202 - a
wonderful is true, in truth
social network rps (andrew/jesse)
15,552 words. pg-13. SKY HIGH AU. I'm serious. teenagers with superpowers! I couldn't resist - in fact, the document is legit titled, SKY HIGH AU FUCK YEAH BITCHES, without any punctuation. just in case it wasn't obvious that I'm completely ridiculous. huge thanks to little_missmimi for looking over this for me! you're wonderful. ♥
i.
First days of school generally don’t go as planned for people like Jesse, but Jesse is pretty certain that they’re not this terrible for normal people.
“You’re being dramatic,” Rooney says, climbing onto the bus. Jesse looks at the hinged yellow doors, and doesn’t remind her that at least she has a power. She might not be very good at using it yet, but she’d still turned her entire house into a frozen wasteland by accident at least twice over the summer. Two and a half times, actually. Jesse can read a little faster than most people, and he knows an absurd amount about the Bolsheviks for a sixteen year old, but neither of those things could rightly be called superpowers.
“They’re going to kick me out,” he says, and slumps into a seat next to her. “They’re going to see my test scores, and then they’re going to give me the boot. My parents are going to kill me.”
Rooney’s mouth twists in that way that means she’s trying not to laugh, because she thinks he’s being ridiculous when he’s actually entirely serious. “You’ll be fine,” she says, and pats him less-than-gingerly on the shoulder. “You’ll see.”
ii.
After he gets two boulders nearly dropped on him, and almost set on fire, Mr. Fincher, the instructor of the hero track, makes a derisive noise and says, “I’m not taking him. Trent?”
Mr. Reznor shrugs. “Fine with me.”
Jesse gratefully slumps to the floor. One of the other sidekicks - Joe, possibly, or Jeff - gives him a huge grin and a thumbs up. Joe/Jeff can talk to most mammals, but he prefers cats to anything else. Not so helpful against boulders. Especially when there aren’t any cats around to talk to.
Jesse manages half a wave before Mr. Fincher hauls him up by the back of his shirt like he’s made of feathers. Super strength.
“Nice try, kid,” Mr. Fincher says, not unkindly. It’s kind of hard to tell. “Go on.”
Jesse stumbles over to the bleachers and sits. Rooney hasn’t been called yet, but she’s looking at him and smiling, shaking her head. Joe - it’s definitely Joe - scoots over to sit next to him in the least subtle way possible. And then nudges Jesse in the side for good measure.
“Hey,” Joe says. “Let’s be friends.”
Jesse hasn’t ever had anyone just out and say that to him before. He jolts, and blinks, and then says, “Uh, I - okay.”
“Garfield, Andrew,” Fincher yells out, and a skinny boy with ridiculously sculpted hair jerks to his feet. He’s wearing plaid, but it actually looks good on him.
“Uh, present!” he says. British accent. Jesse shakes his head. Some things are just unfair.
iii.
The cafeteria is full of noise - laughing, and talking, and occasional outraged screaming - so Jesse finds an empty table in the corner and sits by himself. He opens his book, Pride and Prejudice, and lays it out flat on the table. Then he takes out the brown paper bag that his mom packed for him, and pulls out his cream cheese and cucumber sandwich. He’s not sure where Rooney is - if they even have lunch together, which, who knows - so he resigns himself to Mr. Darcy, and the awful Mrs. Bennett.
“Oh no you don’t,” a voice says behind his left shoulder. Jesse startles, and whirls around. Joe is grinning down at him, wide and cheerful, and Rooney is standing just behind him. Jesse wonders if they’ve even been introduced.
“Uh,” he says. “Hi?”
“Hello, lunch buddy, how is this fine lunch period treating you?” Joe sits directly next to him, and drops three bags of differently flavored chips and a tuna fish sandwich on the table.
“Where’d you find this one?” Rooney asks, taking the seat across from Jesse, and jerking her thumb at Joe.
“I - have no idea,” Jesse says, and Joe laughs. Jesse glances over at him, and then back at Rooney. “I really don’t.”
“Well, I like him.” Rooney is decisive, and Jesse is relieved. Things are generally easier for him when Rooney agrees.
iv.
“Well, class, what have we learned today?” Mr. Reznor is calm, and his voice is usually close to a monotone, but Jesse has learned, quickly, that neither of these things mean that he doesn’t care, or that he isn’t paying attention.
Justin, as usual, has his hand in the before Mr. Reznor has even finished the question. Justin can become translucent. Not invisible, but translucent. Jesse isn’t sure of the practical applications, but at least Justin has a power.
“Anyone other than our eager Mr. Timberlake?” Mr. Reznor leans back against his desk, and rolls the chalk between his fingers.
Eventually, Brenda sighs, and raises her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Song?”
“As hero support, our only goal is to support our hero,” she says, with only slight sarcasm. She somehow manages not to roll her eyes. Jesse is a little impressed.
“Again, with less attitude. All of you this time.” He points to the sentence on the board with his chalk. Jesse has doodled a lightning bolt in the corner of his paper, zooming down to electrocute a cartoon version of himself. He tears it out and folds it up, carefully palming to over onto Joe’s desk.
It’s worth it just to watch Joe try not to laugh.
v.
Sometime in October, Rooney starts making friends in her heroes’ classes. She vets them by Jesse when she brings them to lunch with her, but Jesse’s not sure exactly what she thinks he’ll do in the event that he doesn’t like one of them. Overturn the table? Yell invectives at them? Jesse mostly likes people, and when he doesn’t, he usually reacts by avoiding them. It’s easier not to get punched that way.
“No, I’m serious! I didn’t even know I was making that face until they printed the pictures,” Armie is saying. He was the first of Rooney’s new friends, and Jesse likes him, despite his intimidatingly handsome and athletic nature. Jesse isn’t sure what his power is, but it’s probably awesome. He’s gesticulating with a chicken leg, and talking about his older sister’s prom photos. Apparently she’d been powerless, and insisted on not attending Sky High. Jesse can, at times, understand the impulse. “She was so mad at me, you have no idea.”
Joe laughs so hard that he slumps face first onto the table, pushing Jesse’s can of grape soda out of reach with his head. At least he doesn’t tip it over.
“Hey,” Jesse says, in protest.
“Uh,” he hears behind him, and he wishes that people would stop doing that. He spins around, and finds himself face to face with a plaid shirt. And a person in it, who happens to be Andrew Garfield. He tilts his head back until he can see Andrew’s face - Andrew looks sheepish, mostly, but cheerful anyway.
Fuck, Jesse thinks, vehemently, and looks over at Rooney. Rooney, who is smiling at him knowingly, and sometimes he hates that they’ve known each other since grade school.
“Rooney?” Andrew says, helplessly. He’s still standing really close to Jesse’s face. He looks down at Jesse, and then back up at Rooney, and Jesse just really wants his grape soda, is that too much to ask?
“Everyone, this is Andrew,” Rooney says, rolling her eyes. “Andrew, sit down.”
“Ah,” Andrew says, like he’s been put on the spot. He sits next to Jesse, and Jesse wants to die. Andrew smells nice, and Jesse just isn’t emotionally equipped to deal with it. “Hello, everyone. And Armie.”
Joe waves from where he’s still slumped over the table, and Brenda nods, and Armie says, “What, I don’t count as part of everyone?”
Jesse mostly just wishes that he had the ability to kill Rooney with his mind. Andrew thrusts a hand at him, and says, “You must be Jesse.”
“I -“ Jesse starts, and stares at the offered hand. He’s forgotten words. He’s forgotten English. “Um, I.”
“What he’s trying to say is, ‘indeed, I am, and what a pleasure it is to meet you, Mr. Garfield,’” Joe says, and reaches over to grab Jesse’s hand, slapping it on top of Andrew’s. Jesse catches hold of Andrew’s hand, and shakes it, tentative. He looks down, trying to fight off the blush that he knows is spreading all the way to his ears.
Andrew just giggles, delighted. “Wow, you lot are brilliant,” he says. Jesse pulls his hand back like he’s been burned, and wishes, once again, for a quick death.
vi.
Sometimes, Jesse stays after class to hang out in the library. The bus leaves directly after classes, but if he tells his parents in advance, his mom will come get him, barring any unforeseen natural disasters or global conflicts. He’s only been left past 8:00PM twice, which is worth it. There is no other library in the entire United States with the same wealth of information on superheroes, superpowers, and anything related to the two. Jesse looks up the oldest person to get their powers - an 82-year-old woman, as it turns out, who developed the power to control time and then died shortly thereafter - the youngest, and all the studies done on the genetics of superpowers.
Often, though, he just takes the time to read his book on one of the beanbag chairs stashed in by the far windows and be by himself.
“Jesse?” It’s after five, and Andrew should be home by now, but he’s obviously not. Andrew has been sitting with them at lunch for more than month, and while Jesse can almost talk while he’s around, he still can’t say complete sentences to Andrew’s face. To his neck, probably not, to his collarbone, possibly, and to his chest, on occasion. Andrew doesn’t seem to have noticed, and instead insists on being the most brutally nice person Jesse has ever met.
“Oh, hi, uh. Andrew,” Jesse says, and then nearly has to slap himself in the face for sounding like an idiot. “What’re you - why are you here?”
Andrew laughs, sits gracefully on one of the beanbag chairs to Jesse’s left.
“Research. Fincher’s making us look up the history of powers in our families. I thought about asking my mum, but I figured, why have a library if no one ever uses it.”
“I do,” Jesse says, and then closes his mouth.
“Apparently,” Andrew says. He’s fiddling with the threads on the hem of his sleeves, but he’s still smiling, so Jesse doesn’t think he’s offended him. Not yet, anyway. There’s still time.
“I suppose - it doesn’t matter much to you if the bus leaves,” Jesse says. “Um, you know, since you fly and all.”
Andrew shrugs, like it’s nothing, and leans back. “Not leaving yet, though,” he says. “Mind if I keep you company?”
“Uh, no, not at -” he starts, and then his phone beeps. He flips it open, and it’s a text from his mom - sry flood in argentina will b late - and sighs. “Looks like I’ll be here for a while yet.” He smiles, and then tugs his lower lip into his mouth.
“Did you - want a lift?” Andrew is staring at the ground like it’s supremely interesting, and Jesse doesn’t want to cause him discomfort, or whatever that is, but - but.
“Would you mind? I, uh - don’t want to be a bother -”
“No! No, not at all, really, I promise.” Andrew smiles that stupid smile of his, seemingly genuine, and Jesse forgets English again.
“I mean,” he says, eventually, and looks away. “Thank you. Really.”
vii.
Jesse slams the door to his room and sits, breathing hard, on the edge of his bed. His mom will probably be home soon, finished with saving the world. She’ll probably listen to his woes, and give him a hug and tell him that he’s just a late bloomer, but Jesse doesn’t feel like a later bloomer. He feels, mostly, like a failure. A failure who is full of incredibly inconvenient teenage hormones.
“Of course he can fly. Of course, he has super strength. And of fucking course he would fly me home. Because he’s not perfect enough just being British,” Jesse mutters, and flops onto his back. His ceiling is covered in those sticky, glow-in-the-dark stars, left over from when he was ten and Rooney helped him put them up. He’s thinking about Andrew’s arms around his waist, and how easily Andrew had held him up, and kept balance with the extra weight. He’s thinking about Andrew’s chest pressed to Jesse’s back, warm even through their mutual three layers of various cotton blends.
Jesse hears his mother close the front door to the house, and then her footsteps on the stairs, but he really doesn’t want to hear it from her right now. He pushes open his bedroom window, and climbs out onto the roof. He doesn’t usually do this during the evening, but desperate times, and so he reaches out to the big oak towering over the house, and clambers down onto the ground. Then he takes off for Rooney’s house.
viii.
“Sometimes I think it’ll never happen,” Brenda says, holding her books to her chest. Jesse gives her a sharp look - they’ve mostly agreed not to talk about this, even though they’re the last two in the class that haven’t manifested their powers yet. Both of them come from heavily powered families, and all four of their parents attended Sky High, though Brenda’s parents were a few years ahead of Jesse’s.
“Are you worried about it?” Jesse bites his lip, but she’s smiling, a little, when she looks at him.
“Not really. I’m impatient.” She stops walking, just outside the door to their classroom. “Are you?”
“Yeah,” Jesse says. “All the time.”
ix.
The first snow comes during the beginning of December. Joe looks out the window and then elbows Jesse, hard, in the side. Jesse wishes he’d stop doing that.
“Jesse,” he hisses, trying to be quiet and utterly failing. It’s supposed to be study hall, all of them silently cramming for their finals. Jesse is dreading support theory, but he’ll probably be good on everything else. Hero history is going to be a breeze. “It’s snowing!”
Jesse glances outside, and the snowflakes are big and wet, sticking to the grass. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice earlier.
“Wow,” Brenda says, under her breath. “It’s so pretty.”
“Shhh,” Justin says, holding a finger to his lips. Brenda mock-smiles at him, and then subtly gives him the finger. For some reason, the two of them hate each other. Jesse honestly wonders if it’s sexual tension, but he’s not really one to be complaining about that.
For the rest of the period, none of the three of them even pretend to study. They just watch the fat snowflakes fall, and wait for lunch hour.
x.
Jesse tries to stay out of the snowball fight, he really does. Armie, of course, has brawn on his side, and a strategic mind, but he thinks too much of the rest of them. Joe is the opposite - sneaky, but easily overpowered. None of them even try to beat Rooney, who can literally create more snow in her hands whenever she wants to.
“Unfair,” Jesse shouts, wriggling, as she dumps a handful of snow down the back of his shirt. “What did I ever do to you?”
“How about that time you gave Fluffy Bunny a bath and he started going bald! Or that time you convinced me to put pizza and soda in a blender and drink it.”
“Well, you stole my shoes and put them in the tree outside my house!” Jesse is laughing now, and cold, and his nose is running, but Armie is on his back in the snow, Joe straddling his hips while Brenda covers his face with slush. “I thought we were even.”
“We’re never even, you fiend,” she says, but she’s grinning, and then she pushes him down. He trips backward into a snowdrift, and she runs, laughing. Jesse could get up, probably, but his clothes are soaked, and while he’s down here, he might as well make a snow angel.
“Get distracted?” Jesse opens his eyes and Andrew is peering over him.
“Don’t step on my wings,” Jesse says, before he can think about it, and then feels the blush start to burn on his cheeks. At least it’s warm, and he’s already flushed enough from running.
Andrew steps back, laughing and delighted. “Apologies, Mr. Angel,” he says. “Need a hand?”
“Standing is the hardest part,” Jesse admits, and grasps Andrew’s hand when he offers it. Jesse isn’t wearing gloves, but Andrew is. He yelps when Jesse’s fingers brush his wrist.
“You’re cold as ice!” Andrew’s eyebrows are near his forehead, and he strips off his gloves, holding them out.
“I couldn’t -” Jesse starts, but Andrew grasps his hand, and pushes the gloves into it.
“Take them. Or you’ll make me feel sad and rejected,” Andrew says. Jesse doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just pulls them on. “Now,” Andrew says, “Let’s see if we can get Rooney.”
xi.
The closer they get to finals, the more Jesse stays after school to study in the library. Rooney joins him a few times, and then, somehow, it becomes the whole gang.
“Seriously?” he asks, as Joe pulls out a notebook and three textbooks and sits, cross-legged, next to him. Joe shrugs, still smiling in the easy way that he always does. Armie and Andrew are settling against the far wall with a set of flash cards. They are both obviously huge nerds, and need to be told so immediately.
“What, you want to stew in the dark by yourself?” Brenda sits down with an insincere smile that melts into something real.
“No - I.” He stops, shaking his head. Joe pats him on the back.
“It’s okay, just go back to reading. We’ll be quiet.”
On Jesse’s left, Rooney snorts, but doesn’t look up from the essay she’s writing.
xii.
Brenda’s powers come in the week before vacation. She glows white-gold and blinding, from her fingertips to her hair to the soles of her feet. She comes to school all aglow, her eyes pupil-less white, offset by her dark sweater and jeans.
“Jesse!” she yells from down the hall, and waves, and runs to give him a hug. “Jesse, look what I can do! I don’t know how to turn it off, yet, but, oh. Jesse, I’m so happy.” She wipes at her eyes with glowing hands, and he laughs and pulls her close.
He can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy, but mostly - he’s happy for her.
“Look at you,” he says. “Are they transferring you to the hero track?”
She steps back and wipes her eyes again. He can’t see her tears over the glowing of her skin. “I don’t know. I hope not, but - I have to talk to Sorkin. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“It doesn’t matter, you’ll be fine.”
She kisses him on the cheek, soft, warm lips, and he can see the light of her through his closed eyelids.
“Nope,” she says, and pokes him on the nose. “You’ll be fine.”
xiii.
Jesse is sitting on the floor of the hall, waiting for Joe to finish the last exam. Jesse has always tested well, and quickly, so he’s been stationed here for half an hour. Rooney’s shoes, no-nonsense, stop just past the edge of his book. Her voice is amused. “Well?”
“What?” he asks, squinting up at her.
“Are you all done?” She’s smiling down at him, indulgent. Andrew comes up behind her, leaning over her shoulder. He props his chin on her, and Jesse loves both of them too much and in entirely different ways. It’s not a problem, except for when it is.
“Done,” he says. “Just waiting for Joseph to finish dawdling.”
“I heard that!” Joe yells from inside the classroom. Jesse glances in, and he’s packing up his bags.
“If you’re listening to our conversation then you’re obviously not working hard enough,” Jesse comments. Andrew laughs.
“I’ll see you over break?” Andrew asks, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder, and he’s glancing at all of them, but his eyes catch Jesse’s, and Jesse’s breath sticks in his throat.
“I’m - I’ll be around.” He shrugs. Rooney is giving him the secret smile, the one that means I-know-what-you’re-thinking-and-it’s-so-cute, which is vaguely patronizing but kind of her right.
“Sweet!” Andrew says, beaming.
Then Joe bursts through the doorway and screams, “Freedom!” at the top of his lungs, and the conversation dissolves from there.
xiv.
Rooney stays at Jesse’s house for the first week of break. It’s always happened like this, since they were nine and Rooney parents asked Jesse’s to babysit while they visited the in-laws in Florida. Rooney could’ve gone if she’d wanted to, she’d been invited this year, but she’d decided to stay with Jesse instead. Jesse really doesn’t know why, other than longstanding tradition.
“Are you going to call Andrew?” she asks from his bed. He’s on an air mattress on the floor, which is relatively comfortable, though he does always worry that his cats are going to puncture it in the middle of the night and he’ll slowly sink to the floor.
“Should I?” Jesse asks. He knows immediately what her response is going to be, so he expands the thought before she berates him. “I mean - would he want me to?”
She snorts indelicately, and though he can’t see her, she’s most likely rolling her eyes at the glowy stars on the ceiling. “You’re such an idiot sometimes.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If you can’t figure it out, I’m not going to tell you,” she says. “Plus, I can smell you dad cooking pancakes. Lets go get breakfast.”
Jesse knows from experience that he won’t get anything else out of her, so the two of them tromp down the stairs in their pajamas, sweatshirts zipped up against the morning cold, and make for the kitchen.
xv.
Jesse’s phone wakes him at 6:15 AM, two days before New Years, vibrating loudly against the stack of hardcover books on his bedside table. Most of them are Chanukah presents from his parents, and he’s too excited to read them to bother putting them away.
He reaches out to grope for his phone, only succeeding in knocking it to the floor. Then he slides half off his bed, disturbing Yours Truly, his extremely fat tabby, who was asleep on his feet, and causing him to almost fall on his face. Finally, he hoists himself up onto his bed, cell phone in hand, and checks his messages. He has a new text from Andrew.
cant sleep. know its weird but im hoverin outside yr window. open up?
Jesse blinks owlishly, and turns to look out the window. Andrew waves sheepishly at him, and Jesse flounders, tipping over and off of his bed. Yours Truly pokes her head over the edge to peer down at him, and then goes back to cleaning herself.
Jesse manages to stand, and walks to the window, pushing it open. The wind whistles past the glass, and Jesse shivers. Andrew is shivering, too, and Jesse takes a step back.
“Come on,” he says. “It’s freezing.”
Andrew just bobs his head a few times, in thanks, and then slides over the windowsill and onto Jesse’s carpet. He’s wearing a coat, and boots, but there’s no snow on them. His hair is windblown and wild. He definitely flew here.
Andrew shuts the windows and toes off his boots, leaving them against the wall. He shrugs off his coat, and he’s just wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt underneath. Pajamas, maybe. Jesse climbs back up onto his bed, and curls up, leaning back against his pillows.
“Sorry,” Andrew says. The sun is just starting to come up, but the sky is still mostly dark blue. Andrew smiles, and rubs at one of his eyes.
“Are you, um. I - Are you okay?”
Andrew shrugs, and sits on the edge of Jesse’s bed. “Just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t - I could’ve gone somewhere else, I suppose, but I didn’t want to. You don’t mind, do you?”
Jesse wouldn’t know how to mind if he tried. He wants to kiss Andrew on the mouth, or make him sleep, or something, but instead he just ducks his head against the blush spreading across his cheeks, and he smiles.
“Not - at all. I promise.”
“Okay,” Andrew says, “I appreciate it.”
xvi.
Four hours later, Jesse wakes up again, and Andrew is asleep on his bed. He’s close enough to feel Andrew’s heat, and this bed isn’t exactly big enough for the two of them. It’s really not fair at all. Jesse curls up on his side with his knees pulled to his chest. He breathes evenly, in and out, a few times before thinking about slipping out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom.
“Jesse?” Andrew’s voice is muffled. Half of his face is smushed against one of the pillows, and his hair is a mess.
“Yeah?” Jesse croaks, staring at the far wall.
“Thanks again,” Andrew says. Jesse almost risks looking at him, but can’t make himself do it, in the end.
“You’re welcome,” he says, instead.
xvii.
Joe picks him up at 10PM on New Years Eve. The party is at Armie’s house, since his parents are hoity-toity and actually going out for the evening. Joe is the only one of them that can drive so far, so he’s temporarily stolen his father’s minivan, and is making the rounds. Brenda is already in the far back, but Jesse is second. They’ll hit Rooney’s house next, and then Andrew’s. Jesse isn’t sure what to expect from the party, but he likes Armie, so he can’t imagine that it’ll be terrible. There might be some debauchery, but what 16-year-old doesn’t enjoy that? Not that Jesse has much experience with debauchery, but he might be up for it. Possibly. He’s up for being up for it, anyway.
“How many people are going to be at this party, do you think?” Jesse asks, and Joe gives him the crazy eyebrows in the rearview.
“I have no idea!” Joe sounds excited about this fact. “We’ll find out, though, right?”
Jesse leans against the door as Joe swerves right around a corner. “I suppose we will,” he says.
“Armie told me he’s inviting everyone he’s ever met,” Brenda says from the back. “So, you know, factor in all of the schools that Armie’s been to over the years, and I’d say there’s the potential for a good shindig.” She’s wearing long, dangly earrings, and a shimmering blue top, all dressed up. Jesse hadn’t even thought about it - he’s still in a t-shirt and jeans, just like always. Of course, the only dressy option he owns is the suit he wore to his Bar Mitzvah, which he’s promised himself never to wear in public again.
They pull up at Rooney’s house, and she’d standing outside. She has on a long, flowy dress, with a collar wide enough to expose most of her collarbones and shoulders. Her hair is braided. She looks lovely.
“You look nice,” Jesse says, as she climbs in next to Brenda.
“Thanks, Jess,” she says. “You look about the same as ever, which is handsome enough for me.”
Jesse is pretty sure that he has the best friends in the universe, but he’s not going to brag out loud.
Andrew’s house is last - he lives the farthest away from all of them. His parents are renters, but his house is still impressively large. Jesse wonders what his parents do for a living. He’d never thought to ask. Andrew trots down the front walk, in a nice pair of shoes, corduroys, and a cardigan. His hair is whipped up into a frenzy. Jesse immediately wants to muss it up.
“What a car full of classy people,” Andrew says, and shuts the door after him. “Well? Don’t we have a party to attend?”
Joe lets out a whoop, and Jesse laughs, and Joe speeds off down the street.
xviii.
“Ladies, Gentlemen.” Armie sweeps the door open with a gallant flourish, and then starts laughing. He’s got a red cup in one hand, the doorknob in the other, and there’s a pumping bass line coming from down the hallway. Amber liquid sloshes over the rim of his cup and splashes onto the floor. “Whoops,” he says, and then giggles.
“Someone has been pre-gaming,” Joe crows, and slaps Armie on the side of the head.
“It’s not pre-gaming anymore,” Armie complains. “The party started half an hour ago!”
“Armie,” Rooney says, with her serious face on, “you know the party don’t start ‘til I walk in.”
Armie looks dumbly at Rooney for about seven seconds, and then the reference clicks. He starts laughing.
“If this were my party, I’d ban you for that,” Jesse says, deadpan.
“Good thing it’s not, then.” She smiles at him, all innocent, and Jesse just shakes his head.
“More alcohol, less bickering,” Andrew says, and snags Jesse in the crook of his left elbow, dragging him farther into the bowels of the house. Jesse waves to Brenda and Rooney and Armie and Joe over his shoulder, but he’s perfectly willing to go where Andrew leads.
Armie’s house is huge - all dark wood floors and winding staircases with iron banisters, and impeccably framed paintings. Jesse could probably get lost in it if left to his own devices. Andrew is presumably following the sound of the music, because they end up in a huge room full of couches and teenagers. Jesse recognizes a few of them - Justin is in the corner, and Josh and Max, two of Armie’s hero buddies, are setting up some kind of beer-related game on the ping-pong table against the far wall. The rest, Jesse has no idea, and doesn’t particularly care. Andrew’s hand is still on his arm, and he’s being pulled toward the booze table.
“What do you want?” Andrew asks. Some part of Jesse wants to say something ridiculous like, for you to take off your clothes, but he’s not drunk yet, and he wants to be able to pretend that he doesn’t remember it later if it doesn’t go over well.
“Uh, I - have no idea. I don’t know what half of this stuff is.” Jesse surveys the bottles lined up neatly on the table - two kinds of whiskey and a huge bottle of vodka, three different kinds of beer, a whole slew of sodas and juices - and feels vaguely overwhelmed.
“Well,” Andrew says, “I’ll make you one of mine, and if you don’t like it, I’ll drink it.” His teeth show when he smiles, like he’s hugely proud of this thought.
Jesse can’t help but laugh. “I - sure, whatever.”
Andrew pours some whiskey and some ginger ale into two plastic cups, and hands one to Jesse. “Cheers,” he says.
“Cheers.” Jesse presses his cup to Andrew’s and then takes a sip. It tastes - fizzy, and alcoholic, and not too bad.
Later, it’s twenty minutes to midnight, Jesse has had three whiskey gingers, and he hasn’t seen Rooney since the party started. Armie is dancing on the table, sans shirt, and Brenda is sitting on the couch, her cheeks and the palms of her hands glowing. Justin is sitting next to her, talking, but she doesn’t seem to really be paying any attention to him. Instead, she’s putting his hand over hers and watching her light go through him. Joe is sitting on the floor, half underneath the ping-pong table, having an apparently deeply intellectual conversation with Armie’s cat, Mr. Scuttlebutt. Thomas Scuttlebutt, actually.
“Wow,” Joe says, engrossed. “That’s amazing.” Jesse wanders back over to the couch where he left Andrew, and sprawls over the armrest. Andrew is singing along quietly with the music, which Jesse is relatively certain is Kanye West.
“Hi,” Jesse says, and slides over onto one of the couch cushions. He lands on Andrew’s feet, and he’s pretty sure he was supposed to avoid sitting on Andrew, but he’s not sure why that would be a good idea. “Whoops,” he says.
“Ow,” Andrew protests, half-hearted. “You’re bony and you’re sitting on a bony part of me.”
“All of you is bony, Andrew,” Jesse says, seriously. Andrew snorts, and shakes his head, but he’s giggling a little. Jesse is pretty sure that Andrew has had more to drink than he has. Probably Andrew also has a better alcohol tolerance than he does.
“Is not. It’s muscle, not bone.” Andrew makes a muscle with his arm, but he’s still wearing his cardigan, so it doesn’t prove much.
“You’re wearing a cardigan,” Jesse says, like that’s an actual response to what Andrew had said.
“That’s very true.” Andrew nods, sagely, and then tugs at Jesse’s arm. “And your butt is still bony on my shins.”
Jesse lets Andrew tug him closer, until he realizes that he’s sort of sitting on Andrew’s thighs, and that should be weird, but it’s mostly just warm.
“Hey, Andrew,” he says. His nose is almost close enough to brush Andrew’s hair. “Want to hear a secret?”
“What?” Andrew’s eyes are half-lidded, and his mouth is red, and Jesse pushes his face closer until he is talking right into Andrew’s ear.
“I’ve never been drunk before,” he whispers, and Andrew shivers, and then laughs.
“That tickles.” He scratches at his ear, and then puts his hand on the back of Jesse’s neck, warm and callused. It takes him a minute, but he finally seems to process Jesse’s actual words. “Really, never?”
“Nu-uh,” Jesse says. “Not once.”
“Wow,” Andrew says, and then he grins. “That’s awesome. I get to see you drunk for the first time!”
“I’ve been drunk for an hour,” Jesse reminds him, and leans into the hand on his neck. He wonders if Andrew is going to kiss him. He wonders if that has even occurred to Andrew.
Before he can ask, or think about asking, or think about kissing Andrew anymore, Armie jumps off of the table and yells, “Happy new year! Kisses for everyone!”
Jesse can only watch, dumbly, as Armie first kisses Brenda, and then Justin. He kisses Josh, and the other seventeen people that Jesse doesn’t know. He kisses Joe, though he’s really too tall for it to not look awkward, given that Joe is still sitting on the floor. And then Jesse blinks and Armie’s leaning over the couch, and kissing him. Armie’s mouth is warm, and it tastes mealy like beer, and, really, Jesse would rather his first kiss have not been while he was drunk, but as kisses go, at least he likes Armie. Armie is an okay guy.
Then Armie pulls away, and kisses Andrew. Jesse pushes his nose into the fabric of couch, and tries not to look interested at all.
xix.
Jesse wakes up the next morning still sprawled on the couch. And also still sprawled on Andrew. Andrew is breathing loudly, and Jesse wonders if that’s what has woken him up. It’s early, and the house is still a wreck. Jesse had apparently fallen asleep with his face pressed to Andrew’s neck, but he’s not sure how that happened. He quickly, vehemently hopes that he hasn’t drooled at all. He doesn’t remember much after midnight. Not much could have happened though, he doesn’t think. He’s still in the same place, so it couldn’t have. Probably.
Andrew makes an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, and Jesse realizes that both of Andrew’s hands are fisted into the back of his shirt. His fingers are warm, and Jesse feels stupid, and sleepy, and like he never wants to move.
Unfortunately, he really has to pee.
It takes him about ten minutes, but he manages to wriggle away from Andrew, who apparently sleeps like some kind of super strong barnacle, and onto the floor. Joe and Armie are spooning underneath the ping-pong table, and Josh is asleep on top of it. Brenda is curled up on another of the couches. Most of them contain one or two sleeping teenagers, but no awake ones. Jesse tiptoes out of the room and down the hall. He doesn’t know where he’s going or where the bathroom is, and he hopes that he doesn’t get lost and starve in the bowels of Armie’s gigantic house.
He opens four wrong doors in three hallways before he finds the bathroom. It’s narrow, with a high ceiling, and paisley patterned wallpaper. The mirror above the sink stretches all the way up to the ceiling. Jesse feels about seven feet too short for the room, but still manages to pee without a hitch. He flushes, washes his hands, and then tries to figure out which was the way that he came from. He can’t remember, so he just picks a direction at random.
He opens a few more doors - a library, an office he saw the first time, some kind of entertainment center - and then he ends up in the kitchen. Rooney and Max, both apparently awake, are sitting at the table eating bowls of Cheerios and talking. Jesse yawns, and rubs his eyes, and wonders if he’s interrupting. He’s not sure where the party room is, anymore. It could be anywhere.
“Morning,” he says, eventually, and smiles when they both look completely unsurprised to see him there. “I got lost on my return from the bathroom and found myself here.”
Max, Jesse is pretty sure, has some kind of non-physical power. Precognition, maybe. Something psychic. Jesse doesn’t know him well at all, but Rooney appears to. Jesse crosses the room to sit at the table, next to Rooney, and across from Max.
“You’ll be fine,” Max says, somewhat cryptically. Jesse has heard that enough times in his life that he’s started to resent it, but Rooney laughs. Jesse had forgotten than Max is British. It’s possible that he and Rooney have spent too much time together.
“Max, this is Jesse, my best friend,” she says. “Jesse, Max and I are going on a date on Saturday.”
“Ah,” Jesse says, and glances between them. “When did that decision come about?”
“About seven minutes ago,” Rooney says, and grins. “It stands to reason that once you’ve fallen asleep on someone, you should probably take them on a date.”
Jesse blinks a few times and wonders if Rooney is psychic, saw him asleep on Andrew, or if they both just managed to independently fall asleep on someone they found attractive. Someone attractive and British. “Uh,” he says, “oh, so is that where you were all night?”
Rooney actually looks a little sheepish, which is quite the feat, and shrugs with one shoulder. “You were off flirting awkwardly with Andrew, and that seemed to be going well,” she says, and then laughs at him when he blushes. “And two can play at that game, obviously.”
Max smiles, then. “It’s hard to resist my charms.”
Rooney snorts. “That would be more true if being drunk didn’t make your shields weaker.”
Max makes a face that is mostly apologetic, and takes another bite of his Cheerios.
“I don’t want to know,” Jesse says. “I really don’t.”
“Go find your boyfriend and leave me alone.” Rooney points at the doorway. It’s not as dramatic as she wants it to be, seeing as she has a spoon in her other hand, and she’s smiling.
“He’s not my - I swear, I’m never going to forgive you if you don’t stop saying that,” he says. She just points more viciously at the doorway. “Fine, fine, I’m going. Enjoy your breakfast.”
xx.
Rooney and Max go on their date the last Saturday before classes start. Jesse doesn’t get to ask her about it, but she’d probably have come over and eaten the emergency ice cream in his freezer if it hadn’t gone well. Still, on Sunday he texts her to check in.
how was your date? he sends, around noon.
fun! he’s charming. though that might just be because he’s a precog so he knows what to say, she sends back, and Jesse smiles to himself.
Jesse spends the rest of his break reading. He goes through all of Chanukah books, and sleeps, and wills his power into being. It doesn’t work. Jesse only knows extraordinary people, but he isn’t one of them. His mom is a speedster. His father can communicate with electronics. His best friend can freeze anything. His - the boy he has a crush on can fly and has super strength. Jesse can worry pretty effectively, but that’s about the extent of his abilities.
Jesse flops back onto his bed with a huff. He’s not sulking, really. He’s just - resigning himself to his fate.
xxi.
The second week of classes, Mr. Reznor has an announcement for them. They’ve all been expecting it, but most of them aren’t dreading it as much as Jesse is.
“Class, listen up,” he says, standing solemnly with his hands behind his back. It’s somewhere between his pop-quiz voice and what Jesse imagines is his everyone-keep-calm-while-we-evacuate voice. Jesse perks up, looking up from his doodle of Joe staring out the window. “I’ve just received word from the principal that the mid-year demonstrations have been scheduled for two weeks from now. As you all know, this is your chance to demonstrate your proficiency with your powers, and show the faculty the progress you’ve made in the last few months. I expect you to do some practicing outside of class for this. I’m going to hand out the sign-ups tomorrow, and each of you should choose a time. Any questions?”
Jesse looks around, and only Joe is raising his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Mazzello?”
“Do we have to bring props, or are they supplied for us?” Joe’s face is completely guileless, though Jesse can see one corner of his mouth twitch. He’s pretty sure it’s only because he’s sitting the next desk over.
“No, Mr. Mazzello, you are not allowed to bring your cats to school with you.”
Joe’s face falls comically, but he’s still suppressing laughter. Jesse would be laughing, too, if he weren’t thinking about standing up in front of the whole school and doing - absolutely nothing.
“If there are no more questions, then class dismissed,” Mr. Reznor says. Then he turns his piercing gaze on Jesse, and says, “Mr. Eisenberg, if you’d stay after class for a moment, please.”
Jesse can feel his heart beating, and he looks pleadingly at Joe, and then at Brenda, who always sits just behind them, but they both shrug.
“We’ll wait outside for you, okay?” Joe says, and squeezes one of Jesse’s shoulders on his way out of the classroom.
“He’s not going to murder you,” Brenda says. Then, she adds, “Good luck.”
Jesse packs all of his books quickly, zipping up his backpack. Then he takes a deep breath, and makes his way to the front of the classroom.
“Mr. Reznor?” he asks, and Mr. Reznor looks over at him.
“As the only member of my classroom who hasn’t manifested yet, you are in a special sort of predicament.”
Jesse shrugs, and nods, but he doesn’t actually have anything to say.
“You have been making - adequate progress in your self-defense classes,” Mr. Reznor says, voice still mostly without emotion. “May I suggest that route for your demonstration?”
“I - don’t know what else I’d do, other than read aloud, or maybe solve an algebra equation, but I can’t pretend I’m very good at self-defense, either.” Jesse says, honestly. He’s actually pretty abysmal at self-defense. He can beat up Justin, but Justin is kind of a crybaby, and always ends up calling his mother during his lunch period. Jesse’s problem has more to do with lack of upper body strength and a desire not to see blood ever.
Mr. Reznor nods solemnly, “I see. Think it over. The only person who can make this decision is you.”
Jesse sometimes thinks that Mr. Reznor keeps a book of sage advice in the drawer of his desk and just reads it aloud at random. Still, he nods, and hoists his backpack onto his shoulder.
Joe and Brenda are waiting for him in the hall, and they all head to the cafeteria for lunch, but Jesse isn’t paying very much attention. There is no way that the next two weeks are going to go well.
PART TWO
social network rps (andrew/jesse)
15,552 words. pg-13. SKY HIGH AU. I'm serious. teenagers with superpowers! I couldn't resist - in fact, the document is legit titled, SKY HIGH AU FUCK YEAH BITCHES, without any punctuation. just in case it wasn't obvious that I'm completely ridiculous. huge thanks to little_missmimi for looking over this for me! you're wonderful. ♥
i.
First days of school generally don’t go as planned for people like Jesse, but Jesse is pretty certain that they’re not this terrible for normal people.
“You’re being dramatic,” Rooney says, climbing onto the bus. Jesse looks at the hinged yellow doors, and doesn’t remind her that at least she has a power. She might not be very good at using it yet, but she’d still turned her entire house into a frozen wasteland by accident at least twice over the summer. Two and a half times, actually. Jesse can read a little faster than most people, and he knows an absurd amount about the Bolsheviks for a sixteen year old, but neither of those things could rightly be called superpowers.
“They’re going to kick me out,” he says, and slumps into a seat next to her. “They’re going to see my test scores, and then they’re going to give me the boot. My parents are going to kill me.”
Rooney’s mouth twists in that way that means she’s trying not to laugh, because she thinks he’s being ridiculous when he’s actually entirely serious. “You’ll be fine,” she says, and pats him less-than-gingerly on the shoulder. “You’ll see.”
ii.
After he gets two boulders nearly dropped on him, and almost set on fire, Mr. Fincher, the instructor of the hero track, makes a derisive noise and says, “I’m not taking him. Trent?”
Mr. Reznor shrugs. “Fine with me.”
Jesse gratefully slumps to the floor. One of the other sidekicks - Joe, possibly, or Jeff - gives him a huge grin and a thumbs up. Joe/Jeff can talk to most mammals, but he prefers cats to anything else. Not so helpful against boulders. Especially when there aren’t any cats around to talk to.
Jesse manages half a wave before Mr. Fincher hauls him up by the back of his shirt like he’s made of feathers. Super strength.
“Nice try, kid,” Mr. Fincher says, not unkindly. It’s kind of hard to tell. “Go on.”
Jesse stumbles over to the bleachers and sits. Rooney hasn’t been called yet, but she’s looking at him and smiling, shaking her head. Joe - it’s definitely Joe - scoots over to sit next to him in the least subtle way possible. And then nudges Jesse in the side for good measure.
“Hey,” Joe says. “Let’s be friends.”
Jesse hasn’t ever had anyone just out and say that to him before. He jolts, and blinks, and then says, “Uh, I - okay.”
“Garfield, Andrew,” Fincher yells out, and a skinny boy with ridiculously sculpted hair jerks to his feet. He’s wearing plaid, but it actually looks good on him.
“Uh, present!” he says. British accent. Jesse shakes his head. Some things are just unfair.
iii.
The cafeteria is full of noise - laughing, and talking, and occasional outraged screaming - so Jesse finds an empty table in the corner and sits by himself. He opens his book, Pride and Prejudice, and lays it out flat on the table. Then he takes out the brown paper bag that his mom packed for him, and pulls out his cream cheese and cucumber sandwich. He’s not sure where Rooney is - if they even have lunch together, which, who knows - so he resigns himself to Mr. Darcy, and the awful Mrs. Bennett.
“Oh no you don’t,” a voice says behind his left shoulder. Jesse startles, and whirls around. Joe is grinning down at him, wide and cheerful, and Rooney is standing just behind him. Jesse wonders if they’ve even been introduced.
“Uh,” he says. “Hi?”
“Hello, lunch buddy, how is this fine lunch period treating you?” Joe sits directly next to him, and drops three bags of differently flavored chips and a tuna fish sandwich on the table.
“Where’d you find this one?” Rooney asks, taking the seat across from Jesse, and jerking her thumb at Joe.
“I - have no idea,” Jesse says, and Joe laughs. Jesse glances over at him, and then back at Rooney. “I really don’t.”
“Well, I like him.” Rooney is decisive, and Jesse is relieved. Things are generally easier for him when Rooney agrees.
iv.
“Well, class, what have we learned today?” Mr. Reznor is calm, and his voice is usually close to a monotone, but Jesse has learned, quickly, that neither of these things mean that he doesn’t care, or that he isn’t paying attention.
Justin, as usual, has his hand in the before Mr. Reznor has even finished the question. Justin can become translucent. Not invisible, but translucent. Jesse isn’t sure of the practical applications, but at least Justin has a power.
“Anyone other than our eager Mr. Timberlake?” Mr. Reznor leans back against his desk, and rolls the chalk between his fingers.
Eventually, Brenda sighs, and raises her hand.
“Yes, Ms. Song?”
“As hero support, our only goal is to support our hero,” she says, with only slight sarcasm. She somehow manages not to roll her eyes. Jesse is a little impressed.
“Again, with less attitude. All of you this time.” He points to the sentence on the board with his chalk. Jesse has doodled a lightning bolt in the corner of his paper, zooming down to electrocute a cartoon version of himself. He tears it out and folds it up, carefully palming to over onto Joe’s desk.
It’s worth it just to watch Joe try not to laugh.
v.
Sometime in October, Rooney starts making friends in her heroes’ classes. She vets them by Jesse when she brings them to lunch with her, but Jesse’s not sure exactly what she thinks he’ll do in the event that he doesn’t like one of them. Overturn the table? Yell invectives at them? Jesse mostly likes people, and when he doesn’t, he usually reacts by avoiding them. It’s easier not to get punched that way.
“No, I’m serious! I didn’t even know I was making that face until they printed the pictures,” Armie is saying. He was the first of Rooney’s new friends, and Jesse likes him, despite his intimidatingly handsome and athletic nature. Jesse isn’t sure what his power is, but it’s probably awesome. He’s gesticulating with a chicken leg, and talking about his older sister’s prom photos. Apparently she’d been powerless, and insisted on not attending Sky High. Jesse can, at times, understand the impulse. “She was so mad at me, you have no idea.”
Joe laughs so hard that he slumps face first onto the table, pushing Jesse’s can of grape soda out of reach with his head. At least he doesn’t tip it over.
“Hey,” Jesse says, in protest.
“Uh,” he hears behind him, and he wishes that people would stop doing that. He spins around, and finds himself face to face with a plaid shirt. And a person in it, who happens to be Andrew Garfield. He tilts his head back until he can see Andrew’s face - Andrew looks sheepish, mostly, but cheerful anyway.
Fuck, Jesse thinks, vehemently, and looks over at Rooney. Rooney, who is smiling at him knowingly, and sometimes he hates that they’ve known each other since grade school.
“Rooney?” Andrew says, helplessly. He’s still standing really close to Jesse’s face. He looks down at Jesse, and then back up at Rooney, and Jesse just really wants his grape soda, is that too much to ask?
“Everyone, this is Andrew,” Rooney says, rolling her eyes. “Andrew, sit down.”
“Ah,” Andrew says, like he’s been put on the spot. He sits next to Jesse, and Jesse wants to die. Andrew smells nice, and Jesse just isn’t emotionally equipped to deal with it. “Hello, everyone. And Armie.”
Joe waves from where he’s still slumped over the table, and Brenda nods, and Armie says, “What, I don’t count as part of everyone?”
Jesse mostly just wishes that he had the ability to kill Rooney with his mind. Andrew thrusts a hand at him, and says, “You must be Jesse.”
“I -“ Jesse starts, and stares at the offered hand. He’s forgotten words. He’s forgotten English. “Um, I.”
“What he’s trying to say is, ‘indeed, I am, and what a pleasure it is to meet you, Mr. Garfield,’” Joe says, and reaches over to grab Jesse’s hand, slapping it on top of Andrew’s. Jesse catches hold of Andrew’s hand, and shakes it, tentative. He looks down, trying to fight off the blush that he knows is spreading all the way to his ears.
Andrew just giggles, delighted. “Wow, you lot are brilliant,” he says. Jesse pulls his hand back like he’s been burned, and wishes, once again, for a quick death.
vi.
Sometimes, Jesse stays after class to hang out in the library. The bus leaves directly after classes, but if he tells his parents in advance, his mom will come get him, barring any unforeseen natural disasters or global conflicts. He’s only been left past 8:00PM twice, which is worth it. There is no other library in the entire United States with the same wealth of information on superheroes, superpowers, and anything related to the two. Jesse looks up the oldest person to get their powers - an 82-year-old woman, as it turns out, who developed the power to control time and then died shortly thereafter - the youngest, and all the studies done on the genetics of superpowers.
Often, though, he just takes the time to read his book on one of the beanbag chairs stashed in by the far windows and be by himself.
“Jesse?” It’s after five, and Andrew should be home by now, but he’s obviously not. Andrew has been sitting with them at lunch for more than month, and while Jesse can almost talk while he’s around, he still can’t say complete sentences to Andrew’s face. To his neck, probably not, to his collarbone, possibly, and to his chest, on occasion. Andrew doesn’t seem to have noticed, and instead insists on being the most brutally nice person Jesse has ever met.
“Oh, hi, uh. Andrew,” Jesse says, and then nearly has to slap himself in the face for sounding like an idiot. “What’re you - why are you here?”
Andrew laughs, sits gracefully on one of the beanbag chairs to Jesse’s left.
“Research. Fincher’s making us look up the history of powers in our families. I thought about asking my mum, but I figured, why have a library if no one ever uses it.”
“I do,” Jesse says, and then closes his mouth.
“Apparently,” Andrew says. He’s fiddling with the threads on the hem of his sleeves, but he’s still smiling, so Jesse doesn’t think he’s offended him. Not yet, anyway. There’s still time.
“I suppose - it doesn’t matter much to you if the bus leaves,” Jesse says. “Um, you know, since you fly and all.”
Andrew shrugs, like it’s nothing, and leans back. “Not leaving yet, though,” he says. “Mind if I keep you company?”
“Uh, no, not at -” he starts, and then his phone beeps. He flips it open, and it’s a text from his mom - sry flood in argentina will b late - and sighs. “Looks like I’ll be here for a while yet.” He smiles, and then tugs his lower lip into his mouth.
“Did you - want a lift?” Andrew is staring at the ground like it’s supremely interesting, and Jesse doesn’t want to cause him discomfort, or whatever that is, but - but.
“Would you mind? I, uh - don’t want to be a bother -”
“No! No, not at all, really, I promise.” Andrew smiles that stupid smile of his, seemingly genuine, and Jesse forgets English again.
“I mean,” he says, eventually, and looks away. “Thank you. Really.”
vii.
Jesse slams the door to his room and sits, breathing hard, on the edge of his bed. His mom will probably be home soon, finished with saving the world. She’ll probably listen to his woes, and give him a hug and tell him that he’s just a late bloomer, but Jesse doesn’t feel like a later bloomer. He feels, mostly, like a failure. A failure who is full of incredibly inconvenient teenage hormones.
“Of course he can fly. Of course, he has super strength. And of fucking course he would fly me home. Because he’s not perfect enough just being British,” Jesse mutters, and flops onto his back. His ceiling is covered in those sticky, glow-in-the-dark stars, left over from when he was ten and Rooney helped him put them up. He’s thinking about Andrew’s arms around his waist, and how easily Andrew had held him up, and kept balance with the extra weight. He’s thinking about Andrew’s chest pressed to Jesse’s back, warm even through their mutual three layers of various cotton blends.
Jesse hears his mother close the front door to the house, and then her footsteps on the stairs, but he really doesn’t want to hear it from her right now. He pushes open his bedroom window, and climbs out onto the roof. He doesn’t usually do this during the evening, but desperate times, and so he reaches out to the big oak towering over the house, and clambers down onto the ground. Then he takes off for Rooney’s house.
viii.
“Sometimes I think it’ll never happen,” Brenda says, holding her books to her chest. Jesse gives her a sharp look - they’ve mostly agreed not to talk about this, even though they’re the last two in the class that haven’t manifested their powers yet. Both of them come from heavily powered families, and all four of their parents attended Sky High, though Brenda’s parents were a few years ahead of Jesse’s.
“Are you worried about it?” Jesse bites his lip, but she’s smiling, a little, when she looks at him.
“Not really. I’m impatient.” She stops walking, just outside the door to their classroom. “Are you?”
“Yeah,” Jesse says. “All the time.”
ix.
The first snow comes during the beginning of December. Joe looks out the window and then elbows Jesse, hard, in the side. Jesse wishes he’d stop doing that.
“Jesse,” he hisses, trying to be quiet and utterly failing. It’s supposed to be study hall, all of them silently cramming for their finals. Jesse is dreading support theory, but he’ll probably be good on everything else. Hero history is going to be a breeze. “It’s snowing!”
Jesse glances outside, and the snowflakes are big and wet, sticking to the grass. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice earlier.
“Wow,” Brenda says, under her breath. “It’s so pretty.”
“Shhh,” Justin says, holding a finger to his lips. Brenda mock-smiles at him, and then subtly gives him the finger. For some reason, the two of them hate each other. Jesse honestly wonders if it’s sexual tension, but he’s not really one to be complaining about that.
For the rest of the period, none of the three of them even pretend to study. They just watch the fat snowflakes fall, and wait for lunch hour.
x.
Jesse tries to stay out of the snowball fight, he really does. Armie, of course, has brawn on his side, and a strategic mind, but he thinks too much of the rest of them. Joe is the opposite - sneaky, but easily overpowered. None of them even try to beat Rooney, who can literally create more snow in her hands whenever she wants to.
“Unfair,” Jesse shouts, wriggling, as she dumps a handful of snow down the back of his shirt. “What did I ever do to you?”
“How about that time you gave Fluffy Bunny a bath and he started going bald! Or that time you convinced me to put pizza and soda in a blender and drink it.”
“Well, you stole my shoes and put them in the tree outside my house!” Jesse is laughing now, and cold, and his nose is running, but Armie is on his back in the snow, Joe straddling his hips while Brenda covers his face with slush. “I thought we were even.”
“We’re never even, you fiend,” she says, but she’s grinning, and then she pushes him down. He trips backward into a snowdrift, and she runs, laughing. Jesse could get up, probably, but his clothes are soaked, and while he’s down here, he might as well make a snow angel.
“Get distracted?” Jesse opens his eyes and Andrew is peering over him.
“Don’t step on my wings,” Jesse says, before he can think about it, and then feels the blush start to burn on his cheeks. At least it’s warm, and he’s already flushed enough from running.
Andrew steps back, laughing and delighted. “Apologies, Mr. Angel,” he says. “Need a hand?”
“Standing is the hardest part,” Jesse admits, and grasps Andrew’s hand when he offers it. Jesse isn’t wearing gloves, but Andrew is. He yelps when Jesse’s fingers brush his wrist.
“You’re cold as ice!” Andrew’s eyebrows are near his forehead, and he strips off his gloves, holding them out.
“I couldn’t -” Jesse starts, but Andrew grasps his hand, and pushes the gloves into it.
“Take them. Or you’ll make me feel sad and rejected,” Andrew says. Jesse doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just pulls them on. “Now,” Andrew says, “Let’s see if we can get Rooney.”
xi.
The closer they get to finals, the more Jesse stays after school to study in the library. Rooney joins him a few times, and then, somehow, it becomes the whole gang.
“Seriously?” he asks, as Joe pulls out a notebook and three textbooks and sits, cross-legged, next to him. Joe shrugs, still smiling in the easy way that he always does. Armie and Andrew are settling against the far wall with a set of flash cards. They are both obviously huge nerds, and need to be told so immediately.
“What, you want to stew in the dark by yourself?” Brenda sits down with an insincere smile that melts into something real.
“No - I.” He stops, shaking his head. Joe pats him on the back.
“It’s okay, just go back to reading. We’ll be quiet.”
On Jesse’s left, Rooney snorts, but doesn’t look up from the essay she’s writing.
xii.
Brenda’s powers come in the week before vacation. She glows white-gold and blinding, from her fingertips to her hair to the soles of her feet. She comes to school all aglow, her eyes pupil-less white, offset by her dark sweater and jeans.
“Jesse!” she yells from down the hall, and waves, and runs to give him a hug. “Jesse, look what I can do! I don’t know how to turn it off, yet, but, oh. Jesse, I’m so happy.” She wipes at her eyes with glowing hands, and he laughs and pulls her close.
He can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy, but mostly - he’s happy for her.
“Look at you,” he says. “Are they transferring you to the hero track?”
She steps back and wipes her eyes again. He can’t see her tears over the glowing of her skin. “I don’t know. I hope not, but - I have to talk to Sorkin. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“It doesn’t matter, you’ll be fine.”
She kisses him on the cheek, soft, warm lips, and he can see the light of her through his closed eyelids.
“Nope,” she says, and pokes him on the nose. “You’ll be fine.”
xiii.
Jesse is sitting on the floor of the hall, waiting for Joe to finish the last exam. Jesse has always tested well, and quickly, so he’s been stationed here for half an hour. Rooney’s shoes, no-nonsense, stop just past the edge of his book. Her voice is amused. “Well?”
“What?” he asks, squinting up at her.
“Are you all done?” She’s smiling down at him, indulgent. Andrew comes up behind her, leaning over her shoulder. He props his chin on her, and Jesse loves both of them too much and in entirely different ways. It’s not a problem, except for when it is.
“Done,” he says. “Just waiting for Joseph to finish dawdling.”
“I heard that!” Joe yells from inside the classroom. Jesse glances in, and he’s packing up his bags.
“If you’re listening to our conversation then you’re obviously not working hard enough,” Jesse comments. Andrew laughs.
“I’ll see you over break?” Andrew asks, hoisting his bag up over his shoulder, and he’s glancing at all of them, but his eyes catch Jesse’s, and Jesse’s breath sticks in his throat.
“I’m - I’ll be around.” He shrugs. Rooney is giving him the secret smile, the one that means I-know-what-you’re-thinking-and-it’s-so-cute, which is vaguely patronizing but kind of her right.
“Sweet!” Andrew says, beaming.
Then Joe bursts through the doorway and screams, “Freedom!” at the top of his lungs, and the conversation dissolves from there.
xiv.
Rooney stays at Jesse’s house for the first week of break. It’s always happened like this, since they were nine and Rooney parents asked Jesse’s to babysit while they visited the in-laws in Florida. Rooney could’ve gone if she’d wanted to, she’d been invited this year, but she’d decided to stay with Jesse instead. Jesse really doesn’t know why, other than longstanding tradition.
“Are you going to call Andrew?” she asks from his bed. He’s on an air mattress on the floor, which is relatively comfortable, though he does always worry that his cats are going to puncture it in the middle of the night and he’ll slowly sink to the floor.
“Should I?” Jesse asks. He knows immediately what her response is going to be, so he expands the thought before she berates him. “I mean - would he want me to?”
She snorts indelicately, and though he can’t see her, she’s most likely rolling her eyes at the glowy stars on the ceiling. “You’re such an idiot sometimes.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“If you can’t figure it out, I’m not going to tell you,” she says. “Plus, I can smell you dad cooking pancakes. Lets go get breakfast.”
Jesse knows from experience that he won’t get anything else out of her, so the two of them tromp down the stairs in their pajamas, sweatshirts zipped up against the morning cold, and make for the kitchen.
xv.
Jesse’s phone wakes him at 6:15 AM, two days before New Years, vibrating loudly against the stack of hardcover books on his bedside table. Most of them are Chanukah presents from his parents, and he’s too excited to read them to bother putting them away.
He reaches out to grope for his phone, only succeeding in knocking it to the floor. Then he slides half off his bed, disturbing Yours Truly, his extremely fat tabby, who was asleep on his feet, and causing him to almost fall on his face. Finally, he hoists himself up onto his bed, cell phone in hand, and checks his messages. He has a new text from Andrew.
cant sleep. know its weird but im hoverin outside yr window. open up?
Jesse blinks owlishly, and turns to look out the window. Andrew waves sheepishly at him, and Jesse flounders, tipping over and off of his bed. Yours Truly pokes her head over the edge to peer down at him, and then goes back to cleaning herself.
Jesse manages to stand, and walks to the window, pushing it open. The wind whistles past the glass, and Jesse shivers. Andrew is shivering, too, and Jesse takes a step back.
“Come on,” he says. “It’s freezing.”
Andrew just bobs his head a few times, in thanks, and then slides over the windowsill and onto Jesse’s carpet. He’s wearing a coat, and boots, but there’s no snow on them. His hair is windblown and wild. He definitely flew here.
Andrew shuts the windows and toes off his boots, leaving them against the wall. He shrugs off his coat, and he’s just wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt underneath. Pajamas, maybe. Jesse climbs back up onto his bed, and curls up, leaning back against his pillows.
“Sorry,” Andrew says. The sun is just starting to come up, but the sky is still mostly dark blue. Andrew smiles, and rubs at one of his eyes.
“Are you, um. I - Are you okay?”
Andrew shrugs, and sits on the edge of Jesse’s bed. “Just couldn’t sleep. I didn’t - I could’ve gone somewhere else, I suppose, but I didn’t want to. You don’t mind, do you?”
Jesse wouldn’t know how to mind if he tried. He wants to kiss Andrew on the mouth, or make him sleep, or something, but instead he just ducks his head against the blush spreading across his cheeks, and he smiles.
“Not - at all. I promise.”
“Okay,” Andrew says, “I appreciate it.”
xvi.
Four hours later, Jesse wakes up again, and Andrew is asleep on his bed. He’s close enough to feel Andrew’s heat, and this bed isn’t exactly big enough for the two of them. It’s really not fair at all. Jesse curls up on his side with his knees pulled to his chest. He breathes evenly, in and out, a few times before thinking about slipping out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom.
“Jesse?” Andrew’s voice is muffled. Half of his face is smushed against one of the pillows, and his hair is a mess.
“Yeah?” Jesse croaks, staring at the far wall.
“Thanks again,” Andrew says. Jesse almost risks looking at him, but can’t make himself do it, in the end.
“You’re welcome,” he says, instead.
xvii.
Joe picks him up at 10PM on New Years Eve. The party is at Armie’s house, since his parents are hoity-toity and actually going out for the evening. Joe is the only one of them that can drive so far, so he’s temporarily stolen his father’s minivan, and is making the rounds. Brenda is already in the far back, but Jesse is second. They’ll hit Rooney’s house next, and then Andrew’s. Jesse isn’t sure what to expect from the party, but he likes Armie, so he can’t imagine that it’ll be terrible. There might be some debauchery, but what 16-year-old doesn’t enjoy that? Not that Jesse has much experience with debauchery, but he might be up for it. Possibly. He’s up for being up for it, anyway.
“How many people are going to be at this party, do you think?” Jesse asks, and Joe gives him the crazy eyebrows in the rearview.
“I have no idea!” Joe sounds excited about this fact. “We’ll find out, though, right?”
Jesse leans against the door as Joe swerves right around a corner. “I suppose we will,” he says.
“Armie told me he’s inviting everyone he’s ever met,” Brenda says from the back. “So, you know, factor in all of the schools that Armie’s been to over the years, and I’d say there’s the potential for a good shindig.” She’s wearing long, dangly earrings, and a shimmering blue top, all dressed up. Jesse hadn’t even thought about it - he’s still in a t-shirt and jeans, just like always. Of course, the only dressy option he owns is the suit he wore to his Bar Mitzvah, which he’s promised himself never to wear in public again.
They pull up at Rooney’s house, and she’d standing outside. She has on a long, flowy dress, with a collar wide enough to expose most of her collarbones and shoulders. Her hair is braided. She looks lovely.
“You look nice,” Jesse says, as she climbs in next to Brenda.
“Thanks, Jess,” she says. “You look about the same as ever, which is handsome enough for me.”
Jesse is pretty sure that he has the best friends in the universe, but he’s not going to brag out loud.
Andrew’s house is last - he lives the farthest away from all of them. His parents are renters, but his house is still impressively large. Jesse wonders what his parents do for a living. He’d never thought to ask. Andrew trots down the front walk, in a nice pair of shoes, corduroys, and a cardigan. His hair is whipped up into a frenzy. Jesse immediately wants to muss it up.
“What a car full of classy people,” Andrew says, and shuts the door after him. “Well? Don’t we have a party to attend?”
Joe lets out a whoop, and Jesse laughs, and Joe speeds off down the street.
xviii.
“Ladies, Gentlemen.” Armie sweeps the door open with a gallant flourish, and then starts laughing. He’s got a red cup in one hand, the doorknob in the other, and there’s a pumping bass line coming from down the hallway. Amber liquid sloshes over the rim of his cup and splashes onto the floor. “Whoops,” he says, and then giggles.
“Someone has been pre-gaming,” Joe crows, and slaps Armie on the side of the head.
“It’s not pre-gaming anymore,” Armie complains. “The party started half an hour ago!”
“Armie,” Rooney says, with her serious face on, “you know the party don’t start ‘til I walk in.”
Armie looks dumbly at Rooney for about seven seconds, and then the reference clicks. He starts laughing.
“If this were my party, I’d ban you for that,” Jesse says, deadpan.
“Good thing it’s not, then.” She smiles at him, all innocent, and Jesse just shakes his head.
“More alcohol, less bickering,” Andrew says, and snags Jesse in the crook of his left elbow, dragging him farther into the bowels of the house. Jesse waves to Brenda and Rooney and Armie and Joe over his shoulder, but he’s perfectly willing to go where Andrew leads.
Armie’s house is huge - all dark wood floors and winding staircases with iron banisters, and impeccably framed paintings. Jesse could probably get lost in it if left to his own devices. Andrew is presumably following the sound of the music, because they end up in a huge room full of couches and teenagers. Jesse recognizes a few of them - Justin is in the corner, and Josh and Max, two of Armie’s hero buddies, are setting up some kind of beer-related game on the ping-pong table against the far wall. The rest, Jesse has no idea, and doesn’t particularly care. Andrew’s hand is still on his arm, and he’s being pulled toward the booze table.
“What do you want?” Andrew asks. Some part of Jesse wants to say something ridiculous like, for you to take off your clothes, but he’s not drunk yet, and he wants to be able to pretend that he doesn’t remember it later if it doesn’t go over well.
“Uh, I - have no idea. I don’t know what half of this stuff is.” Jesse surveys the bottles lined up neatly on the table - two kinds of whiskey and a huge bottle of vodka, three different kinds of beer, a whole slew of sodas and juices - and feels vaguely overwhelmed.
“Well,” Andrew says, “I’ll make you one of mine, and if you don’t like it, I’ll drink it.” His teeth show when he smiles, like he’s hugely proud of this thought.
Jesse can’t help but laugh. “I - sure, whatever.”
Andrew pours some whiskey and some ginger ale into two plastic cups, and hands one to Jesse. “Cheers,” he says.
“Cheers.” Jesse presses his cup to Andrew’s and then takes a sip. It tastes - fizzy, and alcoholic, and not too bad.
Later, it’s twenty minutes to midnight, Jesse has had three whiskey gingers, and he hasn’t seen Rooney since the party started. Armie is dancing on the table, sans shirt, and Brenda is sitting on the couch, her cheeks and the palms of her hands glowing. Justin is sitting next to her, talking, but she doesn’t seem to really be paying any attention to him. Instead, she’s putting his hand over hers and watching her light go through him. Joe is sitting on the floor, half underneath the ping-pong table, having an apparently deeply intellectual conversation with Armie’s cat, Mr. Scuttlebutt. Thomas Scuttlebutt, actually.
“Wow,” Joe says, engrossed. “That’s amazing.” Jesse wanders back over to the couch where he left Andrew, and sprawls over the armrest. Andrew is singing along quietly with the music, which Jesse is relatively certain is Kanye West.
“Hi,” Jesse says, and slides over onto one of the couch cushions. He lands on Andrew’s feet, and he’s pretty sure he was supposed to avoid sitting on Andrew, but he’s not sure why that would be a good idea. “Whoops,” he says.
“Ow,” Andrew protests, half-hearted. “You’re bony and you’re sitting on a bony part of me.”
“All of you is bony, Andrew,” Jesse says, seriously. Andrew snorts, and shakes his head, but he’s giggling a little. Jesse is pretty sure that Andrew has had more to drink than he has. Probably Andrew also has a better alcohol tolerance than he does.
“Is not. It’s muscle, not bone.” Andrew makes a muscle with his arm, but he’s still wearing his cardigan, so it doesn’t prove much.
“You’re wearing a cardigan,” Jesse says, like that’s an actual response to what Andrew had said.
“That’s very true.” Andrew nods, sagely, and then tugs at Jesse’s arm. “And your butt is still bony on my shins.”
Jesse lets Andrew tug him closer, until he realizes that he’s sort of sitting on Andrew’s thighs, and that should be weird, but it’s mostly just warm.
“Hey, Andrew,” he says. His nose is almost close enough to brush Andrew’s hair. “Want to hear a secret?”
“What?” Andrew’s eyes are half-lidded, and his mouth is red, and Jesse pushes his face closer until he is talking right into Andrew’s ear.
“I’ve never been drunk before,” he whispers, and Andrew shivers, and then laughs.
“That tickles.” He scratches at his ear, and then puts his hand on the back of Jesse’s neck, warm and callused. It takes him a minute, but he finally seems to process Jesse’s actual words. “Really, never?”
“Nu-uh,” Jesse says. “Not once.”
“Wow,” Andrew says, and then he grins. “That’s awesome. I get to see you drunk for the first time!”
“I’ve been drunk for an hour,” Jesse reminds him, and leans into the hand on his neck. He wonders if Andrew is going to kiss him. He wonders if that has even occurred to Andrew.
Before he can ask, or think about asking, or think about kissing Andrew anymore, Armie jumps off of the table and yells, “Happy new year! Kisses for everyone!”
Jesse can only watch, dumbly, as Armie first kisses Brenda, and then Justin. He kisses Josh, and the other seventeen people that Jesse doesn’t know. He kisses Joe, though he’s really too tall for it to not look awkward, given that Joe is still sitting on the floor. And then Jesse blinks and Armie’s leaning over the couch, and kissing him. Armie’s mouth is warm, and it tastes mealy like beer, and, really, Jesse would rather his first kiss have not been while he was drunk, but as kisses go, at least he likes Armie. Armie is an okay guy.
Then Armie pulls away, and kisses Andrew. Jesse pushes his nose into the fabric of couch, and tries not to look interested at all.
xix.
Jesse wakes up the next morning still sprawled on the couch. And also still sprawled on Andrew. Andrew is breathing loudly, and Jesse wonders if that’s what has woken him up. It’s early, and the house is still a wreck. Jesse had apparently fallen asleep with his face pressed to Andrew’s neck, but he’s not sure how that happened. He quickly, vehemently hopes that he hasn’t drooled at all. He doesn’t remember much after midnight. Not much could have happened though, he doesn’t think. He’s still in the same place, so it couldn’t have. Probably.
Andrew makes an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, and Jesse realizes that both of Andrew’s hands are fisted into the back of his shirt. His fingers are warm, and Jesse feels stupid, and sleepy, and like he never wants to move.
Unfortunately, he really has to pee.
It takes him about ten minutes, but he manages to wriggle away from Andrew, who apparently sleeps like some kind of super strong barnacle, and onto the floor. Joe and Armie are spooning underneath the ping-pong table, and Josh is asleep on top of it. Brenda is curled up on another of the couches. Most of them contain one or two sleeping teenagers, but no awake ones. Jesse tiptoes out of the room and down the hall. He doesn’t know where he’s going or where the bathroom is, and he hopes that he doesn’t get lost and starve in the bowels of Armie’s gigantic house.
He opens four wrong doors in three hallways before he finds the bathroom. It’s narrow, with a high ceiling, and paisley patterned wallpaper. The mirror above the sink stretches all the way up to the ceiling. Jesse feels about seven feet too short for the room, but still manages to pee without a hitch. He flushes, washes his hands, and then tries to figure out which was the way that he came from. He can’t remember, so he just picks a direction at random.
He opens a few more doors - a library, an office he saw the first time, some kind of entertainment center - and then he ends up in the kitchen. Rooney and Max, both apparently awake, are sitting at the table eating bowls of Cheerios and talking. Jesse yawns, and rubs his eyes, and wonders if he’s interrupting. He’s not sure where the party room is, anymore. It could be anywhere.
“Morning,” he says, eventually, and smiles when they both look completely unsurprised to see him there. “I got lost on my return from the bathroom and found myself here.”
Max, Jesse is pretty sure, has some kind of non-physical power. Precognition, maybe. Something psychic. Jesse doesn’t know him well at all, but Rooney appears to. Jesse crosses the room to sit at the table, next to Rooney, and across from Max.
“You’ll be fine,” Max says, somewhat cryptically. Jesse has heard that enough times in his life that he’s started to resent it, but Rooney laughs. Jesse had forgotten than Max is British. It’s possible that he and Rooney have spent too much time together.
“Max, this is Jesse, my best friend,” she says. “Jesse, Max and I are going on a date on Saturday.”
“Ah,” Jesse says, and glances between them. “When did that decision come about?”
“About seven minutes ago,” Rooney says, and grins. “It stands to reason that once you’ve fallen asleep on someone, you should probably take them on a date.”
Jesse blinks a few times and wonders if Rooney is psychic, saw him asleep on Andrew, or if they both just managed to independently fall asleep on someone they found attractive. Someone attractive and British. “Uh,” he says, “oh, so is that where you were all night?”
Rooney actually looks a little sheepish, which is quite the feat, and shrugs with one shoulder. “You were off flirting awkwardly with Andrew, and that seemed to be going well,” she says, and then laughs at him when he blushes. “And two can play at that game, obviously.”
Max smiles, then. “It’s hard to resist my charms.”
Rooney snorts. “That would be more true if being drunk didn’t make your shields weaker.”
Max makes a face that is mostly apologetic, and takes another bite of his Cheerios.
“I don’t want to know,” Jesse says. “I really don’t.”
“Go find your boyfriend and leave me alone.” Rooney points at the doorway. It’s not as dramatic as she wants it to be, seeing as she has a spoon in her other hand, and she’s smiling.
“He’s not my - I swear, I’m never going to forgive you if you don’t stop saying that,” he says. She just points more viciously at the doorway. “Fine, fine, I’m going. Enjoy your breakfast.”
xx.
Rooney and Max go on their date the last Saturday before classes start. Jesse doesn’t get to ask her about it, but she’d probably have come over and eaten the emergency ice cream in his freezer if it hadn’t gone well. Still, on Sunday he texts her to check in.
how was your date? he sends, around noon.
fun! he’s charming. though that might just be because he’s a precog so he knows what to say, she sends back, and Jesse smiles to himself.
Jesse spends the rest of his break reading. He goes through all of Chanukah books, and sleeps, and wills his power into being. It doesn’t work. Jesse only knows extraordinary people, but he isn’t one of them. His mom is a speedster. His father can communicate with electronics. His best friend can freeze anything. His - the boy he has a crush on can fly and has super strength. Jesse can worry pretty effectively, but that’s about the extent of his abilities.
Jesse flops back onto his bed with a huff. He’s not sulking, really. He’s just - resigning himself to his fate.
xxi.
The second week of classes, Mr. Reznor has an announcement for them. They’ve all been expecting it, but most of them aren’t dreading it as much as Jesse is.
“Class, listen up,” he says, standing solemnly with his hands behind his back. It’s somewhere between his pop-quiz voice and what Jesse imagines is his everyone-keep-calm-while-we-evacuate voice. Jesse perks up, looking up from his doodle of Joe staring out the window. “I’ve just received word from the principal that the mid-year demonstrations have been scheduled for two weeks from now. As you all know, this is your chance to demonstrate your proficiency with your powers, and show the faculty the progress you’ve made in the last few months. I expect you to do some practicing outside of class for this. I’m going to hand out the sign-ups tomorrow, and each of you should choose a time. Any questions?”
Jesse looks around, and only Joe is raising his hand.
“Yes, Mr. Mazzello?”
“Do we have to bring props, or are they supplied for us?” Joe’s face is completely guileless, though Jesse can see one corner of his mouth twitch. He’s pretty sure it’s only because he’s sitting the next desk over.
“No, Mr. Mazzello, you are not allowed to bring your cats to school with you.”
Joe’s face falls comically, but he’s still suppressing laughter. Jesse would be laughing, too, if he weren’t thinking about standing up in front of the whole school and doing - absolutely nothing.
“If there are no more questions, then class dismissed,” Mr. Reznor says. Then he turns his piercing gaze on Jesse, and says, “Mr. Eisenberg, if you’d stay after class for a moment, please.”
Jesse can feel his heart beating, and he looks pleadingly at Joe, and then at Brenda, who always sits just behind them, but they both shrug.
“We’ll wait outside for you, okay?” Joe says, and squeezes one of Jesse’s shoulders on his way out of the classroom.
“He’s not going to murder you,” Brenda says. Then, she adds, “Good luck.”
Jesse packs all of his books quickly, zipping up his backpack. Then he takes a deep breath, and makes his way to the front of the classroom.
“Mr. Reznor?” he asks, and Mr. Reznor looks over at him.
“As the only member of my classroom who hasn’t manifested yet, you are in a special sort of predicament.”
Jesse shrugs, and nods, but he doesn’t actually have anything to say.
“You have been making - adequate progress in your self-defense classes,” Mr. Reznor says, voice still mostly without emotion. “May I suggest that route for your demonstration?”
“I - don’t know what else I’d do, other than read aloud, or maybe solve an algebra equation, but I can’t pretend I’m very good at self-defense, either.” Jesse says, honestly. He’s actually pretty abysmal at self-defense. He can beat up Justin, but Justin is kind of a crybaby, and always ends up calling his mother during his lunch period. Jesse’s problem has more to do with lack of upper body strength and a desire not to see blood ever.
Mr. Reznor nods solemnly, “I see. Think it over. The only person who can make this decision is you.”
Jesse sometimes thinks that Mr. Reznor keeps a book of sage advice in the drawer of his desk and just reads it aloud at random. Still, he nods, and hoists his backpack onto his shoulder.
Joe and Brenda are waiting for him in the hall, and they all head to the cafeteria for lunch, but Jesse isn’t paying very much attention. There is no way that the next two weeks are going to go well.
PART TWO