by Drew Hayes
“Redeemable for one night of sex. –Roy Daniels”
Alice couldn’t stop herself, she began laughing with her whole body. The best part was that she knew, in Roy’s mind, this was probably a very thoughtful gift. That notion redoubled her chuckles. Finally the fits subsided down to giggles as she wiped a few tears from her eyes and carefully placed Roy’s coupon back in the envelope.
“Still in the party spirit, I see.”
Alice whipped her head around. Nick was standing by the boys’ side door, holding a small book at his side and dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” Alice said.
“That tends to happen when your eyes are shut and your ears are ringing with laughter. Plus, I’m actually twenty percent ninja, so there’s that too,” Nick said. He walked over and sat down on the couch with her.
“Twenty percent? How does that work?”
“Oh, a great grandparent who was a full ninja and then an uncle who was a fifth or something. I’ve never been great with fractions, so who can tell.”
“We all have our failings,” Alice replied. “So why are you still awake?”
“Aside from the cackling emanating from the common room? I wanted to give you your present,” Nick said.
“And here I assumed you being civil all night was my gift,” Alice said.
“Nope, just happenstance. It’s hard to be snarky when looking down the barrel of a gun stuffed with paint.”
“I can see your point,” Alice agreed.
“So, any guesses on what you’re getting?”
“I wouldn’t mind another night out with that guy I introduced to my dad. He was pretty enjoyable company,” Alice said.
“Sorry, he was sort of conjured on the spot. I don’t know if I could do that again even if I wanted to,” Nick lied.
“Ah well,” Alice said. “I suppose you’ll do for now.”
“So happy to hear it. Anyway, here,” Nick said, handing her the book. “Happy birthday.”
Alice opened the diminutive tome and saw a young blonde girl staring back at her. It took a few seconds before Alice realized why the girl seemed so familiar. She turned the page and found the same face staring up at her, a winning grin on its face and a trophy hoisted overhead. More pages, same girl, slowly growing into a more recognizable woman.
She didn’t speak, she literally couldn’t think of any words. Instead she simply looked up at Nick for explanation.
“You once told me you didn’t have many pictures of your mom. You’d be surprised how many times we all end in pictures on public record. Anyway, I know a guy who knows a guy who specializes in this sort of- Ooof!”
Nick’s sentence was cut off by Alice spearing him in the chest as she engulfed him in a hug. Her arms knit around him and squeezed, her head resting on his chest. She held him like that for some time before either spoke.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Nick said, quite honestly for once.
They stayed in place for a moment more before Nick disturbed the quiet peace.
“If you’re going to keep cuddling me like this then I demand either sex or dinner. I’ve got my principles as a man after all.”
Alice laughed and released her grip on him. “Sorry, I just got a little…”
“Don’t worry about it. I had a similar reaction when Ms. Pips gave me my book.”
“Your book?”
“Well, yeah. How do you think I know a guy who specializes in this sort of thing? I wanted to see my parents, too,” Nick explained.
“Of course, I… Sometimes I forget there’s a real guy behind the smart assery and sunglasses,” Alice said.
“Oh, he’s real all right. Real freaking tired. I’m off to bed, and if you’re smart you’ll do the same,” Nick said, rising from the couch.
“I’ll go to bed soon,” Alice assured him.
“Sure, sure,” Nick said. He walked over to the boys’ side and opened the door. “It’s your night, stay up as late you want. I hope you had a good birthday, though.”
“I did,” Alice said. Nick nodded and stepped through the door, leaving Alice alone once again. She flipped through the book some more, savoring each new image in every detail, right down to the sound of the pages flipping.
“I really did.”
114.
“Today,” Dean Blaine said as the class settled into their seats, “I want to talk about categorization.”
Dean Blaine began walking along the front of the classroom, stepping out of his usual center area.
“Controllers, generators, absorbers, healers, enchanters, shifters, speeders, teleporters, advanced minds, and illusionists,” Dean Blaine said, ticking off each term on his hands as he rattled them out. “And that’s just a few off the top of my head. The full list of all the classified types of Supers goes on for several pages and is constantly evolving. Just from that statement, what can you tell me about the nature of this categorization? Mr. Murray?”
Will’s head snapped up. He hadn’t raised his hand, nor had anyone else. Dean Blaine had called on him before even Stella had the chance to bark her answer.
“A cursory analysis would suggest that if we’re still adapting something as general as the categories for different Super types then it means we’re still in a state of discovery regarding them,” Will said.
“Very good, Mr. Murray,” Dean Blaine complimented. “Will is correct; we are still learning more and more about Supers every day. Not just how certain powers function, either, but learning more about the broad spectrum different abilities can fall under. That isn’t the whole story, though. Anyone else? Mr. Matthews, perhaps."
A long, lean boy in the front row snapped to attention.
“I guess it implies that there is still active research ongoing in the field of Supers,” he ventured.
“True, but a restatement of Will’s previous conjecture. Please pay more attention, Terrance,” Dean Blaine told him. “Let me add this nugget to the discussion. Did anyone else know that until seven years ago, Mr. Murray’s ability was not actually recognized as a power? Show of hands.”
Will and Jill slowly put their hands up. The rest of the class’s remained down.
“Thank you, you may put them down now,” Dean Blaine said. “So until seven years ago, Mr. Murray would not have been considered for the HCP. He would have been classified human by all metrics of the time. Yet here we are, seven years later, and he is doing exceptionally well, posting excellent marks on a consistent basis. So, what changed seven years ago that altered Mr. Murray from a mere human to a Super, and a Hero candidate at that?”
“Duh,” Stella said, voicing her opinion at last. “You already told us. Extreme technological genius was classified as a power.”
“I did, Miss Hawkins, I did indeed. But that’s merely what I said. I’m looking to see if anyone noticed what I told you. There’s a conclusion here that I want you to reach,” Dean Blaine said.
It was a soft, unfamiliar voice to most of the class that piped up at last.
“The labels don’t mean anything,” Camille said, barely breaking over a whisper.
“And why is that?” Dean Blaine probed.
“Because nothing significant really changed. Will can invent things that make him a candidate to be a Hero. That’s true whether you call him a Super or not. He’ll always have that capability.”
“That is correct, Camille,” Dean Blaine said. “No change in terminology can take away the actual talent Mr. Murray has, nor any of your abilities. There was a time when telepaths were all thought to be charlatans, and illusionists nothing more than skilled stage magicians. It’s only over time, as these respective groups have consistently demonstrated their abilities, that they have been reclassified. Which brings us to most important thing you need to know about categorization.”
It was Vince who raised his hand this time, and Dean Blaine gave him the nod.
“They’re reactionary. The terms, the cat
egories, everything in that area is created in response to new Supers or Powereds showing up and changing what they thought they knew.”
“Very good, Vince,” Dean Blaine agreed. “And that is the heart of the matter. Some of you are classified as shifters, or healers, or absorbers, and while the terms are comforting in that they make us feel like someone higher up the chain knows what is going on, it is critical that you all recognize them for what they are: words. It is human nature to put words to things, to file and sort even the ineffable. We do this because it makes us feel like we can control that chaos.”
Dean Blaine stepped back into the center of the room and gazed at the faces of his charges.
“Chaos is not here to be controlled. It cannot and it will not bend to the will of something as fleeting as an ancillary term ascribed to it. You are not controllers, or teleporters, or even Supers. You are individual people with individual skills. Never forget that. And never, ever forget that the same can be said for anyone you face out in the field. Grouping is a lovely tool for paperwork and mental accounting. Assuming you know what a person is capable of because you know the general shape of his power is dangerous, though. Often it’s downright deadly.”
“Deadly?” Stella snickered.
“Yes, Miss Hawkins, deadly. Because seven years ago, if you had run across a predecessor of Mr. Murray who lacked his moral code committing a crime, you would have undoubtedly assumed him to nothing more than another frail, powerless human,” Dean Blaine said.
“Yeah,” Stella agreed.
“And when he pulled out a device capable of liquefying steel, then utilized it, what would you have thought of him then?”
“Well-”
“That is incorrect, Miss Hawkins. You would have thought nothing, because, with all due respect to everyone’s individual beliefs about the afterlife, dead people do not think.”
“Okay, fine, but obviously someone realized Will has a real ability and took notice of it,” Stella said. “So that’s a bad example.”
Dean Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Miss Hawkins, ‘someone’ took notice. I want you all to think about something, though. Which seems more likely: that there was a long certification process through which ample evidence and documentation was provided, making the case for technological brilliance to be considered a power, or that a scenario very similar to the one I just described occurred and a Hero’s corpse was all the proof that was needed?”
“Oh,” Stella said, sliding down a few inches in her chair.
“Yes. Oh.” Dean Blaine realized he’d been addressing Stella directly and turned back to the rest of the class. “Please remember, a story like that is applicable to almost all of your powers."
Some of the more astute students noticed a sliver of sadness in his voice at his next words. Luckily, they were also astute enough to gather the reason and keep it to their damn selves.
"So keep your wits about you, and never make assumptions. Because I’d very much prefer it if the next power to be added to the list was done so through the boring paperwork route. It would be a very welcome change of pace."
115.
Sasha’s lips pressed firmly against Vince’s neck, slowly trailing down to his collar bone. She kissed that more delicately, then gently nipped a bit of the skin between her teeth. The first time she’d tried this trick things had gone poorly, but Sasha was an older, more practiced girl now.
Her hands worked her way under his shirt, her nails slowly etching their way up his back. He’d always been lean, but with each month the body she touched was growing stronger and more muscular. He’d been cute when they first met; now the boy was bordering on hot.
She reversed the direction of her hands, circling around and leaving scratches down his front. She paused when she reached his belt line and took a moment to lightly run a finger across the implied border. She ran her left hand from one hip to the other, marking the line in the skin, then she pressed onwards, downwards. Her thumb popped the button on his pants before Vince reacted.
“That’s okay,” he said, taking her adventurous digits and clasping them caringly in his own conservative ones. “I’m fine with just kissing.”
Sasha sighed and sat back. They were on the couch in her common room, making out yet again at the end of one of their dates. Most of the other girls were off having fun (naked fun at that, Sasha knew all too well), so she and Vince were free to pursue their hanky-panky right here in the open. Unfortunately, it was, once more, turning out to be all hanky and no panky.
“I know you’re fine with just kissing,” Sasha said, exasperation settling in and making itself quite at home in her voice. “You’ve been fine with just kissing me, your girlfriend, for months now. And while I appreciate the gentlemanly care that entails, I have to tell you, I’m starting to wonder if there’s something bigger here. I mean, you find me attractive, right?”
Sasha leaned forward a bit at the word “attractive,” treating Vince to a panoramic view down the front of her low-cut shirt. She was wearing tight denim shorts as well, and (although Vince didn’t know it) lingerie designed to plump and pull in all the right directions. She’d put in a lot of work to look sexy tonight, in the exceptionally frustrating exercise of trying to seduce her own boyfriend, and it had paid off. She was beautiful in a way that conveyed accessibility rather than intimidation.
Vince swallowed. “You’re gorgeous. I find you incredibly attractive. That’s not it.”
“Then what is it? I know you don’t want to push me or anything, but in case you’ve missed the signals, you aren’t pushing anything. I’m ready. I have been in a continual state of readiness for some time now, so where are we hitting the snag?”
“I’m not,” Vince said.
“You’re not what?”
“Not ready,” Vince took a breath and glanced away from Sasha, trying to get some of his blood flowing in the proper directions.
“You’re eighteen and male. A sweet male, but yeah, pretty sure there’s a biological mandate that you guys are always ready at this age,” Sasha pointed out. “So if you aren’t then I’m guessing there’s a deeper reason than just being nervous about your first time.”
Vince thought very carefully before his next answer. He’d never lied to Sasha about this, or even hinted in that direction. He had noticed that she’d never asked him the question, though, and somewhere along the line he suspected the assumption she’d made. That was going to make this awkward, but he’d made that choice of non-action and now he had to face the consequences for it.
“It wouldn’t be my first time,” Vince admitted. “I’m not a virgin.”
Sasha’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”
“I’m not a virgin,” Vince repeated.
“Look, I understand you might have messed around with a girl a little and accidently finished, but that doesn’t count as losing your-”
“Sasha,” Vince said taking her hand. “I’ve had sex. Full on, real deal sex.”
“Wow... um... when? I mean, was it a girl you met in the program before me?”
“We met on the first day,” Vince reminded her. “And no, it’s no one here. It was years ago.”
“Years? How many years are we talking?” Sasha asked. “I mean, you’re eighteen now, so...”
“I was sixteen,” Vince told her.
* * *
“Stop! Thief!”
Vince’s breath was ragged as he pounded through the dense forest. A rogue branch scratched at his face, but he didn’t so much as break stride. He needed to keep-
* * *
“I was seventeen,” Sasha said, snapping Vince back to the moment at hand. “I guess we never really talked about it, but I mean, I figured you would assume after knowing me this long. And of course I assumed from the way you kept holding off that... anyway, I was wrong.”
“It’s my fault, too,” Vince said. “I thought you might be under that impression, and I didn’t correct you. That was wrong of me and I am so very, deeply sorr
y. I understand if you want me to leave.”
Sasha barked out a laugh, then subsided into a fit of giggles. “Wow,” she said once she regained her composure, “I can’t believe you sometimes. I mean, here I am wondering if this semi-secret means there’s some hidden darker side to you, and then you go an apologize because you thought I might have made a wrong guess about you and you didn’t immediately correct me.”
“But I really am sorry,” Vince repeated.
“I know you are, sweetie,” Sasha said, her posture relaxing. “That’s part of what makes you so you. It’s not your fault I assumed you were a virgin. If I wanted to know, I should have just asked. You wouldn’t have lied to me.”
“Of course not,” Vince said.
“Of course not,” Sasha echoed, leaning in and kissing him. This wasn’t a kiss like earlier, meant to seduce. This was one driven by so much emotional connection that it burst forth and had to manifest in a physical form. This was her kissing him because in that moment she simply had to. It was as unstoppable as an airborne object’s eventual descent.
They eventually parted but their faces stayed close, almost touching yet not quite, as they picked up their conversation.
“So, if you’ve already lost it, and you keep putting me off, and it’s not because I’m unattractive to you, then I can only guess that the first time didn’t go so hot,” Sasha speculated.
“It was fine during,” Vince said. “It was the after that was problematic.”
“That can happen,” she said. “And you’re not ready to try it again?”
“If it matters that much to you, then maybe I can-”
“No.” This time it was Sasha’s turn to cut off Vince. “You wouldn’t ask me to do something I wasn’t ready for to make you happy, I’m not going to do that to you. Take your time. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem, cutie,” Sasha assured him. “That said, when you are ready, I expect to be told immediately. I don’t care if we’re knocking people senseless in the middle of gym and a rogue blow puts it in your head. Immediately. No delays. Zip. Deal?”
