2103:08:27:08:05:11

  The building in front of me was a monument to human insanity, and the origin of both the best and the worst it had to offer. To some – mostly those found lurking on the internet – it was a hive of scum and villainy, misery distilled in mundane routine and a breeding ground for bad behavior and bad people. A place to escape from as quickly as possible. To others – like my mom – it was a place of growth, a place of love and romance, and the beginnings of many a lifelong friendship.

  A place where boys became men, girls became women, and everyone else became well-adjusted.

  Others just called it high school.

  Hudson-Howard Municipal High, to be exact.

  The maw of the beast beckoned me in, and so I entered through the already-opened double doors. I made my way through its halls towards the principal’s office. Though I’d arrived nearly an hour early, there were already some students milling about, along with a couple of the teachers. A few spared me a glance, but none lingered.

  Though the school was large, the walk to the principal’s office took less than a minute. These halls weren’t unfamiliar to me. Aside from walking the route to school a total of five times, I’d entered the building twice before: once to do a number of basic tests, and the second time for what to do with their results.

  I knocked on the glass door and saw the two people inside turn to look at me, still visible despite the privacy film covering the middle half. One, a middle-aged bald man, I had already met the first time I came here. The other one, a woman from what little I could see, was unfamiliar. The bald-headed principal stood up from his desk and waved me in, so I entered.

  “Samantha, you’re early – wish I could say that about all my students,” the principal laughed at his own comment while both I and the yet-to-be introduced woman simply waited, stone-faced. “Anyway, It is my pleasure to formally welcome you to the Hudson-Howard Municipal High high school – and yes, the two ‘highs’ are mandatory.” Another brief chuckle from him followed, again performed solely by himself. “Ah, but let me introduce you two; Samantha, meet Miss Jaella Sims.”

  Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin, brown clothes, brown glasses, a brown bag; the woman looked like she’d be at home in the forest. She remained stone-faced as she held out her hand for me to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Samantha. I’m to be your class mentor and history teacher, for this year at least. I’ve read up on your situation, and I must say, it’s very brave of you to enroll so soon after your recovery. I doubt many would do the same.”

  There’d been something of a debate as to whether I should go to school or not. While my tests turned out decent enough for someone who was less than a month old, it was the social side of things that worried people. My mom, the principal and someone from city hall – did my case really need another government employee? – had gone back and forth over whether my ‘special circumstances’ would be helped or hindered by going. It was a battle between the possibility of bullying, ostracization and/or being overwhelmed and unable to deal with such a large social scene versus becoming socially isolated, depressed and/or falling behind in my social development.

  When the discussion began to lean towards having me privately tutored and waiting a year, I interjected that I’d like to enroll the normal way. After their surprise had passed and they asked why, I had argued that spending time around and socializing with other people had helped develop my personality and social skills faster than it had hindered it, which my mother helpfully confirmed. And that had been that.

  I took Miss Sims’ hand and we shook. “Thanks,” I replied.

  As for the real reason? It had to do with the way people gained powers. While trawling the web for miscellaneous information, I discovered there’re generally two ways for people to gain them. The ‘nice way’ was by gaining ownership of some form of artifact, lucking into an inheritance, studying magic, interdimensional or spiritual aid from an ‘outsider’, plain luck or sometimes just by training hard enough.

  Then there was the ‘bad way’ to get powers. Suffering some form of physical or mental trauma, experiencing great stress or a near-death experience, literally dying and self-resurrecting, getting kidnapped, experimented upon and/or sacrificed by a mad scientists and/or sorcerer; these experiences are all-too-common ways for people to get their powers.

  Teenagers – being just the right blend of stupid, rash, emotional and, more disturbingly, enticing for kidnappers and other ill-doers – got their powers the ‘bad way’ more often than not. It was one of the reasons the Treaty governing the masquerade and masked-culture in general treated minority-aged masked with the proverbial ‘kid gloves’.

  One of those special treatments was the ability to ‘switch sides’ with little consequence. So long as what a young villain did wasn’t too bad, heroes should and did accept them into their team, no questions asked. Likewise, though much rarer than the former, young heroes could join a villain team and whatever they did would be forgiven – even by villain teams they’d exclusively fought against just the day before. In short, as long as their desire was sincere, non-adult masked had the option to start over with a clean slate.

  The combination of those two meant that: one, high school was a place full of superpowered individuals, be they masked or not; and two, they could be recruited with no repercussions from their former teams – aside from some hard feelings, maybe.

  In other words, high school was the perfect place to build a team of heroes, just like my idiot creator intended.

  I looked down. We were still gripping each other’s hands, even though from experience she should’ve let go of my hand by now. “Was there something else I was supposed to say?” I asked, looking her in the eyes.

  Miss Sims returned the stare for a second before letting go of my hand. “No, just observing.”

  Interesting woman.

  “Ahem,” the principal ahem-ed. “Anyway, I was told you brought your own tablet?” I nodded and fetched it from my bag. “Good, then let’s setup your school account.”

  I was guided through setting up the school’s learning-only digital environment and activating my account. Schedules, required schoolbooks, workbooks and other materials, assignments, e-mail and messaging apps, grades, and everything else a student needed was there and explained. It was intuitive enough, but it still took half an hour for them to explain everything – students normally had all of elementary and middle school to get used to this gradually. I also had to link the account to my phone, though there were far less options available there.

  Eventually, at about 8:45, the principal – why was he even here? Miss Sims had been the one helping me – decided to call it. “That’s enough for now. Unless you have any questions…?” He left the floor open for me to speak, but I merely shook my head. “Then Miss Sims will take you to your first class – History, as you’ve already seen – and as for the rest… well, I’ll let Miss Sims explain that to you. Have a good first day and a grrrreat time at your new second home!” He reached his hand out and we shook. His handshake lasted all but a single one before he let go.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “What did he mean by ‘the rest’?” I asked Miss Sims as we walked toward her classroom.

  “We’ve set you up with a buddy that’ll accompany you for the week to help settle you in,” she explained. “Once class has ended, stay for a moment and I’ll introduce you.”

  The rest of the walk was done in silence, at least on our part. The once all but empty school was starting to fill with students, all making conversation about summer break and whatever else they found worth talking about while walking to their class rooms.

  Near the entrance to the classroom, it was a similar scene as out in the halls, except more densely packed. The gaggle of teens were hugging, telling jokes and laughing, showing off souvenirs from their vacation, and the new clothes and jewelry they got and the like.

  The air of happy reunions that hung in the classroom made me feel like an intruder for a second. It was a familiar feeling, one I still felt sometimes whenever I spend time with Mom, brought about by the knowledge that this life was supposed to be someone else’s. That Samantha Pearsson was supposed to be someone else.

  But, as I’d read online, familiarity breeds contempt, so I shoved the emotion away with well-practiced ease. Hopefully, it would fade on its own with time, since I was Samantha Pearsson regardless of my counterpart’s existence.

  Miss Sims waded through the crowd. The students parted before her, some greeting her as she walked by, and she opened the door, gesturing everyone to get inside. I waited for everyone else to go first and then made to go in myself. When I did, Miss Sims said, “Take a seat somewhere; anywhere is fine.” I nodded and entered while she remained standing by the door.

  I looked around for a spot. The desks were grouped together in two’s and organized in three rows total. Most of them had already been taken up and divided by clique, though there were a few individual seats left open by groups of threes or fives.

  I took a second to consider whether it would be better for me to sit with one of those groups or somewhere apart. It might help me integrate better, and building a network would further my goals. But could I? I wasn’t confident in my social abilities – since none had been installed, and I could only build them so fast – and navigating my way through an already established group with my sole link to them being their classmate seemed… difficult.

  Still, Mom had encouraged me to try and make friends, so maybe I should?

  I hesitated, but my attention got grabbed by a lone individual seated between two groups of four. The figure was studiously ignored by both to the point it looked purposeful. The person herself meanwhile sat close to the window and was looking outside of it with her head resting on her palm, as if unaffected by her situation. Yet there was a tenseness, an awkwardness to her posture that made me think…

  Well, I didn’t know exactly what to think, but what I could see was opportunity. Two isolated individuals, perhaps both new to this class – class Y2C – had reason enough to become friends, right?

  So, I went up to her and asked, “Is this seat taken?”

  Her tense posture tensed further, though she only slowly and lazily moved to look at me. Her face was one of practiced apathy, maybe even antipathy, and made me think of a predator trying to scare off a scavenger eyeing her meal. The heavy and dark make-up on otherwise pallid skin, combined with her overall darker style of dress and piercing black eyes only added to the effect.

  Maybe others would’ve been scared off, but regardless of my defects I was made of sterner stuff – literally – and created to be a hero. If I got scared by a teenager glaring at me, I might as well give up now.

  “Suit yourself,” she grumbled out eventually, then turned her head back to the window.

  I sat down, grabbed my tablet from my backpack and went to browse the internet until the bell rang. Yet when I opened it and tried to leave the digital school environment we’d just installed, it refused to let me. I tapped the home button rapidly a few times, until I got a warning message that said I couldn’t leave the environment while I was on school grounds during schooltime.

  I frowned. That was annoying, but whatever.

  It didn’t take long before the bell rang. Miss Sims stepped inside, closed the door behind her and made her way to the front of the classroom.

  She clapped her hands once, twice and the talking, distracted students turned at the noise. “Move to your seats everyone, class has started,” she spoke. Most had already done so the moment the bell rang, but now the few stragglers followed the rest of the herd.

  “I see some familiar faces and I suspect most of you already know each other as well. Still, there has been some shuffling in the classes along with new arrivals, so we’re all going to make introductions and tell a bit about ourselves. I’ll start, then when I call your name, you stand up and do the same,” she said, voice as unemotional as I’d come to expect.

  “I’m Jaella Sims, thirty-four, and I’ll be both your history teacher and class mentor this year. In my free time I like to read, take a walk in the park or play with my cat.” She looked down at her tablet. “Abbott, Bobby.”

  A red-haired boy stood up. “My name is Bobby Abbott and like most of you, I’m fifteen. Unfortunately, I’m unemployed, so if you could spare a few-”

  “Stick to the format Bobby,” Miss Sims interrupted with a glare as a few students laughed.

  Bobby just smiled and took the rebuke in stride. “Uhhhh, I play soccer and I like going fishing with my dad. Looking forward to spending a year with you all!” He said the latter while looking to his deskmate, the both of them sharing a wide grin.

  “Good, you can sit down,” Miss Sims said, which Bobby promptly did. “Next; Aburaad, Aliyah.” Rather than memorize the names of each student, I memorized the time and date so I could watch back the memcording whenever I needed to. Doing so would make it easier to retrieve it later.

  Before long it was my turn, so I stood up. “Samantha Pearsson. I’m fifteen years old-” I fell silent for a moment, turning to stare at the ceiling while considering the truth of that statement. Fifteen years old was what my ID said, hence second year of high school. But my counterpart disappeared on April 5th 2096 and was born July 3rd 2081, so wasn’t I…

  “-or fourteen years old-” but I was also born in 2081 “-or twenty-one, but really I am-”

  I did some quick math. “-zero-point-zero-five years old.” Yes, that was the most correct statement.

  I looked back down from the ceiling. Everyone in the class was staring at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. Not that I didn’t understand their confusion; if you didn’t factor in that I had only existed for eighteen days or that my birthyear was 2081, I should clearly be in first year, not second. Something must’ve gone wrong since the age on my ID-card was self-updating and automatically calculated the number.

  Oh well. “As of yet, I have found no hobbies, but I don’t like the forest,” I finished and sat back down.

  Their eyes didn’t leave me until Miss Sims called for the next person to introduce themselves.

  X

  After introductions, class began in earnest and Miss Sims started recapping last year’s history lessons. It mostly centered around old American history. Not just pre-Unified State, but pre-United States. I kept paying attention and taking notes, but my interest lay in more recent history, so my attention wavered from time to time. Not that it mattered much, since I reviewed all my memcordings during the long hours of my sleepless nights.

  Nevertheless, I kept focused until the bell rang. I packed my back and then, as instructed, walked to the teacher’s desk to wait until everyone had left. A few took their time – like my neighbor, Amber Sinnot, who’d clearly been aiming to leave the classroom last – but eventually, there were only three people in the classroom: me, Miss Sims and – I rewound my memcordings for a second – Millie Brown, who I assumed was the ‘buddy’ Miss Sims had mentioned.

  Before Miss Sims could even start, Millie jumped in with a, “Hiya! Samantha Pearsson, right?” Her bubbly personality was matched by her bright smile, vibrant clothing, long blond hair, bright blue eyes- well, basically, her personality matched everything about her appearance.

  I blinked once, then stepped forward and reached out my hand. “Yes. Millie Brown, right?” I copied.

  She stared at my hand like how a curious bird looked at an unfamiliar creature, reached out and started pumping it up and down vigorously. “Wow, you remembered my name already?”

  In a manner of speaking, “Yes.”

  “Cool! Must’ve made an impact, huh?” Millie said, smirking.

  She hadn’t, though in hindsight her introduction had been one of the more vigorous ones. Still, mom told me to try and be less blunt, so I simply replied with another, “Yes.”

  She snorted. “Liar! You weren’t paying attention at all! I did pay attention to yours though; it was great! What, with the whole what-is-my-age bit you got-”

  “Introductions are done I take it?” Miss Sims interrupted. “You’ll be late for the next class if you don’t hurry. Though I’ve sent Mrs. Saenz a notice, that’s no excuse not to try.”

  With an exaggeratedly mopey ‘ugh, fine’ from Millie and a neutral ‘goodbye’ from me, we went on our way.

  “By the way, why did you do it?” Millie asked. “I mean, it was funny, but why?”

  “Why what?” I returned.

  “Why the age thing?”

  “They didn’t tell you?”

  “Oh, they definitely wouldn’t, privacy and all that. Had to figure it out myself,” Millie said with pride. “Not that it was that hard. I mean, with the news blaring a time-bumped fifteen-year-old had returned, then getting asked to be a buddy for someone and your whole age spiel?” Millie shrugged. “It was obvious after that. But what I meant was, why reveal it like that?”

  I’d not seen those articles, or whichever news medium she learned it from, but it didn’t matter. “It’s the truth,” I said. “Why bother lying about it?” After all, the real lie was my identity itself.

  …Admitting that to myself stung.

  Millie blinked. “That’s it?” I shrugged in response. “Even though people will look at you weirdly?”

  I thought about that for a second. “Will they?” I asked.

  Millie nodded emphatically at that. “Oh yeah, and it’ll send tongues a-wagging for sure. And then someone will bring up the article, and then some of the school staff will talk to someone else, and a student will overhear and before you know it, the whole school knows you’re a girl still wet outta the timestream.”

  Oh. I hadn’t considered that.

  Still, I shrugged. “Wasn’t as if I was planning to keep it a secret. Perhaps it’s better to just get it over with?” I questioned.

  “Huh,” Millie muttered, then gave me a conspiring smirk. “You know what? I think you and I will be great friends.”

  I blinked. Then blinked again, and a third time. Was it really that easy? “That sounds good,” I said, then went for the best-looking version of my smile yet and from the smile she gave in return, it seemed I had nailed the form.

  Maybe I was better at socializing then I’d thought?