Just Super

It takes me a minute to reorient myself again. I’m in the guest bedroom at Emily’s house, which means that Emily is right on the other side of that wall. 

I put that thought away and focus on what I’m going to wear to school. Getting ready in the morning as a guy was a lot simpler, but not nearly as much fun. Today I want to wear the outfit I’d ended up in on my second day as me—the Ramones t-shirt and ripped jeans.

I find the jeans quickly, but not the shirt. I go through all my clothes a couple of times, but it definitely isn’t here. Well, that sucks. 

I could flicker back to my room and get it. Mom would never know. But I can picture her there, sitting in my doorway, on a chair she’s dragged in from the kitchen. Waiting for me to appear so she can tell me how horrible I am.

I know that isn’t what would happen. She’s probably already at work. That doesn’t get the image out of my head. I can’t go back there, not yet.

I’ll talk to the office at school and see what they say about maybe getting the rest of my stuff. It seems unlikely that they’ll have any useful advice, but I can try. 

I end up in a short black velvet skirt with gray tights and a lacy blouse in a matching gray. It isn’t the style I wanted for today, but it’ll do. I finish the outfit with a pair of heeled ankle boots. 

There’s a small vanity in the room, which makes sense because this used to be Emily’s big sister’s room, before she went off to college. I sit down at it and put together sort of a goth-light look. I experiment with my hair for a minute, and end up with it in a low ponytail. I need to learn braids.

Emily comes down stairs as my fried egg is almost ready, and the toast has already popped. Her moms said to make myself at home, after all. 

“Want one?” I ask her.

“Sure! Thanks!”

I slide the egg out of the pan onto the toast and hand the small plate to her.

“Here you go.”

“But this one’s yours.”

“It just takes a minute, and this way mine’ll be fresh out of the pan when I eat it.”

She concedes the logic of that.

When my egg is ready, I turn to join her at the table. She’s looking my direction, but quickly returns her attention to her breakfast.

“Is it okay?” I gesture at her plate, where she’s only taken a couple of bites.

“It’s delicious. Thanks again.” She looks away. For a second I think I catch a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

“No problem.”

We eat in silence, but I catch her looking at me a couple more times. I guess that means she catches me looking at her, too. I definitely blush when I realize that.

“Do you think it’s okay for me to leave my stuff here until I get settled?” I ask. “I can take it with me, or move it somewhere else.”

“Seriously? Of course it’s fine.”

I figured that, but I don’t like to make assumptions, and I needed to say something. The silence was killing me.

“I’ll message you when I know what’s going on,” I tell her, “so that you can let your moms know.”

“Thanks.” She seems to be trying to make a decision. “Would you like me to come with you to the office? You know, in case they doubt your side of things?”

“I’ll be okay. Thanks, though. I’ll let them know they can verify stuff with you, if they need to.”

She nods.

I stand and start to clear our breakfast dishes.

“I’ve got this,” Emily says, “you cooked.”

“Thanks.”

I stand there.

“I guess I should go,” I continue. “Who knows how long it will take them to do whatever they need to do.”

“See you at assembly?”

“If I’m done in the office, otherwise, in the hallway, I guess.”

She nods and I flicker away.

“We’ll need to verify all this with your mother, of course,” Ms. Beatriz says. “Hopefully I’ll have some news for you by lunch. I’m sorry that this happened.”

“What happens once you verify I’m kicked out?”

“Assuming it was as you say, you’d be placed in a foster home for the moment, assuming there’s an opening. As a last resort you could stay at the Residence until something comes open.”

“How about staying with a friend? If it’s okay with their parents?”

“That might be acceptable for a night or two, but, for a longer period, they’d have to go through foster parent certification, which is a months-long process.”

“Oh.”

“Do you have any relatives you could stay with?”

“Yes. I’d like to talk to them first, though, if that’s okay. They don’t know about my recent changes yet.”

She nods. “You should talk to them soon, though.”

The only reason I haven’t yet is because I don’t have their contact info. I hope I will by lunch, though. I gave the office the hard drive from my old computer and they said they should have a replacement to me shortly.

“Thanks. Is that it? Should I go?”

“One more thing. If your mother says she wants you to come home, there are options. Obviously, you can return home. Assuming we verify the facts that you’ve presented, we could make a case for removing you from her custody, at least temporarily.”

I haven’t even considered the possibility of her wanting me to come home. What would that even mean? I can still hear the venom, the hatred in her voice. How can I go back? But she’s my mom. How can I not, if she’ll take me?

“Do I have to decide that right now?”

“No. But you should think about it, at least a little. In my experience, in about sixty percent of similar cases, the parent changes their mind.”

I don’t say anything else. I just nod.

When she returns her attention to her computer, I turn and flicker away.

This is my first assembly in a while, so it takes me a second to notice that there’s something different about the auditorium. I missed last week because of the hearing, and the week before that because I was in another universe (at least they counted it as an excused absence). The one before that never really got going, due to my little disaster. That’s probably also the reason for the difference.

The weird effect that was interfering with marks and trying to tear down the auditorium was near the left corner as you walk into the auditorium. That corner isn’t there anymore. It’s been walled off. The wall doesn’t look any newer than the rest of the walls, and the right corner has been walled off to keep things symmetrical, but I know it’s different.

I see Emily come in one of the other doors and flicker next to her.

“Do you know what’s up with that?” I point to the new wall in the corner.

“Yeah, they mentioned it at the assembly last week. They said that there was no sign of further problems there, but that they were walling off that section out of ‘an abundance of caution.’”

That doesn’t feel right to me. If the area is safe, it’s safe. Whatever the case, I get a wave of guilt. I cost The School a couple hundred square feet of space and who knows how much money to fix the ceiling and build the walls.

Emily puts her hand on my arm. “It’s okay,” she says. “You didn’t mean for that to happen.” 

I didn’t, but it’s still my fault. Instead of arguing or dwelling on that any more, I fill her in on my meeting with Ms. Beatriz. She is not impressed by the amount of help I got.

We stop talking when the assembly starts, but Emily’s hand stays put.

I see Emily briefly in the hall between first and second periods. I let her know that I still don’t know anything yet, and ask her how first period was. Apparently it was fine. My first period was also fine. It takes us long enough to share that information that the halls are clearing. I walk with her so that she won’t be late, then flicker to my own class.

Today is my lucky day (if you ignore the whole being homeless thing). Not only does an office messenger deliver my new phone (a crappy model barely up to handling The School’s app) and my new computer (my hard drive survived, so it’s almost like nothing happened), but Peter is not at school today, so I get to have a normal lunch.

The extra special bonus is that it’s an A day, which means that Emily and I have the same lunch period. I consider messaging her to let her know, or flickering straight to the cafeteria, but I do neither. I walk through the hallway with the rest of the kids instead.

I get my salad (chicken caesar) and drink, then scan the cafeteria for Emily. When I don’t spot her, I check the courtyard. She’s there, sitting under the biggest tree with her friends. I’m not sure what to do.

I’m trying to figure that out when she sees me and waves me over. I don’t know her friends. I don’t even know a lot about her friends, since I’d put them off limits. I’m sort of worried about what they’ll think of me.

Emily gestures for the girl sitting next to her, Zee, to scoot down a little, leaving room for me at the end of the bench she’s sitting on. I put my lunch on the table and take a seat.

“I thought you had to tutor,” Emily says.

“Peter’s out today. I’m not sure what’s up.”

“Dentist appointment,” a guy at the opposite corner of the table chimes in.

Let’s see; that’s Hiro. I’m not sure how he knows that, since I don’t think his mark has anything to do with information, but I don’t remember for sure. And that's fine. I’m not trying to find these people’s weaknesses or secrets or anything else I might use against them. 

“Oh, thanks,” I respond. I turn to Emily. “Hi.”

“Hi. Do you know everybody?” Emily gestures at the others at the table.

“Zee, Jade, Manny, and,” I pause, like I’m trying to remember, “Will?”

They each nod in turn. I don’t ask if they know who I am; the answer to that is clear from the way they look at me. I’m guessing they’re sort of protective of their friend, and I can’t blame them. After a few more seconds of pointed looks, they all return to eating their lunches.

“How was second period?” Emily askes me. “Any news?”

I shake my head. “But I got a phone and laptop.”

“That’s good.”

We’re sitting very close, and even though our legs aren’t touching, I can feel hers. It makes it hard to hold a coherent thought. I take a bite of my salad and try to concentrate on that. 

The group returns to whatever they were talking about before I joined them. It has something to do with the Gauntlet, but I can’t pay enough attention to pick up much more than that.

It isn’t just Emily distracting me, though. There’s a small group of kids right behind me that are talking way louder than they need to. Half my brain is trying to focus on the conversation at my table, and the other half on the conversation behind me. The third half is focused on how hot my leg feels, where it’s closest to Emily’s.

“This is the third time he’s ditched me at lunch.”

I recognize the voice as Blake Johns. Junior. Dating Reggie Dean. They got together near the start of the year, after Reggie got dumped by Amy—Magnusson, I think. Could have been Amy Maddox. I always get them confused for some reason.

Yes. I keep track of this sort of thing, or I did. If I’m going to sow dissension and discord (which I’m not, anymore), I need to know what I have to work with.

“Maybe he’s cheating on you?”

That’s Debbie Gibbs. Blake’s best friend, who I have at eighty percent odds of having a crush on him. Only the fact that queer relationship drama is plentiful without my intervention has kept me from making that situation worse. Besides, I like an actual challenge.

I’m pretty sure that Reggie isn’t cheating on Blake. He really didn’t seem the type, but my thoughts are interrupted by an alert on Emily’s phone. She looks at it, then at me.

“The office wants me to come in. Do you think it’s about…” She trails off.

“Probably?”

“Yeah. I can’t think of anything else they’d want to talk to me about right now. I’m going to go ahead and go. Hopefully I’ll be done before lunch is over.”

She puts a hand on my shoulder and rises off the bench, into the air. The hand wasn’t necessary for that, but I appreciate it. I meet her eyes for a moment before she goes.

“Thanks,” I say.

She zips away.

Now I’m sitting at the table with these people I hardly know, and no Emily. I try again to focus on the conversation at this table, but habit draws my attention to the drama going on behind me.

Debbie is listing more ‘evidence’ that Reggie is cheating. The girl is neither subtle nor good at this, but she might be good enough. I think a little bit more about what I know, and come up with something to check. I glance down at my half-eaten salad, then back at the people I’m sharing a table with.

“Can you watch this for a minute? I need to check something.”

Without waiting for an answer, I flicker to the weight-room in the gym.

Sure enough, Reggie is there on one of the weight machines—free weights are only allowed with a spotter, and he’s here on his own. I walk over to the machine next to him.

“The Spring Fling is on Blake’s birthday this year, isn’t it?”

“Fuck off, Doyle.”

“Rude.”

“I know the kind of shit you pull.”

“Pulled, past-tense, but fair. But have you ever heard me lying to pull that ‘shit?’”

He ignores me.

“It wouldn’t work if I lied. No one would believe anything I said.”

Nothing but grunts as he keeps at the weights.

“Fine. You’re here trying to make sure you look extra cut for his birthday and the dance. I bet you want it to be a surprise, but have you considered how that might look from his point of view? If you’re suddenly paying less attention to him? Think about it.

“Or don’t. Your choice. Byeee!” I give a little wave and flicker back to my spot on the bench.

“Thanks,” I say to the table in general.

I’m finally able to focus on the conversation in front of me. They’re trying to figure out if they want to form a team for the Gauntlet this year. Will is annoyed because Zee and Jade are out unless Emily changes her mind and joins.  I’ll have to ask Emily later why she’s sitting out this year.

“Reggie!” Blake calls, way too loudly.

I don’t turn to look.

“Hey, babe,” Reggie replies, “I finished up my workout early, so I wanted to see you before third period.”

Now that conversation is fully ignorable. I end up participating in a discussion about the latest episode of Marked Hearts. I am very relieved that they all think it’s as stupid as I do. Otherwise, I’d have to convince Emily to get different friends.

I get a message from Emily just as I reach third period.

        Em: They asked me a bunch of ? about Saturday

        Me: Any idea why?

        Em: They wouldn’t say

        Em: Any news on your end?

        Me: Not yet. I’ll kyp

        Em: thx. I gave them vid, btw

        Em: ttyl

        Me: Vid?

        Em: l8r.

Okay, typing ‘l8r’ on a phone took more time than typing ‘later’. Flaw four.

Halfway through 4th period, I’m summoned to Ms. Beatriz’s office. That isn’t ominous or anything.

When I arrive, Ms Ruehl is there as well. Also not at all ominous. I sit down in one of the two open chairs.

Ms. Beatriz speaks first.

“Thank you for arriving promptly, Ms. Doyle,” she says.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“We have been in contact with your mother. She is demanding that you return home.”

“But she kicked me out.”

“She denies that. When presented with evidence of her saying ‘Get out,’ she claimed that those words were directed at Ms. English.”

“She was looking me right in the eyes when she said it.”

“Nevertheless, whether or not she was talking to you, she now wants you to return.”

“Do I have to go?”

I want to know what my choices are.

“Legally, yes, unless the Department of Child and Family Services agree that you should be removed.”

“And what would happen if I didn’t? I’m not saying I won’t. I just want to know.”

“You’d be considered a runaway.”

That doesn’t sound good.

“What would make the DCFS say I should be removed, and what would happen?”

“They remove children who are being neglected or abused. In that case, the other options we discussed earlier would come into play. You would be placed with either relatives, a licensed foster family in Illinois, or in the Residence.”

They won’t help me. I’m not being abused. I try to think of another question, but I realize I’m stalling. I close my eyes. I can’t tell them how scared I am—how the thought of hearing her call me a boy, her son makes me want to puke. I can’t.

“Frank?” Ms. Ruehl speaks for the first time since I came into the office.

I’m not ready to speak yet. I don’t know how I’d sound.

“Take your time, dear,” she says.

I realize I’m crying.

Someone presses a box of tissues into my hand. I start collecting wadded up tissues on my lap.

When I finally slow down to an occasional sob, Ms Ruehl speaks again.

“I take it you’d rather not go back to your mother at this time?”

I nod. I still don’t trust my voice.

“Wait here with Ms. Beatriz, please. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I nod again.

My phone buzzes in my purse.

“Is it okay if I check my phone?” I ask. I can’t think of a reason it would be a problem, but I am very much trying to appear as a model citizen at the moment. Now is not the time to have the principal or Ms. Beatriz mad at me.

“Go ahead,” she replies.

The message is from Emily, of course.

        Em: ?

I don’t know what to tell her, so I ignore the message for the moment.

Ms Ruehl returns a few minutes later.

“Ms. Doyle, I have consulted with the board about the current situation. Given the accusations made by your mother—”

“What accusations?” I can’t help but interrupt.

“Ms. Doyle initially indicated that you and Ms. English had threatened her.“

“What? No! Emily was super careful to not do or say anything threatening!”

“Yes, after seeing the short video provided by Ms. English, we agree, but such an accusation is extremely serious—”

“I didn’t threaten her either!”

“Ms. Doyle, I understand that you are agitated, but, please hear me out without further interruption.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

‘Model citizen,’ I repeat silently to myself.

“Ms. Doyle, please show me that I have your full attention.”

Clearly, she wants eye contact. I take a breath and look her in the eye.

“When you received your punishment for the incident in the auditorium, you assured me that you would be on your best behavior. I chose to trust you,” she continues.

The words make it sound like she’s about to tell me I’ve let her down, but the tone, and the expression on her face don’t.

“Mutual trust is very important,” she goes on. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You were informed that any further infractions would result in severe disciplinary action—”

“But—”

Her gaze intensifies and I stop without going further.

“I’m not saying that you have committed another infraction, but given the severity with which threats under the aegis of marks are treated, you will be remanded to Residence for the safety of yourself and anyone you may have threatened while the accusations are investigated.”

I open my mouth to say something—I don’t know what—but she plows ahead.

“Since you haven’t been convicted of a crime, you will be allowed to continue to attend your usual classes. However, regulations state that, barring emergency, you will be transported to The School from the Residence at the beginning of the school day, and back at the end of the school day, and provided no other transportation from the Residence until your case is settled.”

My phone beeps.

“You will find that you have received a link to the rules of the Residence. Please familiarize yourself with them.”

I sit there stunned by what she’s saying. 

“You will notice, when you read those rules, that additional rules may be added to address the unique situations presented by each student’s mark.”

I don’t like where this is going,

“In your case, you are specifically forbidden to transport yourself between the Residence and The School.”

“Ms. Ruehl, please—”

“Frank, I understand that this is difficult for you. Please don’t make it more so. Remember the importance of mutual trust.”

Weirdly, I do trust her. This sucks, but it means I won’t be going home to Mom, yet, at least. But being locked up?

“Yes, Ms. Ruehl.”

“It’s almost time for the final bell. I trust that you remember how to find the pickup area?”

I nod.

“Very well. Ms. Beatriz has some forms for you to sign before you leave.”

‘Some forms’ turn out to be the fifteen page rule booklet for the Residence, and a consent form to have some clothes and personal effects transferred from my home to my new room.

I’m not going to sign the form saying I agreed to the rules without reading them first, so I take up space in the office while I pore over them. By the time I’m done, I’m being careful to keep my expression neutral.

“What are you doing here?” Emily asks.

“Here” is the lawn next to the flat concrete that makes up one of four pickup/drop-off areas for The School. There are a bunch of other kids on the concrete area itself, and more arriving, but their numbers stay nearly constant for the moment, due to Checkers teleporting, then taking a kid with her as she teleports back out.

“I have to go to the Residence.”

“What?!”

I give her the short version.

“That’s not fair! Why are you being sent to The Residence and not me?”

“I’m guessing that it’s because you’re a goody two shoes, and I almost destroyed the school a few weeks ago.”

“I’m not—”

“I know, but that’s how people see you.”

Emily considers. “I still don’t like it.”

“It’s fine, really. Take a look.”

I hand her the printout of the rules and wait patiently while she skims them.

“See,” I say, “They even added a rule for me. I can’t teleport between the Residence and here.”

“They don’t already have a rule about teleporting?”

“I guess they don’t need one, since it’s got the same foolproof wards The School has.”

“But you—”

I can’t help smirking a little.

“Ms Ruehl isn’t stupid,” she says.

I nod.

“So you’re free to come and go as you please?”

“Not quite. There’s the part about to and from here, but I also can’t use my power in any public area, and there’s a curfew between ten and five.”

“That’s not very limiting.”

“It’ll suck on the weekend, but hopefully I won’t be there that long.”

“Why do you think she’s sticking her neck out for you?”

That is a good question. 

“I think she believes me about what happened. And I think she believed me when I said I was done with my shit. Maybe she’s using the Emily maneuver.”

“What do you mean?”

“Trusting me so that I feel like I have to live up to that trust,” I say. “What kind of monster would do that?”

Emily shoves my shoulder lightly, and smiles.

I remember a question I’ve been meaning to ask.

“What was the deal with the video? I didn’t see you holding your phone.”

Instead of answering, she takes out her phone and tosses it lightly back over her head. A second later it’s peeking up over her hair, just barely in view.

She turns so that I can see the back of her head. A few locks of hair are wrapped around the phone, holding it in place. Another lock comes together from the surrounding hair and waves at me.

“You are so weird,” I say.

The influx of students has trailed off, so we both get ready to step onto the pad.

“The school’s going to send someone to get my stuff from your house,” I tell her.

“Maybe you could come check, you know, to make sure nothing gets left behind.”

“I need to talk to my aunt and uncle first, but after, I’ll do—”

Checkers blinks in, then back out, taking her away.

“—that.”

A couple of minutes later, I’m the last kid standing on the pad. Checkers appears in front of me.

“Remember how to do this?” she asks.

I nod. I need to focus on keeping my mark quiet.

An instant later I’m standing on a very similar pad, in front of a very similar building.