(no subject)
Cassie doesn’t have many friends at high school. They tried, at one point, to be her friends, but that kind of thing doesn’t work out. Cassie doubts them, one by one, for the things they say, and do, and think. Girls don’t want to be friends with Cassie Sandsmark, they want to be friends with Wonder Girl. Boys don’t want to date Cassie Sandsmark, they want to date Wonder Girl. When it turns out Wonder Girl isn’t what they’re going to get, they turn.
If she didn’t have genuine friends like Greta, or Cissie, or the Teen Titans, she would have minded a lot more.
Cassie thinks about this in gym class, waiting to be picked for volleyball.
You would think that an athletic girl with super strength, super speed, flight and warrior training would be first pick for teams in a high school gym class, on the schoolyard equivalent of the battlefield, but she isn’t.
She’s dead last, or close to it. She watches the girls on her team sigh and roll their eyes. Cassie knows every last one of them is lamenting the fact that they’ll have to put up with Cassie Sandsmark on their team. Cassie Sandsmark, who puts no effort into the game, but puts no effort into hiding what she can do. Endless potential, zero application.
“I guess I’m stuck with Wonder Girl,” one team leader sighs, rudely, and the teacher doesn’t reprimand her.
Teachers don’t like her much, either, and it happens too often to keep up with. Cassie does her own policing, anyway.
“It’s Cassie, Hillary.”
“Whatever,” Hillary snorts, “you’ll still just stand there staring into the distance.”
Cassie ignores her. She walks over to her new team, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Hillary’s eyes follow her every step, and Cassie still ignores her. It’s not worth it to take bait when she knows it’ll just lead to trouble. Hillary waits, and waits, and waits, and then, to Cassie’s great frustration, the teacher excuses herself to step out and talk to another teacher.
Hillary turns on her. Every head turns to watch the two of them.
“So what is it, Wonder Girl?” Hillary sneers, “I saw you on the news last night. Running around in that slutty little spandex get-up, tossing around cars and wrangling loose elephants and stuff. If you can do all that shit, why can’t you score one lousy point in gym class?”
Cassie glances at Hillary, but doesn’t say a thing. Not yet.
“What, not even going to answer me? Too good for that or something?”
Cassie’s eyes narrow, and she sinks as far as replying. “If I actually tried, I’d kick all of your asses, one-on-thirty, and no one would be happy that way, either. So why bother?”
“Yeah, yeah, we know. But would it kill you to do something useful? If you actually played sports, Elias School would win every championship in the country. We’d be on top. You know how long it’s been since Elias won anything but fucking archery?”
“But it wouldn’t be fair,” Cassie says, trying to keep her voice level. “And you better damn appreciate what Cissie does for this school.”
“Who cares?” Hillary shoots back, ignoring the point about Cissie.
“I care,” Cassie says, “and other schools do. And maybe I don’t have time for your stupid volleyball or field hockey games. If you hadn’t noticed, last night I helped save a city from rampaging animals and a virus outbreak. If you think winning some high school competition is more important than that, you need to sort out your priorities.”
Hillary’s riled. She steps forward, and seems to circle Cassie, but she doesn’t get close. Cassie turns, just slightly, to keep her eyes on the other girl, and she sees some girls in the crowd getting restless.
“I just don’t like losing,” Hillary sneers.
Cassie gets sharp.
“Then maybe you should practice more.”
Hillary might have slapped any other girl, but not Cassie. Definitely not Cassie. Under that hostility, the teasing, the criticism, the name calling, Cassie knows that Hillary is afraid of her and wouldn’t dare.
“Whatever,” Hillary says, “Wonder Bitch.”
Cassie takes one step forward, and Hillary holds her ground. On the second, however, she steps back, albeit with her chin held high.
“What are you going to do?” Hillary sneers. “Beat me into a pulp? Punch me through a wall?”
“No,” Cassie says, bluntly, “But I’m sick of this. So you know what, Hillary?”
Hillary hesitates, and Cassie could commend her bravery as she replies, confidently, “What?”
“I could do this--” Cassie says, and she grabs Hillary by the front of the shirt. Her fingers wind into the white cotton of the girl’s gym shirt, and Cassie hoists her up.
A couple things happen at once. First, the other girls flinch, prematurely, and step back like it’s them being seized. Hillary gasps and grabs onto Cassie’s wrist so she doesn’t choke, having not expected Cassie to actually do something. The teacher comes back.
“CASSIE SANDSMARK, LET GO OF THAT GIRL,” the teacher roars, and Cassie lets go, none-too-gently. Hillary lands in a heap on the floor. Everyone turns to face the teacher, who continues, angrily, “Just WHAT do you think you’re doing?”
Cassie lifts her chin.
“I was going to stick her on the ceiling. I’m sick of being treated like this, and since the faculty does nothing, I thought it was high time I did something myself.”
“Office, now,” the teacher orders.
“Gladly,” Cassie replies, and stalks off.
If she didn’t have genuine friends like Greta, or Cissie, or the Teen Titans, she would have minded a lot more.
Cassie thinks about this in gym class, waiting to be picked for volleyball.
You would think that an athletic girl with super strength, super speed, flight and warrior training would be first pick for teams in a high school gym class, on the schoolyard equivalent of the battlefield, but she isn’t.
She’s dead last, or close to it. She watches the girls on her team sigh and roll their eyes. Cassie knows every last one of them is lamenting the fact that they’ll have to put up with Cassie Sandsmark on their team. Cassie Sandsmark, who puts no effort into the game, but puts no effort into hiding what she can do. Endless potential, zero application.
“I guess I’m stuck with Wonder Girl,” one team leader sighs, rudely, and the teacher doesn’t reprimand her.
Teachers don’t like her much, either, and it happens too often to keep up with. Cassie does her own policing, anyway.
“It’s Cassie, Hillary.”
“Whatever,” Hillary snorts, “you’ll still just stand there staring into the distance.”
Cassie ignores her. She walks over to her new team, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Hillary’s eyes follow her every step, and Cassie still ignores her. It’s not worth it to take bait when she knows it’ll just lead to trouble. Hillary waits, and waits, and waits, and then, to Cassie’s great frustration, the teacher excuses herself to step out and talk to another teacher.
Hillary turns on her. Every head turns to watch the two of them.
“So what is it, Wonder Girl?” Hillary sneers, “I saw you on the news last night. Running around in that slutty little spandex get-up, tossing around cars and wrangling loose elephants and stuff. If you can do all that shit, why can’t you score one lousy point in gym class?”
Cassie glances at Hillary, but doesn’t say a thing. Not yet.
“What, not even going to answer me? Too good for that or something?”
Cassie’s eyes narrow, and she sinks as far as replying. “If I actually tried, I’d kick all of your asses, one-on-thirty, and no one would be happy that way, either. So why bother?”
“Yeah, yeah, we know. But would it kill you to do something useful? If you actually played sports, Elias School would win every championship in the country. We’d be on top. You know how long it’s been since Elias won anything but fucking archery?”
“But it wouldn’t be fair,” Cassie says, trying to keep her voice level. “And you better damn appreciate what Cissie does for this school.”
“Who cares?” Hillary shoots back, ignoring the point about Cissie.
“I care,” Cassie says, “and other schools do. And maybe I don’t have time for your stupid volleyball or field hockey games. If you hadn’t noticed, last night I helped save a city from rampaging animals and a virus outbreak. If you think winning some high school competition is more important than that, you need to sort out your priorities.”
Hillary’s riled. She steps forward, and seems to circle Cassie, but she doesn’t get close. Cassie turns, just slightly, to keep her eyes on the other girl, and she sees some girls in the crowd getting restless.
“I just don’t like losing,” Hillary sneers.
Cassie gets sharp.
“Then maybe you should practice more.”
Hillary might have slapped any other girl, but not Cassie. Definitely not Cassie. Under that hostility, the teasing, the criticism, the name calling, Cassie knows that Hillary is afraid of her and wouldn’t dare.
“Whatever,” Hillary says, “Wonder Bitch.”
Cassie takes one step forward, and Hillary holds her ground. On the second, however, she steps back, albeit with her chin held high.
“What are you going to do?” Hillary sneers. “Beat me into a pulp? Punch me through a wall?”
“No,” Cassie says, bluntly, “But I’m sick of this. So you know what, Hillary?”
Hillary hesitates, and Cassie could commend her bravery as she replies, confidently, “What?”
“I could do this--” Cassie says, and she grabs Hillary by the front of the shirt. Her fingers wind into the white cotton of the girl’s gym shirt, and Cassie hoists her up.
A couple things happen at once. First, the other girls flinch, prematurely, and step back like it’s them being seized. Hillary gasps and grabs onto Cassie’s wrist so she doesn’t choke, having not expected Cassie to actually do something. The teacher comes back.
“CASSIE SANDSMARK, LET GO OF THAT GIRL,” the teacher roars, and Cassie lets go, none-too-gently. Hillary lands in a heap on the floor. Everyone turns to face the teacher, who continues, angrily, “Just WHAT do you think you’re doing?”
Cassie lifts her chin.
“I was going to stick her on the ceiling. I’m sick of being treated like this, and since the faculty does nothing, I thought it was high time I did something myself.”
“Office, now,” the teacher orders.
“Gladly,” Cassie replies, and stalks off.