It was loathing at first sight, on both of our parts. For me, I'll admit that at first, I saw Nataliya Sokolova as simply yet another bully of sorts, despite the fact that our JROTC program took a really dim view on bullying. I'll admit, a really cynical part of me was convinced for the longest time that it was mostly a matter of making sure that I wouldn't flip out and blow holes into most of Massachusetts. It wasn't until later that I learned that the reasons were more practical than that. The US military was, at the very least, well aware of just what caused trigger events, and as such had been slowly restructuring how things were done at all levels to minimize the possibility of a soldier, sailor, airman or marine having a psychotic break, getting super powers and going on a rampage (or worse getting poached by the Protectorate yet again).
It was easy to despise Nataliya. She was a curvy girl, much curvier than I could've hoped to be at any rate, with pale blonde hair and vibrant green eyes that always seemed to be narrowed in a glare, but those didn't make her stand out nearly as much as the accented yet fluent English that she spoke with did. She was a tall girl too, only perhaps an inch or two shorter than me, and as curvy as she was, she clearly subscribed to the same fitness mentality that SSgt Murphy did.
For the first couple of weeks, I was content to ignore her and be ignored in turn. It might have worked if the little psycho hadn't been viciously competitive in everything.
It started when I blew straight to the top of the class in Calculus. That, I'll admit, had been a surprise to me. Back in Winslow, I'd barely been able to maintain a grade in Geometry, but something about my power just made it bizarrely easy despite how much I tried to suppress it while in school.
It was similar with Literature, but that was largely thanks to my Mom's influence giving me an advantage. When one of your parents was a college English professor, of course you became familiar with college-level literature at a young age. Most kids had Dr Seuss. I had Shakespeare and Chaucer.
It got worse when it came to Marksmanship. Nataliya had been leading our grade (actually the entire school) until I got my hands on an air rifle. I tried not to instinctively calculate targeting solutions, I really did, if only out of fairness. But the moment I aimed down a gun sight I was already instinctively and incrementally adjusting my aim to account for gravity, wind conditions, estimated recoil and even the Coriolis effect (even though at the short ranges we trained at, doing so was just silly).
The breaking point for Nataliya was, ironically, PT. As it turned out, all the torturously excessive PT I was made to do had made me more than prepared for JROTC, enough to place me in a very respectable seventh place in our grade rankings, nowhere near the Russian girl's first place ranking.
Maybe she began to really despise me sooner than that. But that was when I noticed that her contemptuous glances had become outright hateful glares.
She didn't do the things that I was used to though. No vicious comments, or cruel pranks, or anything physical. Those, I was familiar with enough to deal with. I didn't get it at first, but for some crazy reason she decided that I was her rival.
Maybe I should start at the beginning?
James H. Doolittle Junior Reserve Officer Training Academy was kind of a mouthful for the Barnes ANG high school, so most just called it Doolittle. I'll admit, I was apprehensive as hell and thinking that it was basically going to be more of what SSgt Murphy had been putting me through but only in a more official setting. As it turned out though, there wasn't much difference between how Doolittle was run and what I'd heard about private schools like Immaculata, just you know, less religion and more military, if that makes any sense. Which basically meant that the kids wore ABUs as school uniforms on most occasions and they worshipped superior firepower rather than God.
I'd like to say that I faded right into the background, but that would've been a blatant lie. After all, I was a new transfer in very late February, and the choker around my neck with its little wireless speaker wasn't exactly anything remotely close to being part of uniform regulations. Yet none of the teachers, I'm sorry, instructors didn't do much as bat an eyelash about it after confirming that I had a waiver that not only permitted but required that I wear it at all times. But then, they were all military instructors, so I figured that maybe they had been told all about me already. Plus, despite the fact that I had an assigned locker…
I never got within ten feet of the fucking thing unless I absolutely had to, despite the fact that it meant that I had to carry basically all of my books with me, all the time. It didn't matter that it was too small for me to fit in. Just the thought made my hands cold and clammy, and even though I kept my wings held tightly inside I could feel my engines spinning up, a quiet rumble that went all the way down to my toes.
Amazingly, no one on the first day outright asked if I was Parahuman.
I was asked on the second day during lunch.
My year group all ate lunch together, since there weren't actually that many kids at Doolittle compared to say, Winslow. Plus side? It meant not having to navigate a dense crowd, which was a lifesaver to someone with as much social anxiety as I had. On the other hand, it only helped me stand out even more. On the other, other hand? Even in JROTC on an Air National Guard base, the food was incredible. Chicken teriyaki over white rice with a side salad that actually looked restaurant-quality.
At that moment I made a solemn vow to forever defend the honor and integrity of the USAF solely because of the food.
I had only just barely sat down to eat with my back very comfortably facing a corner when I was joined at my little table by three others, another girl and two boys. Not exactly uncommon, I guess, and we all traded nods as we dug into our lunches.
"So, are you a Cape?" one of them blurted out, right as I was starting to chew a mouthful of my chicken teriyaki. The heavenly taste curbed my immediate sense of annoyance, which left only bewildered confusion as I sat there with bulging cheeks.
"What the actual hell, Davis?" one of the two boys, who had probably the most prominent cheekbones I'd ever seen, said to the other, a black kid who I honestly thought was squinting at me but his eyes are actually just that narrow.
"What, it's a valid question, Miyares," Davis defensively said with a shrug. Cheekbones Boy, Miyares, rolled his eyes, while the other girl just shook her head in exasperation.
"Davis, dude. Everyone knows that you don't just ask someone if they're a Cape," she said in the thinly veiled tone of someone who knew the person they were addressing was being an idiot but was too polite to blatantly call them on it.
"Well yeah McNeal, but it's not like she's trying to be subtle or anything about it," Davis said defensively.
Did I mention yet that everyone addressed each other by their last names? It was taking me some getting used to, because I didn't know why people were doing it and at this point I was too afraid to ask. Fortunately, a 'perk' of my powers meant that I didn't actually need to wait until my mouth was empty before I could say something.
"No, I'm not a Cape," I emphasized as I slowly chewed and savored the taste of my lunch. Oh gosh, I could taste basil. "I am a Parahuman though."
My three year mates paused to stare at me with various expressions of surprise. I tried not to blush.
"... Okay, talking with your mouth full like that is an incredibly cool trick, I'll be the first to admit," Davis bluntly said. "But you're really claiming that you're not a Cape even though you literally just said you are?" He looked… befuddled. Yes, let's go with that.
McNeal snorted at him, and with a smirk she said, "All those old Manga you read are rotting your brain, Davis. She's just saying that she has powers but doesn't go running around in Halloween costumes looking for people to punch in the face."
I nodded.
"Pretty much. Most people think if you're a Parahuman, you have to be a Cape." I snorted. "That's stupid, if you ask me. Plus, I don't particularly care much for Capes anymore."
I said that more angrily than I intended to, but thankfully, the three of them were sensitive enough to not comment on it. Well, Miyares and McNeal were. Davis started to open his mouth, then immediately yelped when McNeal promptly flicked his ear with her middle finger.
"Bad Davis, bad," she scolded in monotone.
"I didn't say anything this time!"
"You were thinking it," she retorted.
"You suck."
"You wish."
Miyares choked on his rigatoni, then covered his mouth with a napkin as he coughed and laughed at the same time. I wasn't much better, but I at least had managed to avoid inhaling.
"Davis, McNeal, you two better not be flirting over there! That constitutes pleasure and we're not in that business!" An older instructor by the door called out.
As one, the two of them straightened up and shouted in unison, "Sir, Cadet McNeal/Davis reporting as ordered, no Technical Sergeant Patrick!" I could see the two straining their hardest not to grin or blush, and from the way Miyares and several of our other classmates snickered or rolled their eyes, that probably wasn't the first time the two of them had been singled out.
"... Bwha?" I eloquently queried with the very finest of sophisticated elucidation available to a young lady of my superior diction.
"Tech Sergeant Patrick has a weird sense of humor," Miyares explained.
I nodded, then happened to notice the pale blond girl briefly glowering at our table with disapproval.
"And what's her deal? That blonde girl?"
Miyares immediately frowned at that, and McNeal sighed and rolled her eyes while David's face went carefully blank.
"Green eyes filled with seething contempt for enjoyment in general? You noticed Sokolova. Don't worry, she probably doesn't have rabies but you still might wanna give her space," he said in a very deadpan manner.
"Davis means that she's a massively massive bitch and likes to inflict her bitchiness on anyone she thinks is an embarrassment," McNeal added.
"Guys, c'mon, she's not that bad," Miyares interrupted.
"You're just saying that because you wanna get behind her iron curtain," McNeal bluntly retorted, and as he stammered denials, she gave me a warning look.
"Seriously, keep your distance, don't fuck up around her and you'll be happier, and for the love of God don't give her a reason to think that you're trying to outdo her in anything. She'll take it super personal."
Two weeks later during PT I really wished that I'd taken McNeal's advice to heart. It didn't take me very long to pick up the fact that Nataliya clearly had a chip on her shoulder where I was concerned. It was easy, since she somehow found a way to be right next to me during every single exercise that day.
When we did push-ups and sit-ups she was on my right the entire time, glaring and scowling whenever the PT instructor wasn't looking, matching me with contemptuous ease. When we ran laps, she was stuck to my side like a limpet with a permanent sneer.
She was uncomfortably reminding me of Sophia, and it was only that she hadn't tried anything physical, even by 'accident,' that I managed to keep as tight a grip as I could on my powers.
But by the time we were finished my eyes were a vibrant bombsight red and the PT track underneath my trainers had been deformed in multiple places where my weight had partly shifted from teenage girl to almost two hundred thousand pound aircraft.
Our PT instructor, who to my immense dread just so happened to be the painfully familiar SSgt Murphy, was not amused.
"Hebert!" She barked out as we finished cooling down. "I didn't spend a month and a half personally getting you into shape so you could destroy my beautiful PT field!"
By now it was a survival reflex to snap to attention, one that my classmates apparently shared, or maybe that was just a survival instinct that all sergeants inspired. Either way, despite the fact that she was clearly addressing me, everyone snapped to attention, including the pale blonde psycho next to me that had been passive-aggressively harrying my ass.
"Ma'am! Cadet Hebert reporting as ordered! My self control briefly slipped Ma'am!" I breathlessly replied.
She scowled the scowl of disappointment as she glowered up at me. Then she abruptly turned her finely-honed contempt on Nataliya's carefully expressionless face.
"Cadet Sokolova," she said in a quietly ominous tone, "did you happen to notice Cadet Hebert's little lapse in control over her abilities?"
"Ma'am, Cadet Sokolova reporting as ordered!" Nataliya's accented pronunciation was very distinct. Her 'S' sounded more like a 'Z' and her 'V' more like an 'F,' and she tended to lengthen her 'Ees.' "I was pacing Cadet Hebert and must have startled her by drifting too close on the corners, ma'am!"
SSgt Murphy nodded thoughtfully, as if what had just come out of Nataliya's mouth hadn't been complete bullshit. Then despite being so much shorter than either one of us, she somehow, through some eldritch secret only taught to noncoms and maybe mothers, loomed over Nataliya and stared hard into those vibrant green eyes.
"Cadet Sokolova, I find it commendable that you are so dedicated to helping your new comrade meet her full potential concerning the physical standards required by our JROTC program. Since you have expressed such a powerful interest in Cadet Hebert's progress, I am making you personally responsible for ensuring that she is fully capable of matching your impressive standards by the end of next month. If you fail, I promise that both of you will not enjoy the consequences. Am I understood, Cadets?"
"Yes ma'am!" we both all but shouted. SSgt glared at us both a moment longer, then turned away and barked out, "Class dismissed, now get the hell out of my PT field."
The moment SSgt Murphy was out of sight Nataliya immediately turned and glared at me.
"Now look at what you have done, you lazy freak," she hissed at me.
"What the hell is your problem?!" I snapped right back at her, and I watched her lips twist into a contemptuous sneer.
"Freaks like you belong in your Protectorate, not a proper military. You do not belong here. You should go play with the rest of the freaks, instead of jeopardizing things for the people that want to be here." The sheer scorn and contempt in her tone could have peeled paint, and for a moment I was taken aback.
Then the anger blazed and I got right in her face as I felt my wings briefly strain against the back of my t-shirt, but I managed to force them back down before they tore their way out. But that didn't do anything about how the ground around my feet had sunken in from my brief increase in sheer mass.
It was enough for a flicker of alarm to fill Nataliya's eyes. Alarm, and fear.
"I am not and will never be a member of the Protectorate," I growled at her. "I'm here because this is where I belong. You don't like it? Too fucking bad for you!"
I didn't shoulder my way past her, as much as I would've liked to. I refused to be like Sophia. Plus, if I had I probably would've shattered Nataliya's arm and half her ribcage at best.
And then, just to make things worse, we were later informed that I would be tutoring Nataliya in English Literature to keep her from falling behind, and my final grade for the year would be influenced by what her grade for the course was.
Fuck.
A/N: I'm finally getting around to updating the copy here. Sorry for being lazy. ^_^;