Chapter 1
So I've posted a few snippets, and now that I've got a few chapters written, I've decided to make my own thread. I got sick of the over-powered Taylor stomp-fics, where she is massively powerful and never faces a real challenge, and I wanted to try and have a go writing a fic where Taylor has a versatile but low-level power and has to rely on her creativity and intelligence to do well. In the end, it came down to either Victor or Skidmark, and Victor won out.
Stepping between a couple of skinheads and a trio of Asian students having a not-so-subtle staring match, I hurried onwards, avoiding the attention of either side.
First class of the day was English, and if I could get there fast enough then I could hopefully have a relatively safe morning. If I sat at the back then there was little that Emma or Sophia could do, provided they hadn’t done anything to my chair first.
“I don’t know why you’re rushing to class. It’s not like anyone wants you there.”
Shit.
Emma stepped out from behind another student, her smaller form hidden by his bulk, a faint pout on her face.
I automatically shifted to the side, the ingrained habit forcing me to try and avoid what’s coming even as I tried to strangle the urge, resulting in an ungainly stumble. Emma’s pout widened into a smile, ruby red lips stretching back as she watched me, eyes glittering.
Eye contact.
The connection blossomed and the faint glimmers of potential I felt suddenly bloomed into talents. Emma was a model, and her posture subtly reflected that, from the position of her shoulders to the arch of her neck as she looked down her nose at me. Emma had a whole host of smaller talents making up this modelling ability, each one unconsciously underlining everything she does.
Her make-up was expertly applied to bring a faint flush to her cheeks even as it gently emphasised them, while contrasting with the faint shadows under her eyes to leave a subtly sultry look.
Her shoulders were drawn back and her torso is slightly twisted, stretching her shirt and allowing her to lean back just enough to look down at me despite lacking several inches of height. Everything was calibrated to draw attention without making it obvious that this is what she was doing, and Emma was clearly exulting in this fact.
“Even the teacher wishes you’d drop out already.”
Conversation.
The connections grew still further, and I could see more of what she was capable of, the various building blocks that make up Emma.
I could see the different skills that her talent at applying make-up is made from, from the lipstick to the rouge to the eye-shadow. I saw more of her fashion abilities, how colours are applied and contrasted and just how much posture and movement affect how good a specific outfit can look. It was interesting to note how the faint idea of hairstyles seemed to straddle some gap between these two schools of knowledge.
Behind those talents, in some abstract distance I still struggle to grasp, I got a vague idea of mathematics and English, of music and history. But those were pale shadows compared to the ones I saw on display before me, and I ignored them. I would always have time for those later.
“Or are you trying to pretend that she actually likes to have you around?”
Active use.
Ah.
There we are.
One talent briefly flared up, the connection shining in my mind as Emma spoke. This was the lead up to something, given that Emma is focusing on her words now, deliberately choosing which ones to use. Although I could have guessed that from the cruel satisfaction that was slowly building behind her eyes.
It was a nebulous concept, shining bright, felt as much as seen and difficult to put into words yet no less clear for that. It was Emma’s way with words. Her ability to twist people around her finger as she speaks, leaving them off-balance and unable to speak back. Her way of dominating conversations, of always knowing exactly what to say and which tone to say it in. It was her ability to speak to people and effortlessly glide through conversations where I would stumble and falter.
She tilted her head to the side, eyes widening and smile slowly fading to match the brightening of her modelling talent. Her appearance of innocence grew to contrast the words she was about to speak.
“Or are you that desperate to find an adult that cares about you you’ll pretend another English teacher can fill in the gap?”
I was pulling on that connection, the abstract feeling of how to twist words and sway others slowly starting to fill me up, so that it took a few seconds for Emma’s actual words to register.
When they did it was like a leaden weight slowly settling in my stomach, pulling everything down with it. I could only gape at Emma, shocked despite everything that she would actually say such a thing, and her smile reappeared, the vicious glee that she had carefully hidden before springing forth.
“I mean, it’s not like your dad actually cared enough to feed you when your mother died. You had to rely on my family for that.”
The connections flared brighter, and I started to latch onto them, desperately pulling in the hope that I could find some way to make her stop.
“Are you hoping she’ll take pity on you? Maybe one day give you a hug?”
I pulled harder, starting to see ideas on how to escape coalesce into being.
“As if anyone would. You’re gross, Taylor. You stink, and you’re greasy and nobody wants to touch you, let alone come near you.”
Her taunts seemed to be losing their effectiveness. They do that, every time I copy them, and by the time Emma’s usually finished with me they’ve stopped hurting so much. I think that Emma has noticed this, because she seems to have been getting more vicious lately, and by her look of triumph I think that she’s been planning this one for a while.
“For someone who doesn’t want me here, you seem to spend an awful lot of time trying to speak to me. It’s funny. I’d almost think you cared about me.”
Interaction.
The connection flared brighter still, as my talent reached out to her and met her talent reaching for me.
Emma stalled for a moment, seemingly startled by my response, before her eyes narrowed and her lip curled.
“You bother me, Taylor. You’re depressing, and lame, and every time I see you it reminds me of how much time I wasted being your friend. Years of my life I’ll never get back. Years I could have spent doing something worthwhile instead of hanging around with you.”
The shock I felt at Emma’s words had turned into anger now, and I felt buoyed up by righteous fury at her attempt to sully my mother’s memory.
“And yet almost every day you go out of your way to remind yourself. If it really bothered you so much I would have thought you’d just leave me alone instead of following me around everywhere.”
Emma seemed momentarily speechless, and I had a few seconds to luxuriate in my rare victory. It’s foolish, but for now I could savour that look of shock, of confusion on her face, even as it was banished by spite.
“With you walking around like a drowned puppy? Only with rabies. And covered in shit. How can I avoid you when you insist on coming to a school where nobody wants you? Everyone hates you. You’re like a slut only nobody wants you.”
The insults were coming fast, but most surprising is their lack of coherency. It’s like Emma was throwing whatever comes to mind at me and seeing what stuck. I felt a momentary flicker of contempt then, which surprised me as much as my defiance must have surprised Emma.
“Yet you insist on coming up to me and speaking to me almost every day. It’s like you’re afraid to cut ties or something. What’s the matter Emma? Does your life revolve around me so much that even when we stopped being friends you couldn’t bear to stay away? Careful, this level of fixation isn’t healthy.”
The look of pure, unadulterated shock on her face as she spluttered out some response was something I would treasure for a long time to come. I knew I’d pay for it later on, when Emma came back with something suitably twisted as punishment for speaking back, but in that moment I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I didn’t stop to hear what she had to say next, instead walking right past her with a sniff. In the periphery of my vision I could see a few students looking at us and muttering, but in that moment I couldn’t bring myself to care what they had to say. The fury in me was still smouldering as I made my way to English class, slipping through the doorway just as the bell rang, and I slam my books down on the table, garnering a stern look from Mrs Jeffries, which I ignored.
It took a while to centre myself enough to pay attention to the class, and I did this by slowly reaching out to my other classmates, focusing on one at a time and slowly building up a murky picture of their talents.
Some of the results surprised me.
Who knew that Edward the skinhead would be reasonably decent at playing the violin? Well, probably his friends and other people in his class, but I certainly didn’t know that. Granted, I had always tried to avoid anyone displaying gang allegiances, so I guess if I paid more attention to him then I would probably have already known. But that would involve paying attention to an Empire kid, which I really didn’t want to do in case they start paying attention back.
The connection was weak, mere proximity not enough to allow for any meaningful attempt to copy the skill, and after a couple of minutes I drop it. There’s not much point when such a small amount of talent would fade in a couple of days anyway, and I didn’t even own or play a violin.
I looked back to the teacher, but she was still droning on at the front of the class, not even looking up from her papers. Perhaps I was being uncharitable, but Emma’s words had nettled me, and I felt a momentary flicker of spite towards Mrs Jeffries, simply for being in a position where Emma can use her job against me. It was silly, I knew, and yet I couldn’t stop the feeling.
I tuned her out, gaze slowly drifting from one student to the next, seeing who knew things that I didn’t and what those things were.
I paused as I got the momentary image of a snake with its head raised, tongue flicking out and tasting the air, deciding where to strike. I wondered where the image comes from, slightly disquieted by the thought. It’s not a particularly apt comparison, but there was no denying that there was a certain predatory air to me ‘tasting’ my potential targets.
I looked over at Jeremy, eyes lingering long enough to get an idea of his capabilities before I dismissed him and move on. Nothing of note.
Alicia was more promising, showing some talent with art and a better grasp of calculus than I possessed. I mentally flagged her for future selection, remembering that I had math class second thing tomorrow, and kept looking.
Matthew seemed interesting, as it looked like he had some ability in kayaking and white water rafting. I spent a few minutes wondering where he learned those skills, and just how good he was at them. Maybe his dad would take him out in the summer on camping trips? Maybe he was part of a group of friends that would do adventurous things in the school holidays. Did they try something new every time, or do the same thing because they enjoyed it so much?
I felt a pang of envy at the thought, and I didn’t know if it was the thought of having friends to do such a thing with or a dad being so involved in my life that such trips were possible. The idea of being able to afford to go on such trips often enough to get good at them is there, but it was an old and feeble twitch in comparison.
It took Mrs Jeffries changing the tone of her voice to make me realise that I had been staring into space in the general direction of Matthew for several minutes now and I quickly looked down at my book, a faint flush working its way up my cheeks. The last thing I needed right now was to be seen staring at someone.
No need to give anybody any more ammunition, after all.
I skimmed over the work sheets in front of me and calmed down, seeing that I wasn’t too far behind. I briefly considered copying some language skills from Mrs Jeffries, but since there weren’t any tests before the Christmas holidays for this class there didn’t seem much point.
No, far better to keep looking into other people and see if they had anything I can use or try out in the next few days.
I glanced over at Wu and Kyo sitting in the other corner, but then decided against it. I guess I just didn’t really want to know what skills they might have given that they were wearing red and green. Part of me knew it was ridiculous, that a pair of not-particularly-fit fifteen year olds would have some sort of dangerous skill or would have even done anything to begin with, but I still didn’t want to know.
One quick mental chuckle at my reticence and I moved on to the next student. I turned it into a game, seeing if they had unusual or unexpected talents and trying to construct a story around them to explain why.
It was silly and not very productive, but I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed it, and as I slid my books into my bag and rose to leave I realised I was actually smiling to myself.
The bell rang for lunch, and the slight glow of happiness I held inside me faded away, vanishing like an ember in an empty fireplace.
An hour is too long for lunch.
There would be a lot of students in the cafeteria, and I was suddenly seized by curiosity as to what they might be able to do.
That meant a lot of people to potentially copy talents from. But it also meant far more people who might be watching me, with no teacher to take up their attention, and I couldn’t afford to have anybody notice me spacing out like I did in English class.
No. The risk was too high, and I walked off to find somewhere out of the chill December wind without other students around. For now, I would simply take it as a break from the rest of school.
It was not the first time I had made that decision.
Some of the classrooms on the third floor would be open, some place quiet where I could eat in peace and read until the bell went. That sounded... better.
Decision made, I turned and started walking, moving slowly against the flow of students, mostly sticking to the wall opposite the lockers and taking a few steps when there was a lull in the crowds. Eventually the herd of students thinned out and I could relax, my pace slowing to something more sedate as I made my way up the stairs.
Thud.
Something slammed into me at the top of the stairs, sending me flying, and it was only the lucky flailing of one arm that prevented me from tumbling back down the stairs, although one wrist smacked into the rails as I grab them, sending shivers of pain lancing up my arm.
“Watch it, Hebert.”
Just my luck. I glanced up at Sophia, seeing her scorn and matching it with a facade of impassivity. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and that was long enough for my temper to flare, reaching out and latching onto an aspect of Sophia.
It was her running ability, naturally, and though it was dull and unfocused now it was easy enough to find, and I got to work. For an all-too-brief moment I delighted in the thought of Sophia left panting in my wake, unable to catch me as I escaped, and I hungrily pulled on her running form.
Then reality intruded, and I realise that all I was doing was cheering myself on at the thought of running away. As if I could. Even if I copied her running form completely, Sophia would still be much fitter and faster than I am. All I would achieve would be to prolong the chase and leave Sophia more frustrated with me in the end.
I blinked and looked away, awkwardly clambering to my feet, wrist twinging as I pulled my bag back up over my shoulder. Then her foot lashed out as I pass her, and I’m back into full body contact with the ground, only a few seconds after rising.
My breath huffed out of me, leaving me slightly stunned.
“That’s where you belong. Now stay there.”
Sophia stared down at me to make sure I’ve gotten the message.
Perhaps it was my earlier response to Emma that made me so bold, but after managing that only to find myself still having to deal with the same shit when I thought I’d gotten away and I was suddenly furious with Sophia.
It was such an unexpected emotion that it caught me by surprise, and for a brief moment I was unguarded with my expression, my eyes narrowing and jaw clenching with the sheer loathing I felt right then.
Sophia was caught wrong-footed, confusion flickering across her face before it shut down and a hard expression appeared. As I went to rise once more her posture shifted, one foot sliding backwards slightly and shoulders lifting.
I wouldn’t have noticed but for the new thread in Sophia that brightened with use, sparking off a dozen smaller connections as her combat training slid into place.
My gaze never left Sophia’s as I stood, but I made sure to keep my face blank while I tentatively started to copy the combat training. Where did she get it from? I knew Sophia was a fairly violent person, but usually this was limited to kicks, trips and shoves. She’d never karate-chopped me or roundhouse kicked me in the face.
At least, not unless she’d done it hard enough to make me forget it ever happened.
Sophia never broke eye contact, which I was grateful for, and my stance slowly started to match hers. The amusement faded from her eyes and the thread flared brighter.
“You really want to start something, Hebert?” She whispered, and for a second I was tempted. Could I actually do it? Keep the conversation, confrontation, going long enough to copy enough to make a difference? I doubted it, but it could last me a week, maybe more if I did. I’d never copied enough of someone’s talent to test it before but now, almost drunk on suicidal defiance, it seemed like a marvellously compelling idea.
I was aware that even if I gained all of Sophia’s skill at fighting, she’d have the same and be much stronger and fitter too. But still...
“Come on, I’m hungry. Why the hell are you talking to Taylor, anyway?”
We both turned at the sound of Julia’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs, her tone a mixture of impatience and confusion.
Sophia grunted and headed after Julia, shooting me one last suspicious look as she went.
Once she did the tension drained out of me like pus from a boil, leaving me feeling exhausted and irritable. Why did I think provoking her was a good idea?
It made me wonder though.
If I could endure enough of those encounters to copy enough to deal with them, could I eventually convince them to just leave me alone? The talents I borrowed are only temporary, but the more they tried to harass me, the more opportunity I’d have to borrow what I needed to deal with it. And if it then reached the point where these borrowed talents faded, it meant that I might have had a whole week without being harassed.
There was a certain beauty to the idea.
I was almost meditative by the time history rolls around.
I ignored the other students and instead focused on the teacher, feeling the collective I identified as ‘history’ burgeoning as he started to speak.
I could see Emma and Madison whispering together in my peripheral vision, occasionally shooting me filthy looks or murmuring to another student, but I tried to tune them out.
It was interesting to note which connections grow brighter or dimmer as Mr Thomson changed topic or used different examples, comparing different points in history. I started drawing from that, reasoning that if I’ was going to focus on someone in class, it might as well be the teacher.
I still couldn’t shake the thought of just standing there and letting them harass me, or actively fighting back against them. Just the idea of it was making me anxious, and my fingers started twitching, fiddling with my pen and curling up the edges of the paper.
No. That’s not necessary. If they caught me then I could copy what I needed then, but there was no need to actively seek out confrontations with them or just stand there and wait to be caught. Decision made, I relaxed somewhat, turning back to the whiteboard in time to catch an annoyed look from Mr Thomson.
“Taylor, since you clearly find this lesson so engrossing, I’m sure you will be able to tell us all when the birth of Genghis Khan was.”
I froze as I felt the weight of everybody’s attention; Emma, Julia and Madison clearly enjoying my impending embarrassment.
Damn it, when the hell did the lesson cover this? Or was it one of yesterday’s topics?
I could almost feel the answer tickling the edge of my memories, and I started focusing on whatever it is I was getting from Mr Thomson while he stared at me, until the silence had gone on for too long and I could only shrug helplessly.
“I don’t know, Mr Thomson.” I said, looking him in the eye and managing to keep my voice level, just as something else clicked into place.
“Perhaps if you had been paying more attention, you would have realised-“
“But that’s because nobody does. His date of birth was never recorded, only estimated at some time around eleven sixty two, with years of leeway either side. A few years, anyway. His death was on August eighteenth, twelve twenty seven, aged...” I stopped and thought for a few seconds, “approximately sixty five years of age. Give or take.”
Mr Thomson blinked, about as surprised by my sudden display of knowledge as I and everyone else were.
“Absolutely correct, Taylor. However, we weren’t discussing the birth, age or death of Genghis Khan, we were discussing the Korean War and how it compared to other wars, using the Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century as a brief comparison.”
I flushed, and the other students tittered.
“Do actually pay attention in class, please. I’m impressed you actually know that, but it doesn’t matter what you know if it isn’t what you’re being asked about in an exam.”
I nodded and looked back to my books, trying to hold my pen steady. I dutifully took notes until the lesson ended, and as I made my way over to the buses to go home I was left wondering when exactly I learned that information.
Claim The Spoils
I slipped through the halls of Winslow, head down, avoiding eye contact.
Stepping between a couple of skinheads and a trio of Asian students having a not-so-subtle staring match, I hurried onwards, avoiding the attention of either side.
First class of the day was English, and if I could get there fast enough then I could hopefully have a relatively safe morning. If I sat at the back then there was little that Emma or Sophia could do, provided they hadn’t done anything to my chair first.
“I don’t know why you’re rushing to class. It’s not like anyone wants you there.”
Shit.
Emma stepped out from behind another student, her smaller form hidden by his bulk, a faint pout on her face.
I automatically shifted to the side, the ingrained habit forcing me to try and avoid what’s coming even as I tried to strangle the urge, resulting in an ungainly stumble. Emma’s pout widened into a smile, ruby red lips stretching back as she watched me, eyes glittering.
Eye contact.
The connection blossomed and the faint glimmers of potential I felt suddenly bloomed into talents. Emma was a model, and her posture subtly reflected that, from the position of her shoulders to the arch of her neck as she looked down her nose at me. Emma had a whole host of smaller talents making up this modelling ability, each one unconsciously underlining everything she does.
Her make-up was expertly applied to bring a faint flush to her cheeks even as it gently emphasised them, while contrasting with the faint shadows under her eyes to leave a subtly sultry look.
Her shoulders were drawn back and her torso is slightly twisted, stretching her shirt and allowing her to lean back just enough to look down at me despite lacking several inches of height. Everything was calibrated to draw attention without making it obvious that this is what she was doing, and Emma was clearly exulting in this fact.
“Even the teacher wishes you’d drop out already.”
Conversation.
The connections grew still further, and I could see more of what she was capable of, the various building blocks that make up Emma.
I could see the different skills that her talent at applying make-up is made from, from the lipstick to the rouge to the eye-shadow. I saw more of her fashion abilities, how colours are applied and contrasted and just how much posture and movement affect how good a specific outfit can look. It was interesting to note how the faint idea of hairstyles seemed to straddle some gap between these two schools of knowledge.
Behind those talents, in some abstract distance I still struggle to grasp, I got a vague idea of mathematics and English, of music and history. But those were pale shadows compared to the ones I saw on display before me, and I ignored them. I would always have time for those later.
“Or are you trying to pretend that she actually likes to have you around?”
Active use.
Ah.
There we are.
One talent briefly flared up, the connection shining in my mind as Emma spoke. This was the lead up to something, given that Emma is focusing on her words now, deliberately choosing which ones to use. Although I could have guessed that from the cruel satisfaction that was slowly building behind her eyes.
It was a nebulous concept, shining bright, felt as much as seen and difficult to put into words yet no less clear for that. It was Emma’s way with words. Her ability to twist people around her finger as she speaks, leaving them off-balance and unable to speak back. Her way of dominating conversations, of always knowing exactly what to say and which tone to say it in. It was her ability to speak to people and effortlessly glide through conversations where I would stumble and falter.
She tilted her head to the side, eyes widening and smile slowly fading to match the brightening of her modelling talent. Her appearance of innocence grew to contrast the words she was about to speak.
“Or are you that desperate to find an adult that cares about you you’ll pretend another English teacher can fill in the gap?”
I was pulling on that connection, the abstract feeling of how to twist words and sway others slowly starting to fill me up, so that it took a few seconds for Emma’s actual words to register.
When they did it was like a leaden weight slowly settling in my stomach, pulling everything down with it. I could only gape at Emma, shocked despite everything that she would actually say such a thing, and her smile reappeared, the vicious glee that she had carefully hidden before springing forth.
“I mean, it’s not like your dad actually cared enough to feed you when your mother died. You had to rely on my family for that.”
The connections flared brighter, and I started to latch onto them, desperately pulling in the hope that I could find some way to make her stop.
“Are you hoping she’ll take pity on you? Maybe one day give you a hug?”
I pulled harder, starting to see ideas on how to escape coalesce into being.
“As if anyone would. You’re gross, Taylor. You stink, and you’re greasy and nobody wants to touch you, let alone come near you.”
Her taunts seemed to be losing their effectiveness. They do that, every time I copy them, and by the time Emma’s usually finished with me they’ve stopped hurting so much. I think that Emma has noticed this, because she seems to have been getting more vicious lately, and by her look of triumph I think that she’s been planning this one for a while.
“For someone who doesn’t want me here, you seem to spend an awful lot of time trying to speak to me. It’s funny. I’d almost think you cared about me.”
Interaction.
The connection flared brighter still, as my talent reached out to her and met her talent reaching for me.
Emma stalled for a moment, seemingly startled by my response, before her eyes narrowed and her lip curled.
“You bother me, Taylor. You’re depressing, and lame, and every time I see you it reminds me of how much time I wasted being your friend. Years of my life I’ll never get back. Years I could have spent doing something worthwhile instead of hanging around with you.”
The shock I felt at Emma’s words had turned into anger now, and I felt buoyed up by righteous fury at her attempt to sully my mother’s memory.
“And yet almost every day you go out of your way to remind yourself. If it really bothered you so much I would have thought you’d just leave me alone instead of following me around everywhere.”
Emma seemed momentarily speechless, and I had a few seconds to luxuriate in my rare victory. It’s foolish, but for now I could savour that look of shock, of confusion on her face, even as it was banished by spite.
“With you walking around like a drowned puppy? Only with rabies. And covered in shit. How can I avoid you when you insist on coming to a school where nobody wants you? Everyone hates you. You’re like a slut only nobody wants you.”
The insults were coming fast, but most surprising is their lack of coherency. It’s like Emma was throwing whatever comes to mind at me and seeing what stuck. I felt a momentary flicker of contempt then, which surprised me as much as my defiance must have surprised Emma.
“Yet you insist on coming up to me and speaking to me almost every day. It’s like you’re afraid to cut ties or something. What’s the matter Emma? Does your life revolve around me so much that even when we stopped being friends you couldn’t bear to stay away? Careful, this level of fixation isn’t healthy.”
The look of pure, unadulterated shock on her face as she spluttered out some response was something I would treasure for a long time to come. I knew I’d pay for it later on, when Emma came back with something suitably twisted as punishment for speaking back, but in that moment I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I didn’t stop to hear what she had to say next, instead walking right past her with a sniff. In the periphery of my vision I could see a few students looking at us and muttering, but in that moment I couldn’t bring myself to care what they had to say. The fury in me was still smouldering as I made my way to English class, slipping through the doorway just as the bell rang, and I slam my books down on the table, garnering a stern look from Mrs Jeffries, which I ignored.
..........
It took a while to centre myself enough to pay attention to the class, and I did this by slowly reaching out to my other classmates, focusing on one at a time and slowly building up a murky picture of their talents.
Some of the results surprised me.
Who knew that Edward the skinhead would be reasonably decent at playing the violin? Well, probably his friends and other people in his class, but I certainly didn’t know that. Granted, I had always tried to avoid anyone displaying gang allegiances, so I guess if I paid more attention to him then I would probably have already known. But that would involve paying attention to an Empire kid, which I really didn’t want to do in case they start paying attention back.
The connection was weak, mere proximity not enough to allow for any meaningful attempt to copy the skill, and after a couple of minutes I drop it. There’s not much point when such a small amount of talent would fade in a couple of days anyway, and I didn’t even own or play a violin.
I looked back to the teacher, but she was still droning on at the front of the class, not even looking up from her papers. Perhaps I was being uncharitable, but Emma’s words had nettled me, and I felt a momentary flicker of spite towards Mrs Jeffries, simply for being in a position where Emma can use her job against me. It was silly, I knew, and yet I couldn’t stop the feeling.
I tuned her out, gaze slowly drifting from one student to the next, seeing who knew things that I didn’t and what those things were.
I paused as I got the momentary image of a snake with its head raised, tongue flicking out and tasting the air, deciding where to strike. I wondered where the image comes from, slightly disquieted by the thought. It’s not a particularly apt comparison, but there was no denying that there was a certain predatory air to me ‘tasting’ my potential targets.
I looked over at Jeremy, eyes lingering long enough to get an idea of his capabilities before I dismissed him and move on. Nothing of note.
Alicia was more promising, showing some talent with art and a better grasp of calculus than I possessed. I mentally flagged her for future selection, remembering that I had math class second thing tomorrow, and kept looking.
Matthew seemed interesting, as it looked like he had some ability in kayaking and white water rafting. I spent a few minutes wondering where he learned those skills, and just how good he was at them. Maybe his dad would take him out in the summer on camping trips? Maybe he was part of a group of friends that would do adventurous things in the school holidays. Did they try something new every time, or do the same thing because they enjoyed it so much?
I felt a pang of envy at the thought, and I didn’t know if it was the thought of having friends to do such a thing with or a dad being so involved in my life that such trips were possible. The idea of being able to afford to go on such trips often enough to get good at them is there, but it was an old and feeble twitch in comparison.
It took Mrs Jeffries changing the tone of her voice to make me realise that I had been staring into space in the general direction of Matthew for several minutes now and I quickly looked down at my book, a faint flush working its way up my cheeks. The last thing I needed right now was to be seen staring at someone.
No need to give anybody any more ammunition, after all.
I skimmed over the work sheets in front of me and calmed down, seeing that I wasn’t too far behind. I briefly considered copying some language skills from Mrs Jeffries, but since there weren’t any tests before the Christmas holidays for this class there didn’t seem much point.
No, far better to keep looking into other people and see if they had anything I can use or try out in the next few days.
I glanced over at Wu and Kyo sitting in the other corner, but then decided against it. I guess I just didn’t really want to know what skills they might have given that they were wearing red and green. Part of me knew it was ridiculous, that a pair of not-particularly-fit fifteen year olds would have some sort of dangerous skill or would have even done anything to begin with, but I still didn’t want to know.
One quick mental chuckle at my reticence and I moved on to the next student. I turned it into a game, seeing if they had unusual or unexpected talents and trying to construct a story around them to explain why.
It was silly and not very productive, but I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed it, and as I slid my books into my bag and rose to leave I realised I was actually smiling to myself.
..........
The bell rang for lunch, and the slight glow of happiness I held inside me faded away, vanishing like an ember in an empty fireplace.
An hour is too long for lunch.
There would be a lot of students in the cafeteria, and I was suddenly seized by curiosity as to what they might be able to do.
That meant a lot of people to potentially copy talents from. But it also meant far more people who might be watching me, with no teacher to take up their attention, and I couldn’t afford to have anybody notice me spacing out like I did in English class.
No. The risk was too high, and I walked off to find somewhere out of the chill December wind without other students around. For now, I would simply take it as a break from the rest of school.
It was not the first time I had made that decision.
Some of the classrooms on the third floor would be open, some place quiet where I could eat in peace and read until the bell went. That sounded... better.
Decision made, I turned and started walking, moving slowly against the flow of students, mostly sticking to the wall opposite the lockers and taking a few steps when there was a lull in the crowds. Eventually the herd of students thinned out and I could relax, my pace slowing to something more sedate as I made my way up the stairs.
Thud.
Something slammed into me at the top of the stairs, sending me flying, and it was only the lucky flailing of one arm that prevented me from tumbling back down the stairs, although one wrist smacked into the rails as I grab them, sending shivers of pain lancing up my arm.
“Watch it, Hebert.”
Just my luck. I glanced up at Sophia, seeing her scorn and matching it with a facade of impassivity. We stared at each other for a few seconds, and that was long enough for my temper to flare, reaching out and latching onto an aspect of Sophia.
It was her running ability, naturally, and though it was dull and unfocused now it was easy enough to find, and I got to work. For an all-too-brief moment I delighted in the thought of Sophia left panting in my wake, unable to catch me as I escaped, and I hungrily pulled on her running form.
Then reality intruded, and I realise that all I was doing was cheering myself on at the thought of running away. As if I could. Even if I copied her running form completely, Sophia would still be much fitter and faster than I am. All I would achieve would be to prolong the chase and leave Sophia more frustrated with me in the end.
I blinked and looked away, awkwardly clambering to my feet, wrist twinging as I pulled my bag back up over my shoulder. Then her foot lashed out as I pass her, and I’m back into full body contact with the ground, only a few seconds after rising.
My breath huffed out of me, leaving me slightly stunned.
“That’s where you belong. Now stay there.”
Sophia stared down at me to make sure I’ve gotten the message.
Perhaps it was my earlier response to Emma that made me so bold, but after managing that only to find myself still having to deal with the same shit when I thought I’d gotten away and I was suddenly furious with Sophia.
It was such an unexpected emotion that it caught me by surprise, and for a brief moment I was unguarded with my expression, my eyes narrowing and jaw clenching with the sheer loathing I felt right then.
Sophia was caught wrong-footed, confusion flickering across her face before it shut down and a hard expression appeared. As I went to rise once more her posture shifted, one foot sliding backwards slightly and shoulders lifting.
I wouldn’t have noticed but for the new thread in Sophia that brightened with use, sparking off a dozen smaller connections as her combat training slid into place.
My gaze never left Sophia’s as I stood, but I made sure to keep my face blank while I tentatively started to copy the combat training. Where did she get it from? I knew Sophia was a fairly violent person, but usually this was limited to kicks, trips and shoves. She’d never karate-chopped me or roundhouse kicked me in the face.
At least, not unless she’d done it hard enough to make me forget it ever happened.
Sophia never broke eye contact, which I was grateful for, and my stance slowly started to match hers. The amusement faded from her eyes and the thread flared brighter.
“You really want to start something, Hebert?” She whispered, and for a second I was tempted. Could I actually do it? Keep the conversation, confrontation, going long enough to copy enough to make a difference? I doubted it, but it could last me a week, maybe more if I did. I’d never copied enough of someone’s talent to test it before but now, almost drunk on suicidal defiance, it seemed like a marvellously compelling idea.
I was aware that even if I gained all of Sophia’s skill at fighting, she’d have the same and be much stronger and fitter too. But still...
“Come on, I’m hungry. Why the hell are you talking to Taylor, anyway?”
We both turned at the sound of Julia’s voice coming from the bottom of the stairs, her tone a mixture of impatience and confusion.
Sophia grunted and headed after Julia, shooting me one last suspicious look as she went.
Once she did the tension drained out of me like pus from a boil, leaving me feeling exhausted and irritable. Why did I think provoking her was a good idea?
It made me wonder though.
If I could endure enough of those encounters to copy enough to deal with them, could I eventually convince them to just leave me alone? The talents I borrowed are only temporary, but the more they tried to harass me, the more opportunity I’d have to borrow what I needed to deal with it. And if it then reached the point where these borrowed talents faded, it meant that I might have had a whole week without being harassed.
There was a certain beauty to the idea.
..........
I was almost meditative by the time history rolls around.
I ignored the other students and instead focused on the teacher, feeling the collective I identified as ‘history’ burgeoning as he started to speak.
I could see Emma and Madison whispering together in my peripheral vision, occasionally shooting me filthy looks or murmuring to another student, but I tried to tune them out.
It was interesting to note which connections grow brighter or dimmer as Mr Thomson changed topic or used different examples, comparing different points in history. I started drawing from that, reasoning that if I’ was going to focus on someone in class, it might as well be the teacher.
I still couldn’t shake the thought of just standing there and letting them harass me, or actively fighting back against them. Just the idea of it was making me anxious, and my fingers started twitching, fiddling with my pen and curling up the edges of the paper.
No. That’s not necessary. If they caught me then I could copy what I needed then, but there was no need to actively seek out confrontations with them or just stand there and wait to be caught. Decision made, I relaxed somewhat, turning back to the whiteboard in time to catch an annoyed look from Mr Thomson.
“Taylor, since you clearly find this lesson so engrossing, I’m sure you will be able to tell us all when the birth of Genghis Khan was.”
I froze as I felt the weight of everybody’s attention; Emma, Julia and Madison clearly enjoying my impending embarrassment.
Damn it, when the hell did the lesson cover this? Or was it one of yesterday’s topics?
I could almost feel the answer tickling the edge of my memories, and I started focusing on whatever it is I was getting from Mr Thomson while he stared at me, until the silence had gone on for too long and I could only shrug helplessly.
“I don’t know, Mr Thomson.” I said, looking him in the eye and managing to keep my voice level, just as something else clicked into place.
“Perhaps if you had been paying more attention, you would have realised-“
“But that’s because nobody does. His date of birth was never recorded, only estimated at some time around eleven sixty two, with years of leeway either side. A few years, anyway. His death was on August eighteenth, twelve twenty seven, aged...” I stopped and thought for a few seconds, “approximately sixty five years of age. Give or take.”
Mr Thomson blinked, about as surprised by my sudden display of knowledge as I and everyone else were.
“Absolutely correct, Taylor. However, we weren’t discussing the birth, age or death of Genghis Khan, we were discussing the Korean War and how it compared to other wars, using the Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century as a brief comparison.”
I flushed, and the other students tittered.
“Do actually pay attention in class, please. I’m impressed you actually know that, but it doesn’t matter what you know if it isn’t what you’re being asked about in an exam.”
I nodded and looked back to my books, trying to hold my pen steady. I dutifully took notes until the lesson ended, and as I made my way over to the buses to go home I was left wondering when exactly I learned that information.
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