Chapter One
Lily Who Am I?
“Guess who?” Two hands slam down on my cheeks with their clammy fingers blocking my view.
It isn’t that hard to guess. Even without any superhuman abilities I would have known it was Sofia. Before I make a sound of recognition she pulls her hands away from my face and plops down on the bench next to me. Her brown hair falls around her neck in dripping locks. Today was a good day. She seemed in an upbeat mood as she peels her wet coat from her arms. I was afraid that today of all days she’d be livid.
“Mom always tells me not to wear satin in the rain. I can’t help it; it’s so pretty.” Her brown eyes light up as she laughs and places the coat on the cafeteria table.
Sofia is my best friend, my only friend, therefore the only student at Dalton High that actually speaks to me. And today, being the first day of our senior year of high school, that fact seems to scream as all of the other students being to file into the cafeteria and congregate in their circles. There are two major groups that contain a large part of the student body and then there are a few of us that don’t really fit in anywhere. And trust me, it is not for the lack of trying.
“I see what you’re doing, Lily. You’ve moved past pathetic and now you borderline obsessed and delusional.”
I turn my gaze away from the crowd. “Huh?”
Sofia rolls her eyes. “You’re staring at the Omni clan again.”
“That’s not true,” I say in defense. It has been my knee-jerk reaction to just shrug off anything related to our social position for our entire friendship. Honestly, why wouldn’t I want to be an Omni, an omnipotent; to be ‘all-powerful’ instead of less than nothing?
“Blah blah blah. You’re not fooling anyone.”
When I don’t respond, Sofia lets the conversation die.
A boy who used to belong to the Brutes awkwardly sat on the small space available at the end of the bench next to Sofia. His extreme weight caused the bench to buckle beneath us. Jeff apologized and moved to the other side of the table. He played on our school’s football team sophomore year but once he became ten feet tall, three and a half feet wide and baby blue, the coaches decided to let him go.
Jeff and Sofia met that day and they’ve been that strange yet adorable couple ever since. His height alone makes it look as if he is kidnapping her but as I look around the room at the tables crowded by Brutes and Omnis I see that the physical differentiation is spread throughout. Mostly, the Brutes were a motley collection of physically corrupt, but powerful misfits. The Omnis found their depravity in their personalities; a smothering air of superiority, the unshakable sense that the world was not only theirs, but their birthright. Some of us try to ignore their taste for superiority and just live our lives as normally as possible. It’s all about survival.
The bell sounds and we gather our things and head towards our first class. Sofia and Jeff begin talking about their day and become giddy as they realize they’ve managed to obtain identical schedules. I remain quiet during this, realizing that mine is the complete opposite.
Sofia glances at the paper in my hand. “At least we have third rotation lunch together,” she says with a hopeful grin. I just shrug.
We separate as they enter Genetic Recombination, which is only a fancy name for genetic engineering. Genetic engineering is the leading cause for ‘my kind’ being so rare if not nonexistent. I’m the only regular human in my entire school. The cause of my social-outcast-disorder, no doubt. My class destination is a lot less entertaining; history.
Voices come from a few boys walking behind me. The first voice says, “No, man. I swear it was her.” This sparks my curiosity and I begin to slow my pace to eavesdrop on their conversation.
The second replies, “Couldn’t be; she’s too uptight. It must have been someone else.”
They move around me as my walk morphs to a crawl. However, as we reach our classroom, they stand between me and the door. The owner of the first voice shakes his head. “I know it was her. She was with Mya and the rest of them. The one with the green tattoos. I know it was her.”
Mark, the first voice, is standing with his shoulders slightly hunched. I hate the way he stands. The first boy I ever had a crush on and then the first I have ever hated with all of my being stands before me. Just seeing his face makes my skin begin to burn with fury. There is nothing I want more than to see his sandy blonde hair covered in mud as I crush his face into the ground with my boot.
Mark, catching my eye and registering my angry glare, moves out of the doorway to let me pass. I mentally slap myself across the face. I must have looked like a psycho just staring at him with a raging expression on my face. That’s all I need. Mark thinking that, not only am I a powerless mutant, but I’m also a freak of nature. Great.
As I take a seat in the back corner, I calm myself by thinking that I shouldn’t care what Mark thinks of me. He should be the one caring about my opinion of him. I hate the way his opinion actually does matter.
After another bell sounds the teacher walks into the room with a silver briefcase in hand. He doesn’t bother with attendance. Last year they bought new tables that had space enough for two students. On the right side of each space is a small scanner where the students are supposed to flash their serial numbers that are tattooed onto the inner right wrist. This information is then sent to the teacher’s computer at the front of the room and informs them if anyone is absent. However, since it is the first day of class and he hadn’t assigned seats, no one bothers to scan their wrists.
He begins the class by droning on about what he hopes to achieve in the class throughout the year. Being a history teacher, and that he has nothing to teach us predating the viral epidemic, it’s pretty basic and we’ve been learning about it since we showed our abilities in kindergarten. We each get a book that isn’t very thick and, with the smallest amount of hope, I turn to the first page and find the title of chapter one; Year 1—Post Epidemic.
“Your first assignment for the year will be a presentation on who you are in our society and how you can contribute to our survival. Obviously you can get a little creative with your answers but keep it backed by facts as best you can. Don’t forget to talk a little about where we came from and you can even add on your family line.
“For example, I am a telepath. Pretty normal stuff so there isn’t anything new to be contributed. As a teacher, I can use this ability to my advantage.” Wrinkles formed on the teacher’s face as he smiled. “I can better advise students and council them because I can understand how they are feeling, not just what they are feeling.”
Mr. Evermore leans up against his metal desk holding a stack of papers in his hands. “You are to be more creative with your projects. I want to see what it is you plan on doing with your life and how that will impact our society in the future. I also want you to take the past and incorporate it into the project by learning from past mistakes. How can you make our society better? Who are you?” Mr. Evermore, getting very emotional about his speech, eases his tone. “Have some fun with this. There really isn’t any right or wrong answers here. It is a very easy assignment and should be entertaining.”
Someone in the room yawns and Mr. Evermore is snapped out of whatever trance he was in. It looked as if he forgot that we aren’t enthused learners but just teenagers who could care less.
He clears his throat and continues in a very dreary tone, like he didn’t want to be here anymore than we do. “You will work with a partner creating your presentation. I will seat you according to your partner and it is there that you will scan your numbers. At this first table will be…” Blah blah…
It is too easy to block out Mr. Evermore. I feel like I will be tuning him out a lot this year.
“Mark Phair and Lily Frost.” My heart falls past my stomach and onto the floor.
He says our names loud and bold as if he made this choice intending on punishing me further for my…disability. He knows. Everyone knows. That is why some of the other students gasped at the sound of our names together. This isn’t going to work.
I will my feet to move and they slowly begin to. However, they do not stop at the table that Mark has already put his books on and is sitting down. They continue to move out the door and down the hall. I hear the laughter that explodes from the classroom, but I don’t stop. Then, I open my eyes and see that I hadn’t even stood from my seat yet. Mark was already at the table and it was me that everyone was waiting on. They were watching my reaction, but I would not give them the satisfaction of being dramatic. I just rise from my seat, walk over to the table, place my books down and scan my wrist while I take my seat. A small beep escapes the table as I do so as it registers my name.
As Mr. Evermore continues with the seat assignments, Mark quickly turns to me and whispers, “I’m just as ticked off about this as you are.”
I doubt that, I think. I don’t respond.
“I have no idea what he’s talking about for this project so I think you’re going to have to take the reins on this one.” I can see the smile form on his face from the corner of my eye.
Mr. Evermore places two papers on our table. It is a list of questions that should help get our project moving along. The first question catches me off guard. “Who are you?” It asks. Good question.
I turn to Mark but he’s already turned to another table and talking to the group. I slide the paper under his hand where it rests on the table. He quickly turns to his hand at the touch. He doesn’t even look over the paper before he’s back to talking.
I sigh angrily. “Mark, this is your project, too.” When he doesn’t acknowledge me, I say, “If you think I’m doing this for you, you’re wrong.”
He smiles at the group behind us. “Give me a second.” He turns to me. “What do you want?”
My mouth opens to say something but I can’t think of anything to say.
“Why don’t you just start without me? I’ll catch up tomorrow.”
When Mark turns his back to me, I snap. “No! Do it yourself!”
He whips around to face me, anger plastered all over his face. His bright blue eyes are inches from my green ones. “Listen, mutt!”
This name infuriates me. They call me the mutt, the mutant, because I’m the only person in the entire school without any strange ability or physical deformity to make me anything special. That first day of kindergarten when each student has to show off what they can do is judgment day. If you have nothing to show, all of the other students cast you out and deem you unworthy to be in their presence. That day I was supposed to go in front of the class after Mark. But no one came after Mark. They never questioned my abilities after that day because they just assumed I didn’t have any. It is better this way.
I scoff, “Me? The mutant? I’m the only normal one in this place. And you’re the worst of them; a freak that never even uses his powers. Or is it your goal to only use them on unsuspecting little girls?”
It’s impossible to not to see his angry expression melt away to anguish as his eyes trail to my long sleeved sweater down the left side of my body. His face contorts as if he’s been struggling with these scars just as much as I have. His eyes lock where just a little web of scars crawl on my neck.
Luckily, the bell rings and I quickly grab my things and escape Mark’s expression. Even though I’m the one cursed with the physical scar, it seems he’s been scarred as well.
