The computers were far newer than Winslow's, and I was able to get my work done fairly quickly, having a good grasp on the subject already, not that it was hard this early into the year. I was just sitting there, wondering what I could do next without just going into the web, when the kid across from me got my attention.
The computers were set up on tables, four to each side, so it was easy for him to poke his head over and catch my eye with a "Psst."
Blue eyes stared back at me, white skin contrasting with his red hair. He was… attractive, in the, we're-teenagers-and-he's-not-ugly type of way; he wasn't that bad looking, nor did he do anything for me.
I blinked at him, wondering what he wanted. He took that as a sign to speak.
"At the desktop, click the folder with our room number. Then find the one for our class itself, under that is some files and sub-folders containing all the classwork and any homework. Mr. Douglas doesn't care what we do if our work is done, as long as we got some stuff done early that is and don't goof off all class."
My eyes flicked to my monitor and back again. The guy shrugged.
"Just make sure to send it in when you're finished with it, that way he can say that you aren't just wasting time in his class if he catches you on PHO." His wry grin was filled with experience.
Despite my hesitation and wariness, born from past experiences, common courtesy won out.
"Thanks."
"No problem," he replied and then moved to disappear back behind his screen, only to stop halfway.
A hand snaked between the computers, offering.
"Dennis."
I could name several reasons as to why I shouldn't take his hand, but several more on why I should.
"Taylor."
His grip was steady, but not too strong. He didn't have many imperfections on his hand, but it was calloused from some type of work.
"Winslow?" He asked as we separated.
'Isn't it obvious?' I thought, but said, "Yeah."
Dennis hummed. "Well, in any case, welcome to Arcadia."
Then he disappeared back behind his monitor. Other than that one interaction, I didn't really speak to anyone. There were a few hellos from my neighbors, and I got the names of two other girls in other classes just by sitting next to them, but other than that…
I found myself following the old patterns, seeking spaces where no one was, eyeing those laughing near me, waiting for the other shoe to drop at my expense. The problem was that I knew that this wasn't Winslow, that no one was out to get me, or even really knew who I was, even the few students that I recognized from Winslow didn't even so much as glance my way.
So as my third day at Arcadia ended, nothing of note having happened, again, I found myself having the same thoughts as over a month previously.
Why was I even going to school?
It was a loaded question really, I needed to get an education, but at the same time… at the same time there was no reason for me to get it at a school.
Schools were more than just places to learn, they helped shore up social skills, as well as provided the foundation for other skills, like the importance of doing your work, and getting it done on time, but for me?
I… think Winslow broke me. When Dennis had introduced himself, one of the first thoughts I had was, is he a Ward? The next was, is this a precursor to a prank? And yes, I know that is a little on the paranoid side, but it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you.
Not that the PRT was out to get me, but given what I did to Winslow, it was only common sense that they would want to keep an eye on me after I had shot down their Wards pitch. What better way to keep an eye on me then to become friends with a Ward?
Even if it was just that I was sharing classes with a few of them, I had no doubt that the PRT was doing something about watching me. Maybe even a van outside my house, just down the street? Or buying out a neighbor's home, to put surveillance on me?
I wasn't foolish, the PRT wasn't really affecting the gang scene all that much, with most of them staying free even after they'd killed people. Hookwolf jumped to mind, I remembered how at one point he was caught then later freed by the Empire within a few days. Whether it was an unwillingness or a lack of manpower, the PRT wasn't improving things in Brockton Bay when it came to fighting capes and their gangs.
Which did explain why they grabbed Sophia really; a power like hers could be useful. Could have, she wasn't around anymore after what she did.
Still, my last two years of school revolved around hiding from the trio. Now through? Now, I didn't know what to do. What made things even worse was that Acadia had half-days for most of its students, vocational they called it. Some went to jobs, some even to the governmental branches, and I knew that a few put on costumes. Me? I didn't have any of that, I was slid into the program because of Winslow, the PRT made sure of that.
All of this added up to the point that I was sitting in my living room, having moved back home, doing nothing but having my thoughts circle around each other.
… maybe I should look into getting a job.
That would take up some of my day, get me to do things, help me move forward. But that thought however had its own issues, like, what could a fifteen-year-old do for a job? Arcadia would get me a permit easily as long as my grades were good (and the PRT would probably fast-track it), but as for the job part of it?
Dad could help, he was more present now, talking to me in the morning, helping make late dinners, but it was stilted. Both of us didn't know how to move forward, what to talk about. Neither of us really had any overlaps in our lives at this point. He was confident that we would get over it though, that we just needed time.
Me? … I wanted to believe him. But nothing was changing, it was all the same.
I missed having someone to talk to. Without Emma or mom, all I had was dad, not that he was… failing or anything. It was just…
I was stuck in a loop of my own making, thoughts running over each other as I tried not to fall into the same old traps from years past, while also trying to deal with the events of now. Something struck me, a memory; back at the meeting, Armsmaster had given me cards for him and Dragon, saying I could ask for help if needed.
Would what was happening to me now count? It wasn't like I had any better options, not with dad not getting home for several more hours.
The cards were buried inside the PRT folder. Neither had a phone number, but each had a Parahumans Online nametag and an email that I could use. Problem was that I didn't have a computer at my house, so I would have to go out.
There was a better library in downtown proper, but my local one would do. Getting to it involved a jog to the bus stop, a quick ride, then another jog, but that was mostly because I didn't want to run the entire thing and end up all sweaty. The building itself was less rundown than the strip mall that it was in, having its walls regularly cleaned of graffiti by volunteers, but other than that it matched the area it was in, one of the commercial zones near old Winslow.
Speaking of which, before I entered the building, I paused to glance over at the ice-tree, my 'work.' The light reflected off of it and, somehow, the PRT managed to get a kind of covering over some of it, or intertwined in it as it was, but most of the 'canopy' was still free. It no longer glowed with an internal light, whatever had been powering it having run out a few days ago.
I hated looking at it. It never stopped reminding me of what had happened. At least the humming stopped when the light went out.
When I entered the library, I was struck with how little it had changed. Most of it was familiar, the old desk, the worker of the day not behind it, again, the stack of perpetually 'returned' books by the door, all seemingly untouched since my last trip here, back when I was still friends with Emma.
The computers were still tucked away on one side of the building, next to an old magazine section. Many were just as old as the ones at Winslow, but I was still able to get one up and running after a few minutes. From there, I had to get into PHO. I'd already known how the system worked, I've using to keep an eye on capes for a while, mostly the local heroes, but I never used it for anything more than a news ticker.
But first, after the aging computer opened up the webpage, I needed a username, but no idea what to choose as it could be anything. …nearly anything. I did know however, that I didn't want to change it later, especially if I started using PHO more later on.
Luckily, there was a Random Username function on the site, and after a few clicks of the button, I found one that was… ok. Most were nonsense, a few words or a phrase put together as not to be offensive, some were even just a string of numbers. The one I choose was simple, and I knew that I could be clicking that button forever if I didn't stop. So, after a small adjustment, I logged onto my new account and worked on sending a message to Dragon.
Private message from TheUpsideDownGirl:
TheUpsideDownGirl: Hi Dragon? I hate to bother you with this, but Armsmaster said you both would be open to helping me if I needed it.
DinaEmry: Hello, Taylor is it? Yes, how can I help? I must say however, I'm surprised to hear from you given the report the PRT filed.
TheUpsideDownGirl: I was wondering if you could help me find a job. Or get one with the PRT.
DinaEmry: You need a job, what for? Did something happen?
TheUpsideDownGirl: Sorry, this was a mistake. I shouldn't be bothering you like this.
DinaEmry: Taylor it's alright, you're not bothering me at all. What's this about needing a job?
TheUpsideDownGirl: No, I'm sorry, just forget that this ever happened ok?
DinaEmry: Do you not have a computer at home? Is that why you are at an library?
TheUpsideDownGirl: how do you know i'm at a library?
DinaEmry *New Message*: You're Private Messaging me, as both a Tinker and an Admin to PHO, I can easily track the IP down. Did something happen? Do you need someone to talk to?
DinaEmry *New Message*: Taylor are you ok?
What was I thinking?! Asking one of the Protectorates top Heroes to help me get a job? Really, did I lose my mind?
Seriously?! What the actual Fuck?!
As I scrambled to get away from the computer, I realized that had not thought this through at all, because of course Dragon would be able to track me! Plus given what I had just told her on top of the report, because of course she would have access to that, what she thinking about me now? I went from not wanting anything to do with the PRT to contacting one of them about maybe working for them!
Because that was what I was thinking, and in a way, it made sense. The PRT already wanted me to 'work' for them, I just wouldn't be doing it as a Ward. I figured that they would let me intern, I'd seen posters and ads for it before, and I also figured that my 'status' would get me an in?
But why contact Dragon? Why don't just go into the PRT building and ask for another meeting?
… I knew why, part of me did. The PRT was an organization with total control over their element, just like Winslow, and just like Winslow, they screwed me over. I didn't want to go work for them at all… but given the options… It would be better than most, better than flipping burgers at least. And if I interned as a civilian, then they couldn't try and trick me into being a Ward.
As for contacting Dragon, she offered help, her and Armsmaster both. Help not with strings tied directly to the PRT. Dragon made it a thing to help others, both with the Guild and internationally. While she wasn't a face of the cape scene, she left behind fingerprints where ever she went, helping to repair and restore areas all over the world.
So I could see why I would contact her, to want to talk to her.
I must have sat there for several minutes, as my world reset, as my actions caught up to me. In a way, I felt I better understood how people who took drugs felt, doing things that made sense at the time, but not understand it afterwards.
… With a glance to the clock on the monitor, I realized how much time had passed, and hurried to my feet. I needed to get back home before dad.
Before I logged off however, I noticed the last message from Dragon, a phone number, and a request. If I needed to talk to someone, she would be willing to listen.
I closed the website page, but not before copying down the number.
A/N: This… isn't quite what I wanted it to be, but it's hard to write what amounts to depression/anxiety/PTSD fueled stupidity.
Taylor is just messed up enough that she walked the knifes edge, saw what was happening, then ran back. Everything around her has changed, but she is still stuck in the past.
Also, I have a Beta now! PurveyorOfBadIdeas, so give thanks that I have someone to help catch any misspellings and grammar issues.
