Changes 3.1

Fwup. Fwup. Fwupfwupfwup.

"Good, but you need to be more grounded when you hit. Dig in your feet as you throw the punch, to give power to the strike. Watch me." Hannah threw the series of punches, and I focused on her footwork. She was right, of course. I could even tell how doing that little tweak might help me get more power behind my, well, power. I tried again.

Fwup. Fwup. Fwupfwupfwup!

"Very good! Okay, practice that combo for five minutes, and make sure to focus on delivering power to your target." I began hammering the bag methodically. This was a typical night for me now. Movie, match or other martial arts video, followed by step-by-step breakdowns of fighting styles by Hannah, followed by both of us training (using our powers to cheat a bunch) until we had it down, and moving on to the next part.

Her perfect recall meant she would never forget a move, but she still had to train muscle memory a bit to achieve results. My powers gave me intuitive knowledge of any move I saw or did, but I had to alter most of my moves from adult size to kid size, and most kid moves I saw were far from expert. Thus, we both got something out of it.

Fwup, fwup, fwupfwupfwup!

"Okay, I think we've got it down, let's move on to the next one." So it went, a broad spectrum of fighting techniques, a bevy of options for every situation. I was no master, but I was certainly no average kid anymore, either. I could beat an untrained adult without using my other powers at all. I was losing weight and gaining some strength and endurance. I was quickly becoming one of the most powerful parahumans in the country, S-classes included.

I still missed sleeping sometimes.

-Shangri-La-

"So, how was your week?"

I gestured 'so-so', then typed. 'Ups and downs. School was bad, Wards intro was good.'

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I nodded, began to type. 'School was the same as always. Depressing.' 'Other students realized I'm mute.' 'I also had to quit band, and cut back on my reading.' 'Otherwise, I couldn't have kept up with training.'

"Do you like training?"

I thought a bit, shrugged, typed again. 'Training is good. I need to be ready for my job.'

She repeated, "But do you like it?"

'I like training, but wish I didn't have to' 'give up other things to keep up.' 'I have a lot to learn now.'

"That doesn't sound healthy. You shouldn't stress yourself so much, especially at your age. Stress can stunt growth and increase health problems, especially as you begin puberty." Ah, that. "Try making a point to take time for yourself, instead of throwing yourself into your work. You're a very smart person, but take it from someone with a lot of experience working with stressed parahumans; just because you have powers, doesn't mean you have to take the whole world onto your shoulders. You have as much a right to enjoy yourself as anyone else."

She was right, of course. I knew I didn't have to be amazing. The problem was, I wanted to. I wanted to be able to help others, I wanted to learn how to communicate again, I wanted to know how to look good to other people. I had to catch up to the other Wards, at least Missy, so that I could be effective on the team. I needed to do so much.

Jessica waited patiently as I thought. I wished so much that I could have just said what I was thinking, stream of consciousness style, and have her help me sort through it, but every sentence counted. I was far from a fast writer or typist, and had problems finding the right words when I needed them. I put down the phone, massaging my temples, trying to clear my thoughts. Focus. I want to tell her – what? Do I need to keep training, or do I want more time to myself? What do I even say, how do I explain my reasons easily?

I finally picked back up the phone. 'Sorry, got my thoughts in order now.' 'You're right. Keeping up this pace would make me burn out.' 'I'll see about changing my schedule somehow.' 'I just wanted to catch up now, instead of later.'

"That's perfectly understandable, but you need more time for yourself. Winter break is coming up. You should be able to catch up some then, without driving yourself to exhaustion."

I flashed her an 'ok', then typed again. 'Two questions; 1, should I test up a grade?' 'And 2, should I try to test into fourth grade now,' 'or wait and test into fifth grade next year?'

She had been sitting patiently, nodding a bit as each new sentence played over the speaker. Emotions played across her face as she considered the options. She spoke after the last sentence finished. "I am not a guidance counselor, so take what I say with a grain of salt. Ordinarily, I would have recommended the latter option, assuming you did indeed need a challenge in school. Which I think you do, to be clear. Skipping grades can be hard on friendships, especially at such a critical point in your mental development."

"However, your social problems and bullying mean that you wouldn't be leaving friends behind, and you might actually relieve stress more by being among older students who don't know you as well. You certainly shouldn't have problems with catching up on the curriculum, assuming you cut down the extra training and classes like we discussed. If you can cut back on those extracurricular tasks, I'd recommend testing up sometime next quarter. The final decision is one your mother and school will have to make, but I will talk to her for you if you need me to."

'Thank you, I haven't had a chance to ask'

"Why not?"

'Well, I've only been home to prep for school.' 'I train at night, and have classes in the afternoon.'

She actually facepalmed. "Michael, this is exactly why we need to cut down your schedule." She looked up, folded her hands, and explained. "You haven't been really at home in days. By the sound of it, you probably haven't even talked to them that much. Your family is a vital part of your mental health; they need you as much as you need them!"

"If I could, I'd be ordering you home right after this session. Please, don't neglect your relationship with your family just to be a Ward. You have your whole life ahead of you, being a Ward can come later."

Her words took a few seconds to really hit home, but when they did, it was like a sledgehammer.

Jessica was right. I'd been so absorbed in my training that I not only had lost perspective, I had left my family behind. Hell, they were the reason I wasn't still a suicidal wreck! I was so stupid sometimes! How could I be a hero if I didn't even have time for my own brothers, or tell my mom about my day?

I wanted to help my mom with her depression, but instead I'd forgotten her, forgotten all of them in my push to be capable. I… I felt so small. The tears began to flow. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I'd been so worried about myself that I'd lost track of what's important to me.

Again.

Jessica came over and wrapped me in a hug as I sobbed silently. "It's okay, Michael."

I looked up a bit through the tears. She continued, stroking my head as she did. "People get caught up in things all the time, and sometimes lose track of their reasons for doing everything they've done. But sometimes, somebody who cares about them realizes what's happening, and helps them come back from it. Just because you think you failed doesn't mean you did; the only one blaming you is yourself. Let yourself move past this, and you'll be happier for it, I promise."

I responded by hugging her back, tears still trickling down my cheeks. She was right, once again. I couldn't beat myself up over this, I had to move forward. I needed to get back to my family, to talk to them, and to thank them for putting up with my behavior over the past week. I wiped my eyes, feeling refreshed after a good cry, and Jessica sat back down, ready to help me with my problems.

Hannah was understanding when I called off the night's session. I spent the night with my family, enjoying a completely average school night with them, then laying in my bed, reading with my cat, listening to the faint chorus of snores as it twanged its sawing symphony, until the sky began to brighten in my window. Sure, I wasn't productive. I wasn't training, or patrolling, or studying, or anything important. I didn't care. I was home.