Chapter 2: Liking you

Few years passed by. Now both boys were about twelve years old and today was a big day for both of them.

Pietro took a deep breath as he walked through the door leading to the classroom. So far he was home schooled, due to his English problems, but since he met Evan they both learned a lot form each other. Now it was beginning of the school year and so it happened that he was the only new kid. Not the best thing when your looks make you stand out more.

Other kids, so far giggling and chatting, turned rapidly towards him. He blushed and walked to the last row where Evan held a seat for him.

"Hey! They making a b-ball team, you wanna try out?"

Albino nodded. That was one of the reasons he actually came to school. The other one was Evan, he simply couldn't let his friend face the torture of seven-hours long boredom alone. Besides it was a way to get away from... things at home. He shifted gently, trying to ease the bruises on his back. Evan looked at him concerned. Pietro grinned to him, dismissing any suspicions he might have had.

"Peter, I understand that you're new in the class, but could you please pay attention!"

Pietro blushed even more, mumbling something under his breath. The black boy next to him smiled. He knew that Pietro hated when people mixed up his name. He kicked him under the desk. The gypsy boy kicked back, a bit harder. By the end of the lesson, both boys had their legs covered in bruises from gentle but frequent kicks delivered to each other.

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The basketball coach was a tall, broad man with brown eyes and brown hair. There was something in his expression that neither of the boys liked.

"OK," he said. "Anyone of you has any idea about basketball or you came just because?"

Evan and Pietro raised their hands hesitantly. Evan looked at the boy next to him, his eyebrows raised, questioning look in his eyes.

"I don't like him either," said Pietro in Romani. Coach looked at them strangely then handed them a ball.

"OK, show us what you got."

"One on one?" asked silver haired boy, this time in English. Evan nodded.

They started dribbling the ball, each one of them playing at their best, just like they did in front of Evan's house. It ended up with Evan shooting one more hoop than Pietro and coach clapping few times.

"That was… quite OK."

Pietro winced. He knew that his English vocabulary was limited, but next to that guy he was an Oxford Dictionary!With that thought, the coach started to talk how the team would look like and the real training began.

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Two hours later they walked home, wide grins on their faces.

"Oh man, we kicked some butts!" said Evan.

"Yeah, right! We rule!"

Suddenly Pietro remembered that it was time to head 'home'. His smile faded.

"Is'i tu misto?"*

The boy shuddered hearing blonde's horrible accent, but still was pleased to hear that he could (more or less) put together a sentence in Romani.

"Me som kushti."**

"OK man. I'll see you later!" said Evan turning towards his house.

"Yeah, I'll see you..."

Pietro stayed out for a little longer, but when it got dark it started to get colder too. He went inside. As usual, his foster father was way too drunk to notice he was home. His foster mother passed away year after he moved here and that was when the whole mess started. He didn't tell anyone though, because they would take him away and he couldn't lose the people he cared about, like Evan . Not again...

It was raining heavily. A little boy and a man whom the boy knew was his father, though he haven't seen him more than ten times in his life since he went to his first foster family, stood outside the tall, grim building. The boy couldn't have been older than six. His hair was white, same as the man next to him. His head was hung down, silent tears flowing down his face. With the corner of his eye he could see two man in yellow raincoats, dragging a girl, the same age as him, into the building.

"Father!" she screamed. "Father!"

She cried, desperation and fear filled her voice. Pietro wished he could do something, but the man who ordered to be referred to as Magneto said it was for her own good. The boy believed him at the time. It was true that the girl was out of control, she even hurt him last week while they were playing. It was an accident but still...

Was it necessary to take her away? His twin sister?

"Wanda..." Pietro whispered as the heavy door closed. Magneto stayed deaf for the cries of his daughter, simply turned away and opened the car doors. They drove away, Pietro's heart getting heavier with every second. What is he ever got 'the gift', as Magneto said about Wanda's skills? Would he be locked away?

Pietro snapped out of his thoughts as he heard the movement from the living room. His foster father was up. The man, now nothing like he was before his wife died, staggered towards the boy's room. He opened the door. Albino smelled the heavy scent of alcohol and stared at the leather belt the man was holding. Tonight was going to be tough.

The boy didn't even listen as his foster father yelled something about it being his fault that his wife died. Instead, he focused on not crying as the belt met his back. Pietro learned, that for some reason crying made it worse. As if it weren't enough, his head started to hurt, pulsing, almost like it was going to explode...

"Good," he thought. "At least then he'll leave me alone."

Suddenly he felt cold air around him. He opened his eyes, realising that he was outside. And he was running. But it was like no run he ever did. The images flared by him, his brain barely registering them. He was faster than the cars speeding down the highway, but still didn't feel tired. On the contrary, run seemed to give him even more energy, making him feel happy. Free.

The boy stopped after a while. He sniffed the air. Something was burning. Pietro looked down at his feet. The smoke was coming from his shoes, or what was left of them. The watch on Pietro's wrist beeped. He looked at it. It was seven o'clock. His foster father came to him about quarter to seven, and beat him for at least ten minutes. That mean Pietro run for only few minutes. He laughed. He stood in the middle of the street and was laughing hysterically. Few people who passed by him looked at the boy, picking up their pace. Pietro simply realized something. He had 'the gift'. Now his foster father will not be able to touch him, not ever again.

*Is'i tu misto? - are you alright?

**Me som kushti - I am fine

A/N: I'm trying my best with Romani, but I don't speak it, so I don't even know if the grammar is correct. Sorry

Next up: even more realisations, from both Pietro and Evan...