#'nerdy' like kids who were in any way interested in learning outside the classroom were targeted

[eschynite]

i try not to be such a cunt in my head when thinking about people with low functional literacy/reading comprehension because i know a good chunk of the many illiterate people in this country didn't have the opportunity to learn. but i can't just pretend my childhood wasn't filled with peers bragging about the fact that they never read.

[brakken-spideyverse]

my No Way Home Spidey-watch continues with...

The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)

Alrighty - new Spidey, new strengths, new weaknesses.

The first 45 minutes of this movie are pretty damn solid. I think the tone experiences a few bumps here and there, and I have some issues with characterization, but as far as differentiating itself from the first Raimi film, I think it takes some applaudable steps, and manages a pretty compelling kick-off to the narrative. I know many were tired of origin stories at this point, but I have a soft spot for them – there’s a particular kind of magic when the character puts on the mask, or cape, and the ‘regular’ movie becomes a superhero movie.

I think the mystery surrounding his parents is effectively done. I’m not a huge fan of the storyline, but as something to mix things up from the Raimi trilogy, it serves as an intriguing opener. It sets up Oscorp as a very important icon in this tale, and establishes why Peter’s where he’s at in present day. He's lost, not just because he's bullied or shy, but because he never got to know his parents - or more aptly, they are an unanswered question for him.

I like aspects of what they do with Peter. A common criticism about this take was that he wasn’t nerdy enough – that he was too cool. I don’t really see it that way. I see this version of Peter as an outsider, and that feels almost by design, on his part. Too nerdy for the jocks, too jocky for the nerds, he doesn’t fit anywhere. We’re given some interesting looks into his character with how he deals with bullying. When he’s harassed by Flash in the hallway, he is passive… his response is inaction. Compare that to stepping in when someone else is the target of bullying – a reaction, but even there it’s passive. It’s “don’t eat it” and “I’m not taking the picture”. As far as the classic Spidey mantra goes, here he is powerless, but not entirely irresponsible. We’ll see this change when his power skyrockets past his passiveness and his humble idea of doing good. But for now, we are being given a patient and lengthy look at Peter before the spider.

This opening look isn’t free of problems, though. Him taking a secret photo of Gwen is… off-putting and unnecessary. We also get this short gag of him assuming some girl is asking him out. Peter is hard to read in this moment, but he comes off as being interested, and I think that muddles his blossoming connection with Gwen - a connection that has to be strong since so much of both movies rides on it. Instead, this little scene gives the feeling that he jumps into the arms of whichever girl smiles at him for any length of time.

The pacing of the lunchtime bullying scene also creates a poor opening image of Gwen, who was seemingly content to sit and read while Flash was messing with the kid as the crowd cheers. And after Peter steps in and is beaten to the ground, she faces off with Flash – a commendable moment, sure… until she walks away, leaving Peter alone and visibly injured. Seemingly the filmmakers wanted their proper ‘meet cute’ moment in the classroom, but there’s no valid reason it shouldn’t have happened right there. Have her help him up, pass him his camera… something to show compassion in the moment.

I really like Uncle Ben and Aunt May in this version of the story. I like that Ben’s words of wisdom aren’t summed up in this perfect, fortune cookie phrase. It’s a lesson to be learned, not taught. And I like that all this past tragedy palpably hangs over May as she’s left alone to look after Peter – but more on that in TASM2.

I enjoy the interactions between Gwen and Peter at Oscorp – some nice writing that naturally swerves around mentioning Peter’s surname in front of Curt, and delivers our first proper ‘chemistry’ between them two. But it’s here, around the point that the actual Spider-Man plot begins emerging, that the movie takes a nosedive for me.

There are these scenes that just feel… mean, in a way? Stealing the intern’s badge with no repercussions is played for laughs, but all I’m thinking is how some kid’s day got ruined. The scene in the train where he discovers his Spider-Sense and wall-crawling powers is really awkward, where Peter unintentionally beats up… some regular people. And because it’s unintentional, it doesn’t feel in line with Peter’s character journey - it just happens, and is forgotten.

Bullying Flash in the basketball court works better - it’s following this trend of Peter breaking away from inaction, and into reaction. Flash is mean to the girl, so Peter gets back at him. And it's the moment where we acknowledge that Peter isn't a wholly good person, despite having been raised with certain ideals.

The death of Uncle Ben is done… strangely. They kinda shove him into this tense standoff with the thief, and essentially have his murder feel accidental in the moment. Not only this, but Peter more or less witnesses the event, so his realization that it was his inaction that caused it is made hazy as we’re caught up in the scene. Peter’s moments of grief are wonderfully portrayed, but the guilt isn’t as present as I’d like it to be, since his hunt for the killer quickly takes the next spotlight.

I understand what they’re going for by stretching out Peter’s character arc, and making Spider-Man this selfish quest for vengeance until the bridge moment. But there’s a dissonance of tone through the journey - a prime example being him bullying the carjacker, and then swinging away while the triumphant theme music plays. The movie seems indecisive about treating his vigilantism as heroic, in a way that becomes jarring the longer it goes on. I think it would have worked better to either fully commit to the heroic feeling, so that when he gets Captain Stacy’s lecture, we’re hit with the same realization as Peter, or play it the opposite – with the audience able to see the selfishness of his actions, and have us on Cpt. Stacy’s side when he takes Peter to task. I think them trying to have it both ways just leads to it feeling muddy. Really, the first time his theme music should play aside from the title card, is on the bridge when he saves the kid. Because this is where reaction becomes action. Peter’s not doing this to bully, or for revenge. He does it because it’s right, and because he has the power to. “I’m Spider-Man” is a great moment, and then we’re treated to him looking at the mask, and realizing what it can mean for people. Yet even there, he just… swings away? Despite us knowing there is at least one other person trapped in the hanging cars. So it’s all a little shaky.

Visually, I simply can’t get on board with this version of his suit. I acknowledge its attempts to feel homemade to a degree, but overall it looks too much like it’s trying to be something different from what we’ve seen, rather than just… being something different. Give him the full red belt, gosh darn it.

On The Lizard - the notion that Raimi’s Spider-Man 3 had a ‘too many villains’ problem is kinda debunked when this movie shows that even one villain can apparently be too much. Doctor Connors’ origin is so oddly rushed. There are some deleted scenes that make him more fleshed out, but that doesn’t change that we get about 30 seconds of him with his regrown arm before things begin to go wrong. We need space to appreciate the rise before the drop. If they focused in on the idea that he reverts to the ‘weakness’ of  a human each time he changes back, then I’d buy his ‘turn everyone into lizards’ argument a bit more - but he gets better eyesight as Curt, so as far as finding ‘perfection’ I’m just never on board with his grand scheme. Not only that, he never talks with Peter about the experiments again. His life’s work was taken to new and surprising directions because of this boy, but all we get is him quickly ushering Peter out of his office… and that’s it – they barely even speak for the rest of the movie. And not only that, but seeing as they never actually show him finding a permanent transformation, his final plan is flawed to the very core – everyone’s just gonna change back in the morning! They also attempt to give us this dual personality angle to him – something I really didn’t find necessary or particularly engaging (seriously, look up the deleted scene where he talks with Peter in the sewer, it’s so much better), and we’ve already had that played out three times in the Raimi films, all with much stronger results.

Design-wise, they put in so much effort in the lore to try and get us to believe this guy will turn into a giant lizard, but when the result is just this big, ugly… whatever-the-heck, what was the point? I do like elements of it – the CGI is realistic, I like that his regenerated arm is extra lizardy, and I like that his pupils eventually become slits when The Lizard has fully taken over (except, oops, they actually change back for the school scene because things were reshuffled in the edit). But where, oh where, is his lab coat, my friends? Can you imagine if he’d worn it throughout the whole movie? And as the calm, dignified scientist begins to lose himself in these reptilian transformations, his coat gets more and more torn up, until finally it’s ripped away and only the monster remains.

I appreciate what was attempted with Spidey’s crane swing, I just don’t know if it delivers in a way that’s as effective as they want. We haven’t been given an idea of what the NYC citizens think about Spidey, so it doesn’t fulfill the same level of satisfaction as “you mess wit’ one of us, you mess wit’ all of us”. It doesn’t manage to evoke ‘NYC Loves Spidey’ when it’s just one crane operator telling everyone else what to do.

And then, we have the ending. I want to like it, I really do. I like Ben’s voicemail finalizing everything, I like Peter and Flash becoming chums. The teacher telling us that every story is just ‘who am I?’ is a bit obvious, writing-wise - still, not too bad. But his whisper to Gwen, I just don’t… understand it. He promised Captain Stacy he wouldn’t jeopardize Gwen’s safety, and he’s learned that his irresponsibility can cause immense tragedy. I don’t see how that final line fits with his character growth to this point. It’s dealt with in the sequel to varying degrees of success, and I don’t subscribe to Peter needing to be a loner, so I think this moment has the capacity to function. But not with where this story has placed us at this point. From Ben’s lecture on moral obligation, to the Captain’s lecture on the effects of his actions, and Peter eventually seeing that Spider-Man is important and can do good... It all speaks of our protagonist casting off selfishness to keep people from harm. And his final comment to Gwen is a selfish one, that he has been advised could cause direct harm. Are he, and we, meant to have changed our minds because Aunt May denied his claim of being no good for Gwen? Are we meant to infer that Gwen doesn’t understand the risk, or wants to risk the endangerment, despite her explicitly saying she’s afraid of Peter’s commitment to Spider-Man in the same way as she’s afraid of her father’s commitment to the police force? It feels like every inch of this movie denies its ending… and I’m left with a frown as we get our final swing.

I suppose what frustrates me about this movie as a whole is the potential to be something else – something greater. Too many decisions have me puzzled or annoyed, and while it starts with some solid ideas and engaging performances, by the end I sadly lose patience with it.

-

-

Rating:

[call-me-rei]

Chapter 5

The weeks that passed brought changes to San Diego. The weather was starting to cool down, although not enough for kids to go to school in coats. Still, it was evident that the summer season was ending in the northern hemisphere. The sticking feeling of humidity that wavered around in the air was dying down and being replaced with brisk, refreshing breezes.

Vic smiled to himself as he sat in the backyard of his house. He loved the cooler seasons of the year. The town he had lived in previously was always so cold, albeit gloomy, but Vic enjoyed it. He saw the sun on the rare occasions that it wasn’t hidden behind clouds and enjoyed the cool temperatures that happened because of that. Then he moved to California and the sun was always shining bright. He had no idea if the state ever saw temperatures lower than eighty degrees.

But today was a counter to that thought. He sat on the swing set his father had built in the backyard and lazily rocked back and forth, enjoying the cool air that blew through his hair and tickled his cheeks.

It was peaceful in Vic’s neighborhood. Even though it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, there was hardly any activity on the streets. Maybe families were sleeping in, or maybe they had gone out before he got outside. Either way he was enjoying the quiet that surrounded him.

Vic had had a good week. Ever since he received the picture from Kellin, the two boys had been leaving drawings and little notes in their shared desks. Vic was nervous that Kellin would have stopped after he got Vic’s first picture, but when he got to his classroom the day after and saw the thank you note from his new friend, he knew that he needed to continue being his secret pen pal.

So the boys kept it up for days. Then days became weeks and they were still leaving little things in each other’s desks. Sometimes it was a random drawing they’d made in art class or during a brain break, and other times they were asking each other important questions:

Do you like cake or pie better?

What’s your favorite color?

Do you have any brothers or sisters?

I’m sorry I’m asking so many questions. I just wanna get to know my new friend :)

The boys quickly learned how to communicate with each other to make each other’s day. It started with Kellin asking Vic random questions to which Vic always answered. Then the blond boy would draw a picture that corresponded with the answer he was given. When Vic had answered that his favorite color was red Kellin drew him a picture of Pikachu in a red rocket ship with a red flower crown on its head. Vic kept that picture in a sheet protector in his binder with the other pictures Kellin had given him.

And of course Vic drew him pictures back. It almost seemed like a competition to see who could outdo the other with their artistic abilities, but neither boy saw it that way. They just wanted to show that they cherished the friendship the other had offered. What better way to do that than cute pictures of their favorite things?

Vic leaned back on the swing and looked at the sky. He had a genuine smile on his face as the thought about his interactions with Kellin. He never would have thought that he’d make a friend in the first week of school, let alone keep a friend, but he had and he was happy. He was genuinely happy.

His family of course noticed the boy’s happiness. They didn’t comment on it though, for fear that it would make him revert back to his gloomy self. Still, they enjoyed seeing the oldest son happy when he got home from school. He was even beginning to talk more at home, something neither parent thought would happen.

Mrs. Fuentes looked out the sliding glass door into the backyard and watched her son on the swing. She smiled at his smile. She wasn’t sure why her son was so happy, but as long as he was out of his funk, she wasn’t going to question it. All that mattered was that her boy was doing better than ever before.

The other boy involved in this friendship was also doing better than before, although it was harder to tell. Kellin was always a happy child and rarely seemed to get upset, so it was hard to tell if he was having a bad day. Even his mother couldn’t see it unless he told her outright. So when the friendly relationship with Vic started no one noticed how much Kellin needed it.

Kellin appreciated how much Vic seemed to be drawn to him. He knew the new student was wary of making friends, so he felt flattered that he was the only one who could capture his attention. It made him feel special and wanted. Out of all the students in third grade, Vic had chosen him. That thought always made him smile.

The two continued to talk underneath their tree at recess. Vic always assumed that Kellin would leave one day when he got bored and go play with his friends, but the blond boy showed no signs of doing so. In fact, Kellin looked forward to sitting with Vic every day. He loved talking about nerdy things that his other friends had no interest in. Jack and Jesse thought Pokémon was nerdy and laughed at the kids with backpacks or clothing that represented the series. Kellin, not wanting to be included in the taunting, always kept silent, something that he regretted each time it happened.

But with Vic he could talk freely about the series, and about anything else he wanted to. Vic was a great listener and let Kellin talk about whatever he wanted. Kellin knew it was because the other boy wasn’t keen on talking, but that didn’t make a difference to either of them. Vic was always happy to listen to his new friend speak. And boy, did Kellin speak.

Anyone who spent time with Kellin knew he sociable. He wouldn’t consider himself an extrovert like others would, but his ADD made him susceptible to speaking fast and moving faster. He found an interest in many different things and was always excited to talk about them to anyone who’d listen. Even complete strangers. There was one moment in his life when he saw a teenager with bright purple hair and immediately went up to them to ask them about it.

“That’s so cool! I wish I could do that! You’re so lucky!” he had said to the unknown boy in the middle of the grocery store. The teenage boy just chuckled and thanked him for the complement before walking off to continue his shopping.

Some people thought this side of Kellin was strange, but not Vic. Vic liked that Kellin took control of the conversation and didn’t force him to talk when he didn’t want to. It made him feel comfortable knowing he could add in when the anxiety he sometimes felt lessened. Vic also liked how interested Kellin was in things he hadn’t seen before. Kellin would ask many questions that Vic took his time answering. He would have stuttered out an answer to anyone else, but Kellin made him feel comfortable enough to come out of his shell and talk about himself or his interests more freely.

Both boys appreciated each other so much, even if they’d never said that before. Instead, they continued with their notes in each other’s desks and their talks at recess that each party looked forward to every day.

But the Monday after the that cool day on the swings changed things for Vic and Kellin.

The two friends had spent the morning in their homeroom classes learning the respective content before they went to specials. Kellin had art that day while Vic had music. Neither was complaining; both boys enjoyed starting their week in their favorite fine arts class.

Kellin sat in art listening to their teacher, Mrs. Miller, talk about the day’s project. “I want you all to create a picture of a happy moment in your life. We’ll use pencils to sketch it then we’ll add watercolors next week. Start by brainstorming and when you have your idea write it down so you don’t forget it. I’ll come by and ask you some questions before you start your sketch.”

Kellin smiled to himself as Mrs. Miller talked. He was excited about this project. A happy moment in his life? He had so many he could sketch! Happy moments just seemed to come naturally to him, so he wasted no time writing his ideas on the scratch piece of paper the art teacher had handed out.

By the time Mrs. Miller came over to his table Kellin had six ideas he was passionate about drawing. There was his first visit to the beach when he was five, the first time he rode a bike, a random day he played with Jack and Jesse, the one summer he went to a waterpark, last Christmas when he got a remote-controlled dinosaur, and the day he made a new friend.

“You have a lot here, Kellin,” Mrs. Miller said. “Do you know which one you want to draw?”

Kellin shook his head. “I like all of them!” He hadn’t realized how much of an attachment he had to each of the memories. He frowned. “How am I supposed to pick?”

“Well, when you think of the time you were the most happy, what do you think about? Whatever it is, draw that.” Kellin thought the words over as Mrs. Miller left to speak to another student.

What was the happiest moment in his life? How could he figure that out before class ended? The answer was he couldn’t. Specials ended before Kellin had made a decision. That frustrated the boy, and he took that frustration with him to lunch.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jack asked when he noticed his blond friend was surprisingly in a bad mood. As usual, Jack, Jesse, and Kellin were sitting behind each other at their respective lunch tables so they could turn and talk to each other when they were done eating.

“Mrs. Miller wants us to draw a picture of a happy moment in our life,” Kellin answered, “and I can’t think of what I wanna draw.”

“But you’re like, the happiest person I know,” the brunette said. Jesse nodded along. “How can you not think of something?”

“I did, but I have so many that I can’t pick just one. And Mrs. Miller won’t let me draw all of my ideas.” Kellin huffed at the end of his sentence. He was annoyed that his teacher didn’t allow him to draw more than one idea, no matter how much he begged.

“Man, I’m gonna hate this project,” Jesse said with a shake of his head. Jack looked to him and nodded in agreement. If Kellin was having so much trouble, then the two of them were goners.

“Okay, but what am I supposed to do?” Kellin asked in annoyance. This wasn’t about them, it was about him, and he needed advice.

“Just close your eyes and point to something,” Jack suggested. Kellin pouted. He would have loved to do that if he didn’t feel so connected to all of the things on that list. Blindly picking one wouldn’t sit right with him. He wanted to genuinely draw the moment.

He explained this to his friends who offered less than helpful solutions. They meant well but Kellin was stubborn. He wanted it to be his way, but his brain and Mrs. Miller were making that difficult.

He kept up with his frustration as he went out to the playground with his class. He kicked rocks down the sidewalk that lead to the jungle gym and swing sets, opting to walk away from the tree he had sat under for weeks. He couldn’t be bothered with sitting still; he needed to do something to help this feeling building up in his chest.

Ms. Barnes’ homeroom came outside shortly after Kellin’s class had. Vic walked toward his familiar spot but was surprised to see that his new friend wasn’t there. Usually when one of their classes came outside before the other, the boy would be under the tree waiting for his friend. But today there was no Kellin. Where did he go? Was he abandoning him? It was about time, Vic thought sadly.

Vic wanted to sit in silence and wallow in his broken heart, but he heard a sound that drew his attention.

The brunette turned his head to the left and saw his new friend. Kellin was seemingly upset and was kicking gravel into the metal frame of the swing set, enjoying the harsh clicks and dings of the two objects meeting.

Vic, unsure why his always bubbly friend was in such a mood, slowly walked over to him. “Kellin?” he said softly. The blond boy ignored him; he didn’t want to talk. He was so frustrated that the only sounds he could hear were the rocks hitting metal and his heavy breathing as he kicked harder and harder.

“Kellin?” Vic tried again. When the boy didn’t respond Vic took it upon himself to get his attention. He put a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder which startled him. Kellin let out a high-pitched yelp as his body jerked up. He hadn’t realized someone was behind him.

“Sorry,” Vic said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Kellin just huffed and turned his head away from his friend. “Is everything okay?”

“No,” Kellin muttered.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

The bright-eyed boy blew an angry breath from his nose. “No,” he answered, “I wanna swing.” Without another word Kellin took a few steps toward an empty swing and sat in the seat. He wanted to continue kicking rocks so that’s what he did. He sat on the seat and kicked the gravel underneath him, not intending to rock himself back and forth but achieving that anyway.

Vic didn’t know what to do. Kellin hadn’t invited him to swing with him, but he didn’t want to leave his upset friend alone. With a sigh he made a decision and sat in the swing next to Kellin. He hoped that Kellin wouldn’t tell him to go away, but in actuality, he was glad that Vic didn’t abandon him.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, neither boy knowing what to say. This was foreign to both of them; they had been speaking to each other since the day they met. It was all different and uncomfortable, especially to Vic. He never knew Kellin could be so quiet and that alone worried him. Whatever was bothering him needed to be put out in the open so he could have his friend back.

“Did you wanna talk?” Vic eventually asked.

Kellin sighed at the brown-eyed boy’s question. He didn’t want to talk, but he knew that Vic cared enough to stay with him while he was upset. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to open up to him.

“Vic?” The other boy hummed. “What’s a happy moment from your life?”

Vic looked at Kellin with furrowed brows. “Huh?”

Kellin sighed before he began his rambling. “Mrs. Miller is making us draw happy moments from our lives and I have a few but she only wants me to draw one, but I don’t think that’s fair to the other moments because they all mean so much to me. Jack and Jesse told me to just close my eyes and pick one, but I don’t wanna just draw a random moment that I didn’t really wanna draw in the first place, you know?”

Vic nodded slowly. “Yeah…”

“It’s just so frustrating because so many good things have happened to me, but I feel so stupid that I can’t just pick one.” Kellin frowned when he was done, looking down at his shoes that were still kicking the rocks below.

“I’m sorry.”

Kellin quirked an eyebrow. “For what?”

Vic shrugged. He wasn’t sure why he apologized, but he knew it made people feel better so why not?

It looked as if his kind gesture worked because Kellin’s lips finally turned up in a small smile. “Well, thanks.” Vic smiled back before he nudged his feet off the ground and began swinging slowly. Kellin looked at his friend rocking back and forth. “So what would you draw?” he asked.

Vic looked to his left. “For Mrs. Miller?” Kellin nodded. “Uh…”

The brunette had to think about it. It wasn’t easy for him to find happy moments in life, but knowing he had to before the next day when he had art put a bit of pressure on him. What would he draw?

“I guess I’d draw a picture of me reading to my brother. He loves when we read together, and it makes me happy too. Or I’d draw a picture of my new house. I finally have my own room and that’s pretty cool. Or maybe when we went to Universal over the summer. That was a lot of fun.”

Kellin nodded along as Vic spoke. “Okay, but which one of those was the happiest moment?”

Vic stopped swinging and looked up at the sky. There were some light clouds passing over the sun and a cool breeze rustling through the trees around them. It reminded him of the good feeling he had over the weekend; that even though he was at school and not sitting in his backyard, he was still content.

“None of them,” he answered with a soft smile. Kellin opened his mouth to continue his questioning, but Vic cut him off before he could start. “I mean, getting my own room was nice, and Universal was fun, and I always read to my brother so that’s a happiness that never leaves, but they aren’t the happiest things that have happened.”

“So what is?”

Vic bit his lip, embarrassed to admit the reason why he had been so happy lately, but fighting through it to say, “The day we met.”

Kellin’s wyes went wide. “Really?” The brown-eyed boy nodded. “Why?”

“Because that was the day I made a friend.”

“At this school?”

“Yeah…and ever.” Vic mumbled the last part, his cheeks beginning to burn.

“Ever?” Kellin was confused again. He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought over what his friend was telling him. “Wait, I’m your first friend?”

Vic nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re kinda my only friend.”

Kellin didn’t say anything. What could he say? What was he going to say when the shock wore off? His new friend had never had a friend before. Was that weird? Was it because he was weird? All of these questions swirled around Vic’s mind as he watched the boy next to him go through different confused expressions.

“Kellin?”

“Does that mean I’m your best friend?”

Vic blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and shrugged. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know anything about best friends since Kellin was the first and only friend he’d ever had. “I guess?”

The blond boy’s eyes lit up and became brighter than before. His lips broke out into a wide smile. “Oh wow that’s so cool! I think you’re my best friend too! I mean, Jack and Jesse are too but I don’t like playing with them as much as I like playing with you. And we can talk about Pokémon and I don’t feel like a dork. Yeah, I think you’re my best friend too.”

Vic couldn’t help but smile back. The content feeling turned into one of utter happiness. Not only was Kellin in a better mood but he had admitted that they were best friends. It was enough to make the grumpiest person feel warmth in their heart.

The two boys stayed on the swings and talked about their weekend. Of course, that meant discussing the latest episodes of Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh. When recess was over, they went inside their classrooms and left each other notes in their desks, hoping to continue the conversations from outside.

The next day Vic went to art and made good on his words from the day before. He drew a picture of himself sitting with Kellin under their tree. Both boys had smiles on their faces as they read the book in Vic’s hands. And since Vic had known exactly what he wanted to draw before he got to class that day, he was able to make two copies of the picture: one to turn in to Mrs. Miller that he drew in class and one he’d drawn the night before with more detail to give to Kellin with a note written on the back.

For my best friend

Kellin received the picture the day after and kept it in a folder with all of the other pictures and notes he’d gotten from Vic. The following Monday he went back to art and drew a picture of him and Vic soaring through the sky on the swings. It wasn’t necessarily the happiest moment in his life, but he had too many moments with Vic to just pick one.

[star-anise]

Oh dear, I’m sorry to bother you, but I would like to ask for your advice on something related to several of your top posts- Are there any cues that one would be able to observe within themselves that could help with a diagnosis of, well, being gifted? I’ve been told as such my entire life, but due to the number of students that are superior to me, I’ve come to doubt what was previously thought of me; I fear I might become obsolete.

I feel the need to answer a different question than the one you’ve asked. I think it will still help. I’m going to use IQ here, for all that it’s an intensely flawed measure, because it’s well-researched and we can do math with it.

“Giftedness”, as most school systems define it, is more than two standard deviations (SDs) above the norm. Because of how bell curves work, that’s approximately the top 2% of intelligence. The higher intelligence goes, the rarer. Which is to say if people are randomly distributed, the odds are that every 50 people will produce 1 person 2 SDs above the norm. However, the higher you go up, the rarer it gets. Above 3 SDs is 0.01%, which is 1 in every ten thousand. Above 4 SDs is 1 in every thirty thousand. You would need to comb a randomly-populated city of a million people before you could come up with enough people to fill a classroom of 30 people–and they would be every age, from infancy to centennarian.

Which is to say: The smarter you are, the less likely you are to ever meet anyone else as smart as you when you’re young. This means that you’re very likely to define “being smart” as “always being the smartest person in the room”. And if your peers treat you as weird and your teachers fixate on your intelligence, you may come to associate “being smart” as “my entire reason for having worth in this world.”

So as long as you keep seeking higher education and greater challenge–as long as you keep going towards those magnets that draw other people of high intelligence–the odds slowly increase that someday, you’ll meet people as smart as you, if not smarter.

And for a lot of us there’s a really rude shock where suddenly we’re not the smartest person in the room, and the internal dominos start to fall: If I’m not the smartest, am I even smart? If I’m not smart, do I even have a use anymore? What do I even have to offer the world now that I’m stupid???

I hit that level in high school, when I sought out an IB school and met Matt, who would be my best friend for the next three years. Matt hit that level when he went to university to study physics, and realized he was the least-intelligent person in a professor’s lab. Occasionally I’ll meet people who appear not to have had that experience yet–who are either awkwardly humble about it, or deeply arrogant. For some of them, I am the first person they have ever met who’s smarter than them, and they generally either crumble into self-hatred and self-doubt, or they light up and go, “Oh my god! You’re like me!”

It is very definitely possible to remind yourself that you are still smart, still capable, and still worthwhile. But I would encourage you to use this as an opportunity to also branch out.

Most other kids, when they were very young, hit challenges they couldn’t master–and they learned how to feel good about themselves anyway. They might not have been the smartest, they reasoned, but at least… they made their friends laugh. They coloured pictures in a way that satisfied them. They tried very hard. They loved dancing to music. They liked to feed the family pet. They could define themselves by many different experiences and relationships, and find sources of self-confidence and pleasure that had nothing to do with school or intelligence.

If you’re using words like “obsolete”, it sounds like you didn’t get that. You missed out on the opportunity to get to define yourself as having worth and function in a variety of ways; to be complete and self-justified just for being alive. 

This is a really important thing. It’s essential to a world of human rights. We’ve tried worlds where people had to justify their existence–you have to be this hardworking to deserve medical care; you have to be this virtuous to deserve peace and happiness; you have to be this intelligent to be allowed to propagate your genes. And overwhelmingly? They result in human misery. To allow a world where you can be deemed “obsolete” and lose all right to community, happiness, self-worth, or meaningful work, is to allow a world where suffering is the default state. And, well–some people are, but I am not okay with that.

So I am accordingly not okay with the amount of pain, isolation, and self-hatred you’ve lived with. I think that no matter how smart you were or weren’t, you should have been treated as worthwhile and lovable regardless of you performance. I think you should always have had friends who understood you and didn’t think you were weird. I think you should have been given chances to try something you didn’t completely have the abilities to master, and been able to fail at it and learn to be okay with failure, in a way that reinforced that you were fundamentally good, lovable, and capable of doing good and worthwhile things.

It is a lot harder to go back and do that work now that you’re an adult. The same way it’s harder to learn a second language for a first time as an adult than as a six-year-old, it’s a lot harder to learn these emotional skills. Your brain’s emotional systems are hugely dominated by the formative experiences you had as a child. It might take pain, doubt, questioning, outside help, finding a counsellor who works with Gifted adults, or trying medical treatment for depression or anxiety to get there.

Anyway, to answer your original question: It can be really grounding to get out of the rarified air of academia and get in touch with adults who didn’t have to score incredibly well on tests to be there. If you go to something not selected for academic prowess–a general adult exercise class, or knitting group, or community group, or bowling league–you’ll see the incredible diversity of intellects, personalities, and life experiences. You might meet people as smart as you, who have great careers and blow off steam through this recreation; smart people whose life has led them down a non-academic path; people of normal intelligence, who nonetheless have robust lives and interests and concerns and are a lot less excruciating to talk to than carefully age-matched peers of your childhood; and people with cognitive impairments or developmental delays that mean they need special accommodation to be able to happily live, but do nonetheless manage it.

In short: Get out of your own head, because there are very few reference points, and find yourself in a wider social matrix that isn’t rigidly sorted by test score.

I was also immeasurably helped as a teenager by joining a nerdy hobby (medieval re-enactment) full of Gifted adults who would sit around the fire and tell me the unexpected stories of their lives (”I was a smart kid, but then in uni I discovered that being a graduate student in chemistry is awful, so I became a teacher. Then I met my wife and fell in love, so I moved to Canada to be with her, and Canada won’t accept my teaching license and I don’t want to go back to school and be poor. So now I’m the assistant manager of a bookstore”). These served as a powerful antidote to the message that if I wasn’t on a “30 Under 30″ list of blazing comets taking the world by storm, I was a complete failure.

I can’t give you my own experiences, but I can suggest some places to look for those antidotes: Late Bloomers by Rich Karlgaard, What Should I Do With My Life? by Po Bronson, and The Gifts of Imperfection by Brené Brown.

[angeltriestoblog]

I figured out what I want to do with my life! And made a vision board!

It came to me in a flash, really. One minute, I was watching a handpainted narration of the life and death of one of the greatest painters of all time, and next thing you know, I've abandoned it completely and started furiously typing away at my laptop about what I envisioned myself to be in five years' time. And I know I've had my fair share of false alarms in life: I thought I had what it takes to be a lawyer after seeing Legally Blonde for the first time while on my way to a school field trip, and seriously considered pursuing a career as a fashion blogger or MTV VJ because I was kind of fed up with school.

But this one just makes sense. Advising and assisting clients in producing content, collaterals, and campaigns according to their business objectives and based on collected data! It marries my love for writing, my knack for snooping around (the academic term is research!), and the specialty in technology and management my university ensures I'll have at the end of my four-year degree. i have yet to see how it’ll allow me to give back to society since that’s also a factor I want to consider in looking for a dream job but I’ll make it work. I found it hard to sleep that night, thanks to this nerdy, giddy kind of adrenaline rush I had. I broke down this big idea into smaller and smaller action steps until all I had left was a refined list of ideas and intentions, and a splitting headache.

I needed to make sure I was constantly reminded of their existence so all my choices and decisions would serve as a step closer to reaching all of them. So I caved in to the wishes of the "law of attraction" side of the Internet, and created my very own vision board! Simply put, this act of visualization is a powerful technique that can be used to manifest desires and reach goals. Our subconscious minds mainly recognize symbols and images: by merely looking at our vision boards everyday, subliminal messages are being sent to our brains, which will encourage them to work tirelessly to achieve the statements we are feeding to them. I can't find any explanation for this that's less abstract but since many people seem to swear on it and I have a lot of free time and printer ink, I figured why not, right?

It was convenient that I had this small corkboard from Daiso already stuck to one corner of my bedroom wall with several layers of double-sided tape. It used to be a year-long calendar of birthdays but I realized that I've never referred to it and often have to rely on either Facebook reminders or stock knowledge--there is no in between. All I had to do was to look at my list of goals, and compile photos that correspond to each of them, cut them up and arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing manner. You'll see below that I lacked the stereotypical luxury car and beachfront mansion with a walk-in closet and that's because I decided to focus on my goals for the next five years so it looks even a little bit more achievable.  

Here's the finished product, along with explanations for each picture, to make this how-to more personal and to also hold myself accountable.

 Make my girl Jenna Rink and everybody at Poise proud by writing for a magazine | I had listed a specific one at the time, and if you follow me on Twitter and Instagram, you already know what it is and how this endeavor turned out - but on this blog, I'll shroud it in a little cloud of mystery for now and talk about it more in a future post. I'm very happy producing content for this space of mine and have no intention of stopping any time soon. But at the same time I know that I'd be missing out if I didn't take the chance to be part of a community that leads me to like-minded individuals, allows me to grow even more in my craft, and "gives creators a space to speak their minds and push the limits of their artistry, without imposing any restrictions or expectations", as I stated in my application form.

 Be active in three organizations next school year | (I had to blur one of them out because I'm not a member yet and I don't want to jinx it.) I know it's bold of me to assume that we'll be returning to school any time soon, but if we are ever lucky enough, I want to outdo myself when it comes to the orgs I'm a part of. I have been a good follower throughout my first two years of college but now I believe it's my time to try my hand at leading a group of people and being more involved in the conceptualization and execution of projects.

 Go on a trip to Europe | Not even just a specific group of countries anymore (I used to be a France, Italy, Spain supremacist)--I mean the entire continent! (But then again, with its rich history and culture, picturesque tourist spots, diverse cuisines... even the sheer adrenaline rush that comes with being in a land completely different from the one you come from, how could anyone not want to go?

 and 12. Get the job of my dreams | I actually nicked these photos from the website of a cooperative I want to work for once I graduate from college. I know that I can't plan out the rest of my career trajectory as early as now: things are bound to change at some point, but I hope that I stay in a field that combines creativity and business strategy to craft campaigns, create meaningful content, and market solutions to brands.

 Expand my network | I acknowledge how knowing people who know people who know people can open windows of opportunities that I wouldn't have been able to have anywhere else. But I also look forward to building genuine connections with people from all sorts of industries. Talking to the same circle of friends can sometimes feel like you're trapped in an echo chamber: there is certainly much to learn from others' viewpoints.

 Volunteer to teach kids | I don't think the written word could have changed my life as much as it did, had it not been for the presence of English teachers who believed in the power of the language to shape the minds of the youth. I guess this is just me trying to give back and help the next generation express their ideas and bring them to life by channeling my inner John Keating.

 Maintain a clean workspace that is conducive to productivity | Especially during these days, I spend a solid 18 out of 24 hours sat at my desk, trying my best to make magic happen. It's very important that I keep it a constant and active source of inspiration, free from any distractions, and at the right level of comfort. Although it's not as minimalist as I hoped it would be and my table is about an inch too high for my liking, I'm still pretty satisfied!

 Document memories consistently, be it through a physical or online journal | Speaking of clearing out my room, I recently found around 20 notebooks I had filled up over the years. Though maintaining them must have been such a hassle especially as I got older and reading through them was a distraction from completing the task at hand, I am thankful I painstakingly chronicled everything going on in my life and kept them in good condition. Seeing the goals I had set for myself all those years ago and how I achieved most of them without making a conscious effort has inspired me to do my older self a favor by putting in the work now so she can reap the rewards. (While I'm on this note, can anyone recommend a good app for journaling? I keep all my current entries in my Mac's Notes app because even though I am more of an analog person, I seemed to have lost the patience and persistence required to keep a physical journal. But at the same time, I'm scared of my laptop suddenly cr*shing and wiping out everything I had stored)

 Stay focused on my work always | I didn't know how to show this without having to spell it out in words so I Photoshopped my face onto the head of a woman working in a cafe because those who study in coffee shops along Katip always look like they're getting stuff done.

 Keep learning about the world even when I'm outside of the classroom | And this is not limited to frequenting the nearby museum, although that does sound like a great idea right now. This could also mean attending seminars, workshops, and talks, buying books and binge-watching documentaries or YouTube videos about a topic that I find interesting, engaging in discourse with someone (plus points if they have a different viewpoint!)

 Write my own book | Before I even found out that humans were destined to pick a career and work until they died, I already knew that I wanted to spend my days as a writer. Specifically, I wanted to see my name on the cover of a book: By Angel Martinez. (Please refer to the 4:32 of this video and look at how far this dream actually goes back.) But once I realized that I wanted to enter the world of business, I thought I would have to give this up altogether. Thankfully, I now know that one's ability to get published is not reliant on their career--I mean, even beauty gurus get book deals these days. I'm not really sure what it's going to be about but I'd honestly be down for anything: even if it's just a compilation of my best entries on this blog.

13. Go all out when I take myself on self-care dates | I'm talking about picnics at the beach, with a basket full of fruits, a posh looking hat, and a good piece of classic literature! Or fancy dinners for one complete with as many glasses of red wine as I can down! People watching at Downtown Disneyland like my paternal grandmother in hand, with a plastic bag of souvenirs on one hand and a cream cheese pretzel on the other! (The possibilities are endless and I'm already mapping most of them out.)

14. Be financially stable enough to re-enact that one scene in Pretty Woman where Vivian Ward struts down the streets of Beverly Hills in a chic white dress and black hat, an endless number of shopping bags in tow | The part where I humiliate a sales lady who snubbed me the day before because she didn't think I could afford what she was selling by saying, "You work on commission, right? That's right. Big mistake, big, huge." is entirely optional.

I also included some two inspirational sayings that were originally laptop wallpapers from The Everygirl. I feel like they perfectly sum up the attitude I want to have as I forge my own path and accomplish everything I have set out for myself. If I was somehow able to convince you that this activity serves as the perfect springboard for all your dreams and aspirations, here are a couple of tips that could hopefully help you make yours!

Be ready for some intense introspection | Though it may look like a simple arts and crafts activity at the surface, making an effective vision board simply cannot be achieved if you're not willing to do some much needed reflection and watch it balloon into a full-on existential crisis. Identify which areas of your life are most important to you and how you would like to see them evolve over a period of time.

Specificity is key | The trick is to make your goals as concrete as possible, then translate them into visual elements. I know some people who wanted to get into particular universities, who have Photoshopped their names onto acceptance letters and pinned those to their corkboards. As stupid as that may sound in retrospect, I reckon it's an elaborate way of claiming something that's right within your reach.

Design it any way you want | Don't feel pressured to make it look like it's worthy to be on someone else's Pinterest because that's exactly how you lose sight of why you're doing it in the first place. The only person your final output has to resonate with is you.

Don't get discouraged | Although a vision board can attract positive energy and manifest your intentions to the universe, one thing it isn't capable of doing is granting your wishes in an instant. Don't be upset if what you have cut out and stuck on has yet to happen: I truly believe in the saying that the more you look for something, the more it seems to avoid you. Instead, continue to work hard and focus on the progress that you have already made.

Have you made a vision board of your own already? How has it turned out, and how many of the things you had put up have come true? I know you may be a complete stranger from the other side of the world but I'd be happy to hear from you anyway! Wishing you love and light always, especially during trying times such as this. Wash your hands, pray for our frontliners, and check your privilege!

[detectivesplotslies]

An Anthropologist and a Pianist walk into a School

Oumota Week 2019 - Day 2: Talent Swap / Monster AU 

Description: The Ultimate Anthropologist, Kaito Momota, wants to make quick work of getting to know everything about his classmates, but a certain Pianist seems to be making that troublesome.  Word Count: 1719

Read on AO3 here

“So, you’re a pianist? That’s quite a profession to get into, lots of glory and greatness in being a musician! Who would you say inspired you?”

Kaito barely wastes a moment after introducing himself and jumps straight into questions. He’s already had a long discussion with Kaede about her inventions and Rantaro about his organization, and Kokichi happens to be hovering when he finishes.

“You cut right to it, huh. Well of course the greats, Beethoven, Wagner, a bit of Handel gives you a good handle on it.”

“So you’re into classical stylings? Are they hard to learn? What about your teacher?” Kaito talks a mile a minute, quickly committing the names to memory. Sure music isn’t his expertise, but he knows the big names. Symphonies that inspired others, and ones inspired by others.

“Oh my teacher’s a real gem, but he’s so strict, there was one time I got one note wrong in Beethoven’s 10th Symphony, and he made me play the entire thing backwards from that note and THEN start over. My poor fingers!”

“Oh cool, you must be really skilled then! Sure must have been a pain, that’s crazy punishment for a mistake! Did it even sound good?” Kaito looks up, his face genuinely excited.

Kokichi pauses before grinning and continuing.

“...well of COURSE it still sounded good, I am the Ultimate Pianist after all.”

“With training like that, can you compose? Do you improvise? Or after that rigorous training are you forever bound to the classics? Would it feel wrong to play something modern, or do you like the jazz era too?”

“Wow Momota-chan, how dare you speak of jazz in my presence. I do not play that filth, only the best for my hands!”

“Ah… okay, well, then what made you keep at it? You’re inspired by the classics and your teacher was harsh, but there’s not much for those outside of concerts. Are those what you play for?”

“Silly Momota-chan, of course it’s about the audience. The audience is always who matters when you play music, because only they can hear what you really want to say with it! You really ask a lot of questions, ya know? Are you sure you’re an anthropologist and not Ultimate Journalist? Ultimate TV Show Host? Ultimate Cop? Hmmm?”

“Hey I know a thing or two about audiences, but I’m still an anthropologist, don’t you forget it! Been on lecturing tours at universities all over to show what I’ve put together. I bet those aren’t too different from touring concerts.”

Kokichi laughs and continues to poke. The interview devolves into defenses, Kaito’s illustrious experience and credentials taking the spotlight and questions forgotten. Soon enough they part and he’s off to interview another classmate. An anthropologist’s work is never done as long as there are people to learn from!

But that was hardly the end of what he heard from Ouma that day. You’d think a musician would be more considerate about the volume of their voice.

---

During lunch the elegant cosplayer approaches the pianist, poise exquisite. He seems to consider the boy’s clothes before posing a question.

“So, do you wear the classic tails and tie when you perform, Ouma-kun?”

“Oh yes all the classics. The tie, tails, knuckles, sonic-”

“I’m sorry the-”

“Gotta go fast, Shinguji-kun! You know that one right? Ever worn a mascot costume? Huh?”

After a moment of awkward silence to Ouma’s exclamations Korekiyo excused himself. Kaito, also in the dining hall figured that… could be a way he could show interest in the cosplaying talent. Maybe. But from his interview he knew mascots and simple designs were the farthest from what the cosplayer’s actual interest was.

---

During an argument about her tastes, it isn’t long before the artist tries to push back on the other art talent in the room, and prove herself more cultured.

“Well, I bet you don’t have any more recent musical influences hmm? All long dead men, who’s music is gathering dust. A real artist has to live in the now,” Tenko huffs.

“Oh but I love to stay current! Why just last month I attended a very inspiring concert.”

“Oh really? Tenko would like to know who!”

“Have you, my dear, heard the musical stylings of the Wiggles?”

The jazz hands are met with a nose thrust in the air as Tenko turns heel to leave. Kokichi calls something about artist temperaments after her, to which her heels in her exit from the courtyard clack a bit louder and angrier, like little daggers stabbing the pavement.

Possibly artistic differences? Competitive sort of field? Kaito isn’t sure he’s got a good enough grasp of Tenko’s stance on it all yet to judge.

---

This time the sound of a strange song with no tempo played obnoxiously that caught his attention, and the anthropologist stops in the doorway to look into a classroom.

“Why do you keep playing that thing? I thought you were a piano man, or something.”

To the astronaut who was pointing at the kazoo in his mouth, Kokichi holds it out with some flare.

“The kazoo, which we in the music industry like to call the tongue piano, is a very technical instrument to get right, but if you listen closely you can hear the nuances of a master, c’mon lean in.”

A sharp sound, a spray of spit and a string of profanities later, Miu storms out muttering about getting that key wiggling twink back while Kokichi laughs himself breathless. Kaito stumbles out of her way, his face pinched into a frown as he glances back at the classroom.

Perhaps this called for a follow-up interview.

---

Kaito returns from the library, fists clenched, looking around. Eventually he spots Kokichi, snapping his suspenders and chatting away at the magician, Shuichi, backed into the corner with something between fear and confusion on his face. His top hat is precariously close to tipping off his face while he pushes against the wall.

“Hey Ouma, I wanted to ask you some more questions!”

The pianist turns, tilting his head to the side, face blank for a moment before a cheshire grin spreads across it.

“Momota-chan! Of course, of course. Want to hear more from the master, couldn’t resist, I get it. Well I have plenty of time! Saihara-chan here won’t tell me the ritual he cast to get so powerful because I’m not a wizard like him! Maybe your interrogation will work!”

Kaito hesitates a moment. Wizard? Isn’t Shuichi a magician? “Ah, no I just have questions for you, not Saihara.”

That’s all it takes for Shuichi to take his chance to dart behind Kokichi and leave the room in a run. Neither of them have ever seen the kid move that fast. They are left alone.

“Right, so I just wanted to check a few things with you. You said Beethoven, Wagner, and Handel were your inspiration?”

“Why Momota-chan, were your ears taking a vacation? Yep! Those are my favourite piano composers! And I won’t repeat it again, so you better listen!”

“And when you messed up in Beethoven’s 10th Symphony your teacher made you play it backwards?”

Kokchi flutters his fingers in front of him dramatically. “Back and then front again, like a puppet!”

“And you despise jazz?”

Kokichi gags. “Won’t touch the stuff!”

Then without missing a beat, Kaito grins and asks a new question.

“So your entire interview with me was bullshit, huh?”

Kokichi scoffs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “My, my, Momota-chan, what nerve you have to tell a musician he doesn’t know his own taste! Next I’ll be telling you about anthropology journals or whatever boring things you are inspired by!”

Kaito sighs and pulls a book out of his bag and flips it open, citing pages as he talks. “Wagner was a terrible pianist, and while he did write some pieces for the piano, apparently they pale in comparison to most other composers of his time. Beethoven only wrote 9 symphonies, so whether you can play one backwards or not you should have corrected the number when I repeated 10th back at you. And you say you dislike jazz but that’s the beat and style you’ve been playing on your kazoo all day.” He claps the book shut with a satisfied smirk on his face.

There’s silence between them for an uncomfortable moment, until Kokichi puts his arms back lazily behind his head and smiles.

“Wow, Momota-chan’s such a nerd.”

Kaito’s smirk drops and indignance rushes onto it, red and unready for its turn.

“Wh- No I’m not! How is finding out a liar nerdy? You’ve been messing with people all day I had to fact check, I-”

“Ohhh, not a nerd, my mistake, a stalker! Wow, I haven’t had one of those since that one time at one of my concerts when this guy grabbed me by my tails and-”

“Ouma, I don’t want to hear another story, I want to hear about you!” Kaito may have shouted it a touch louder than planned, as Kokichi’s tale about his tails abruptly cuts off.

“Why?”

“What? What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Momota-chan can ask questions, but he can’t answer them? Why don’t you want to hear a story. Stories are much more fun! Stories about hedgehogs, teachers, fun kid shows, wizards, and strange instruments. Why wouldn’t that be what anyone wants to hear? It only matters if you like what you hear, afterall.”

“I don’t care if it’s what I would like if it’s not about you. What’s the point in getting to know someone that way?”

“I don’t know, maybe you should tell me, you’re the one studying humans, and they tell some pretty stories when there’s nothing very pretty at all.”

Kokichi smirks and starts to walk out of the room. He’s almost out when Kaito says something to himself, quietly, but Kokichi’s trained ears hear it clearly.

“So you weren’t lying about that then.”

Kokichi turns, raising a brow. “What do you think was true, then, oh Ultimate Questioner?”

“That it’s all about the audience. You change your tune based on who’s listening, and if what you want them to hear? Then I wonder what your audience when you actually play is like.”

Kokichi frowns for a moment and continues walking out, no reply ready.

[end note]

Hope you guys enjoyed a taste of the dumb talent swap I’ve been nursing in headcanons for ages hahah <3 As a bonus, about their designs, some fun details. Kokichi tucks his hair behind his ears so he can better catch what people are saying quietly, and Kaito ended up wrecking his eyes and needing glasses from trying to read things in dark places on expeditions after dark or before the crew would set up. For @oumota-events week!

[darkfire1220]

Viridescent Chapter Six: Control

Summary: As a child, Izuku decided it would be better if he were Quirkless than to have a power that scared everyone. Now a teenager and looking to enter U.A, he finds himself as the protege of All Might and a student of the best heroes in the nation- but there’s no running from a part of you, and he’s learning the hard way that you have to accept all of yourself to be a real hero.

Their third day of class started with an unexpected and (for most, rather unwelcome) surprise; the media had discovered that All Might was teaching at U.A and had come in force to investigate. The reporters couldn't actually get into U.A without the school's permission, so they parked themselves outside by the door and interviewed everyone they could with single-minded ferocity.

Izuku jumped when he was singled out by a woman who was probably in her mid-twenties. "What kind of lessons does All Might teach?!"

"E-eh?!" Izuku recoiled from the mic that was practically shoved in his face. "I-I-I umm…"

"Geez, everyone's so noisy," Katsuki grumbled, grabbing Izuku by the back of his collar and dragging him along to the school.

The reporter flashed towards him instead. "What do you think of All Might- wait, aren't you that kid from the Sludge villain incident?!"

A vein bulged in Katsuki's forehead, prompting a snarl. "Fuck off!"

From what Izuku could see as he let Katsuki drag him away from the chaos, Tenya was taking the whole interview thing pretty well- too well, in fact. The reporter questioning him looked annoyed by his long-winded and over-the-top answers. Elsewhere, another reporter had cornered a group consisting of Ochako, Tsuyu, Kyoka, and Mina, all four of which looked more than a little eager to get the hell out of there.

They were all saved when Mr. Aizawa showed up, his exhausted and scruffy appearance causing many of the cameramen to cut the feed almost instantly. The guy just wasn't suited to being on the news.

"All Might is off-duty at the moment. You are disturbing our students and the classes here," Aizawa told them bluntly, waving his hand as if to shoo them away. "I need to ask you to politely vacate the premises."

He glanced at his students, who eagerly ran over to him and then into the school, before turning away from the reporters. It nearly started an uproar of frustrated and unsatisfied questions.

The reporter who had interrogated Izuku and Katsuki puffed up her cheek angrily. "Geez, just a little time is enough! Come on, send All Might out- "

"No, wait!" An older reporter shouted as she walked too close to the entrance gate.

With a loud slamming of metal, the gate crashed shut, providing several layers of impenetrable steel between the reporters and the school. The woman who had tripped the sensor fell on her rear in shock.

"It's the U.A Barrier," the reporter who had tried to warn her explained with a sigh. "That's what we call it, anyways. Without a staff or student ID, the doors snap shut automatically. There are even sensors all over the campus on the off chance someone actually breaks in."

"That's so lame!" She retorted, rising back to her feet and dusting herself off. "Why are they going so far to keep us out? They haven't even given us a cheap lie or some boring information to report!"

While the media raged in front of the barred gate, a man dressed in a long, black sleeve hoodie and worn out pants behind them watched the scene in silence. Tired-looking red eyes gazed at the school with malevolence.

"Pick a Class President," Aizawa told them the moment everyone had settled in their seats. "I don't care how you decide it, just get it done before the period is up. We don't have much to discuss in Homeroom today. Most of what we'll be doing is going to be handled during Hero Studies later."

Instantly, pretty much the whole class was up and clamoring for themselves to be president. Even Izuku wouldn't deny he was kind of interested in the idea, but he was really nervous about it, as well.

"Enough!" Tenya suddenly interrupted. "This is no small decision that can be made just because you want to! The Presidency is a sacred office that only the chosen may find themselves tasked with! Therefore! It should be decided by a democratic vote!"

"…he says with his hand raised up as high as the rest of us," Mina finished, grinning at the sight of the young man with his back ramrod straight and his hand held high in the air.

Tsuyu held a finger to her chin. "It's a bit early to have developed any trust in each other, isn't it? Everyone will probably just vote for themselves."

"Is that not why the person who earns multiple votes will be truly worthy of the task?!" Tenya demanded. "If their charisma is such that they can earn the trust of many this early amongst class relations, they must possess the qualities worthy of Class President!"

Kyoka sighed and leaned back in her seat. "Sure, why not? Let's vote guys. I, Robot isn't going to let up on us anytime soon if we don't."

The votes were made anonymously so no one could be singled out for their vote, but by the end of the next ten minutes, all the votes were tallied and written up on the blackboard. The scores were as such:

Izuku Midoriya: 5 votes

Momo Yaoyorozu: 3 votes

Katsuki Bakugo: 2 votes

Eijirou Kirishima: 1

Mashirao Ojirou: 1

Minoru Mineta: 1

Koji Kouda: 1

Mezou Shoji: 1

Denki Kaminari: 1

Hanta Sero: 1

Fumikage Tokoyami: 1

Rikido Sato: 1

Yuga Aoyama: 1

Needless to say, Izuku was a little happy, extremely shocked, and absolutely terrified from the results.

"I GOT FIVE VOTES?! HOW?!" Izuku half-squeaked, half-screamed.

"Who the hell voted for you!?" Katsuki demanded, flabbergasted.

Hanta looked at the blonde teen with a stunned look. "More like who the hell voted for you of all people?"

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

Kyoka made a show of plugging one of her earphone jacks into her phone and played some music, ignoring the rest of the class. I'm only doing something nice for him this once because he kicked Minoru's ass yesterday and won the exercise for us. I'm still kind of glad he didn't win, though.

In the back of the classroom, Ochako was whistling innocently as she studied the wall. It'd probably be really scary if Katsuki found out I voted for Izuku…

He's waaay nerdy and shy, but he lined up that kick for Katsuki so perfectly yesterday that I don't care, Mina grinned to herself as she watched Izuku flail in a panic. I'd rather vote for someone who looks out for us and isn't a dick. Plus, he's kinda cute!

I couldn't decide between voting for Momo or Izuku, so I just flipped a coin, Tsuyu thought. She was satisfied with the result since they were both President and Vice President.

"Guys, why didn't you vote for ME?!" Minoru whined to his fellow males. "Didn't you hear my policies for all the girls to expose at least thirty centimeters of thigh?!"

"Yeah, and we also heard you hit the wall yesterday when Katsuki punted you like a thousand yards from across campus," Mashirao sweat-dropped. "No thank you, I choose life."

"Also, that's disgusting," Rikido added. "No one wants that."

"Learn some common decency before you try to do something like become Class President," Fumikage told him.

Minoru waved his fists in the air desperately. "All of you are so gay!"

"And they're way smarter than your dumb ass."

Minoru felt death itself touch him as Katsuki Bakugo's hand lay itself upon his shoulder with false kindness. "I haven't had to murder a P.A.L twice before, but I wonder how far I could blast you from here…we're on the third floor and there are fewer obstacles on the way to whatever level of hell you land in this time. Should I try it…?"

"Y-you wouldn't dare…" Minoru squeaked, looking over his shoulder and nearly pissing himself at the monstrous grin on Katsuki's face. "You got detention for it last time!"

"And it was worth every second," Katsuki cackled, his eyes becoming almost deranged. The hand on Minoru's shoulder made a fews tiny explosions, causing the short teen to squeal in panic. "Go on, say another perverted thing. I'm begging you."

"NO! I CHOOSE LIFE!" Minoru screamed, diving under the nearest desk.

Katsuki looked a little disappointed. "Ugh, fine. You get off with a warning this time."

"Normally I'd call you out for bullying, but what Minoru is doing is blatant sexual harassment, so I'll overlook it this time," Mina commented with a smirk. Katsuki merely grunted in response.

Tenya had his fists clenched in frustration upon his desk. "Zero votes…It's only fair since I insisted upon the sacredness of the role…"

"You didn't even vote for yourself despite wanting the job so badly," Hanta sweat-dropped. "What's up with that?"

Mr. Aizawa got out of his sleeping back and stood up, giving the class the final announcement. "So then it's President Midoriya and Vice-President Yaoyorozu."

Now standing at the front of class, Izuku looked like he would panic at any second. "A-are you s-s-serious?"

Momo sighed. "It was pretty close."

"That's it for Homeroom today," Aizawa told them. "Do your best in your other classes and prepare yourselves for the trials that await you in in Heroics Training later.”

Izuku sighed, poking at his rice with his fork as he considered what had gone on that morning. Around him, Tenya, Ochako, Tsuyu, and Mina were also eating, though more enthusiastically than he was.

"What's the matter, Deku?" Ochako asked after she swallowed a bite of her lunch. "You look kinda worn out."

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing!" he said quickly, snapping out of his little mental checkout. "I was just wondering if I've really got what it takes for this whole Class President thing…"

Mina elbowed his arm playfully. "Sure you do!"

Tenya nodded. "You'll be fine. You've got the guts and snap judgement when it counts, Izuku. That's why I voted for you."

So one of the votes was you! Izuku gave the other teen a perplexed look, shaking his head before leaning his chin on his palm. "That's another thing, how did I get five votes?"

"Well I assume you voted for yourself, plus Tenya voted for you," Tsuyu held a finger up, adding more as she listed off names. "I flipped a coin between you and Momo since I couldn't decide and you won that flip, so three. Mina voted for you, too."

"Wait, what?!" Izuku whipped his head to gape at the two girls and his jaw fell open. "You two voted for me?!"

"Duh," Mina snickered and poked his freckles with a pink finger, causing the teen to blush furiously. "You set up one hell of a kick for Katsuki yesterday to stop Minoru from doing perverted things to us! I saved one of those pictures as my screensaver, even. But Katsuki is still too much of an ass for us to vote for him. That's how you got my approval. Ochako too, right?"

"Eh?!" Izuku spun back to Ochako, who half-choked on her rice when Mina called her out.

"I-I-I-I," Ochako managed to swallow the bite down and sighed in relief for a second. She grinned bashfully and rubbed the back of her head. "Um, yeah. Guilty! Ehehe…"

Izuku wasn't sure what shocked him more. The fact that he'd somehow managed to become Class President, or the fact that more than half of the votes for him came from teenage girls his age. Seriously, he barely knew anything about them! They were an alien species to him!

"But I'm surprised you didn't vote for yourself, Tenya!" Ochako said hurriedly in an effort to swing the attention away from her. "You wanted to be Class President so badly! You've got the glasses look down, too."

Izuku sweat-dropped. That's not exactly a quality we should be using to choose a Class President.

"I merely followed my own judgement on the matter," Tenya replied. "Besides, even if I had voted for myself, the rest of your votes would have assured Izuku the Presidency."

Suddenly, the room was filled the the ringing of an alarm, causing the five of them to jump. An announcement rang over the speakers. Security level three has been breached. Students, please promptly evacuate.

Tenya's head jerked towards one of the nearby upperclassmen. "What's security level three?"

"It means someone's infiltrated the school grounds! This hasn't happened in three years! We gotta hurry out of here!"

The whole lunchroom immediately became a scene of mass hysteria as students scrambled to get out. Izuku knew there'd be no getting out if they got swept into that crowd, so he pushed aside his lunch and jumped onto the table to get a better look around. His eyes locked onto the windows nearby, spotting Present Mic and Mr. Aizawa standing outside. They were facing a crowd of reporters, who were clamoring at the pair of Pros for All Might.

Izuku blinked in disbelief at the sight. The press got into the school? How?

He spun around, trying to figure out how to settle the panicking students. If it was just the press, then this whole mass hysteria thing wasn't worth it and would only get someone hurt. Izuku tried to speak up, but it came out as a squeak. "H-hey! Everybody calm down! I-it's just the news…"

No one heard him, not even his friends, who had taken a point from him and were standing on their seats. Tenya was snapping at the other students to form an orderly line, but it was no good. Everyone was panicking.

It's no good…how do I get their attention?! Izuku wondered frantically.

Suddenly, he had an idea. Albeit a crazy idea, but…he took a deep breath and clenched his fists tightly.

When in doubt. Speak Katsuki.

"DIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!"

Everyone in the room froze at the scream and spun towards the source; one very red-faced Izuku, standing on the table with both hands clapped over his mouth. He couldn't believe he'd gotten the nerve to do that, but he did his best to act as soon as he got their attention. "I-I-It's just the press! L-look!"

He pointed at the window, prompting the rest of the students to look over and confirm for themselves that he was right. The moment they all started figuring it out, Izuku jumped off the table and did his best to hide. Holy crap, that was waaaay too much!

"Not exactly what I'd call a great way of getting attention, but…" Mina grinned a little. "Nice!"

"Why are you hiding now?" Tsuyu asked him bluntly.

Izuku was sweating, his face still cherry red. "I-I've never yelled at a bunch of people l-like that b-before…it's scary."

Ochako put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling. "You sounded like Katsuki for a second, there."

Tenya chopped a hand towards them. "While I applaud Izuku for settling the hysteria, we must still evacuate! Press or not, we still have evacuating instructions!"

"H-he's right," Izuku said, fanning his face. "L-let's go."

Mina smiled and pat him on the shoulder, causing him to tense up again. "Good going, Mr. Scaredy Class Prez!"

Once the reporters had been dealt with, the rest of the day went by as usual. As soon as it was time for Heroics Class, they dressed up in their costumes and made their way out to the entrance to the same training field as yesterday for the battle trials.

Mr. Aizawa and All Might both were waiting for them. The former of the two Pros cleared his throat and started explaining the lesson. "Right, this is going to be somewhat similar to the Entrance Exam. There will be combat robots all over the city, but this time your job is going to be about working as a team. Yesterday you got to work together in pairs- this time you will be working as a whole class. On occasion, Pros have to work in large groups. This is meant to simulate that kind of scenario. We'll be doing this exercise today and tomorrow, followed by Rescue Training on Friday. I want you all to keep in mind that this is merely a rough outline of much more advanced training for later."

"Your task is simple; eliminate as many of the enemy 'villains' as possible by working together as a team. You should also focus on keeping the amount of damage done to buildings to a minimum. In the field, leaving behind destroyed buildings is obviously not ideal. I'm looking at you, Katsuki."

Katsuki looked away from them all, slightly red in the face. "Shut up."

"I'll be watching with Recovery Girl in case things get out of hand," Aizawa went on. "Oh, and one more thing. Izuku, you're not participating in this training today. You're working with All Might."

"EHHHH?!" Pretty much the entire class exclaimed, including Izuku.

"Wait, Izuku's getting lessons from All Might?!" Eijirou's jaw was hanging open.

"Why just him?" Mezo questioned.

"Yeah, why's the Class President getting extra lessons from the world's greatest hero?! Favoritism much?! I think we need a better President!" Minoru tried to convince the others to join his side, but to no avail.

Aizawa sighed tiredly. "Would you lot quiet down? We're wasting time."

The class quieted (albeit reluctantly) as All Might took center stage. "I'm sure you're all wondering why young Izuku is getting extra lessons separate from the rest of you, but it's not what you think. I'm not training him personally or giving him special privileges. He's getting…shall we call it a corrective course?"

"Corrective course?" Tenya echoed. "Did he do something wrong?"

"He blew his body up twice in as many days with his Quirk," Aizawa replied bluntly. "That's the problem. His main method of fighting with his Quirk critically damages both himself because he lacks control, and could endanger the lives of anyone fighting him. That's where All Might comes in. He's an expert on Quirk control."

"How?" Denki asked. "I mean, no offense, but all you do is punch and kick stuff."

"No offense taken, young Denki! But it's a bit more complicated than that!" All Might answered. "When I use my Quirk, I have to gauge the amount of power I put into it very carefully. For example, against a giant robot, I can go full throttle and blow it away! But if I used that same level of power on a person, what would happen?"

A few faces paled at that thought. All Might nodded gravely. "You've guessed. Yes, as gruesome as it is to say, I'd probably kill them with that kind of force. In order to avoid that, I must gauge the degree of power I release with each attack carefully. Too much can kill a person. Too little might not be enough to capacitate my opponent. Power is just power without the finesse to guide it properly. Young Katsuki and young Shoto are good examples of this!"

Aizawa grunted. "The two of them have a high power capacity, but they have the control to manage it well without overdoing things. For the time being, that's a skill Izuku lacks, so All Might is going to grill him until he doesn't blow himself up anymore. But that brings me to another thing I need to talk to you all about."

"Do any of you have trouble controlling your Quirks?" He asked. "I know it might be embarrassing to admit or perhaps you think you can control it in time, but I need to know right now before we get into any more serious training. If someone loses control and we have an accident, it can be forgiven, but I won't be the one picking you up if you get upset with yourself. Is that clear?"

The class was silent for a few seconds before one teen raised his hand.

All Might looked at him, still smiling. "Young Fumikage."

"It's somewhat situational," he began a little quietly. "But on occasion, my Quirk, Dark Shadow, has been known to run wild. I'd rather explain it more in private."

"I understand," All Might gave him a thumbs up. "Anyone else?"

"Um…" Ochako rubbed the back of her head nervously. "I-I don't know if it's because I lack control or not, but if I use my Quirk on myself for too long, I get really nauseous…"

"Hmm, that could be because you haven't trained your Quirk enough yet, but I would still like to see it for myself," All Might replied. "Is there anyone else?"

When no one responded, All Might set his hands on his hips. "In that case, young Fumikage and young Ochako will meet with me after class ends today to discuss their Quirks. You'll likely have a training session with myself and young Izuku tomorrow. If that's all, then I'll leave you to Mr. Aizawa! Young Izuku, you're with me!"

Izuku dipped his head quickly and chased after the Pro as he walked off. "Y-yes, sir!"

They ended up going to TDL, the place that Izuku had been brought before school started to show his Quirk to the teachers. All Might led him inside and cleared his throat, immediately getting the boy's attention.

"I'm sorry that I singled you out from the rest of your classmates today," All Might began. "But I felt it would be unwise to hold off training you to use One for All any longer. Recovery Girl gave me more than a few choice words when you destroyed your finger the other day."

"S-sorry about that," Izuku mumbled. "I was just..desperate."

"It's fine. It's my fault for holding your training off for so long," the Pro reassured him. "But that stops now. We're going to get you to the point where you can use One for All safely. The easiest way to do that, in my experience, is through combat."

Izuku paled. "Wait…y-you mean, like I have to f-fight y-you?!"

"I'll go easy on you," All Might said gently, turning to face him. "Today at least, I won't strike back. There's no point in beating you black and blue if you can't use your power properly yet."

That wasn't exactly the most reassuring thing in the world, and Izuku still had a few concerns. "W-wait! What about what you said to the rest of class? If I can't control One for All and hit you full power, then…"

"You won't hurt me," All Might lifted one huge hand to tousle the teenager's curly hair. "Fortunately for us, One for All comes with a sort of mental 'training wheels' for new users."

"Training wheels?"

"Yes. When you use One for All against a person for the first time, there's a tendency to think that you don't want to kill that person. One for All usually responds to that and your body sets it to a 'low power setting' that you should be able to handle without destroying yourself."

Izuku blinked and began to mutter to himself. "I see, so it's kind of like the mental restraints the brain puts on the human body to prevent it from destroying itself with the full capability of its muscles…"

All Might cut him off before Izuku could fully nerd out. "That's the theory. But the idea is that you'll eventually get a grasp of that 'low power setting' whenever you attack until you can use it at will. We'll continue training here until you get it down. Also, we'll be working on your own Quirk as well. Ideally, I'd like to get you to the point where you can wield both One for All and All Flare at the same time."

The Pro pulled out a tablet that was similar to the one Nezu had used back when they tested Izuku's power for the first time and just like before, the bunsen-burner like device emerged from the floor. Izuku frowned at All Might nervously. "I won't hurt you?"

"My costume is fireproof," All Might chuckled, flexing his arms. "No worries, young man!"

"Okay…" Izuku forced a smile on his face as he started using All Flare, green flames licking at his body. It wasn't even close to the full-body flare, but he got his hands and feet ignited on his own easily enough this time. He reached out towards the bunsen-burner to gather more flames until his arms, legs, and most of his torso were all ablaze.

All Might grinned as the flames finally covered the teen's whole body, including the two extensions of his costume that resembled All Might's hair. They started to sway gently with the fire, hiding the fact that they were really horns. "Come at me with everything you've got, young Izuku!"

"Yes!" Izuku shouted back, then rushed All Might head-on. He brought a fist back, clenching it tightly to wind up One for All. All Might raised both arms to block and took the blow directly, shifting into a crouch so that his center of gravity was lower.

The punch struck All Might's thick arms, but it didn't even make him budge. Izuku gaped in surprise. He hadn't blown his arm up with that, but he expected it to have more of an effect.

"Don't stop now," All Might told him, still grinning. "I told you the power output would be low! Just get used to the feeling of it! Keep going!"

Izuku jolted into action and began to punch and kick at All Might with One for All, never letting up on his blows. The Pro weathered them with ease, not so much as flinching from every strike that landed. After a few minutes of attacking him, All Might suddenly dodged one of Izuku's punches, causing him to yelp and overextend. He nearly fell over, but regained his balance.

All Might laughed. "You're getting it, but a villain isn't going to stay put and let you attack them! Come and get me!"

The teen lunged after his Pro mentor with a yell, who caught the blow with his hand and simply diverted the attack before he jumped away again. All Might wasn't even using One for All himself, otherwise there would be no way Izuku could keep up with him.

Izuku suddenly missed one of his punches and ended up smashing his fists into one of the cement pillars in the room. He winced, but grinned a moment in pleasant surprise. He hadn't accidentally unleashed the full 100% by striking the rock. And he was starting to get a feel for this 'low power setting'…but it took him time to wind it up in each limb one after another.

A thought struck him. Maybe if I spread it all over me like All Flare…

He tensed up and slowly let One for All spread through his whole body. The power crackled like lightning through his muscles, bones, and blood. It was tricky to maintain and he didn't think he could hold it for long, but this would be a lot faster and more efficient than just firing up one limb after another.

All Might noticed the change and grinned widely. He could see that Izuku's body was starting to adapt to One for All just as it had with All Flare. In fact, the two Quirks were starting to mix.

Izuku whipped towards All Might and lunged at him, this time much faster than before. With the low power setting spread throughout his whole body, he was able to push off with his legs using that enhanced strength and a burst of his flames. The sudden increase in speed caught All Might off-guard momentarily, but he responded with inhuman reflexes.

He ducked underneath a kick that would have caught him in the side of the head and reached up to grab the teenager by the ankle, then threw him aside. Izuku hit the ground with a yelp, but he rolled back to his feet and charged again, still intent on fighting.

All Might started laughing as the teen attacked him in earnest, firing off blow after blow at him with the fusing Quirks. It wasn't a perfect fusion by any means and Izuku was visibly struggling to maintain the combination, but he could do it.

Let me try this! Izuku was starting to feel excited by his new capabilities. He gathered all of the flames covering his body into his right arm until he had created an enlarged arm of fire that would extend his reach. With a battle cry that freed itself, unbidden from his lungs, he struck at All Might with it.

The Pro's hand shot out to catch the blow, but his upper body was engulfed in emerald flame as Izuku launched the fire fist at him upon impact.

Izuku suddenly realized that he'd practically buried his teacher in fire and immediately shut them down, freeing All Might from the blast of flames and simultaneously stopping the flow of One for All throughout his body. "I-I'm sorry! I got c-carried away! A-are you-"

All Might started laughing wildly, uproariously, making Izuku go quiet in confusion. The Pro's hair looked a bit singed and he was practically steaming from the heat, but his grin persisted nonetheless.

"That was excellent!" All Might exclaimed. "You're learning quickly!"

Izuku felt a swell of hesitant pride rise up in him. "R-really?"

"Indeed! Did you break any bones?"

The teen looked himself over and gauged the feeling in his body. He didn't think he'd broken anything, but his right fist felt a little strained and it was definitely tender from that last blow. "I don't think so, but I might have overdone things with my right…"

"Considering this was your first go using the low power setting of One for All, I think we can call that a success," All Might gave him a thumbs up. "The whole point of this training is to help you reach a point where you can use One for All without destroying your body. At the moment, I'd say you're capable of wielding about 5% or so."

"Only 5%?" Izuku wilted slightly. That was it?

"We've all got to start somewhere," All Might patted his shoulder. "Your body still needs training before it can handle the full power of One for All. We'll just work our way up from here, right?"

Izuku smiled a bit and nodded. "Right."

"Good," All Might took a few steps back. "Back to it, then. Go easy with your right and don't throw that huge fire punch again for today. I want you to be able to use that 5% for as long as possible without going over the limit. Flare yourself back up and come at me, young man!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Ow…" Izuku winced as he walked to the lockers. His body hurt all over and his right hand was starting to throb. He hadn't broken any bones, but everything hurt from his extensive use of One for All, plus he felt a little too hot after using his flames for so long.

As he approached the lockers, he realized that his whole class was gathered outside the girl's locker room and all of them were still wearing their hero costumes. Frowning, Izuku approached them.

Ochako spotted him coming over and waved. "Oh, Deku! How'd it go?"

"Great," he replied, smiling. "I didn't break any of my bones this time. What's going on?"

Momo turned towards him with her arms crossed. "We can hear strange noises coming from inside our lockers. None of us girls have gone inside, so we're not sure who could be in there."

"It sounds like an animal," Kyoka muttered. One of her jacks was plugged into the door. "There's loud breathing and something keeps hitting the lockers."

"How could an animal get into the locker room, anyway?" Eijirou asked, perplexed.

"No idea," Mina replied with a grumble. "But I'm not going in there until I know what exactly it is."

"Move it, heart throb," Katsuki pushed Kyoka aside (who was a little flustered by his choice of a nickname) and placed his ear against the door. His eyes narrowed suddenly. "Hey, Deku. Listen."

Izuku did as he asked and mirrored his pose, listening to the odd sounds. It sure sounded like an animal was in there. Heavy breathing, something rattling the lockers, and yet also…

He stiffened. Katsuki heard it too and snarled. "My P.A.L senses are tingling."

"You did not just use that quote," Denki accused in disbelief.

Izuku leaned away from the door, his face serious and his tone all business. "Right, Katsuki and I are going in. Bar the door and don't let anything out until I say so."

"Wait, you intend to enter the girl's locker room?!" Tenya demanded, chopping his hand at Izuku. "Mr. President, that is a blatant disregard of the rules!"

Momo did her best to ease his concerns. "It's fine, I trust them not to mess with our stuff. If a teacher comes by, we'll explain the situation. Be careful, you two."

Izuku nodded and gripped the door handle slowly. He looked at Katsuki, who cracked his knuckles with an eager grin. "Ready?"

"I was born ready, motherfucker!"

Izuku smirked at that, then quickly yanked open the door, letting Katsuki in before he dove in after him. Momo immediately shut the door behind them.

Things were quiet for a few seconds. They still heard the loud breathing as Kyoka plugged one of her jacks into the door. It was several moments before everything went absolutely silent.

Ten seconds of no sound passed by eerily. Class 1A waited, the air becoming thick with tension.

Then they heard a shrill scream, followed by a roar of fury from Katsuki and a yell from Izuku. The sounds of metal clanging loudly began to ravage the lockers, along with several explosions courtesy of Katsuki.

"DIE! DIE! DIE!"

"DROP THEM! DROP THEM RIGHT NOW!"

"NEVER! THEY'RE MY TROPHIES!"

"YOU LITTLE FUCKER! COME HERE!"

"YOU'LL KILL ME!"

"THAT'S THE FUCKING POINT!"

"YOU WON'T TAKE ME ALIVE!"

"I'M GONNA MURDER YOU ANYWAY!"

"CORNER IT IN THE SHOWERS!"

"IT'S TRYING TO CLIMB THE WALLS!"

"I'VE GOT IT!"

"LET ME GO!"

"DEKU! DON'T DO IT!"

"YOU HAVE TO FINISH IT KATSUKI! GO ON WITHOUT ME!"

"DEKU NOOOO!"

"NO! MY TROPHIES!"

"THE ONLY TROPHY YOU'RE GETTING IS A COFFIN! THIS IS FOR DEKU YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

There was a loud squeal, followed by a scream from Izuku. "CLEAR THE DOOR!"

The class practically leapt away from the door as Katsuki screamed at the top of his lungs.

"PLUS ULTRA DIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEE!"

A horrifying scream tore through the locker room, followed by an explosive projectile that literally blew the door clean off its hinges. The object in question flew through the air for several hundred meters (perhaps even a thousand) before it crashed into the wall surrounding campus and hung there, six feet off the ground.

The utterly stunned class realized the projectile had been one Minoru Mineta, now bloodied and beaten within an inch of his life, and once more stuck on the wall of U.A by his own, sticky hair.

Katsuki emerged from the devastation gasping for breath and slumped to the ground once he made it out. "Holy fuck."

Eijirou and Kyoka ran up to him. "Are you okay?!"

Katsuki waved them off. "Forget about me, get to Deku. It could already be too late for him."

Exchanging anxious looks, the other girls ran inside while Momo stopped the rest of the males from entering the lockers.

"Deku!" Ochako called through the smoke. Christ, the place looked like a war zone. "Where are you?"

"I'm here…" His voice sounded weak and shaky.

Ochako ran over to the showers with Mina, Tsuyu, and Toru right behind her. They found Izuku curled up in a corner, breathing heavily and shaking.

She was alarmed that maybe he'd been really hurt. "Deku, are you okay?!"

"N-no," he whimpered, turning to show them his hands. "Now I'm the pervert!"

Stuck to his hands were two of Minoru's purple spheres, and also stuck upon each one was a pair of panties. Minoru had, after pillaging the garments form the lockers, stuck them to his hair in an effort to keep his prize until Izuku yanked them from the thief's head at the grave cost of his own morality.

Mina's cheeks puffed up to stop herself, but she couldn't hold back and busted out laughing until she was doubled over and her sides hurt like hell. "Ahahahahahaha!"

The other girls joined in, though they sounded slightly more sympathetic to Izuku's plight. They did feel bad- the preciously innocent and sweet teenage boy was almost in tears since there was no way to remove the spheres (and thus the panties) from his tainted hands.

Mina finally regained control of her breathing and eyed the frilly pink pair of underwear stuck on Izuku's right hand. She giggled and wiped a stray tear from her eye. "Izuku, you can just burn them off with your Quirk. I don't want those since Minoru touched them, anyway."

"Same here," Toru agreed, recognizing her own pair of blue and white striped panties in the teen's left hand.

"B-but," Izuku's already crimson face started to steam from embarrassment. "Th-then you w-won't have any u-u-underwear f-for of the d-day…"

Toru shrugged. "That's fine, no one will notice if I don't wear any."

"Besides, it's almost time for us to go home," Mina reassured him. "We'll just head straight back to get new ones, ok?"

Izuku nodded after a moment, still blushing furiously.

Ochako couldn't help but smile at him. "C'mon, let's get you out of here before a teacher shows up."

She carefully helped Izuku stand without touching his hands and they walked the teen out of the lockers. Upon arriving at the door, however, Izuku bumped into someone and yelped. "I-I'm sorry! Please watch out for my…hands…"

All Might stared down at him, unsure what to even think when he saw Izuku walking out of the girl's locker, two purple balls in his hands and a pair of panties stuck to each. Moreover, by bumping into All Might, Izuku had instinctively recoiled and caused the sticky spheres to land on his own chest. Now it appeared as though he had two purple breasts with panties on top and was groping them.

The blood drained from Izuku's face faster than should have been possible as All Might just tried to process what in the actual fuck he was looking at. The Pro slowly turned, following the path of destruction to the door that lay a hundred meters away, and then to the bleeding ruin that was Minoru attached to the wall.

He eventually looked back at Izuku, opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally walked off to do something about Minoru. "Okay."

And that was that.

[booboocakesinc]

“Stop! Stop running!”, he kept telling himself.

He was out of breath and tired. Small cuts covered his arms from the branches he was pushing out the way as he was running. The big branches that came out of the trees-like overstretched arms-were breaking. However, the small ones, were like whips, they wouldn’t break, they would just wrap around his arms and then let go, tearing his flesh little by little, making his body bleed, slowly, painfully.

He avoided trees that got in the way, jumped over roots that came out of the ground treacherously and armed with a will to make him fall and stop him. He wouldn’t stop though. He would keep going, running like a sprinter, as fast as he could, going faster by the second. He couldn’t stop but deep down he knew he just wouldn’t.

He didn’t know for how long he had been sprinting. He could barely breathe, his lungs were burning, his legs were aching, his head was hurting but it was the sorrow in his heart that hurt immensely more. It didn’t matter however. He kept running.

The forest was dense, it was night time and it was late autumn. The farther he went, the harder it would be to get back and he wasn’t properly dressed. His t-shirt, sweat pants and Adidas running shoes wouldn’t protect him from the cold. He kept running nevertheless. He wasn’t testing his limits; he had done that abundantly at school. He always escalated walls and trees whenever possible. He never fell, always agile and with a tremendous balance, like a ballerina. He loved watching them on TV, especially the Russian ones because of their discipline and grace. He had also read about their inhuman training. Failure was rewarded with punishment, weakness with insults, fatigue with more exercise. He had the same mentality. He hated weakness. It was the reason he wouldn’t stop. Or it could have been what happened earlier. He wished he knew.

A flash came out of nowhere. Night, for a second became day. And just as fast, the darkness, swallowed all that light. He stopped, petrified. He stood still and held his breath but his heart almost exploded in his chest. He gave up and took a quick sip of air through his mouth. His eyes were already accustomed to the darkness, therefore, seeing wasn’t a problem anymore. For once, tonight, and maybe only tonight, darkness was his friend. He didn’t move. “Statues would have been jealous.”, he said to himself. Was he alone? He thought he was. Was somebody taking pictures? This time of night and that far from any roads or the house…it was improbable, but not impossible.

“Who’s there?”, he asked, with a trembling voice he couldn’t conceal.

There was no answer. The only sounds he could hear were of his heart pounding, and his breathing. He just stood there, in the middle of nowhere, frozen by fear. Suddenly, it hit him. What was he doing in the middle of the forest? He was sixteen, a kid in many people’s eyes. The darkness, the loneliness, the rain, left him lost and fearful.

As he was calming down, he felt the wind on his face. And then, a drop fell on his arm. Rain, he said with a little smile. The noise that followed, scared the living hell out of him. It was like an explosion. He looked up and the sky opened once more, unwillingly to let the light in. It is thunder, he told himself. And it was about to rain, which meant cold would follow and getting pneumonia didn’t sound like a plan he’d get behind. He started walking back towards the house.

He didn’t want to go back but, in life, one rarely did what they wanted to do, they mostly did what they had to do. His aunt repeated that everyday, she’d say it was a valuable lesson, a life altering mentality one would rather use wisely.

So, which way was home? He was surrounded by trees, squirrels and leaves. He decided to climb a tree, to get a better vantage point. The run had seemed to last forever, but the climb lasted less than a second. In the distance, he saw the house. It appeared to be minuscule, which meant he ran for too long and went farther than he ever did. The walk back would be long and unpleasant. As he touched the ground, the rain started pouring. Water ran down his face, shoes were soaked and the cold clung to his body like mud. He felt dirty and he smelled worse.

The storm quickly turned into intermittent showers that offered him the occasional light to illuminate his path. He stopped running and switched to walking. Getting to the house would take twice as long but what bothered him the most was that his mind went back to what had happened. It all seemed surreal but unless he was dreaming, reality was uglier than ever. He was young but he knew what it all meant. Was he going to be defined by all this? Would it pass? Would it stain him forever or, was it already part of his own being? Was it printed in his DNA? The thoughts rampaging through his brain pushed his body to stop. He looked up and for the first time, he felt all the water on his face. He was cold and he knew he would be sick the next day. He had to go home but going home was synonymous with dealing with the truth. He didn’t want to but…

“Fear isn’t an inherent condition” had once said Mr Wilkes while putting the book “The Second World War” by Antony Beevor back in the shelf of his small but beautifully lit classroom. The class had been dismissed and Fred stayed to return the book to its owner. He had found it fascinating. The causes and consequences of the deadliest war in the history of mankind were detailed and analyzed, from all fronts and the book explained artfully today’s world state. Fred loved history, more than any other subject and because of that fixation with history, he had developed a bond with his professor. Erasmus Wilton Wilkes was a sweet and freakishly tall man, way over 6’9” and he was always wearing a vest and a bowtie, with thick glasses and colorful socks. He could have been described as the personification of “nerdiness”, which he would have taken as a compliment.

“Inherent?”, responded back Fred.

He didn’t know what the word meant, and he couldn’t pretend he did. He had an awful poker face, one that would always get him in trouble.

“It means something that is essential. I believe fear isn’t essential. Breathing is essential, eating, drinking water. I don’t have any proof about my theory, however, if I take in account my own experiences in life, I believe no one is born with fear.”

The 800-page book was a masterpiece of writing, albeit heavy at times, but filled with information that showed extensive research and due diligence on the author’s part. Details ranged from economic to social causes of the war, the dynamic between the different belligerents and its human toll on all parties, victors and losers alike. But, one topic was present on all chapters: fear. It seemed to be a virus that infected everyone. Whether it would be soldiers, politicians, the civil population, business owners, gun manufacturers, artists, government officials, the clergy, everyone was afraid. They were afraid of the war, death, famine, disease, losing money, being displaced, and so many other things. Mr. Wilkes liked the book because it told many stories like his, a veteran of the first Gulf War. He once told his own story-well, parts of it-to the class and for once, they listened intently and even asked questions when he was done.

  Fred was interested in fear during peacetime, everyday fear. He hoped any insight on fear might offer enlightenment on his own fear. The conversation was initiated by him.

“How come people are afraid then?” retorted the young pupil.

Mr. Wilkes took a deep breath. He did that whenever he was about to impart wisdom, and he inhaled that way very often. It was a shame that students in Fred’s class didn’t like or rather, enjoy history. Mr. Wilkes ’wisdom usually fell on deaf ears.

“Fear is a response to danger. That is all. Danger is everywhere, all the time, in various forms and degrees. I am guessing you are referring to the fact that certain situations scare some people and not others.”

“Yes.”

“Once again, my own understanding tells me fear is learned, instilled rather in people’s minds, whether by circumstances or by one’s culture. It can be useful, a motivator, or sadly, it can be a virus that ruins you. Finally, it can be an attribute that defines some people and that ultimately pushes them to never rise to their true potential.”

“You make it sound easy. Fear cannot be a choice. No one can control it.” replied Fred.

“You cannot control danger. You could learn how to react to it. Mostly, wherever there is danger, panic always follows, just like sunshine after a storm. Panic is the enemy, not fear.”

Fred wasn’t convinced at all. He told himself he would put some of his cards on the table. The thought of it made him afraid but he had promised himself to not back down. Courage could only be displayed when one was afraid.

“I have a particular fear Mr. Wilkes.”

“What fear is that Fred?”

Fred got up from his chair and walked towards the back of the classroom while clenching his fists. He couldn’t hide his nervousness. He put the distance between himself and his teacher to isolate himself as much as he could, it gave him the impression he was less exposed. He was telling himself that stupid theory to make himself feel better but he felt like he wanted to vomit. The stress was getting to him and he was sweating. They spent the next hour talking about Fred’s fear, and it felt like a brainstorming session. Mr. Wilkes asked more questions than he answered and Fred felt more confused for a short time but he finally understood the answers lied with him. When they were done and Fred looked outside, he saw the sun had set and the whole school was empty.

“Just talk to her Fred. The truth can never hurt forever. It might hurt for a while but it will set you free.”

“Let’s hope you are right”

He smiled. It was a smile coming from a tired teenager, with a weight on his shoulders that he couldn’t withstand any longer.

“I am right. You might not understand it right now, but you are young. You will. And remember that no one can tell you who you are. You and only you can decide who you are and who you are going to become.”

He went by an old oak that was cut in half two years ago by a sever storm, and he knew he was two hundred meters away from the house. The lights became bigger and the house’s full size and shape were clear as day. Remembering the soothing conversation with Mr. Wilkes calmed his nerves and he felt in control. The confrontation was a few hours away. He was never good at it but, he had no choice. He stepped inside the house. From the looks of it, no one was there yet so he ran up to his room and took a hot shower. He put band aids on his arms to cover the small cuts on his arms and one on his forehead. He traded his dirty and wet clothes with a sweatshirt with the McGill university logo, put on another Adidas pair of sweatpants and added white socks. His aunt hated to see him walking with white socks in the house but he did everyday.

He looked at his watch. It was 6:32 pm. Aunt Myriam would be home by 7:30 pm. “When I tell her what I found, she will get mad.”, he said out loud to himself. He stopped and looked in the mirror that hung on the back of his bedroom door. He looked exhausted with the dark circles under his eyes. He stared at the man behind the mirror. Suddenly, he had someone to talk to, someone who wouldn’t interrupt him so, he started his rant.

“She will get mad. So, what? I am mad too. She lied to me. She did it knowingly, purposefully, with intent because she knew what she was doing. How could she hide the truth from me, all these years? And why did she do that? How could she do that? She is aunt Myriam. She raised me since I was 3, treated me better than a mother would, like one of her own kids! I have called this woman mom on more than one occasion. She gave me a home, she loved me, she taught me everything I know.”

The boy on the other side was sad and felt betrayed. He felt sorry for him. He saw he was hurting. He walked away because he couldn’t handle it anymore. He sat on his bed and kept clenching his fists. Anger still had a good tight grip on his soul. He lied on his back and tried to remember all the good moments he spent with his aunt, and there were so many. He remembered his first bike ride, his swimming lessons, her putting a band aid on his injured knee, her help with his homework, her encouragement when he had a race and even when he practiced, the two of them talking about his first crush when he was 9. But all this seemed to disappear when he remembered the lies.

He got up and went back to look at the boy in the mirror. The calm left and anger was back in a flash.

“You know she loves you. But why would she lie? What could possibly explain all this deliberate deception and secrecy? Only she has the answer. You must get her version, you must want it. You owe her that, at the very least. Give her the courtesy she never gave you. Be the gentleman she taught you to be. Be the man. Just tell her what you found out today and wait for her to answer.”

He punched the mirror and it shattered. Pieces of glass flew all over the room and drops of blood fell to the floor. His knuckles were bleeding and he felt angrier than before. A small piece of glass was still hanging by the door and he could see his eyes.

“Look at you. Are you proud of you now? You just lost your fight against anger. You lost by TKO. Stay down and lick your wounds or man up and clean your goddamn room loser!”

As he was sweeping the floor, he felt ashamed to have fallen so low in his behaviour. And to think all this started because he had googled his mother’s name, out of curiosity. He had never done that. The simplest way of finding something out had always been to search online but he had never brought himself to do it. Perhaps, on a certain level, his subconscious didn’t want him to go looking for information, the kind that could reveal something, anything that would upset him or make him question himself and his family. The subconscious had done a great job protecting him. He didn’t need any cuddling anymore from his past. He’d face the truth head on.

Fred’s mother died when he was 3 and he could barely remember her, as if the first 3 years of his life never existed. He had lived a normal life, filled with his aunt’s love and care and for years, he wasn’t curious to find out who his mother was. However, when he hit puberty, his brain and his heart wanted to find out more about the woman that gave birth to him. He kept wondering how he couldn’t even remember her face or anything about her appearance. He had tried to find pictures of her but that quest never bore any fruits. He knew his mother and Aunt Myriam were the best of friends in addition to being siblings, but the latter barely spoke of the former.

In Aunt Myriam’s basement, right under the stairs, there was a big wooden box with old pictures, VHS tapes, letters and various artifacts from their childhood. There was no picture, letter or video of his mom. That simple albeit odd fact had ignited his curiosity and he asked his aunt about it, thinking he would get an answer. However, every time he did, his aunt, like a skilled boxer, avoided the question and would bring up another question or tell him a story about herself and his mom, while insisting on details about herself. He had never realized how well she manipulated him or even played him.

Now, he knew it was all a distraction. It was an elaborate plan set up by this person, whom he considered his mother, to hide the truth. He knew she did this intentionally, purposefully. It was done with malicious intent. It was deception, it was betrayal, and just plain lies from the person he loved the most. It was unforgivable.

The google search didn’t find any obituary. It found an article however. It was a headline from the local paper, dating back 13 years and his mother’s name was in it. He read it. He did so five times in a row. He spent all morning on his computer. He googled every name, setting, and when he had finished the information gathering, he called the courthouse, the city, the police station, the detective in charge of the case, and he even called the prosecutor. The detective wouldn’t talk to him, he politely refused. He had better luck with the prosecutor who agreed to meet with him. She was reluctant to give any information at first but after finding out who he was, she even agreed to meet him for an hour at a local café. He skipped his regular sprint practice, his girlfriend called and texted him repeatedly but he didn’t pick up. He just texted her to let her know he was busy with a family thing. She asked more questions but he ignored the messages that followed. He would deal with her wrath of biblical proportions later. He was in no mood to deal with anyone else. He was obsessed with his quest and he had to find out everything. He hadn’t eaten all afternoon, he had barely touched his sy chocolate he shared with the prosecutor and he was starting to get a headache but nothing too serious an aspirin wouldn’t fix.

 “Thank you for meeting with me Mrs. Montgomery. I am sure your time is valuable”

He got up to greet her. Her handshake was firm. She was used to dealing with men of power. She recognized him by the pink sweater he assured her he’d be wearing. She smiled as she was sitting down.

“My time hasn’t been valuable in a very long time. Being retired is far less glamorous than it looks on tv young man.”

He smiled back. The lady was simply dressed, black pantsuit and black shoes, which seemed expensive, probably designer shoes. She was petite, with gray hair and perfectly aligned teeth, she had light make up on, and held a pink umbrella in her left hand. She reminded him weirdly of Hilary Clinton, but she was far more affable, charming and less robotic than the former senator of the state of New York.

“Would you like to drink something ma’am?”, he said before pushing his chair back so he could get up and fetch the beverage.

She raised her right hand to stop him as he was getting up to go and get the coffee from the counter.

“Young man, I will not allow you to pay for the coffee. Last time I checked I am the adult on this table.”, she responded in a commanding voice that left no doubt as to how the coffee situation would unfold. Fred smiled, nodded and sat back down. The former prosecutor got up and came back 2 minutes later with a green tea for herself and a hot chocolate for the young man. They both sipped their beverages in silence for a minute and put them back on the table at the same time.

“Ma’am, if you will allow me, I would like to start asking you a few questions regarding the case you presided over 13 years ago.”

She nodded.

“If you don’t mind Fred, I would like to tell you something”

“Please, go ahead.”

“I need your word that whatever we say will stay between us.”

“You have my word.”, he answered as fast as humanly possible.

“Now, take it easy. I know you are impatient to get more information about the case. But before doing so, I want to make sure you understand that once the box of secrets is opened, it cannot be closed. It will be out there. And trust me, it will not be pleasant.”

“I am aware of the trouble you are going through. I will not betray your trust.”

“Very well.”

“My first question is to know why you agreed to meet with me. I am very curious.”

She took a sip of her green tea.

“I certainly hope all of your questions will be as easy as this one. Well, the reason I am here is because a young man asked me, very politely, to meet with him so we could discuss a case that is personal to him. You might not have either of your parents last name, but from what you told me, I deduced you are Anita’s brother and how could I deprive you of your own history? That would be just wrong. You deserve to know what happened.”

“Thank you for your understanding”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

She took a deep breath, he could sense her uneasiness and her reluctance. Fred thought she didn’t have to hide it.

“I won’t lie to you Fred. I thought long and hard before agreeing to meet with you. You must understand this is the first time in my whole career that I am meeting with the child of a person that I convicted. I am usually the last person the family wants to see.”

He nodded and smiled at her. He found it was easy to trust the now retired prosecutor.

“I wouldn’t have called you if it wasn’t important. It is my family’s history, my history. I am aware you tried this case 13 years ago and I was wondering if you’d remember anything about it.”

He felt the desperation in his own voice and it made him uneasy. He straightened himself up to appear in control.

“I am sorry to say but your mother’s case is not easy to forget. I remember it as if it was yesterday. It was a tragedy, almost a whole family was erased from this earth.”

She saw that Fred shifted his weight in his seat and he sat back.

“Listen Fred. This door you and I are about to go through will leave you changed and shocked. You are still very young, you are almost a kid. But you tracked me down and convinced me to come here. That alone tells me, you are not as innocent and inexperienced as I thought you would be. Plus, you have shown me respect and you are displaying a maturity that is uncommon for someone who is still in high school.”

She stopped and took a deep breath. She pulled a big file out of her briefcase and he pulled out his own notebook from his backpack.

“I want to remind you that we are talking gruesome details here, the kind our little town had never seen. Are you sure you want to do this?”

He looked up, took a deep breath, grabbed his favourite pen and opened the notebook. He was armed and ready to write.

“Consider me warned. I apologize in advance if I don’t look at you as we talk, I would like to write down as much as I can.”

She laughed.

“May I ask what is funny?”

Her laugh irritated him a bit. It must have been that he was nervous and anxious. That would explain why his emotions were scattered all over the place.

“You are quite an extraordinary young man. I am just impressed, that is all.”

She saw him blush and he blushed even more.

“Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery. My aunt taught me all I know. Whatever I am today, is because of her.”

“Well, keep that in mind at all times. You might be angry with her and jump to punishing her but, you are here today because of her love and care. You are who you are because of her, not because of the subject we are about to discuss.”

He nodded.

“If you would Mrs. Montgomery, please start from the beginning.”

They spoke for an hour and a half. It flew by. Time must be relative like Einstein said. The conversation went similarly like the one he had with Mr. Wilkes. He ended up with more questions than answers but, the kind of questions only the involved parties could offer answers to. He left the café, went home and decided to go for that run that lasted way longer than he expected.

He finished picking up the pieces of glass in his room and it looked clean, as good as new. He went for his notebook. After talking to Mrs. Montgomery, he realized he had 17 pages worth of information. His physics notebook looked like a battlefield filled with names instead of bomb craters or empty gun shells. It looked indecipherable, dirty, nonsensical gibberish. If anyone else had tried to read the content of those pages, they would get lost. He had a method of taking notes that irritated his professors. He’d write a word and from that word, he would make arrows and other lines connecting it to another word and so on. At times, it looked like a circle and other times like a square. It was a messy way of working but this web of interlinked information was clear for him. Leonardo Da Vinci used his mirror writing technique and Fred used his own mystery technique. His manic way of being secretive would pay off this time. No one needed to know what he was working on but, he knew they’d soon find out.

He was combing through those pages instinctively, without thinking, as if his had was guided by a willful and mysterious power. He read everything over and over. Every name, location, date, put together, it made sense. It could only make sense. It hurt however. Was he going to be defined by the story? It was his story now or had always been his story, unbeknownst to him. He always felt defined by the fact he was an orphan, with no parents nor any siblings. It left a gaping hole in his heart and he would cry himself to sleep occasionally. He was so lost in his thoughts that he only realized he was crying when the tears hit the top of his left shoe. The frustration and the sadness made him throw his notebook against the wall. As soon as the notebook hit the ground, he felt sorry for himself. The day hadn’t been easy but destroying his room wasn’t going to bring his mother back or take his sorrow away. He had a mirror higher than 5 feet to replace.

He took a deep breath and went to the window. The sun was setting and the view was mesmerizing. His aunt’s house was built near a cliff so, he’d had the blessing of appreciating sunsets since he was a kid. His room was on the first floor and the back window faced that never-ending blue sea. He would occasionally see ferries, private yachts and even small fishing boats surrounded by this force of nature that was capable of infinite destruction on a rainy day. During the summer, he would watch the birds flying high for hours and wished he could join them to escape his reality. Nothing compared however to the sound of the waves crashing against the coast. They had a calming effect, it could easily hypnotize a person if they stayed long enough. Those waves brought a smile on his face and would choose them over anything else on this earth. He also remembered, as a child, bringing a chair to stand on so he could see that appeasing sunset. He kept that habit, and he needed it now more than ever. He was going to confront his aunt and it wouldn’t be pretty.

He heard his aunt enter the house and shout out his name, as she did daily to make sure he was home. He didn’t answer right away. He gathered all his strength, put the notebook in his left hand and went downstairs. She was in the kitchen, stacking the groceries in the fridge.

“Hey honey. You didn’t answer when I called you.”, she said while packing the fridge with groceries. She didn’t even look at him.

“Sorry auntie. I had my iPod on. How was your day?”

“Long, tiring, uneventful and boring most of all. You?”

“About the same.”

He knew his short answers would trigger her curiosity. He always was loquacious and could talk one’s ears off. He’d always tell her about his day at school, the fights-verbal ones of course-he’d always get into with his classmates, his arguments with his girlfriend, his sprint training, he’d really tell her every detail of his day. But now, he wasn’t talkative at all, his aunt would compare that to silence.

“You ok honey?”, she asked as she stepped away from the open fridge door to look at him. Before he could utter anything out, she saw his right hand.

“What happened to your hand?”, she said loudly. She closed the door and came towards him. He stepped back, and she stopped. She senses something was off. She wasn’t stupid. She raised him. He realized he couldn’t play it cool and pretend as if nothing happened.

“I punched my bedroom mirror auntie.”

The horror on her face lasted a second and was quickly replaced by anger. He turned his back and went to the living room. He heard her calling his name, asking him what happened but he kept walking.

“Fred, I asked you a question, don’t turn your back on me. What is wrong with you?”. Now she was screaming because of her contempt for disrespect. In their culture, turning one’s back to an elder, especially a parent, was the quintessential act of disrespect. She finally caught up to him and grabbed him by the arm and made him turn around.

“Fred, I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour. What the hell is wrong with you? You walk away from me as I am talking and concerned about your well being? What is going on?”

He turned around to face her. Suddenly, she looked like a stranger. She wasn’t aunt Myriam anymore. He looked at her as the genesis of all his problems, all his sorrow and he hated her for that.

“Honey, I am trying to stay calm. I come home, you are injured, and you disrespect me in a manner I can’t comprehend. What is going on? Please tell me. I am not mad anymore, I am worried. I just want to understand.”

He wanted to tell her how much he hated her, scream at her, break everything in her precious living room. He had done enough physical damage for the day, and opted to go with the hard-cutting truth.

“My mother killed my father. And she is alive.”

The scene that followed was hard to describe accurately. It was the first time he saw a person lose their life force. It was a surreal sight, one that hurt him the most. Aunt Myriam was a strong woman, always standing straight, shoulders back, chest out, gracious and classy. She had energy from dusk until dawn, cooking, cleaning, volunteering, attending parents-teachers’ conferences, working hours every week and still find time to read books. The woman was unstoppable and could easily do anything once she put her mind to it.

Once, she believed her mechanic was ripping her off and what did she do? She went and took some engineering classes to learn the basic principles of thermodynamics to fix her own engine. Fred had argued at the time, buying a new car would have been easier and less expensive (her car was just an antique, still running by sheer divine will) but the woman was stubborn. She did finish her classes and aced them, she was even better while practicing on her car, but she gave up and bought a vehicle. She got a few enemies in her class, all men, because of her outspoken manner. They thought she didn’t belong in that field and weren’t shy about it. She saw their daily contempt as fuel to feed her ego. Aunt Myriam never complained, and she could be demanding. She was tough with others but even tougher with herself. She held herself to a high standard and she never disappointed. Even during the holidays, she wouldn’t let Fred sleep in, she wanted him to be active, working, writing, always moving.

All those attributes had vanished, in a puff of smoke, as if they never existed. The aunt Myriam he knew and loved, became a mythical creature, an illusion. Her very aura and energy had vanished, nowhere to be seen. Despite her dark complexion, she was pale. Fred had taken all life out of her by uttering those 9 words, and he did so with an alarming ease. He wanted to let her know, but deeply inside he wanted to hurt her, retribution for all those years of lies. He decided to detach himself from the emotional part of the conversation, heck, of their relationship. He wanted to talk to her like a stranger, be cold with her. He needed her to explain herself, not the other way around. He was the victim, not her!!!

She stood there, lifeless, empty. Her eyes weren’t blinking, she looked forward without seeing. Fred stepped in front of her to get a natural reaction from her, have her eyes blink or see her step back. Nothing happened, he could have been see-through or a brick wall, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He took another step towards her and still, she didn’t move. He looked at her and was surprised to find a few gray hairs in her usually dark nappy hair. “Have they always been there?”, he asked himself. Her shoulders were now slouching, she had bag under her eyes and her hands were lightly shaking.

Suddenly, she saw him and jumped back. He stood still and observed. As she jumped back, Fred saw she put her arms in front of her chest, as if she wanted to protect herself from him. She couldn’t have been afraid of him. She was breathing fast now, and she looked terrified. Fred raised his right arm, slowly. He didn’t want to scare her, and he took a step forward. Despite everything that had happened, it was aunt Myriam, the closest thing he had to a mother. She took another step back and started sobbing. He stopped. The strongest person he’d ever known was crying like a child, shaking, she was lost and frightened. Fred found himself feeling as lost as his aunt.

He didn’t know what to do or if there was anything that could be done. He was a powerless spectator and had a front row seat to this theater production made in hell, or perhaps, that very moment was hell, earthly hell, not the one described in the new testament. Fred felt fear had gotten hold of him and wouldn’t let go. He had to fight and vanquish that formidable foe. He took a deep breath and got up. He marched towards his aunt, and stood over her. She looked up. He saw desperation in her eyes. He pitied her, but he had an objective. Her feelings mattered less than the answers he was longing for. He grabbed by the shoulders and made her stand up. She looked even more frightened than before. Fred let her go and she straightened her blouse, wiped her tears away and stood proudly in front of her nephew.

 “I have questions, a million questions. You are going to sit down and answer all of them.”

“What questions?”, she said that defiantly.

“Really auntie? You are going to play dumb with me?”

She got irritated.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t talk to me like that boy!”

That last part irritated him. He reached in his pocket and got a newspaper clip and handed it to her. She read it and she sighed out of desperation.

“Yvette N. sentenced to life in prison, no possibility for parole for 25 years, for killing abusive husband.”

“Quite a title I have to admit.”

“Where did you get this?”, she asked him with her voice breaking.

“It doesn’t matter. I just need answers. I already got a few through Mrs. Montgomery, now I need your answers.”

“You talked to her?”

“I did. She was very kind and informative. Now, it is your turn.”

She handed the paper clip back as she walked by him, so she could sit in her favourite green velvet armchair. He sat in the big sofa to her left and turn the light on so he could take notes.

“Are you ready auntie?”

“No, I am not. What makes you think I have answers?”

“Auntie, stop this!!!”, he screamed at her. He got up and walked away and then, out of anger and desperation turned around to scream at her even more.

“THIS IS NOT A NEGOTIATION, THIS IS NOT ONE CONVERSATION YOU CAN AVOID! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU KNOW OR THINK OF MY BEHAVIOUR. I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS. I WANT ANSWERS ABOUT MY PARENTS! HOW CAN YOU NOT UNDERSTAND THAT?”

“Calm down Fred!”

He hit a vase that was next to him. It went flying and broke into a thousand pieces like the mirror in his bedroom.

“DON’T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN. I HAVE BEEN CALM ALL DAY. I HAD TO LISTEN TO A STRANGER TELL ME MORE ABOUT MY FAMILY AND MYSELF THAN MY OWN AUNT! DO YOU KNOW HOW THAT MAKES ME FEEL? HOW UNIMPORTANT I FEEL? I FEEL BETRAYED! YOU OWE ME THE TRUTH.”

He stood there and stared at her. She reciprocated in kind. He finally decided to clean up, and picked all the pieces up. He went and threw them in the trashcan located in the kitchen. He came back and sat next to his auntie.

“Auntie, listen to me. I have had quite an emotional day. Everything I am saying or doing shouldn’t be taken as disrespect towards you. I am tired. I am looking for answers. You are going to take the time and help me figure some things out. whether you like it or not.”

“You think I will answer any questions after you acted like a spoiled brat who can’t control his emotions and broke things in the house, my house?”

“I know it is your house. No need to emphasize. You are not going to kick me out anyway. I am done breaking things. I think 2 is enough. I will pay for the mirror with my allowance and will put the vase back together in a matter of hours.”

She sat back and looked at him, seizing him up, trying to find a weak spot to press on. He knew how she operated and it wouldn’t work this time.

“By the way, for the love of God, don’t preach about control. You just broke down in front of me. Where did the mighty Myriam go? Where is she now?”

“Are you calling me weak? Are you out of your mind?”

“You don’t seem that strong to me. You are doing everything you can to avoid the subject matter. Strong people don’t hide, they face the music. You think I am going to allow you to do that?”

“Allow?”, she looked shocked to hear him dictate anything to her.

“Yes, allow. Listen, I know I owe you my life. I know that. But you owe me too. You owe me my story. You owe me answers! That’s it.”

She crossed her arms. She was still on the defensive and Fred decided to keep going on the offense. He had nothing to lose anyway.

“My story is your story. Whatever happened, affected you more than it will ever affect me. I am sure it is hard to share but you must. It is our history auntie. Not only yours. You did an exceptional job avoiding all this for years now. The truth is out. Let’s talk about it. It will help us both.”

Myriam sat up and put her face in her hands. She wiped tears yet again, sat back and crossed her legs. She did a good job hiding any shame or uneasiness she might have felt.  

“What do you want to know?”

“I need to set some ground rules.”

Myriam looked exasperated.

“What rules?”

“First, no lies. Second, assume I already know enough. Third, no matter how unpleasant the truth is, I want to hear it. those are my rules.”

“Ok, they seem pretty simple.”, she nodded like a child when she uttered those words.

He smiled, a thin and devilish smile.

“We’ll see.”

He opened his notebook and looked through the 17 pages. There was no better way than to start with the beginning.

“I found out my mother is alive and well. She is currently incarcerated for killing her husband, my father. Why?”, he asked waiting for an answer he already knew but he wanted to see how much she would divulge.

Aunt Myriam looked whole again, sitting in that green velvet armchair, her place of peace, where she read every night before going to sleep, the same chair she would sit when helping Fred, with his homework, the same chair she would sit in when she was knitting or working every afternoon. She sat and crossed her legs and her arms. He knew she was ready to talk about everything. She was highly adaptive, and this was an occasion for her to prove it. Fred stood there, as still as a statue and waited.

“About 14 years ago, your mother figured out your father had been sexually abusing your older sister, Anita, for years.”

“You say figured out, implying she was looking for something.” he said as he interrupted her. He would never interrupt people, the woman sitting across the table taught him to let people speak before replying. This was a special evening and normal rules of civility didn’t seem to apply. Answers mattered more than politeness.  

“She had been suspecting it for a while and spoke numerous times to your sister, who always denied it.”

“How did she figure it out then? Do you know?”

“She tried different strategies, talking to your sister, her friends, she looked through her clothes to find any signs of abuse, semen or blood, she even read Anita’s diary but found no evidence. In those kind of cases, the abusers are quite good at covering their tracks and tend to scare their victims into keeping the secret. But as time goes by, they become over confident and they become sloppy. Your father was no exception.”

Remembering the story was taking a toll on her. She looked as if she had aged a decade in the last twenty minutes. She was slouching again as she was sitting. She liked to brag about having royal blood from her mother’s side and royalty always had to feel and act dignified. Not tonight though. All that education and upbringing seemed to have disappeared. Dignity was out the window.

“Your mother worked a lot as a nurse and your father was an architect but was self-employed, so he spent more time at home than your mother. She usually worked 80 hour-week on a normal week. With that kind of a workload and crazy hours, could she have neglected your sister? Most likely.”

He stopped taking notes and moved quickly to the page where he had written down the signs and symptoms of sexual abuse.

“Mom didn’t pick up on the physical signs of abuse? She had medical training as a nurse for crying out loud.”

Myriam had a sad smile.

“How easy it is to see everything clearly when the dust has settled? You think your mother missed something? She would never have imagined he was capable of this.”

“I don’t buy it. It is impossible she never saw anything?”

She leaned forward and said coldly.

“How easy it is for you to judge your mother, with all the information that you have today honey. You had no idea what the story was before you started looking. Your mother was a great woman. Don’t sit here and judge other people. You have no idea what they went through.”

She was right even if he didn’t want her to be right at all, on anything.

“Your father was a very meticulous man and therefore, he was quite good at covering the physical signs of abuse when Anita was little. Your father was the one who cooked, cleaned the house and took care of most routine things in the house. He saw that your sister’s…”

She broke into tears. She couldn’t help it. remembering everything was taking its toll on her. Fred felt sorry for her. He wanted to go hug her but he wouldn’t. He had decided to be as icy as possible.

“You were saying?”

He said that with an indifference that scared him. He was really detached from the whole situation. He wanted to be and oddly enough, he was. He knew he could only keep that up for a certain amount of time so he was rushing her before he snapped himself. Aunt Myriam looked up, and saw the cold stare he was giving her. She got her shoulders straight and decided to carry on with this insane conversation. She looked defiant and Fred knew she was going to unleash all she had.

“Please don’t mince words auntie. I am not a boy anymore. Words don’t scare me…Lies on the other hand might.”

She sat back in that beautiful chair, crossed her legs and put both her hands on her thighs. She was ready.

“He saw the abuse left blood and semen on her underwear so, he took it upon himself to buy all of Anita’s clothes. Your mother didn’t even find that awkward, she saw the gesture as thoughtful. She was extremely busy, and he was home most of the time, and he was always the one doing the shopping. So, the years of abuse went by. Your mother kept working long hours and he kept on…violating your sister.”

She paused to breathe. Fred wiped the sweat from his brow. He was getting closer by the second to his breaking point.

“What about all the other signs of abuse? I looked them up online”, he grabbed his notebook and looked through the pages, “the signs such as withdrawal from friends, defiant behaviour, any signs of sexual behaviour on her part, any delayed emotional development, depression, to name a few? How could she not see that? How did she miss all that?”

Aunt Myriam had a sad smile on her pretty face.

“It is so easy to blame her now, with all time that has passed. Do you think that a woman working 80 hour-week has the time to notice anything? Do you also think all the symptoms or signs manifest magically at the same time? It takes time for all those to be noticeable and I will have you know that, unfortunately, victims of abuse learn how to manipulate people and situations to survive. Your sister developed a certain tendency for secrecy and she hid most things from your mother. By hiding things, your mother just thought her daughter was being just a teenager with all the rebellion that comes along.”

“So, what did my mother find out?”

He crossed his arms again and stood his ground, like someone who was expecting to be shot or sacked by a linebacker. Whatever was coming wouldn’t be pretty.

“Your sister attempted suicide when she was alone in the house. She swallowed a bunch of pills. Fortunately, your mother got home early that day and found her unconscious but alive. She called an ambulance and they rushed her to the hospital. They saved her by pumping her stomach. They kept her at the hospital for 3 days as it is mandatory policy for any suicide attempt. While she was sleeping, she started hallucinating and uttered some incoherent sentences, which in turn, were heard by the nurse. She was asking her father to let her go. When she woke up, the psychiatrist was brought in and asked her questions to assess the situation, but she avoided them. For 3 whole days, the psychiatrist went at her, relentlessly. He got no conclusive answers, but he realized something else, just as noteworthy. He concluded that her skills for manipulation were quite good and highly unusual for a regular 16-year old.”

She stopped to take a sip of water. Thirst came easily when one was telling a difficult story that brought sweat and tears.

“The psychiatrist…”

“Dr. Lincoln Artois.”, said Fred, while rampaging through his messy notes, interrupting her yet again. She smiled, proud of his impressive information gathering skills.

“Yes, Dr. Lincoln Artois had an idea to access your sister’s subconscious. He would perform hypnosis. It wasn’t a sure thing but nonetheless, it was worth a shot. So, he got your mother’s consent, since your sister was a minor and he went ahead with the procedure. Needless to say, during that session, your sister revealed enough to have everyone asking questions about your father and his behaviour toward her.”

Fred kept going through his notes, writing, erasing, adding post it notes. Aunt Myriam went on with her story.

“By the way, your father was conveniently absent during most of those three days, especially after the first day, when one of the nurses…”

“Nurse Nivea Cole.”

“Yes. Nurse Cole asked him a few questions about your sister’s hallucinations and he just took off. She noticed he looked nervous when she spoke to him.”

“He never came back to the hospital.”

Aunt Myriam paused for a while, as Fred was going through his notes. He stopped and put the notebook aside. Listening was better writing.  

“Why didn’t he?”

“Most likely he had no answers to the embarrassing questions that surfaced. Suddenly, for a man who worked from home for 15 years, he had a lot of meetings, he became very busy, in the span of two days nonetheless. He would call your mother every hour to make sure everything was ok. Retrospectively, perhaps he was fishing for information, to find out what people knew so he could spin it in his favor. But…the information your sister gave, spinning was nearly impossible.”

Fred was afraid to ask, but he had to know.

“What information did my sister give to Dr. Artois?”

Aunt Myriam took a deep breath.

“During the hypnosis, she spoke of all the abuse since she was a kid. Dr. Artois recorded everything and once she was no longer under hypnosis, she was asked the same questions. She denied everything at first but, your mother insisted. Anita couldn’t hold it any longer, her own mind broke and she admitted everything. She started screaming and had to be sedated.”

“What did she say?”

Aunt Myriam looked at him long enough for him to get uncomfortable.

“What?”

“You went to the courthouse and you also spoke to Mrs. Montgomery, right?”

“Yes, I did.”

She looked at him with contempt, almost as if she wanted to spit on him, out of disgust. She couldn’t hide it, it was plain to see.

“I will not repeat what you already know about the abuse. All those details that used to make my skin crawl, everything my sweet Anita had to go through…You know all about them. I won’t repeat them.”

“Yes, you will!”

She got up and stood up over him, towering him with all the contempt and disgust she could muster. He felt sick to have pushed her that far.

“Either you are sick, and you get off on this or you want to hurt me by having me relive things I have spent the last 15 years forgetting. Either way, I won’t repeat them. If you don’t like it, you can go to hell Fred.”

She sat back down and stared at him. He felt sorry and ashamed.

“I am sorry auntie. You are right. I want to hurt you. I want you to feel my pain and sorrow. But you are right. I will leave Anita’s spirit alone. She deserves peace. ”

They sat there, in silence. Fred didn’t ask any more questions. He knew the details, the constant rapes since she was 5, the bloody clothes, the threats made to Anita, her personality changes, her rebellious nature, and so many more cringing details.

“When Dr. Artois sat down with your mother and told her everything he knew, she left in a hurry and went home to confront her husband. Normal reaction one would say. Dr. Artois didn’t call the police right away, he wanted to talk to the hospital’s legal team first. He wasn’t sure Anita was in a state to testify, with all the medication that was administered to her.”

“Is that when Anita committed suicide?”

Aunt Myriam looked down and had to clench her fists to not cry. Her attempt to contain her tears was pointless, she started sobbing again in a matter of seconds.

“Yes. She heard your mother had left and locked herself in the bathroom. She used an oxygen tank and your mother’s lighter that she stole from her.”

She smiled a little as she was thinking of Anita.

“She knew the room next to hers was empty and she was hoping the explosion would only kill her. She was right. Only nurse Cole got injured by debris, a few scratches.”

Tears came down Fred’s face. He didn’t remember Anita. She sounded like a kind soul, a young spirit whose energy got destroyed by a sociopath who was supposed to shield her from all the evil in the world. Fred exhaled heavily and faced his aunt. They had barely scratched the surface of the story, his story.

To be continued….