A/N: My picture of Steven Strait on my wall is brooding off into the distance as I write this…:glomps:…ahem, right, sorry, you probably didn't need to know that…
Okay, so I haven't updated in forever. Lo siento. I'm not even going to try to make an excuse. Anyways, this is a bit of a corny and cliché chapter, but I'm too tired and lazy to make it more original so this is going to have to do (I'll revamp it soon, promise). w00t. As always, read, por favor, and leave me a nice little thought on the chapter.
t.I.G.r.E.S.S.
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I stared down my opponent, not letting any hesitation or frustration show through. So, the opposition thought it was tough. Unbreakable. Resilient. But it was wrong. I was finally going to beat it. Yes, today was the day.
"All right, it's you and me," I said underneath my breath. And then I reached out my hand. Right…left…right…yank!
"No!" I growled, yanking harder. But to no avail. The locker seemed to laugh at me, at my struggles and desperation.
"Someday, I will get it on the first try!" I vowed, and tried again. It's so sad. Usually, I finally figure it out during the last month of school. I swear, it's a conspiracy.
"You're such an idiot!" a voice right behind me said loudly.
And then, suddenly I was on the floor, knocked aside by a cold hand. A literally cold hand. I groaned and sat up. How thoughtful of you, Freeze Girl, I thought, gingerly touching the back of my shirt. Sure enough, frozen solid. Nice.
Amy "Freeze Girl" Samuels didn't look back once at me. I felt a stab of irritation. What kind of people just knock whoever they feel like aside like that? Without even saying "Sorry" or "Are you okay?"? They grow up to be hit-and-run drivers, I imagine.
As I stood up, someone bumped me again. I was jostled forward, nearly colliding with my locker. Maybe I should've just stayed pinned against the locker to avoid incoming traffic. As the person went brushing past, I felt a sudden surge of heat go by. And no, it wasn't because he's a hot guy. Well, I guess he kind of is, but that's not the point. The guy glanced back at me and nodded an apology. His name is Warren Peace, and he's a pyrokinetic. He's also in my homeroom class. His relationship to me can be summed up in three words:
He scares me.
Yeah, you thought I was going to say "I like him", didn't you? But no, Warren Peace is so freakin' scary. He's a pyrokinetic. But that's not even the worst of it. He has long dark hair with an unnatural streak of red in it, wears a lot of black leather, tattoos on both his arms, and a general bad attitude.
I think he'd give my abuella a heart attack just by the sight of him. I shook my head, looking after him as he surged his way past everyone, chasing after Amy. Who is, by the way, his girlfriend. How he swung that, I have no idea. I guess some girls really go for "bad boys". And I guess I'm not one of them. Even if he is kind of hot (There are many jokes WAAAAAY too overdone TO DEATH about Warren and his hotness, so I'm just going to let this one go).
The warning bell rang.
"Crap!"
I spun around, and, with a lot of effort, managed to coax my obstinate locker open. I grabbed my first period book and tried to run, pushing and shoving my way against the herd of panicking wildebeest that I like to think of as the student body.
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"McAndrews."
"Here."
"Michaels."
"Yo."
"O'Donnell."
"Here."
"Peace."
Silence. I glanced at the chair next to me, wondering vaguely where Mr. Black Leather had run off to. He'd probably settled things down with Freeze Girl and was making out with her somewhere where the teachers wouldn't think to look.
The door flew open with a thundering bang. I jumped, half ready to take flight like a good bird does when it's startled. I calmed myself down as I saw it was only Warren. He tossed a crumpled slip of yellow onto Mr. Godoi's desk and slunk over to his seat next to me.
I looked away and back to my homework, which I was hastily trying to do before next period. I'd completely forgotten about the BioChem homework, until I'd heard two kids in that class exchanging answers to the worksheet.
Mr. Godoi looked less than pleased with Warren, and glared at him fiercely. "Well, thank you, Mr. Peace, for coming to class. However, next time you decide to show up ten minutes late, don't bother coming here. Instead, redirect yourself to the principal's office. Because next time you're ten minutes late, it will be your fifth tardy. Understand?"
Sullenly, Warren lifted a few fingers up, then down lazily like a suffocating fish's last flop. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I scribbled down "biometrics" in less than my best handwriting. If it came down to finishing my homework and winning the "neatest penmanship" award, it was no contest.
I tried to figure out what had happened between Warren and Amy. I figured most people who had just come out from a makeout session (like I have experience) look happy, smug, maybe even a little relaxed. Instead, Warren looked tense and brooding. Though, truthfully, Warren always looks like he's brooding over something. This time, though, he looked like there was something really bothering him. It's the same look my mom gets when she's trying to do a crossword puzzle in pen, and she's had to white out answers about six times and still can't figure out the right answer. Only Warren definitely looked worse.
I looked away.
"Ramirez."
Girlfriend troubles. Had to be.
"Ramirez!"
What was number six? I couldn't remember the answer for the life of me. Oh, right, I think it was fusion of some kind…it was on the tip of my tongue…
"Hey. You."
I felt a sharp poke in my side and glanced up. First at the pencil that had been so rudely jabbed into my ribs. Then at the holder of said offending pencil, who just happened to be Warren. I gave him an icy stare. I'd almost been there! I'd almost had the answer! Just because he was in a bad mood so did not mean he could run around poking people if he felt like it! I promptly forgot to be intimidated and glared at him.
"What do you want?" I hissed.
Icy stares, apparently, were things Warren was well-acquainted with. Especially with his choice of girlfriends. He shrugged. "Well, I guess I don't really care if he marks you absent. Or if he bursts a blood vessel for me talking in the middle of class. But it's going to happen in the next ten seconds."
My eyes flew to Mr. Godoi. He was staring at me like you'd stare at the piece of dog crap you just stepped on.
"Miss Ramirez. I'm assuming you're here, in the future, though, I expect you to understand the procedure of roll call, however complicated it might be. Please refrain from talking to Mr. Peace in the middle of class. It is…not beneficial…for either of you."
He was keeping himself in line. In the process, Mr. Godoi's face was turning bright red, his teeth were clenched tighter than a drum, and I could've sworn I saw a vein pulsing in his forehead. Gross.
"Yes, Mr. Godoi," my mouth replied automatically. Warren rolled his eyes. Whether it was at me, Miss Ramirez/Goody-Goody-Suck-Up, or Mr. Godoi's little jab, I'm not really sure. But I didn't pay attention at the time. I didn't care either way. Bite me, I challenged him silently. I waited patiently for Mr. Godoi to move on to "Ronaldson" before I started doing BioChem again. Now…number six…
I realized my face had probably taken on the same look that Warren's had had just a moment ago. Then I got poked in the side again.
"It's technical fusion," Warren said underneath his breath. I turned to him.
"What?"
"Tech. Ni. Cal. Fusion." Warren said, slow enough for a four-year-old child to catch.
"You think you're so…" I stopped and looked at the paper. He was right! Blushing-and feeling relieved I'd managed to stop myself in time- I wrote the answer down and mumbled, "Thanks." Warren nodded, looking bored, and slunk down further in his seat. I shook my head slightly. Unpredictable guy. Who would've known he'd been looking at my paper? Or that he'd known the answer? He wasn't in my BioChem class.
Class ended all too soon, and I groaned silently. I'd still had six more questions left to answer. I supposed I could've asked Warren, but I decided I'd rather take my chances with my BioChem teacher. Scribbling down the first things that came to mind, I raced out the class room and into the mosh pit.
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I really hate lunchtime sometimes. And it's not an anorexia problem or anything, because truth be told, I like eating as much as the next half-starved, half-brain dead kid that blows through the old cafeteria. No, it's more than that.
Most high schoolers realize this every single time they pick up their brown bag lunches: it's a political war. Trying to earn the right "label" by sitting with a particular group! Sitting with someone because you need to climb the social ladder! Eating where you can hear…or overhear… the latest gossip! Being close to a crush, the popular girl, the jock kid! Being seen as someone desirable because of the number of people, or the quality of people, at your table!
I'm guessing that's why I don't get too many invitations to parties or whatever. I rarely go eat with other people. If I do choose to indulge, I get sucked into their little bit of insanity. It's like a bloodsucking leech, that kind of stress will drain you. I can't stand it, and I can never figure out why people think it's all worth it. Plus, I've never really down the whole "clique/group/crowd" thing very well. I guess I'm more like a bird of prey than most people realize: I really kind of need my space. It's a claustrophobia issue or something.
I took my usual table, away from all the desired spots next to Will, the "hunky" savior of last year's Homecoming and superhero kind and the love of the long-sought-after-by-the-testosterone-bearers Layla Williams, or Lash, who, despite being a "bad guy", had climbed to the top of the social scene. He got held back a year because of his antics, but my guess is that he's über grateful for it now, because now he's got groupies.
I sat down with a sigh, taking out my lunch. Peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat, banana, yogurt. Yum. I started eating and took out a book that I'd gotten from the school library on the history of radioactive waste. I had an extra credit assignment I had to do. While I have limited talent in other areas, I'm a complete failure at school, always a step behind everyone else. It's a struggle to maintain my C average.
A flash of sky blue caught my eye as it fairly fumed past me. Amy again. My eyes followed her automatically, the way a bird of prey would follow movement in the grass, as she went to sit by another lone figure, Warren. Their table was right across from mine. Wonderful. A little soap opera drama, just what I needed to keep focused.
"All right, I'm going to lay a few things down, and you're going to listen," she simpered. Warren looked up, and his eyes narrowed.
Amy lifted one slender, blue-heeled foot up and crossed it over the other, looking like some kind of seductive secretary in her preppy jacket and matching skirt. Her eyes narrowed to match Warren's, and they stayed like that for a little while, just staring each other down.
"Yikes," I muttered, turning the page in my book while keeping an eye on the couple. The term might be questionable in the next few minutes.
"All right, here's the truth," said Amy, tossing a wave of blonde hair over her shoulder. Her cold eyes were fixed on Warren's. "I found someone else. And he actually cares about me."
"Amy, I always cared about you. How can you say that?" Warren growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"I know you didn't! You never called, you never came to any of my volleyball games, you never came over. And…you would never…love me."
Warren snorted. "Not this again. Just because I wouldn't have freakin' sex with you, you think I don't love you. Haven't you considered that maybe I wouldn't have sex with you because I care about you?"
Amy threw her hands in the air. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Yeah, because you're too air headed to figure it out," Warren said, rolling his eyes and leaning back into his chair with arms crossed over his chest.
Amy's eyes bulged. "What did you call me?"
"Air. Head." Warren leaned forward again, a slight smirk on his face.
"NO ONE calls me an airhead, you jerk," hissed Amy. She called him a couple of good names that I would never say in front of my grandmother, and then finished it off. "We are so done! We've been done ever since you made the wrong choice that night. You're good for nothing. You're going to end up just like your father, rotting in jail in the peak of your life."
Warren's eyes narrowed to even more dangerous levels. "Don't bring my father into this."
"Why not? Son of a criminal. Son of a-"
Smack!
The cafeteria grew instantly dead quiet. They all stared in disbelief at the little scene before us. Warren stared at Amy, eyes colder than hers.
"That's enough."
The words were like drops of water melting off an icicle.
He stood up, his chair's scraping sound echoing throughout the silent room. Without looking back at the girl he had just slapped, Warren kept walking, going towards the exit. As he approached my table, I couldn't help but stare at him in awe. He'd actually just slapped his own ex-girlfriend. Warren ignored my gaze and kept walking.
And then a new face arrived on the scene.
"Hey, no one touches my girlfriend like that!"
I don't know Kevin Cortes that well, except for the fact that he's one of the only other Hispanic kids in Sky High. He's one grade above me, a senior, and he has the same powers as Amy, ice manipulation. Kevin's brown eyes were blazing, and I could tell he really liked Amy. The only problem with that was that he knew she was already seeing someone. So he couldn't be that great of a person to begin with, if he'll go out with someone else's girl.
Kevin didn't seem to be minding just then, because he stood up all angrily and threw his hand in the direction of Warren.
"Look out!"
The cry tore itself from my throat on what seemed to be all its own. It was soon lost in Warren's own shout as a huge ball of ice was flung into him. He stumbled and fell straight for me, and I yelped as he came at me. At the last second, he caught himself on the edge of my table, so that he was leaning just inches about me, panting. Our eyes locked, mine wide and startled, his wide and disbelieving. Then, they hardened. He stood, and turned to face Kevin.
Kevin gestured again, this time throwing a ball of instantly-freezing ice, but not at Warren. Instead, he threw it at one door. It splattered against the exit, freezing instantly. He did the same to the other set of doors, all the while staring the pyrokinetic down.
"You're not going anywhere until we settle this. She always had her mind on you, and now I'm going to take away the little distraction."
Oh, please, I thought. Could this be any cornier? It couldn't have been any worse if a love struck teenage girl had been writing soap opera lines. Get a life, you idiots!
"K-Kevin, maybe this isn't such a good idea," Amy said quietly. So she wasn't a total rat. Just half. Maybe she cared about Warren more than her cold words said.
"Oh, this is not good," I muttered as Kevin gestured and turned his arms and hands into ice. The students in the cafeteria instantly started up the idiot "Fight, fight, fight!" thing, and I rolled my eyes. To them, it was just another form of entertainment. But I knew better. Someone could get really hurt. I gasped as Kevin threw a solid block of ice at Warren, and then gaped as Warren melted it by just looking at it.
Layla rushed up to the two of them, and I felt some measure of relief. Surely Warren would listen to her, his best friend's girlfriend, and his own trusted companion. But even Layla seemed helpless to do anything, even as she spoke to Warren and Kevin in urgent tones. Kevin and Warren were locked in their own little worlds. Layla seemed hesitant to use her powers on either of them.
Kevin spun around, turning into a tornado of icicles that came flying for Warren. He held up his hand and a wall of fire flashed up in front of him. Some melted, but others came hurtling through the wall. They smashed into him with enough force to knock him back a few steps.
Kevin smiled and came flying towards him. Warren looked up just in time to see a flurry of snow knock him down again, this time more heavily than before.
"Come on, wimp, fight back. Or don't you want your girlfriend back?"
Warren shook his head. "No, Kevin. I'm not going to bring myself to your pathetic level."
Kevin's eyes widened, and then his eyes darkened even more. He was really trying to impress Amy by defeating her ex. A sort of mate battle you usually see on Animal Planet. "Fine. I was hoping not to use this, but now I will. You want to know what the world thinks of your father?"
Warren's own eyes widened this time, and then they narrowed. If looks could kill, Kevin would've been dead. Then again, Warren would've died about five minutes ago.
"Don't," he warned.
"He's a sick, twisted, lying, deceitful, demented, insane bastard that everyone is glad to have locked away. Your mom is happy he's locked away. I'm happy he's locked away. In fact, I think you're glad he's locked away! How does Baron Battle like solitary, Warren? Because everyone else likes it!"
Flame shot up around Warren's arms, curling up to his not unimpressive biceps like burning snakes. He looked like the angel of death, his long black flying back from the wave of heat that suddenly bloomed and his black clothes alit with intense flames. If I hadn't been scared of him before, this would have terrified me just looking at him.
Kevin didn't look so confident then. In fact, he started looking maybe a little panicked. He raised iced arms to fight back. As a tongue of flame came for his, licking its blazing chops, he was suddenly knocked to the ground by a flash of green.
Layla had managed to tackle Kevin to the ground with vines, but there was no stopping Warren now, especially not with flammable plants. Both looked up as he towered over them, flame streaming from his arms.
"You've got to be kidding," I said, rolling my eyes. Half of me said to stay where I was. It was a hopeless cause, after all. I was just a shrimpy girl with no real powers to stop Warren. What could I do? The other half told me that sometimes hopeless causes are the best ones. It was what my father had told me.
"All right then. That settles that." I shook off my fear of Warren and chose to do what my father would have done.
I leapt onto a table, took a running start, and jumped. My wings snapped open, and I went hurtling straight for Warren. He looked up just in time to see me collide into him, smashing him down to the floor. The impact shocked me, knocking the wind out of me. And then suddenly I wasn't the one on top. Warren had pinned me down by the wings. The worst part of that was that his hands were still flaming. Feathers were blackening. Muscle burned. Bones crackled. My wings were on fire.
I started to scream.