The phone is ringing. This is actually a strange occurrence in my house, someone calling. The only people who talk to my dad are old drunken men who reminisce on the "good old days" who know nothing of phones and technology. And the people I talk to... I only talk to during school hours.

I hope he knows I'm not getting that.

But even as the ringing stopped and I could vaguely hear my dad's raspy tones from downstairs, I was curious.

So I tiptoed.

"Who was it, pops?" I asked the balding man with an overwhelming stomach that threatened to pop out of his shirt and scream surprise.

He put the phone on his shoulder in some strange attempt to stop the person on the other side from hearing and slowly turned to face me, his adopted daughter.

"It's... They say they're your parents."

"Oh."

I managed to keep my cool for a few seconds before fainting.

"It's all a big joke, though. Probably. Not very nice of them to-" He turned around to see his daughter on the ground unconscious. "Emily?"

He ended whatever conversation he was having and started dialing rapidly on his phone, "Janie? It's me, Mark. Come over quickly. Emily fell."

He held his hand to his chest, carefully not to move the wheelchair and risk running over his blue-haired daughter, hoping his neighbor would come quick enough. And that Emily would be okay.

"Ugh, what happened?" I mumbled, holding my head that hurt pretty damn bad.

"You fell on a wooden floor. That's what happened. How many fingers am I holding up?" A woman, I think she's my neighbor, held up three fingers. So I told her that. "Well, if you start puking then that's a pretty bad sign, but I think you're okay. Bye, now."

And she disappeared. Coming in magically, disappearing like the wind. She's... Neighbor Woman!

"That was strange." I blinked. "I'm gonna go to my room and do all that teenage girl stuff, okay?"

"Okay." Pops said, watching sadly as his adopted daughter walked up the stairs, completely oblivious to what had happened.

That was strange. I just fell for no reason at all? I gotta work on that whole balance thing.

I spared a glance towards my ankle socks. I should wear slippers. They have those rubber things, right? Harder to slip. But then I can't slide across the floor. That's no fun.

Wait. I don't have any slippers.

Oh well, you win some, you lose some.

"Emily?"

"Yes, Boo Boo Kitty-"

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, why did you say my name?" Twice in one day! I'm on a role.

He stared up at the night sky, tuning out the cheesy dance music coming from the gym.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"And you promise to answer it? Truthfully?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Why are you afraid of fire?" He asked, staring into my eyes.

Oh great, why did I agree to that whole answering questions truthfully? I gave my word.

Stupid words.

"Well, um,"

"No avoiding the question."

"I know that, dinghole." I glared as he snorted at the semi-insult, "When I was a little kid, my parents died in a fire. Happy?"

"So the old guy you call dad..."

"I was adopted by him and an old dying woman when I was six. Happy?"

He sat silently as I sniffed, damning my emotional weaknesses. My eyes could never obey me. When I wanted them to be blue, they were a firey amber. When I wanted to cry, my eyes didn't 'feel like it'. When I told them to suck it up, they cried like babies. Damn them.

As I sniffed, I could tell what was going through his head. My parents died in a fire, my power is to control power, what the hell happened?

"You're not afraid of fire." What the hell?

"I'm a pyrophobe, that kind of comes with the package."

"It's not fear. It's guilt that if you knew about your powers they would still be with you. But you were just a scared kid who didn't know what was happening."

"Don't act like you know everything." I huffed, "How do you know I didn't know about my powers?"

"Powers don't manifest until puberty."

"Most of the time." I plucked some grass, ripping it apart in my fingers, "I always liked playing with the bright lights. Fire couldn't hurt me. I thought fire couldn't burn anyway. They were my only friends, y'know? They were the companions I never had. The other kids always thought I was touched in the head, the few times I spoke. Sometimes I thought the flames were whispering to me, comforting me when no one else knew I was sad, telling me to do things."

I laughed. Cold. Hollow. That wasn't my laugh.

"Of course I knew better than to actually do what they said. When I did, I would get in trouble with my parents. My mom would get real quiet and sad, and my dad would get angry, mutter something about that damn pyro. Then, one day, I thought that if I tipped over the candle, just this once, the bright light would spread and it would be everywhere, surrounding me. Making me feel safe.

"I didn't know the fire would burn them. They were so terrified. They died trying to save me and I was never even in trouble. That's what you get when your father can't make enough ice to stop a fire as big as the entire house while I was dancing, oblivious to everything until I heard them scream. Dancing! I was the devil's spawn, playing in the death and pain of others." Tears were rolling down my cheeks unwillingly and I couldn't continue my pity fest.

"You didn't know what you were doing, don't blame yourself for their deaths."

"I should've listened to Smokey the Bear."

He wrapped a strong arm around me and pulled me close.

"It's not your fault."

"It sure feels like it."

"But it's not. You were just a kid that was immune to fire." He brushed back my hair, rubbing circles on my back again, "You didn't know that everyone else could burn."

"You're too understanding."

"I'm a flame thrower, I know what it feels like to hurt the people you love." I looked up at him, curiously.

"Didn't you wonder why my mother dressed like a nun?"

"No..." I said in disbelief.

"What's so hard to believe? I am my father's son after all."

"Warren," I crawled up on my knees and held his face in my hands, my fingers brushing against his smooth skin, "You are nothing like your father.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Blue hair stuck to my face, a little going in my mouth. Hair tastes nasty, despite what Janice said about the scent of my hair.

I spill my guts to Warren way too much.

Sunday, bloody sunday. Yes, I quoted a song. It's a very good song. That's the only part I know from it though. Sunday, bloody sunday. The most boring day of the week. Yet, the best one. The day that my pops goes to his Bingo game and tries to hit on fellow woman who have no teeth. And I get to dance in the living room in peace. Hey, that kinda rhymed.

And that damn phone is ringing. Who the hell knows our number?

Damn, they're putting a stop to my groove, man!

"Hello?" I asked, picking up the phone. I always had to use that sugary sweet tone until I knew who was calling.

"Sweetie?"

"Sorry, Hottie Hotline is a 6 at the end instead of a 9. Trust me, people make this mistake a lot."

"Emily?"

"If this is some guy asking me out, it's not wise to start off by calling me sweetie. It's creepy."

"I think I'd puke if I asked you out."

"Hey, there's no reason to crush my ego that much!" Who was this guy? He's mean. I bet he's related to Lash.

"I meant I'd be a sick pedophile."

"John, what the hell are you talking about!? Give me the phone."

"But-"

"I said give it!"

"Wow, someone's whipped."

"And doesn't he know it. Hi, I'm Wanda Allerdyce."

"Hi, I'm Emily."

"I know, I'm your mother."

I dropped the phone. Did the antennae break? I hope it didn't.

I scrambled to pick up the phone and stared into space a bit before talking.

"It's not nice to lie about parentage... stuff." Didn't they know I lost my parents in a fire? How cruel were they!? Fuckers.

"We really are your parents, though! And if you hang up I swear I will track your actual house down instead of just your phone number! I have yellow books!"

"Give me proof that you're my parents then." I scoffed.

"You have a birthmark on your butt that looks like a heart." That's not proof. I've mooned a couple people in my life. They think the heart is cute.

"Have you been looking at my baby photos!? Stalker!"

"Please, sugar. I'm your mom, I know these things."

"You've been talking to Rogue again haven't you!"

"Don't make me hurt you, John!"

"You wouldn't hurt me, you love me!... Ow!"

"Listen, Emily, if you don't believe us, I have your birth certificate."

"When's my birthday then?"

"April twenty fourth. Around midnight. And it was painful, dammit!"

"So you looked me up. Impressive."

"Your eyes were purple when you were born."

"A common thing among little babies. Tell me something no one knows."

"You have three moles on your right toe in a straight line."

"Ha! How do you know that? I never let people see my bare feet! And it's not a straight line! It's more... squiggly.." I dropped the phone again, and this time my consciousness with it. Again.

Author's Note: Gasp! The drama! I mean, who knew that Emily mooned people?

So, thank you everyone for reviewing and making me feel so loved. Especially the ones who cried!

What is the deal with Emily and her parents? Didn't they die in a fire (in case you couldn't tell, Emily's dream was a flashback to the dance)? Kudos to the people who can guess who the four parents are.