The Gap

spockjasperlokizukowriting

Six- Animosity

I hadn't any interest in conversation as I shut the front door behind me, Andrew kicking off his snowboots as my mother tapped into view, a magazine in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, her eyes and grin wide.

"So, darling, how was school?" she pried, giving me a wink before she sipped her cup of tea.

My stomach lurched and I suddenly felt nauseated, the oncoming headache I had been feeling approach finally forming. I rubbed my temple, slipped from my shoes, and shook my head.

"I'll talk about it during dinner," I dismissed, taking off my gloves and beanie as I trudged up the stairs.

Mother quickly walked to the base of the stairs, staring up after me as she asked, "Wait, what? Where are you going? I made you cookies and everything!"

"Homework," I croaked, shoving my gloves into my pocket and swallowing. My eyes seared, my face suddenly feeling heated as I ran my hands through my hair, my throat stinging, my chest burning. I suddenly wanted nothing more than complete and utter privacy. My feet felt heavy as I trampled forward, bolting towards my room, running past my father as he raised his head from his study and gave me a confused look. I flew into my room and slammed the door behind me, leaning against it and sliding down, shucking my backpack as I slumped forwards, flopping to the floor and letting the cascades of tears floor, covering my mouth as a wave of panic took hold.

"This can't be happening," I begged, losing complete control as I struggled to breathe properly, clutching both sides of my head, straining under the weight of my emotions. I began to hyperventilate, tucking my knees to my chest as I shut my eyes to halt the rivering flow of tears. "This can't be happening..."

His expression. I couldn't shake his expression as someone rapped at my door, a voice asking from the other side, "Isla? Isla, are you alright?"

I bit my lip, grinding my teeth, desperately trying to keep quiet as I shouted back, "HOMEWORK!" My voice cracked and I moaned, filching my sketchbook from my backpack, stopping my door with my bag, and throwing myself onto my bed, grabbing a pencil and ruthlessly scrawling something down on a blank page, the lines blending together into a incalculable mess, distantly forming the face he had made at me once he realized that I had lied, and that I wasn't going home with my parents, and that I was sitting next Tom, like I hadn't any heart at all. I scribbled down the rest of it all- from Photography, to the sights of him in the hallways, to him staring dumbstruck at me during the beginning of English, Mr. Blake clueless to the signs. The bus-stop, the evening hours- anything that I had seen of him. My tears fell on the paper, plopping like raindrops and smearing the graphite, waterfalling down to my lap in long, gray streaks.

I furiously wiped my nose and growled in anger, feeling uncontrollable as I x-ed out the images I loathed and replaced them with new ones, losing myself in the drawings, the images that wouldn't go away, the memories threatening to make my head explode. I felt like I was bursting- pressure expanding like a bubble in my chest, burning, searing like a hole had been ripped through me.

"I'm sorry..." I groaned, scratching out his face, puncturing his heart by accident with the tip of my pencil. "Whoever you are, I'm sorry. I'm an awful, awful person..." I sobbed. "I'm sorry..."

Then, ever so slowly, I calmed down, the gray light outside my window dimming until it shone nothing but black. My fingers no longer trembled, control came back. My dancing heart calmed down, my breathing slowing to normal, smoothing out, the rush of adrenaline tempering within my blood. I quivered as I relaxed, feeling dry, empty, spent from the voracious crying. It had gotten me nowhere- crying was always pointless, but the surge was passing now, the storm recovering as the tumultuous oceans inside me leveled. The hollow feeling inside my chest ate away at my insides, burning, aching, embers flying about like the smoldering remains of a fire.

I slowly sank onto my back, propping up my knees as I desk as I lay down, supporting my neck with pillows as I was reduced to shading, perfecting the central image of him, posing in English, shoulders curved inward, dark eyes brooding, black hair matching his sable clothes, pale skin dull in the poor light.

I let my hand drop to my side, exhausted, the pages hovering open, bent and rough from being attacked for the last hour. My chest gave another throbbing pang, the skin over my cheeks stiff and salty as I inhaled, whispering to myself, "Be strong."

A knock sounded once more at my door, and I groaned, rolling over onto my stomach to hide my reddened face, letting my sketchbook fall from my hand to the floor as I grunted, feeling drained after my tantrum.

"Isla?" asked my father, unsure, knocking again. "Can I come in?"

He took it as a yes when I didn't reply, the door slowly pushing open as he shoved past the little barrier my backpack provided. I exhaled, my breathing muffled by my pillow, my eyes dry but on fire as I heard his heavy footsteps walk to my bedside, the pages of my sketchbook crinkling in contact as he picked it from the floor. The mattress sank, leaning in towards as him as he sat on the edge, a gentle hand tenderly stroking my hair as he sighed.

"Tough day, huh?" he stated, warm voice soothing.

I groaned, letting myself sink deeper into the cushioning. "You have no idea," I grumbled, my voice stifled by the sheets.

He gave a weak laugh, keeping a reassuring hand on my back as he heaved a breath. "Seems like you've been busy inventing people again," he stated in a drawl, my sketchbook crinkling once more.

I rolled my head from side to side. "Oh, he's real," I assured, letting my head fall to the side, cool air caressing my raw skin. "Real as anything will ever be."

"Then how come there's no name?" my father continued, lifting the sketchbook into view, retreating his kind hand back to his lap. His blue eyes glistened. "Usually there's a caption, but to these, there's none."

"They don't deserve an explanation," I refuted, twisting to face the other direction, lying to face away from my father as I exhaled. "Only space on the page. I can't give an explanation. They're only there to exist."

"I'd find it more useful to help you if I knew what was going on in your head," he countered, snapping the book shut. "A father worries for his only daughter, you know."

"The only daughter finds it rather annoying at times," I grumbled sarcastically.

He chuckled. "Acorn, what's wrong?" he begged, moving the sketchbook to my nightstand. "You never act like this. You haven't cried in months."

"Perhaps that's why I have now," I supplied, curling into a fetal position. "I... I just had a hormone overload, that's all."

"Really?" he replied skeptically.

"Really."

"I don't believe you, but since you aren't willing to tell me what really happened, I'm going to have to make up a story for you," he resigned, the grin clear in his voice.

I shut my eyes. "Please don't..."

"Oh, but I must," he ventured. "So, my daughter heads for her first day of school, and she sees the boy of her dreams. He's handsome, and dark, and mysterious, and judging on the drawings, never smiles, but, it turns out he already has a girlfriend, and you're devastated."

I groaned, sitting and running my hands through my hair, shaking my head at him and giving a less than impressed expression. "No, dad, that's not it at all!" I snapped. "He's this guy that I only saw once on at the bus-stop but was forced to sit next to. He never spoke at all, but I thought he was nice, and later when walking down the stairs, I trip like the klutz I am and crash into him, pulling us down the rest of the stairs and onto the floor. I land on top of him but my scarf got tangled around my neck and I started choking. He pushed me from him and pulled the scarf off, but when I realized what had happened, all I could do was stare...stare at him while he knelt there with my scarf in his hands..."

My eyes stung as the tears started again, choking on my own words as I stammered, "And I just ran... I ran as fast as I could to my next class, forgetting my scarf, forgetting the boy... And... And I had the class with him, and everyone knew, and they said some mean things, twisting the story... I had- had to sit next to him in English, but... He tried to be nice, but I lied to get out of a conversation with him." I sobbed, hugging myself and hanging my head, my father giving me a grim expression the entire time.

I searched his eyes, pleading with him. "Dad, what's wrong with me?..." I whimpered. "I was mean to this boy, ignoring him, avoiding him- I don't even know his name and yet this drives me crazy..."

My father's expression mirrored mine, sympathetic and understanding as he pulled me into a tight hug, rocking me back and forth as I cried into his chest. "Shh, you're okay," he whispered, kissing the top of my head as he kept his firm embrace.

"No, I'm not!" I managed between sobs, partly stunned that I could produce anymore tears. "The day was dreadful! I got nowhere and I feel wrong!"

"Nonsense," he disregarded, rubbing my back reassuringly. "The fact that you even feel this way proves that you're not at all wrong."

I pulled back, disbelieving as I wiped my eyes in frustration. "What? How?" I croaked, rubbing my eyes while my breath hitched.

He nodded, leveling our gazes as he smiled kindly. "Isla, you're feeling guilty for something that you didn't mean to do," he explained. "You want to make it right, but you're confused about how to do so. Your feelings are much more simple than what you take them for. A wrong person wouldn't feel this at all- no remorse, no guilt. Yet you do... Isla Selvig, you are far from wrong."

I hiccuped and paused, beseeching him to be true. "...really?"

He nodded. "Really, really," he insisted with a grin. "All you need to do now is admit that you were within the wrong and apologize to him."

"Apologize?" I breathed, feeling lost as I shook my head. "...How? He probably hates me by now!"

"Say that you're sorry," he shrugged, taking my hands in his and giving them an affectionate squeeze. "That's all there is to it. Find him, and apologize. Even if he doesn't accept it, it'll be for the best. For both of you."

I grinned weakly, trusting in his words, calming down, the tears ending for good as the last one fell. I swallowed and nodded, shutting my eyes. "Okay... Alright... I'll do that."

He patted my hands and straightened, standing from my bed and walking towards my door, murmuring, "Good."

I glanced back at him and suddenly said, "Dad?"

He turned, a hand on the door as he raised both eyebrows. "Yes?"

I smiled at him, crossing my legs beneath me as my curled hair waved down over my shoulder, inclined forward. "Thanks," I averred, clasping my hands in my lap. "For...for everything."

My father beamed, dipping his head. "You're welcome," he replied, letting the sweet moment hang in the air before he sighed, his expression changing. "Now, do your homework and get your behind into bed before nine. Dinner is what you can dash up in the microwave."

I glanced at my alarm, exhaling as he shut the door and I realized it was six. I rubbed the back of my neck, gazing at my ruffled sheets as I sighed, "Great."

My alarm clock trilled and I moaned, finding it within me to roll over and slap its top limply, sinking down briefly into my sheets, working up the courage to move. The sleep had helped, but I couldn't but dread getting up for the next day of school. A flash of emerald green flickered behind my lids and I forced them open in retaliation. Now was distinctly not the time to remember those events of yesterday.

Eventually, I twisted in my sheets and slipped out of bed, fingering my way around for a light switch until I found one, the glaring overhead fan-light flipping on and nearly blinding me. My eyes quickly adjusted to it, the hues fading as I stacked my homework for my first day aside and replaced the binders in my bag for my new classes, remembering with a grudge that I still had at least four more to go before I could return to Mr. Clark's amazing Physics.

Great, I thought, sighing as I angrily slipped into my clothes and brushed through my wild hair. Perfect.

But then I remembered Tom and Sif, and I smiled to myself, looking down as I forced on my converse and fashioned the laces. Tom and his cousins had been the highlight of yesterday, and for that, I was grateful. I prided myself in at least having a few friends amongst a crowd of strangers, and perhaps some enemies, and I shouldered my backpack and strode from my door, grabbing a new, pink scarf from my door handle and wrapping it around my neck.

I checked Andrew's room, smiling when he had remembered to get up to walk me to the bus-stop, hopping past my father's abandoned study before bounding down the stairs, hanging my backpack on the holders by the door before whirling to walk into my living room.

"Hey Isla!" boomed a cheerful voice, but it wasn't my brother. I froze in my tracks, halting to see Tom sitting on my couch, donning a red and orange plaid jacket, jeans and the widest grin known to man, blue eyes sparkling, hiking boots ready for any weather.

Andrew sat on the opposite side of the room, buried in a magazine as he sipped his coffee, not glancing up to greet me as he acknowledged, "Morning, Acorn." My father sat in his recliner nearest to Andrew, reading a newspaper, almost mirroring his son in pose, but keeping his eyes glued on Tom through his glasses, his presence shocking me the most.

I smiled in pleasant surprise, remembering that Andrew wasn't to take me this morning- Tom was. "Good morning, guys," I said slowly, walking up to Tom as he rose and held out his hand, taking mine and giving it his cordial kiss. "I...wasn't expecting to see you here so early."

Tom laughed and shrugged. "Well, better early than never, and I thought I would get to know your parents first," he explained, smiling at my mother as she came around the corner carrying a tray of cookies and drinks, grinning as she threw me a pointed look.

"Well, here we go, my dears!" she said, placing the tray on the coffee table between us as she straightened and brushed off her housewife apron. "Breakfast in the living room!"

Andrew immediately folded away the magazine and sat down his coffee, indulging in a few cookies as he nodded. "Thanks," he grunted, glancing up at Tom as he took his seat back on the couch. I hesitantly sat at his side, still taking it all in when my father spoke up.

"So, Tom, do you have a last name to go with that?" he asked. His tone wasn't necessarily unfriendly, but was just flat, cold, as if last names weren't exactly the thing to go on his mind.

"Asgard, sir," Tom replied, unfazed, still grinning stupidly.

I blushed as my father narrowed his eyes. "Interesting last name," he drawled.

Tom shrugged. "It's Norwegian, sir. My father moved from there when he was a young boy," he explained.

I smiled. "Hey, that's so cool, because we're Swedish!" I piped enthusiastically.

Andrew hid his face behind his magazine again. "If I recall correctly, Norwegians and Swedes didn't particularly like each other, Acorn," he shot down.

My father rolled his eyes. "That's the Finnish and the Swedes, son. We have no problem with Norway," he corrected.

"Besides," I pointed out, "Tom's a nice guy nonetheless."

"Sure..." my father slowly responded, prompting a glare from my mother as she took her seat in her rocking chair, blond hair shimmering in the morning light as she stirred her tea.

"So, Tom, do you like sports?" she asked, resulting in my father slowly lifting the newspaper back to his face.

Tom nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Selvig! I play Rugby, football, wrestling, weight-lifting, and tennis!" he responded, enthused about the long list of sports he could name.

My mother raised both eyebrows, impressed. "Well, hence the physique," she commented, shooting a pointed glance my way to result in my imminent blush, the heat creeping down my cheeks and to my neck.

Tom didn't catch the comment the way he should've and laughed. "Why, thank you! I work hard," he replied. "I take after my father."

A silence briefly hung in the room, Andrew muttering under his breath, "...awkward..."

"And your father is a military official?" my mother continued, determined to carry conversation as I squirmed.

"Yes- a general, in fact," Tom specified. "He works at a base nearby. My mother is a detective specializing in Homicide. Both are kept rather unoccupied, thankfully, Mrs. Selvig."

"A blessing to us all, I'm assured," my mother grinned. "And please, call me Miranda. And my husband, you may call him Erik."

Father grunted from behind the newspaper, mumbling something about wanting to be called 'sir' and 'your highness' continually.

I glanced at my watch and quickly stood up, not feeling hungry as I went to kitchen to fetch my lunch, saying over my shoulder, "Well, Tom, don't you think that it's time to go?"

I rounded back around the corner as Tom stood, slightly puzzled as he checked his own watch. "Well, it's a little bit early..."

"Hey, well, better early than never, right?" I challenged, pushing my lunch into my backpack as I slung it over my shoulder.

The comment prompted a grinning Tom to collect his own from his feet as he responded, "Indeed." I rolled my shoulders back and glanced at my parents, smiling at them.

My mother straightened to her feet, walking up to Tom to shake hands, earnestly dismissing, "It was great to meet you, Tom."

"The pleasure was all mine," he insisted, taking her hand and kissing it formally, shocking her with widened eyes. My brother raised a suspicious eyebrow as my father stiffened, striding up to my mother's side with his brow furrowed.

"Don't worry mom," I assured as Tom walked towards the door, her stunned face reminding me of my own reaction yesterday morning. "He just does that."

"Yeah..." my father drawled, circling a defensive arm around her shoulders. "...right... Me too..."

I looked down and blushed, waving at them as Tom held the door open to me.

"Have a good day, you two!" my mother encouraged as Tom nodded and shut the door, laughing as I stumbled out, fuming in our front garden, the air remarkably clear of snow but the pavement icy.

"Your parents are great!" he stated, striding up to my side and offering his elbow as I held my cheek and fidgeted.

"Yes, well..." I began, feeling at loss for words. "They're parents." My footing slipped as I reached the sidewalk, my feet sliding from beneath me as I tumbled backwards.

Tom caught me, righting me with a considerate push before holding my arm tighter than before with his vice-like hand. "You're not quite used to the snow yet, are you?" he asked skeptically, walking us forward with a confident step.

"Haven't gotten my snow-feet yet, I guess," I answered, following him up the hill, clinging to his muscled arm for stability. The snow had melted, resulting in sheets of ice rolling down the street and the cement.

He chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"So, when do I get to meet your parents?" I pried snidely, nudging him. "You made quite the impression on mine."

Tom shrugged, creasing his brow as he gazed down at me. We crested the hill together as he replied, "I actually issued an invitation to your parents from my own for a lunch gathering on Sunday."

"Really?" I stated, taken back by the abruptness of it all. "Huh. That was quick."

"Let's just say that you made quite the impression on my parents," he supplied with a mischievous smile.

I smirked. "But I haven't met them yet," I retorted.

"No," he acknowledged, squeezing my hand as he took it from his arm and into his own. "But I met you. And word travels fast around this part of the city."

I exhaled. "Yes, it tends to do that." I felt rouge return to my cheeks as I remembered how quickly everyone had learned to my coming, and of the accident. But my heart sank when I recalled my vow to apologize, lacking in courage to do so even though I knew that it had to be done. We rounded the corner of the street, taking into view the bus-stop. The black-haired boy's figure stood solitarily by the stop sign, as he had yesterday, and I could barely make out the smudge of black of his clothing.

Tom grunted, annoyed at something as he inhaled. "...what's he doing here?" he muttered, gripping my hand as he glowered at the bus-stop, stopping briefly before starting again, breathing heavily as he wrinkled his nose.

"...who?" I asked after a pause, unable to take my eyes from the black-haired boy as Tom continued to grasp my hand, almost painfully, angrily, like something had unsettled him.

Tom growled. "You'll see soon enough," he moped, and I glanced up at him confusion, the glaring Tom something that I hadn't been expecting.

I squinted back to the bus-stop as Tom drew me in, closer to his side, his bare fingers entwining with my gloved ones as I took in who was at the bus-stop. It occurred to me that he might've talking about the black-haired boy, someone he hadn't spoken to or introduced yet, but couldn't think of why he was grow nervous at the sight of him. Sif, with her long black hair, stood by Vlad and Hayden, Finley hanging off the arm of an unappealing Vlad while another, unknown figure stood proudly at the curb. I didn't recognize him as we ventured closer, finally resolving that I didn't know him, but that this was the person Tom was anxious about as we stopped at the other side of the street, looking both ways before crossing.

I could feel the black-haired boy's eyes on me as we reached the stop, the new boy standing apart from the Asgard cousins, his hands in his pockets, a lazy grin on his face as he eyed me, clear, hazel eyes flashing, a mess of cropped, chocolate brown hair glinting in the sunlight. He shrugged in his black, parka-like jacket, his navy blue jeans and fashionable winter boots rustling.

"Hello," he finally said, his voice distinctive and confident. Tom tried to shield me behind his back, but I frowned and pushed forward, Tom gripping my hand protectively as he glared menacingly at the brown-haired boy, Vlad, Sif, Finley, and Hayden stopping whatever little conversation they had while the brown-haired boy only smiled, impassive to their aggressive response.

"I'm assuming you're Isla?" he asked of me, stepping onto the sidewalk and holding out a friendly hand, his grin wide behind glistening teeth. "My name is Arren. Arren Coulson."

Tom tried to hold me back, but I was determined to make another friend, stretching out my own hand as he accepted it. He didn't kiss it like the other Asgardian boys had, only shaking it as he grinned. "Yes, I'm Isla," I affirmed. "Nice to meet you."

Arren looked up at Tom and smiled. "And Tom. Long time no see." His tone was sickeningly sweet, not friendly, but callous.

"You weren't supposed to be back for another week," Tom snapped, pulling me back to his side defensively.

Arren cocked his head sideways. "Well, our vacation took a little turn," he answered, glancing back at me, "...for the better, in my point of view. Now I get to meet the fresh face as well." He gestured towards our linked hands. "I see that you've well and truly introduced yourself."

Tom seethed, eyes narrow and rolled fist trembling, itching to strike.

I nodded, supplying the conversation when Tom wouldn't. "He took the liberty of walking me to the bus-stop today," I explained.

Arren's eyes flashed. "Interesting," he stated, grinning as he added, "You know, I actually live right next door to you."

I frowned. "You do?"

He nodded, grinning. "Yes. My father wanted to introduce ourselves to your family, but seeing as we only got back last night from Washington, we've been on a stretch for time," he explained, giving Tom a sly side-eye. "I didn't particularly miss this place, but it's nice to be home."

Tom bridled, reaffirming his stance as he rolled back his shoulders, sticking his chin out. "Perhaps we didn't miss you either, Coulson."

I inhaled, panicking about Tom's behavior when I looked around, searching for an exit. My eyes fell on Sif and I seized the chance. "Hey, Sif!" I greeted, trying to walk towards her, but Tom's unrelenting grasp held true, his fun-loving side well and truly gone from his now darkened eyes.

Sif stiffened but strode to my side on cue, taking my hand from Tom's reassuringly and walking me over to Finley and Vlad, Hayden impassive while Tom grudgingly plodded behind us. Arren leered, but returned to standing just off the curb, out of the way while Sif kept her hand clenched around my shoulder.

"Hey!" Finley greeted, still hanging from Vlad's flexed arm.

I raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Vlad rolled his eyes, but smiled heartedly. "He's attempting to prove me wrong when I say that I can support his weight on only my arm," he explained, blue eyes flashing as his long red hair caught in the wind.

Finley grunted, clutching onto his forearm as he struggled out, "It's not working...yet."

Sif rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you two can be such gorillas," she grumped, but grinned down at me.

I giggled, forgetting Arren as Tom pushed to my side, reaching for my hand again with the question in his eyes. I obliged him, and he returned to clenching it, trying to be gentle, but still panicked. He almost reminded me of when Andrew was young and nervous, clutching onto my mother's hand as he stared shyly at his kindergarten school. Tom edged closer to me when Sif decided to speak again.

"So, excited for your second day of school?" she asked, dark eyes boiling with emotion.

I nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be!" I lied. "I'll see if I can navigate on my own to the courtyard during lunch."

"What classes?" Finley asked as he dropped from Vlad's arm, shooting the brawnier cousin a cold glare.

I bit my lip as I paused to remember, feeling at ease in their presence once more. "Er... PE, Art...then, an off period, and Economy."

"Economy'll be tough," Sif mused, pursing her lips. "But the rest of those sound fun."

"Especially Art," Tom pitched in, smiling down at me, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I think that it might prove useful."

"Might?" I challenged with a grin. "I'm determined that it will."

"That's right," Finley agreed. "Tom told us that you were the budding young artist."

Tires screeched from around the corner, all of us turning to face the bus as it roared into view, gears shrieking to a halt as it stopped with a slight jolt and opened its doors. Tom didn't let go of me as we followed the black-haired boy and Arren up its steps, the bus driver unaffected as I smiled at her. Arren sat up in the front rows of seats, greeting his friends and whispering to them while Tom stormed past, leading me to the back with Sif and Finley in tow. The black-haired boy ignored me as I stared at him, walking past as he took a seat near the middle, pushed against the window, a distant expression on his face as he let his satchel fall to his feet.

I bit my lip, my heart skipping in guilt as Tom pulled me down next to him, Sif sitting in the back with Vlad and Hayden as Finley took the seat opposite us. The seating arrangement seemed to travel around every bus-ride, but seats we occupied remained the same. Tom remained silent, holding my hand and watching out the window as Finley spoke up, his hazel eyes flashing at me as he laughed.

"You look better than you did yesterday afternoon," he commented, clasping his hands together.

I nodded, giving a grateful smile. "The sleep definitely helped," I replied.

"Vlad, I swear you're a pig, you know that?" Sif grouched, crossing her arms as Vlad took out his lunch, shoving down a Ziploc containing a strawberry pop-tart.

He gave her an innocent look. "I'm hungry," he defended between bites, scooting closer to the window, poor, emotionless Hayden sitting between them with a less an impressed expression. He glanced at me and gave his first small smile, gesturing that Sif was crazy while she seethed and stared out the side of the bus, Vlad munching away at his other side.

I giggled as their light conversation took over, eventually convincing Tom to let go of my hand as I looked down and got out my sketchbook, turning to a new page to record the morning. Behind my pencil sketching, I watched as Jane got on the bus several stops down, hugging her books to her chest and glancing around, unsure of herself. There were little seats left, so she asked accordingly, her voice unheard as she took her place next to the black-haired boy.

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge, my clutch on my pencil becoming tighter as he simply sat there, ignoring her as he had ignored me, while Jane occupied herself with a novel on astrology. I quickly finished the drawing of Tom glaring and rivaling against Arren for my attention when I turned to a new, blank section of the page, drawing Jane sitting next to the black-haired boy, not caring particularly about his silence, both of them sitting alone, but in each other's company.

I glanced up at Tom, their situation reminding me of mine. Tom hadn't said two words together to me since arriving on the bus, looking anywhere but his friends. When he noticed me gazing at him suspiciously he smiled weakly, squeezing my hand, but then quickly looked away, releasing my hand to tuck both of his in his lap. I glanced back at Jane and her seat partner, their own scene unchanged, and I swallowed. Arren laughed in a loud ruckus with his friends at the front of the bus, Ashlee joining the mixture and sitting at his side, making excuses to touch all the boys she flirted with.

I rolled my eyes, almost gagging at her sluttish behavior, and continued to sketch the black-haired boy. It didn't inherently bother me that Tom and I had a sudden lack of conversation- it only unnerved me. Arren's presence had done something to all of the Asgard cousins, and one by one, they each fell silent, finding something else to do rather than talk like usual. Vlad happily continued to munch, Finley playing cards with Hayden, Sif studying for a quiz while Tom only stared into space, almost like the black-haired boy. The silence carried as I scratched at my paper, resigning to later ask why the Asgards hated Arren so, and, if anything, had my presence changed this.

Tom dropped me off with a kiss on the hand at the gym, outside of which was an office. Several coaches sat around, lazily talking and staring at their computers as they worked, tapping away at the keyboards. I watched Tom disappear around the corner before I worked my courage, knocking on the ledge of the open door before entering.

A black-haired coach glanced up at me, batting her darkened lashes, artificially painted with make-up as she smacked the gum she chewed. "Can I help you?" she asked, uninterested.

I gulped and fidgeted. "My name is Isla Selvig," I greeted. "I'm new here?"

She turned and flipped through her attendance, tilting the clipboard to the side as she raised an eyebrow at me. "...I don't have an Isla, but I have an Acacia Selvig..." she pondered aloud, dark eyes questioning.

I nodded. "That's my real name- I go by Isla."

She froze, momentarily speechless, the other intensely fit, active coaches standing around uncomfortably. She then rolled her eyes and put down the clipboard, pushing her rolling chair back with manicured fingers before standing up and leading me away and out to the hallway, leading me passed the double-doors of the golden gym before stopping at another metal door, the word GIRLS emblazoned across the top.

"This is the locker room," she drawled, seemingly bored as she crossed her arms and stuck out her hips. "Change here when you arrive and then head out to the gym through back through this way. I just need to take roll-call, and then you can do whatever the hell you like. I don't honestly don't care." With that, she turned tail and strutted back to the office, admiring her nails and smacking her gum once more.

I pursed my lips and knitted my brow, turning the handle and walking inside. "No, you obviously don't," I mumbled in backlash. Some girls were already inside, changing from their decorated school clothes into baggy gray tee shirts and dark black and purple sweatpants, every outfit too loose as they tied their draw strings, desperate to make it as tight fitting as possible. Ashlee and her small pack were part of the group, their bags and purses strewn across the benches as she pulled on her tee shirt, giving me a small sneer before she pranced out from their corner of the locker-room.

I swallowed and self-consciously changed into my own gym outfit, the clothes considerably newer and fresher than some of the others displayed by the girls changing around me. I shoved my backpack into a spare locker and secured the clip, locking it and zipping up my dark blue jacket, dreading heading to the gym as I strode from the dark prison cell and out into the hallway. Some boys in baggy clothing wolf-whistled, nothing more than bums skipping class. I ignored them, holding my head a little taller as I pushed into the gym, leaving their laughter behind me.

The gym itself was quite ordinary, with basketball hoops hanging low from the tall ceiling, a climbing net suspended at one end, the glazed floor untouched despite the worn edges. A volleyball net divided the gym in half, different baskets of different balls and supplies lined against the wall. Bleachers sat against the far wall, students gathering in the middle, some groggy from their early morning while others talked loudly amongst themselves. I continued to the front until I stopped, frozen in my tracks, my heart thundering as I looked at who I was to share the gym class with.

The black-haired boy, hunched over with his elbows rested on his knees, long hands clasped together before him, turned as he felt me staring at him, eyes widening minutely, but otherwise unresponsive as he faced away, staring at the ground, fidgeting under my prying gaze.

I gulped, shaking my head and bounding up to the back, hiding away from the other people as I collected myself, the reality suddenly seeming all to real, working up the courage to do what I knew had to be done as the coaches strolled in from the doors, the class coming to attention as the bell rung. I hardly paid attention as the coaches took roll, my eyes pinned on the boy from the bus.

A/N: What a mystery chapter, but also the introduction of Arren Coulson, the son of the notorious Agent Phil Coulson. In addition, check out Waiting For the Wolves by Birds of Tokyo. It wrote this chapter mainly to that anthem stuck on repeat.