“And do try and make some friends, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I reply dutifully. That is, after all, what she expects of me.

  The bespectacled social worker just shakes her head and sighs, as if I’ve said something wrong again. She does that a lot, enough that I sometimes start to think I am doing something wrong, but of course I’m doing nothing but what they tell me to. It’s not like there’s anything else for me to do.

  “Just have fun, kiddo,” she says, “Kids like you are always so sad. As much as I love my job, I think we’d all prefer it if you stopped being so sad, okay?”

  No promises, lady.

  Of course, I don’t actually say that. I just nod my head, and she sighs again, though at least she doesn’t push the subject. I really don’t get why she’s so concerned. It’s not like I was traumatized or anything, by what happened to my parents. Surely there are other kids that need more help.

  I could name at least three, just from my neighborhood alone.

  Once again, though, she gives me no leads, and as the car pulls to a stop, I resign myself to this lady continuing to be a mystery. One day, I’ll find out what makes her tick. Not today, though.

  “Here we are, kiddo,” she says, “Have a good day!”

  I reply in turn as I step out of the car, finally coming face-to-face with our destination: New York District 11 Middle School. My God, they really couldn’t have come up with a better name? Even the old brick piece of shit they had back home was named after some old dead man who donated some money to the city a long time ago.

  Many of my new peers notice me as I step out of the car. Some look at me with fear, others with suspicion. Really, I’m just surprised to see they lack the hatred and disgust that used to be so common. Mamá said it was because of another old dead man that looked like me. Everyone hates him, so they hate us. But these people seem more nervous.

  It doesn’t take a genius to know why. Just because my darker shade doesn’t remind them of old, dead men, doesn’t mean they don’t have their own prejudices. The markings on my left arm, bared by my shorter sleeves for all to see, cannot help. I must look like a gangster to them.

  So much for making friends.

  Not that I’m here for that anyway. I can just pretend I met someone when asked later. So long as my grades stay up and I don’t act out, they’ll have no reason to worry anymore. The social services lady will probably do so anyway, but that is not a problem I can solve. She will either way. At least, she hasn’t stopped yet.

  With no great difficulty, I find my way through the orderly, grid-like pattern of rooms and halls to locate my homeroom. This building must’ve been rebuilt at least once. Old buildings always have confusing extra wings and strange renovations. This place is too structured. Too intentional. Too…synthetic.

  I don’t like it, but what else is new?

  My homeroom teacher is a man that papá would’ve called ‘las sobras de Dios.’ meaning, in this case, someone with a rather unfortunately structured face. It might even be a healing scar—I fail to spot the inconsistent smoothness typical of such things, but he’s also old. It could just be that he aged out of it.

  I suppose I’ll never have to deal with that. Superhumans don’t age, after all, or else they do slowly. I suppose it hasn’t quite been long enough for anyone to know. It is for sure that we are often beautiful in that strange way. And scars like that heal too.

  With every curse must come a blessing.

  Homeroom passes swiftly, and relatively without incident. The strange looks continue to follow me, but they slowly become easier to ignore. I wonder if they might fade, too, once I’m no longer the intimidating transfer, just the intimidating peer. I know enough of people to tell they will never change, but perhaps they’ll stop being so obvious.

  Lunch comes after another two periods, neither worth much interest. I had math, then an elective baking course the social worker lady told me to take, after I told her I didn’t have any interest in the offered courses. I suppose it could be a suitable task to occupy my mind, if it weren’t for the school’s lackluster setup. Five ovens for thirty kids? My god, it’s like they want us to suffer.

  That’s not to say lunch isn’t worse. I know better than to get anywhere near the breeding ground of overly complex social dynamics that is middle school lunch tables, so I merely sit against a wall in the corner, and for a while it seems my peers are content to let me do so.

  Then, as is my luck, a frizzy, frumpy girl in all pink, clashing with skin darker than mine, plops down next to me with a full lunch tray and a wide smile revealing many braces and only slightly crooked teeth.

  “Hi!” she says, with all the energy and enthusiasm I would expect from such a walking stereotype of cheerfulness.

  I don’t reply. Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll get bored and go away. Like a bee, or one of those beggars that seem to be on every street corner of this god-forsaken city.

  Her expression scrunches a little, in an expression I think might be confusion? Either way, she quickly recovers, “I’m Allacia!” she says, “You’re new here, right? What’s your name?”

  “Elias,” I reply, trying to make my voice sound gruff and intimidating. An unfortunately timed voice crack ruins the whole effect. Stupid puberty.

  “That’s a cool name!” she says, “People say you’re really scary, but you seem nice!”

  “You just met me,” I reply, “You should be scared of me.”

  Strangers are dangerous, after all. I’ve learned that.

  “Yeah, but like, I’m safe,” she replies, “My best friend is super strong, so even if you are scary, she can still beat you up.”

  I turn to the girl in surprise. I will admit, that is by far the most cheerful way I have been threatened before. It is a unique experience.

  “You are a strange girl,” I tell her.

  “But…you like me anyway?” she asks, still smiling.

  “Not particularly,” I say, rising. My lunch is over, I have no more reason to stay. “Enjoy your meal, Allacia, and leave me to enjoy my break alone.”

  Then I leave, because I do not have the patience any longer.

  …

  My god, this cannot be happening.

  Ten minutes. I had all of ten minutes away from this annoying girl before my next class and somehow, by pure divine spit, she has ended up in the same room as me once more. And in my English class, no less, instead of an elective I can change.

  There sit three of us at a table meant for four: myself, the annoying girl, and the most singularly hostile presence I have met since the day started—a girl who looks like a boy and keeps giving me piercing glares and Allacia looks I can identify easily enough.

  This one has a crush on the annoying girl, and—somehow—sees me as a rival.

  My go—oh, wait, I already said that.

  Fuck my life.

  “Hi again!” the annoying girl says as soon as she sits down. Her friend glares at me.

  “I believe I asked you to leave me alone,” I reply.

  “Only for the lunch break,” she says, matter-of-factly, “That’s over now.”

  “And I suppose it is too late to ask you to leave me alone again?” I try.

  “Yep,” Allacia says, still smiling.

  All I can do is just sigh.

  Naturally, nobody else takes the fourth spot at the table. It’s not difficult to see why—we appear to have formed a table of outcasts, and so the others avoid us like the social pariahs we are. I cannot tell if that is good or bad, but I hardly blame them. In fact, I envy them. I, too, do not wish to sit with these lunatics.

  The class, however, is not as bad as I would predict, given that the teacher lectures the entire time, giving my ‘new friend’ no time to speak to me. That doesn’t stop her from grinning wildly every time I look her way, or her friend from glaring at me even if I don’t look at either of them. Luckily, I am under no obligation to stay and wait for the two of them to fumble their books back into their bags, and I simply leave as soon as I am able.

  Luckily, the school is large enough that there aren’t many repeats in my classes, so I don’t have to see the two again for the rest of the day. Honestly, it was unlucky I saw them again at all, but it seems God is intent on punishing me.

  I mean, it’s not as though I don’t know why, but this still seems excessive.

  The day slowly but surely winds down, and not quite soon enough I find myself suffering through the car ride back with the social worker. She asks if I made any friends. I tell her I had, and to my surprise she lights up, and starts asking all these questions. I did not think I was that good of a liar before. She must’ve been tired.

  The next day comes with much less fanfare than the first, to my sincere relief. Ms. Social Worker hums excitedly the whole car ride, as if something had her excited, but avoids prodding me like usual. It’s a small improvement, but one nonetheless. I wonder what has her so excited. She’s still such a strange woman, it’s hard to guess.

  Unlike the day before, I don’t get quite as many strange, fearful looks as I pass through the halls to homeroom. That’s not to say I don’t get looks, but they’re of a different breed. More…judging. That is, unfortunately, something I am more used to. I am able to ignore them for the most part.

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  After sitting through another ‘fun-filled’ homeroom, I once again am faced with the absolute wonder that is school lunch.

  And, to no one’s surprise, the annoying girl found me once more.

  “Hi!” she says, giving me a distinct feeling of deja-vu. This time, her grumpy friend seems to have followed along. I briefly wonder where she was yesterday, before remembering that asking would be a terrible, terrible idea.

  “Go away,” I reply, then take a bite of my sandwich.

  “Happy to,” the grumpy one says, dragging her friend away by her arm, to vocal protest. I’m almost convinced that will be the last I see of them, but then they stop mere feet away, and start whispering to each other.

  “Come on, Allacia,” the grumpy one says, “He’s made it clear he doesn’t like you.”

  “Lot’s of people don’t like me,” the annoying one whispers back, “He isn’t mean about it.” That one comes as a surprise. I was under the impression I was being very rude—that was, after all, my intent.

  “He is absolutely being mean to you,” the grumpy one replies, voicing my own concerns, “Just because he doesn’t call you a freak, or dump milk on your head, or say mean things about you behind your back, doesn’t mean he secretly has a heart of gold.”

  Ah, this one gets it. Listen to your friend—I am as bad as they come. Now if I can only get her to stop thinking I’m trying to steal her crush. I’m really not, for the record. God, just the idea of it…

  “But he does though,” she whines, not quite as quietly as she thinks, “I’m sure of it. You’ll see—he’s probably just shy or something.”

  Or something. I take another bite of my sandwich.

  “He’s not shy,” the grumpy one retorts, “He’s an self-important asshole.”

  “No he’s not,” her friend replies, “And I’m gonna go back. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to come with me.”

  Then she does exactly as she said she would, coming back over to me with a crooked yet shining smile plastered on her face once more. The grumpy one follows close behind, looking at me like I pissed in her drink.

  “Hey!” Allacia says, “Sorry about her, she’s just like that.”

  “I am not shy,” I tell her, “Nor do I secretly have a heart of gold. Your friend is right, and you should leave me alone. Also, walk further away before gossiping about people.”

  Two pairs of eyes widen; they stare at me for a moment, and an eternity.

  Then the annoying, frumpy, optimistic young girl bursts into tears.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she turns before either of us can even flinch, and runs crying from the room.

  “Al- wait!” her friend starts, far too slow, “Shit!” She rounds on me in an instant, “You-”

  “Are exactly the monster you think I am,” I tell her, “Shouldn’t you be going after her?”

  She hesitates, which I find a little strange, “…you’re like me, aren’t you?”

  I meet her gaze, “From the look on your face, I’d say you already answered your own question.”

  She stays but a moment longer, “This isn’t over,” she says, before turning and running after the other girl. I sigh languidly, and settle back into a more comfortable position, taking a bite of my sandwich.

  The whole cafeteria is looking at me, but what do I care?

  —

  For the next few days, my life is almost blissfully quiet. The annoying pair, finally getting the hint, avoids me at every opportunity. Even Ms. Social Worker displays an uncharacteristic degree of self-control, seeming more subdued. She looks at me with worry every time she picks me up from school, but that’s nothing new. At least she’s quiet.

  With the distractions out of the way, I can finally focus on the work I have to do. My classes come a lot easier when I don’t have to concern myself with managing other people. In fact, most of the school seems more receptive to me these days. They don’t stare so often, I notice.

  Better yet, I’ve finally been able to convince Ms. Social Worker that I don’t need a ride. Walking through the city is nothing like walking back home, and I can admit that dangers are abound. I would be remiss, however, to point out that I am one of them. I believe the lady simply wasn’t sure I would actually go to school if she left me, which is a fair point, but now I am trusted enough. It is a wonderful thing, not having to deal with her.

  Unfortunately, God seems determined to never give me a break.

  “I said, shut up!” a voice oozing with naked hatred cries, followed by a meaty thump, a scream, and another cry of rage. All come from a spot just by the school, what I assume—based on the whispers—is what the students lovingly refer to as ‘bully alley.’ The location has a tendency to attract malcontent children, apparently, due to its proximity to the school proper and its relative privacy.

  Curious, I step around to take a look.

  My God, I cannot be free of these two.

  Allacia is on the floor, face bruised and bleeding, a single tooth missing. Her friend valiantly and foolishly is in the midst of an attempt to fight off a boy a head taller than her—and probably a few grades older. Another older boy and a sneering slightly older girl stand off just above Allacia. She whimpers, and the second boy raises his foot over her.

  God’s tests are a piece of shit.

  Half a heartbeat and I’m on him.

  It’s a simple move, executed perfectly. I first duck under his stomp, pushing up as Ink floods my body with the speed and ferocity of the jaguar, allowing me to toss the boy twice my size onto his back. Still holding his leg, all I have to do is twist.

  Two sounds of pain escape him: one from his mouth, the other from his leg.

  “It’s not polite,” I tell him, “to hit little girls. Even if they are annoying.”

  He screams several ineloquent curses at me.

  “Jason!” the older girl scream hoarsely, “I’ll kill you, punk!” As if to punctuate the threat, she bares a switchblade, and charges. I turn to meet her head on, taking just one step forward.

  I almost trip over my own feet, as some unnatural clumsiness comes over me. Half a heartbeat later, I barely get my hand up to her wrist before the knife would carve a chunk out of my throat. I’m on the backfoot, but undeterred, and a few dodges later, I slam my fist into where her adam’s apple should be.

  She collapses with a gurgle, dropping her knife to clutch her throat.

  I turn on the boy Allacia’s friend was fighting just in time to watch her toss the man onto his back, striking him thrice in the nose until he stops trying to get back up. The two of us stand there for a moment, looking at each other. She’s winded, and has an ugly bruise across her throat, like she’d been strangled, as well as a black eye.

  Then her eyes widen, and I’m too slow.

  There’s a sound like a balloon bursting, and a grunt and two simultaneous thuds, and I whirl around to see both Allacia and the older girl seem to have been pushed against the walls of the alleyway. The older girl recovers as Allacia slides to the ground, and there’s no time to hesitate.

  I kick her in the gut hard enough the brick alley wall she hits shudders. Even then, I barely feel her ribs break. Superhuman.

  She collapses with a groan, and I take stock once more. Three on the ground, Allacia weak but her friend in good shape. Faint sirens approaching in the distance.

  “We should leave,” I say. No one argues.

  —

  Against my better judgement, I follow the two girls to the hospital. I haven’t been hurt, and I'm in for an earful if I’m too slow to return, but it seems the annoying girl was in need of further aid, so I couldn’t leave them.

  She kept giggling and muttering something the whole way. I think she might have a concussion.

  On the other end of the spectrum, her friend—whose name I learn is Charlie—already seems better. Less tired, at least, and the ugly mark around her throat is already fading. A superhuman for sure, then. I could not imagine it would fade half so quickly otherwise, though admittedly my prior experience has not included the aftermath of such.

  Our arrival at the emergency room is met with no small commotion. The nurses rush to get us inside, their faces marred by a recognizable emotion—pity, and just as much worry to accompany it. It speaks to their professionalism, though, that they work quickly and without error despite that.

  That all changes when they begin interrogating Charlie and me. Allacia’s dragged off for a more thorough examination, but neither of us is so lucky. To my chagrin, they manage to drag out the name of my legal guardian—apparently ‘the social worker lady’ isn’t sufficient—though the events that led to our injuries are something I provide willingly.

  “I found several older kids attacking them,” I tell the nurses, “I intervened with my ability, and fought them off.”

  Charlie looks at me with a newfound respect after that, though it comes from a misunderstanding. I did not say that to save her—I told the truth, knowing there would be no consequences, and I merely left it to her to decide whether or not to do the same. Rules are different, for those with abilities. Especially once they learn one of our attackers had an ability as well, no one will punish us in any way that matters.

  I’ve learned that from experience.

  True to that, by the time the doctors and nurses are satisfied that the two of us are well, our ‘parents’ start to arrive. A pair for Allacia, and Charlie’s mother—a question I know better than to ask. Ms. Social Worker is the last to arrive, calm compared to the others. I can almost feel the nurses judging her for that as she walks up to me.

  She places a hand on my head, and ruffles my hair a little bit before I shrug it off, “Twice already, kiddo?”

  I grimace, “This one was not my fault.”

  She smiles sadly, “Were they bad guys?”

  “They attacked two girls half their size,” I manage, “They were not good.”

  “Then that’s all I need to know,” she replies, “It wasn’t your fault, Elias.”

  “I know that,” I hiss.

  “Yeah,” she says, “but you needed to hear it anyway. Now, do you want to say goodbye to your friends before we go?”

  “They-”

  “He does,” Charlie says from behind me, and before I can react she has me by the wrist and is dragging me down the hallway with a truly surprising degree of strength.

  “Let me-”

  “Nope,” she says, “You’re apologizing to Allacia before you leave.”

  “For-”

  “For being mean to her when you didn’t have to,” she interrupts, “I hate to say it, but she was right. There is a half-decent person under all that grouchiness. And decent people say sorry.”

  Before I can protest further, she’s dragged me into a room where, flanked by her parents, Allacia lies in a hospital bed, a little bandaged and banged up, but seemingly okay.

  My shoulder slacken, a hidden tension melting away from my body. I feel slightly warm, then her eyes turn to me and start to feel rather hot. It takes all my willpower not to look down at my feet, knowing that would only draw more attention.

  “Hi,” she says warmly, with a smile.

  “I-”

  “I forgive you,” she tells me, “So let’s be friends again!”

  I didn’t say so much as a word, but from then on I could not have gotten rid of her if I tried.

  Truly, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

  —so follow, and I'll send the next one out whenever we hit 30!