Aberrant: 200X - Waking Up

["X"]

Day Three

Even sick people have to eat. This is why mothers give children chicken soup and ginger ale and crackers, in the hopes that it will be kept down and nourish the healing body. She remembers when her mother would carve bananas into little tiny circles and place them next to her bed with a can of 7-Up. She never liked being ill, who does, but she always enjoyed the taste of 7-Up when she was sick. Something about being ill made the soda taste, well, better. The bubbles on the tongue, the sugar in the back of the throat. Maybe it was the unquenchable thirst, akin to an unstoppable itch, and the soda was just scratch you needed to get back to sleep. And the flavor of banana, soft and smooth, and just easy enough on a sore throat. It's odd, she thinks, to remember so fondly the comforts one is given when feeling so poorly.

The fever dreams were the worst. She never knew it was the headaches that caused them, or the blood running through her brain at higher than normal temperatures. Thoughts that ran into other thoughts, like having loud GWAR music thundering in your ears through old-style 70's headphones attached to your ears, and old Looney Toons cartoons stuck on a loop seen through a visor that you can't take off and can't close your eyes to get away from. You put the pillow over you head, crawl further under the covers, twist, turn, toss, clench, and pray that actual sleep will come just to make the craziness end. But until the fever broke, you were stuck with nothing but that. Brief stints of consciousness might break up the insanity, but it wasn't long before you lost the will to stay awake and the terrible fade back to the sight of Sylvester the Cat chasing Tweety Bird with a mallet to the sound of "Slaughter-rama" returned.

Her brother listens to GWAR. She has no idea who introduced him to their music, but it always sounded like the soundtrack to a fever dream. She has to remind herself that she isn't at home, that her brother isn't playing GWAR right now. No, she is at school, in the bed of her dormitory. At the boarding school her parents insisted she attend, which just happened to be on the other side of the country. She tries not to read too much into that. It is the same school her mother attended, after all, and parents have this incredibly odd thing for tradition.

At least Baylor doesn't make her dress up like a complete reject from Angel of Darkness.

"Are you hiding in here all day?" A voice tries to chime in above the roar of GWAR.

She loves October dearly. The girl has been the greatest roommate she could have asked for, up to and including managing to smuggle in bottles of absinthe several times. This last time happened to be this past friday, which, she is absolutely certain, is the reason three days later on monday that she is still feeling like absolute crap.

"Yes," is the only answer that seems appropriate.

October chuckles. "Three days ill now?"

Her roommate plops on the bed next to her. October's weight shifts the balance of the mattress, and both Sylvester and Tweety find themselves rolling downhill. She turns against the new pressure to try and stop them from rolling, but to no avail. She wishes October hadn't done that. Everyone knows that Sylvester and Tweety don't roll downhill.

"I think we can safely rule out hangover at this point," October cooes. "Still, I'd say you're lucky you're not dead. You never drink a whole bottle by yourself."

"Just don't have enough tolerance yet," she mumbles from under the blankets. She loves October, but the girl's presence is exacerbating her headache.

"Oh," comes the response. "So by the end of the semester, you'll be ready to move on to Everclear." October's fingers gently stroke her her head through the covers. Strangely, this helps quite a bit and she pulls the blanket down so that it is no longer between them.

"Anyway, Sleeping Pukey," October continues, "at fifty pounds a bottle plus shipping, that had better not happen again unless you're planning to buy your own from now on. That was supposed to last longer than a weekend."

"I didn't puke," she protests.

"Sure you didn't."

"I didn't," she insists. "I know when there's a conversation with Ralph on the big white phone and there was no such talk."

"So.....I take it you're skipping class today."

She nods. Her head is threatening to split itself in pieces every time Sylvester misses with that motherfucking mallet. If only he'd get Tweety once, this stupid dream would be over. Factoring in trigonometry on top of that is out of the question.

"Vines is going to throw a fit if you miss another practice. You'd better contact the Health Center to at least get it on record."

"I will," she replies, "if I'm this way tomorrow." She pulls the blankets back over her head. It's too bright.

Sylvester just smashed a china cabinet trying to get Tweety. The sounds of glass and porcelain being placed upon wood reach her through the fabic, she realizes.

"Water and apple slices," October says, this time with genuine worry. "Make certain you don't really get yourself sick."

"You're gonna be late."

"Seriously," October insists. "H20. Vitamins."

The door opens and shuts.

October is right, and she knows it. One hand instinctively reaches out, snags an apple slice, and pulls it back under the covers.

It doesn't occur to her that she had no idea where on the end table October had placed the plate before she reached for it.

["X"]

Day Four:

The headache has begun to recede. It hasn't completely vanished, but it has faded enough into the background that she can function again. She is convinced that she contracted some manner of viral infection; all the painkillers and cold medicine she took didn't make a dent in the pounding symphony of Sylvester's mallet. No hangover could hit her that hard.

First period Spanish is blissfully easy in comparison to recent weeks. Reading the language, she finds, is unexpectedly simple. The clarity with which the meaning leaps from the page is welcome, especially after spending three days unable to do anything but hide her darkened dorm room. Perhaps she merely needed to step away from school work for a while and reboot her brain.

The same holds true for Pre-Calc in third period, though with slightly less intensity. Part of her is undeniably proud of grasping the concepts so easily on the first go around. Usually, she has to mull it over a few times while doing homework. Tonight, she happily reflected, would require no time wasted on mathematics.

The rest of the day goes much the same, at least until fencing practice, where everything changes. The epee feels different in her hand. Many fencers have described the sensation of the weapon becoming part of the body, but this goes beyond that. From the moment her fingers grasp the grip, she is completely, as some athletes phrase, "in the zone." Not just the arm that holds it aloft, but her entire body, comes alive. Clarity of mind immediately settles in and she feels utter undefeatable.

"Not a single one of you may defeat me," she announces before practice gets underway, feeling every bit the Master of Tai Kwan Leep she suddenly remembers from a Dr. Demento CD an old friend back home used to play. She intends it as a joke, but enough sincerity leaks through that it is only half-way taken as such.

Normally, she isn't the best fencer on the team. One of the better ones, true, but certainly not the best. Her boast garners chuckles from the other girls on the team that normally have edge on her. Kellie McCreary, the blonde team captain who has yet to lose in competition this year, accepts her challenge.

She does more than defeat her; she does so without being touched once by McCreary's weapon, and completely disarms her twice. This display does not discourage her remaining teammates, and one by one, she triumphs over the entire team in more or less the same fashion. Her endurance does not fail her; she overhears mumbling from some that she should be getting tired, but that's far from the case. She has the energy to make it through the entire practice without once becoming fatigued.

["X"]

Day Eleven:

Cutting class didn't seem as consequential as it once did. She knew all of the material and she was completely caught up in all of her homework, and being honest, nothing she would miss today would affect grades. She'd moved beyond the material, and needed a day to just think about everything that had happened.

The hill at the park that led down to the floral gardens was green as only frequently-watered lawns can be, and the sky above was blue the color of tropical beach water broken by billowy clouds without a hint of darkness within them. A perfect location on a perfect morning. She reclined upon the hill, gently inserted her earbuds, and began listening to the Learn Japanese Yourself chip she'd checked out from the school library two days ago.

"I would like the next train, please," the soothing narrator said in his even baritone.

"Tsugi no densha o hoshii desu, onegai shimasu," she whispered to herself before the soprano narrator could translate. The proper words just fell into place like puzzle pieces interlocking one right after the other. Understanding language had become second nature to her. Part of her brain just switched to autopilot and decoded it, even as she let her conscious mind wander.

She knew that she had erupted by the end of the previous week, which was about four days after she recovered from the absinthe incident. Too many things had fallen into place for her; if her innate understanding and comprehension of her school work coupled with her nearly flawless fencing were not enough, she had other indications. Over the course of that week, her strength had doubled, and then tripled, and then flew far beyond her expectations. Her sleep schedule became erratic and then disappeared entirely, and she spent her nights listening to Learn It Yourself language chips to keep her new senses dulled and her mind calmed. She had expected the unquenchable nova hunger to manifest within that week, but thankfully, she seemed to dodge that particular limitation entirely.

October had expressed some concern over her increasingly late nights, even going so far as to suggest in jest that she had erupted, but thus far she had kept the truth from her friend. The excitement she'd always imagined she'd feel at becoming a nova in those silly daydreams hadn't manifested. Instead, she felt a crushing sense of terror. If not terror, then at least trepidation. As a senator's daughter, her life had always had some public scrutiny back in Alaska and she'd been quite happy to go to school on the far side of the continent to get away from it. Once word got out that she was a nova, the life she knew was over and any chance of keeping her private life private would vanish.

And, she knew, that life was already over. It was only a matter of time before this got out. As much as she loved October, her friend couldn't keep a secret this big for very long. She wanted control of how the public learned of her emergence into the quantum-born, and she wanted to wait until she had a better understanding of how she had been changed before that announcement was made.

She had met novas prior to her eruption; as a senator's daughter she'd come into contact with a few novas of Project Utopia and several members of Team Tomorrow Americas. It would have been a simple matter to make a phone call and have a counselor from PU show up at school. But she didn't want to admit to any of them that her eruption came as a result of consuming large quantities of questionably-obtained imported-from-France authentic absinthe. The fact that she was not of legal age for alcohol consumption made the truth of it even more uneasy.

"I don't understand," the baritone narrator whispered coincidentally into her ears, taking her subconscious mind momentarily off autopilot.

"Atashi wa wakarimasen," she spoke aloud, again before the soprano narrator could respond.

They wouldn't understand. Or maybe they would, but there was that whole silly bit in the Team Tomorrow code about not abusing one's body with alcohol. As if it would affect a nova anyway. Besides, she didn't want a lecture. On top of that, she doubted they would approve her following in the footsteps of Raoul Orzaiz. Not that she believed in that Teragen business, but she admired the way he handled the announcement of his novahood and wanted to emulate it. No Rashoud Facility. No affiliations with Project Utopia or the XWF or DeVries or any of those other organizations. He was first and foremost his own being without expectation. Well, at least until he endorsed the Null Manifesto.

She wanted to be free as he had once been, and respected as he still was.

A few hurdles stood in her way, obviously. She didn't have Orzaiz's fortune, his title, and not quite yet an adult. An Alaskan senator's daughter approaching things the way Orzaiz did would be seen as a snobbish debutante. She wanted to avoid that at all costs.

How to announce herself to the world as a nova without embarrassment to her family, retain her pride and independence, and without kowtowing to any established organization? Unlike language, this was a puzzle that wouldn't just fall into place for her.

["X"]

Day Twelve:

The moonlight floods the room she shared with October. The moon, currently full and the window facing directly into its light, illuminates everything in a hazy pale blue. Enough light to see by.

She quietly moves from her bed and to the mirror. Removing her pajamas, her reflection shocks her and she pauses a moment to take it in. Her muscles now have significant definition and tone. An adept fencer would have good definition, but not like this.

Nothing like this.

She slowly flexes her arms as a dancer might, watching the muscles within them become taut and wiry. Her eyes follows the progression of the flesh through forearm, bicep, shoulder, neck, shoulder, bicep and forearm. She could have been carved from marble; the definition was that perfect.

Her hair is obstructing some of the view as it drapes over her shoulders, and she grabs a hair band to tie it up and away in a high ponytail. She looks at the whole of her body, seeing the same definition in her stomach, hips and legs.

She is without flaw.

Perfect.

Reaching over to her desk, she grabs her Apple iOp and scrolls through her photo albums. The girl in those images is not the girl looking back at her in the mirror. She has become symmetrical in the way only drawings can be, the way beauty could only be hypothetically conceived of prior to March of 1998; each half of her body possessing an exact twin without exception or imperfection. Eyes nestled upon her face in a straight line, spaced identically apart. Nostrils delicately balanced and unimposing.

She had been tossed into the quantum fire and been shaped into something else. Something more than she had been.

Had she appeared thusly since the absinthe-incident? Did this happen in the past few hours? Why had no one mentioned it?

"Athena," October's voice said softly behind her.

She turns to see her barely-awake roommate, still in bed with her head resting on her elbow.

"Goddess of war and the moon," October continues, yawning. "But I don't think she had red hair."

"Heh," she responds. "You're only saying that because the light is off."

"Whatever. I'm not the one flirting with my own reflection."

With that, October turns away from her and pulls the sheets back over her shoulders.

She looks back to the photo on the iOp, wondering if her roommate would remember any of that, or if her opinion would change in the morning. Either way, the damage had been done. Perhaps she didn't look different yesterday, but she does now and that meant things had to be accelerated.

Setting down the iOp, she looks at herself one last time. Her muscles feel tight. No, not tight. Tense. Full of energy, the way she often feels before a big fencing match. Particularly in her legs.

She pulls some yoga clothes from her drawers and slips them on, quietly slipping out of the room and then down the hall. Curfew is in effect but she doesn't care. Like her schoolwork, like cutting class, curfew seems inconsequential. Soon, she is outside and walking down the campus.

The cool, night air calms her. She stretches out her legs and torso, warming up her muscles as she walks towards the western edge of the campus, where the trees border the Tennessee River. The tension in her leg muscles becomes worse as she moves, threatening to cramp up as though connected to a tens unit.

She begins running but the tension continues to build. She knows what needs to happen, what her body is demanding of her. It's instinctual at this point, just like any of the other fascinating things she's been able to do. The tension isn't present because it needs to be worked out. It's present because she wants to do this, in fact has been desperate to try it, but squelched the urge for fear of being seen.

She looks to the right, and behind her. Seeing no one, she braces herself and takes three long strides. It's time to let go, to surrender to it, to embrace what she is becoming, and she knows it. Excitement fills her, that exquisite moment one feels right before a roller coaster accelerates down the biggest hill.

On the fourth stride, like a long jumper, she closes her eyes and launches herself into the air.

The trees come at her horrifyingly fast and she tucks her legs up underneath her. She clears the green tops with inches to spare. Below her, the Tennessee River is a long, shimmering mirror of stars and moonlight.

Everything is so quiet. Only the air rushing by her ears.

The river gives way to lush, dark green of Williams Island. She reaches the apex of her climb as she reaches the center of the island. The trees below her, well out of collision distance, slowly become more larger and more detailed. Soon, she is on the other side, back over the inky serenity of the Tennessee River once more.

For a moment, she fears she will not make the far shore and will instead hit the water. That fear is briefly replaced by the knowledge that she's never had to land from this manner of jump before.

Everything is so quiet. Only the air rushing by her ears.

And everything falls into place.

Like language.

Like fencing.

Her muscles know exactly what to do and thus she knows exactly what to do.

The tension is gone, replaced with only poise and reflex. The impact comes exactly as she anticipates. She keeps her center of balance, riding her momentum forward as her feet connect with the ground.

Slowing, and then stopping.

She smiles wide with joy, screaming triumph to the stars as she falls to her knees.

["X"]

Day Fourteen:

It is Friday. Friday is absinthe night. Absinthe night is when she accompanies October, Kayron, and Lora to the roof of their dormitory, where they carry on the tradition of enjoying of being underage and enjoying a taboo liquor. This is a tradition they began four months ago, when October announced that she could get a hold of the Green Fairy after they'd all watched Moulin Rouge together. Moulin Rouge remains Kayron's favorite movie, and she does her best in her adolescent boarding school way to live the Bohemian philosophy. Without Kayron, absinthe night would have never happened.

Lora had figured out the combination to the roof door last year. Lora never mentioned how long it took her, but since there were only five buttons, it was only a matter of time. Once on the roof, they all spend time prepping the absinthe together as they had for the past eleven Fridays.

They speak the four words given to them by the Bohemians, the words that seemingly meant everything the first time they heard them said as a group.

October says, "Freedom."

Lora says, "Beauty."

She says, "Truth."

Kayron says, "Love."

And then the four of them drink.

Two weeks ago, she consumed an entire bottle by herself. Why she did is still not clear, and she believes that she did it for no other reason than to say she did it. Yet another in a line of stupid choices a person makes while under the influence of alcohol, and she knows this. It sounded good at the time and so she tried to do it. The others were too occupied in their own intoxication to notice or to stop her. The following Monday, October left her apple slices on the nightstand and ruefully said she'd succeeded in consuming the whole bottle by herself.

It could have killed her. It might very well have done exactly that had she not erupted. What happened while she was under the influence was still a blur to her. What had she seen? What thoughts went through her head as it happened? Did her three friends observe any of it? This was her eruption, the moment where she was reshaped by fate and turned into something new, and it is the only period of her life where her memory was lost to intoxication. Was that price of her admission into the quantum born, the penance she had to pay for her baseline weakness?

Or is it this? The absinthe is doing nothing for her. She knows that nova biology eliminates most toxins quickly and efficiently, and that short of an Ampwell in Ibizia, few things can actually intoxicate a nova. Without the narcotic effects, the absinthe has become little more than flavored water, and it is a flavor she does not enjoy. She imagines this is what is like to drink alcohol-free beer; without the kick the beverage simply loses something vital.

Without the kick, the social part of the ritual is lost as well. She goes through the motions for the sake of her friends: the burned sugar, the spoken words, the raised glasses, and quick consumption. But the absinthe is beginning to affect them and she is firmly sober; she is sober watching her intoxicated friends enter into an altered state of consciousness that she can no longer follow them to.

The best argument for never drinking again: be in a bar when you're sober. She remembers the lyric as she first heard it, not as it actually is. It is pee in a bar, but the vocals on the recording made it sound like be in a bar. Right now, she believes that simply being sober in the bar is bad enough.

She had been severed from this circle by her eruption, though not for lack of freedom, beauty, truth or love. Where October, Kayron, and Lora were, she can no longer remain. Where she needs to go, they cannot not follow.

She looks at them as them as they are, as she once was, and cries openly.

All three of them crawl over to comfort her, and they wrap their arms around her. She has to be gentle with them; her strength has grown to the point where their bodies are fragile if she is not careful.

Still sobbing, she is unable to explain any of her feelings to them. She gives them the only words she can muster, and those words are the truth. She tells them they are beautiful, and they are. She tells them they are free, and they are. She tells them they are loved.

And they are.

["X"]

Day Fifteen:

Saturday morning after absinthe Friday.

She was emotionally drained after breaking down in front of the group and had finally been able to sleep for the first time since the headaches cleared up. Sleep did not arrive as a matter of exhaustion, but instead as a desire to simply shut off her mind entirely to avoid reflecting on her current situation.

Her dreams were confusing as dreams are want to be; she dreamed that instead of a becoming a fencer as her mother had been that she went into gymnastics. In the dream, she was a great gymnast who competed as part of the Olympic team in the 2008 Beijing Olympics, and she erupted in the middle of her floor exercise. The eruption caused a bit of a controversy as more than one country accused the United States of secretly placing an already-erupted nova amongst their team, and then using eruption as an excuse to explain her better-than-arranged floor exercise.

She had sought out sleep as a means of easing her trouble mind, and the dream did nothing to provide it. The dim light of rising sun woke her early, and she sat up from her bed to see October still resting peacefully, and probably still within the grip of absinthe. Her slumber had lasted a scant four hours.

She had been very careful not to drink much herself; she did not want Kayron, Lora, or October trying to repeat her entire-bottle feat while trying to keep up with her nova-metabolism. In a way, she felt guilty about denying them a potential eruption; after all, it worked for her so if any of the three had the potential to become a nova is should work for them as well. But she knew the percentages. The No Quantum Accident Initiative had been very public with the information they had obtained on the genetic intron-sequencing, and she'd invested some time the previous week doing a bit of research on the hows and whys of eruption. A full-bottle of absinthe might have caused her to erupt, but it was unlikely her three friends would be as fortunate.

Sliding out of bed, she makes her way to the bathroom and showers. She no longer bothers allowing the water to warm up first; her body quickly adapts to whatever the temperature is. She is aware the water is cold, but her skin does not contract or goose-pimple. It merely feels comfortable.

A strange thing, to be aware of the temperature and yet be unconcerned with it. In the initial days after her eruption, she had warmed the shower first out of habit and thought nothing of it. That had continued until the last Sunday, when October warned her that she had used all of the hot water. Pressed for time, she decided to risk it and was alarmed when the water felt fine despite the lack of steam. That Monday after fencing practice, she spent several minutes moving the valves from scalding hot to freezing cold, experimenting with how her body reacted to the change and marveling that no matter where she set the temperature her body remained comfortable beneath the water.

After toweling off, she decides to leave her hair wet rather than wake October with the hairdryer. She french-braids her long hair quickly, another benefit of her quantum-enhanced dexterity. She takes a few minutes to apply her make-up and put on her jewelry after dressing.

The walk down to the floral gardens relaxes her. She has choices to make, and those choices will be difficult. She does not need to eat, so that issue is not an issue. She is confident the elements would not kill her, so shelter isn't a necessity. On the other hand, that doesn't mean she would be comfortable and she would eventually become quite filthy. She rather likes showers and clean clothes. More to the point, if she left Baylor, where would she go? Would there be any point to it? She had this crazy idea of being a desert hermit for a few weeks to learn more about being a nova without any distractions. Getting to New Mexico would take some time, though, not to mention she hadn't even spoken to her family since her eruption.

If she chose to remain to school, though, she would need to go public fairly soon. Of course, that meant giving up competitive fencing, though she knew that the spirit of fair play demanded she do so anyway. Going public meant dealing with the reactions of the both the student body and that faculty, neither of which she wanted to experience. Going public also meant Project Utopia would get involved, and her parents would probably want her to go to a Rashoud Facility and join up with the Project later. Her mother in particular would want her to follow in Jennifer Landers' footsteps; Slider could do no wrong in her mother's eyes. She couldn't fault her parents for wanting their daughter to go down that path, but it wasn't what she wanted.

That way did guarantee her running water and pillows, though. Staying in school would also gave her time to figure out what she wanted to do with her life, since her plans to hone her epee skill and eventually try out for the Olympic fencing team were shot.

Perhaps if she had a better idea of what she could do, she would know what she wanted to do with her life as a nova. The desert only guaranteed sand and rocks. But she would be free of distraction and obligation.

She pulls her iOp from her pocket and selects the browser application. A search for sites that offer advice to new eruptees gives her a few hits, however, the reliable ones require proof of eruption before allowing their pages to be viewed.

Grumbling, she leans back on the hill by the floral garden and looks at the morning sky. Monday would come too quickly, and she hopes to have a plan by then.

["X"]

Day Sixteen:

The good Count does not use a nova handle. For this reason, she believes she should also not use one. But her name doesn't have the flair of Raoul Cristobal Orzaiz, and neither does she have a royal title for that little push to eleven. She also fears for her family; even though she has still not told them of her eruption, she worries that once it becomes public they will become a target for all sorts of unsavory types looking to blackmail her.

Better then, she decides, to create a new identity entirely. The handle is only part of it, but it is the core which everything will be anchored to.

Five hours ago, resting upon her bed with her iOp in hand, she browsed the Appellate-Lexington database of registered handles. Although she never planned to use October's unintentional suggestion, she had searched for novas named Athena. Sure enough, Athena was registered in the first few days of availability, by a Cypriot woman who could take a shotgun blast at point-blank range and not even suffer a scratch.

She continued scrolling through the list. Most of the classic Greek and Roman themes are taken or have variations that are also taken. The other pantheons had their rosters borrowed as well; though strangely enough, apparently while the Greek Hephaestus was okay, the Norse Thor was not. A site note had vehemently advised that the name had become too synonymous with a character from Marvel Comics, and the company was ready and willing to defend their intellectual property and it simply wasn't worth the legal hassle to engage them in court.

She had kept browsing, hoping inspiration would strike. In all honesty, she no clue what to name herself. Already she had decided against anything that started with Lady or Miss. Nothing that sounded overtly aggressive or overtly feminine. Most importantly, nothing that gave away who she was or what she was capable off.

Mystery? Taken. Enigma? Not allowed. Conundrum...er...no, but she had looked it up anyway. Also taken. Well, The Conundrum was taken. Close enough. Riddle? Oh, no, that was too trite. She had wanted something unquantifiable, no pun intended. Something uncertain, ambiguous, random perhaps. Something that people would attempt to decode and find no concrete meaning...

Wait...

Decode....

All our feelings and thoughts expressed in ones and in aughts, in endless spiraling chains you can't decode or explain cause you are so analog, dog god eye I eye god dog...

She had smiled wide, remembering the lyric.

In the regime of the solid state wheels spin as you iterate. K is X squared minus one, but point five four three to one, when X is taken times two, that's when we're coming for you.

That was it. A whole generation was given that name. The variable number. The random number. The number whose meaning changes depending on the value assigned to it. She knew it is perfect.

X.

Of course, Appellate Lexington had a big red flag on the name X, as it was taken by one Marvel Comics character, one Dark Horse character, an anime, and several video games.

Still, this idea had promise. She could be the random element. The unknown quantity. The girl who erupted on her own, who forged her own path. The fact that it couldn't be officially registered made it that much better. She certainly wasn't about to make up some silly name that gave away what her abilities were.

If she even know what they were, that is.

A few minutes of solitude had changed everything, and now she has no idea what she is truly capable of. Four hours earlier, she had decided to take an afternoon swim at the Aquatics Center. As she completed her fourth lap, it occurred to her that she had only taken breaths at the ends of the pool just before going into the flip-turn.

Suddenly curious about her lung capacity post-eruption, she took the next lap slow and easy. At the end of the pool, she did not take a breath before she changed directions. The first lap without a breath become the second, and then the third, and then the fourth. At the sixteenth lap, the half-mile marker, she finally gave up. The normal pressure in her lungs simply wasn't present; the need to move her face to the surface never arose.

Unaffected by hot or cold temperature, and apparently without need of breathing. She knows nothing of what she is capable of.

Perhaps that is a half-truth. She has some idea, but not the scope or the limits. She needs to know. The call of a Rashoud Facility is becoming strong. She's taking risks pushing herself like this, and her courage is starting to become dangerously reckless. A safe venue for learning all of this would be comforting.

That was four hours ago. Five hours ago she had looked up possible had handles. Well, to be more precise, five hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-three seconds ago. Today, she is acutely aware of the passage of time.

For example, she has now been submerged in the Aquatics Center hot tub now, with the temperature at its highest possible setting, for two hours, fifty-nine minutes, and eight seconds. Having a mental clock continuously ticking has been one incredible annoyance, and she cannot wait for the time to come when it hides itself in her background thoughts.

And now, three hours has come. Three hours underwater at one-hundred and four degrees Fahrenheit, the hottest setting. As she rises from the tub, she feels nothing out of the ordinary. No dizziness, no exhaustion, just the cool air upon her and even that doesn't feel the least bit cold.

She dresses and then dries her hair with a towel. As she leaves the girls' locker room, she is surprised to find several people waiting for her. Some of them are wearing Project Utopia polo shirts.

"That's her..." The voice originates from a girl behind them, wearing a Baylor School hoodie. She doesn't know the girl, but has seen her on campus many times.

"Christ, she's young," a well-groomed young man wearing khakis, a white shirt, and an iOp clipped to his belt says under his breath.

"Yeah, that's her," the first polo-shirt says. His eyes are narrow, but not dangerous or threatening. "I can feel the quantum radiating off her. Well-developed at this point, too."

This is the first time she's been in the presence of another nova. She had been in the presence of novas many time before her eruption, but this is different. It feels different in every way that matters.

She starts backing up, and backs promptly into the locker room door with a dull thud.

"Miss," another of polo-shirts, a raven-haired woman, starts. Her voice is warm and disarming. "Please, it's okay. It's okay. We're from Project Utopia. We're only here to help."

The polo-shirts keep their distance. None of them are holding anything weapon-like, she notices.

She has met employees of Project Utopia, including novas, before. She has never had a reason to fear Project Utopia, and her fear is irrational. She understands this.

Nonetheless, she is scared. How did they find her? How did they know? She's been so careful...

"Listen to me," the raven-haired polo-shirt resumes, "one of your fellow students saw you while you were underwater. Perhaps you saw her?"

She shakes her head. She rested her eyes during her second hour underwater for fourteen minutes and three seconds. She had chosen the lesser used hot-tub hoping to avoid casual observers, and hope the churning water would camouflage her from anyone who would did not look directly down into the tub.

"It was me..." The student with the Utopians raises her hand cautiously. "I'm Kellie McCreay's sister...I've seen you with the fencing team. My sister mentioned that you suddenly were better than you ever had been...like impossibly good...and then when I saw you in the tub and never coming up for air...thought you might have been drowning at first, or drowned. But you didn't look dead or unconscious...so I figured, maybe you were a nova or something..."

She rolls her eyes at the girls words, chuckling to herself. All this time, she had been worried about Kayron, Lora, and October, and this relative stranger nailed it.

"And," the raven-haired woman picks right back up, "we knew an eruption had occurred in this area. We just hadn't been able to identify whom yet. Thomas here," she nods to the polo-shirt nova, "overheard the security chatter about a nova in the locker room."

The woman's eyes get a sudden, sympathetic light. "You're very strong. I can't imagine what the past two weeks have been like for you. Trying to figure this out all on your own. If we'd been able to find you sooner, we could have helped out-

"I didn't want you to find me," she interrupts.

She knows now that they have been looking for her for two weeks. She has no idea how she managed to avoid being discovered for so long, especially after the jump across the Tennessee River.

"Has anyone notified her parents?" the man in the white shirt asks, the one who was so concerned about her age. "Do we even know who her parents are?"

She hears this and her eyes widen with panic. Were she thinking rationally, she might consider that this would be a normal concern for a Utopian Intervention Team when the new nova is not yet eighteen.

"Hon?" the raven-haired woman sees her concern and tries to bring the focus back to her by using her first name. "Would you like to go sit-down? Can we sit down and talk?"

Behind the woman, campus security is speaking the man in the white shirt. She overhears their conversation.

"Of course," the man from campus security says, pulling out his portable OpNet device. The OpNet devices they carry have a facial recognition app for the student database. "Give me a moment and I can look up who she is and how to contact her family."

She does not hear the rest. The decision she planned to make tomorrow has been taken out of her hands. She's going to accompany them to a Rashoud Facilty, probably the one in Chicago. Her parents will want her to, in fact they will probably insist upon it.

"Hon?" the raven-haired woman asks quietly, "what is your name?"

The man from campus security raises his wireless device in her direction.

She laughs softly, looking down, averting her eyes from the device. "X..."

The desert might have been nice. She remembers the Superstition Mountains of Arizona from a family trip when she was eleven. The scent of the air after the rain, the color of the sand. The way the sky was blanketed with stars at night, so far from the bleaching effect of a city. The purple color of the sky at sunset.

"What did you say, hon?" The raven-haired woman's voice sounds silent, distant.

She looks up to say X once more, only to see orange, rocky mountains and a purple sunset. Looking around quickly, she realizes she is not hallucinating.

The Aquatics Center of Baylor School, Tennessee is gone, leaving only the Superstition Mountains of Arizona.

["X"]

Day Thirty:

She cradles the scorpion in her palm, using her other hand to keep it in place. Its little legs scurry and scramble to no avail. Threatened, it repeatedly plunges its stinger into her flesh.

She is utterly fascinated by this, watching the stinger continuously press into her skin without breaking the surface. She feels nothing except the slight pressure of the contact; the little arachnid is unable to penetrate the flesh and deliver the toxin. Her ability to withstand injury has yet to put to the test and she is in no rush to test it, but this is at very least an interesting example of how things have changed.

Two weeks have passed and she has been without food, water, and shelter the entire time. She is in dire need of a bath and a change of clothes. But she has learned so much.

On her second day in the Arizona desert, she had decided to push her abilities and found herself exhausted seventeen minutes before sunset. With this exhaustion came hunger and the heat of the desert had begun creeping its way into her awareness. Neither passed until the exhaustion itself had; apparently her fortitude had limits after all. Which, of course, made sense as novas draw their power from quantum and she had doubtlessly expended most if not all of hers on that day?

Nonetheless, it had been time and energy well spent.

She already knew that she had spatial perceptions to complement her temporal ones; the annoying internal clock and the sudden jaunt to Arizona proved both of those true. On the first day in the desert, she spent the day learning how to use those perceptions; to begin seeing the world in terms of time and space.

A simple stone taught her so much: how to feel out the age of an object, and at the same, how to alter her awareness so that she could be aware of that object in the past. The future turned out to be trickier, harder to focus upon, as though it was made of liquid and all she had to cup it with were her fingers.

Pushing time was like silk. Altering the way an object moved through time, regardless of whether it was faster or slower, felt smooth and serene. And stopping time around an object? Stopping time was like wrapping the object in the most delicate Asian finery imaginable.

Feeling out space had been far easier. The relationships of distance, volume, and area came very quickly. Once she understood that, bending it became second nature. When space can be bent, anything can be a boomerang. She amused herself for thirty-four minutes on the sixth day throwing the stone side-armed and having it return to her opposite hand.

Moving herself through space, on the other hand, took an immense amount of practice that she had mastered only yesterday. However she managed to do it so easily back at the Aquatics Center, repeating that feat proved far more difficult. In the end, she settled for focusing her spatial perceptions in two locations and then pulling the two together; this opened a circular rift that she had to step through. Trying to mimic what she did at the Aquatics Center, which was by comparison nearly instantaneous, took significantly more energy out of her.

The true breakthrough happened on the eleventh day. Determined to tighten her spatial awareness so that she could perceive atoms with her own eyes, she resorted to stopping time on a stone to keep the particles from moving after it proved fruitless to attempt focusing on them otherwise. It required an enormous expenditure of her quantum, moving her perception into narrower and narrower fields as the miniscule become absurdly huge. Finally reaching the molecular level, seeing the atoms held in place by the absence of time, she had become aware of the space between them, of the time of their potential rotations and movements, and the relationship they shared. Focused then on the atoms, she released time upon the stone, and felt the attraction of the particles for the first time.

After feeling the attraction, influencing it followed soon after.

The scorpion's struggles bring her mind back to the present. She carefully sets it down and watches it scurry for cover. Her palm is unblemished.

Having finally mastered her ability to move through space yesterday, or rather, to open rifts in space, she knows it is time to return to the real world and put to rest the inevitable misconceptions regarding her disappearance from Baylor. While she could have feasibly walked out of the desert after a few days given her endurance, it seemed wiser to remain isolated until she was confident that she could prevent another mishap like the one with Utopia.

The Project doubtlessly had revealed everything to her family at this point and tried to locate her, which probably meant the authorities and media would also be looking for her. Her iOp was back at her room at Baylor, right where she left it after looking at Appellate Lexington's database, so calling ahead wasn't possible, nor had it been possible to let anyone know where she was up until now.

October, Kayron, and Lora will probably be both worried about her absence and furious that she withheld the truth of her novahood.

Strangely, she is unfazed by any of this.

She doesn't need food, or water, or air, or sleep, or warmth.

She is fluent in several languages, and is confident she can learn more with ease.

She is stronger, more agile, more resilient, and more attractive than any normal person.

She is aware of the presence of time, space, and matter, and all of three of them answer to her whim.

Not a bad trade off for the trouble everyone is going to try to convince her she's in when she gets back.

["X"]

Day Thirty-One:

She had come to learn that her spatial senses were centered in her immediate vicinity because that is where she currently was. While that explanation was simple enough, she now knew that she wasn't limited to sensing her immediately vicinity, it was only where it was centered. All she had to do was "uncouple" her perception and let it wander, and she could remain exactly where she was physically and yet see somewhere else. To see anywhere outside of a few meters required significant concentration and significant quantum and as a result was quite draining.

Still, she knew it was best to look ahead before pulling two points in space together to make a gate. Unfocusing her eyes, her sight appeared to be clouded with tears as the Superstition Mountains began zooming away. The sun becomes brighter and brighter as she moves east, through the desert sand and into New Mexico. The sand fades as she approaches Texas and she begins picking up speed as her intended target nears. Oklahoma gives way to the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas and the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee. Everything passes by at a pace too quick to allow her to admire the land, and it comes to a jarring halt as her senses center upon her destination: her room at Baylor.

It is 10:51 AM in Tennessee and the room is empty, as she expected. October would be in Chemistry, which meant she could have full access to the shower and a change of clothes without being seen. October's conversation would come, but not now.

Returning her center to her body, she reaches out and pulls her dorm room to Arizona. The process is hypnotic to watch: the space just in front of her twists as though a whirlpool is about to form, a red sphere of light appears at the center and melts into the spinning space, and once the red light fades a circular entrance connecting Arizona to Tennessee hovers just before her. She steps through and leaves the desert behind.

She takes her time cleaning off the grime and filth of the past two weeks, washing her hair three times before using half a bottle of conditioner to saturate the full length of it. Two full scrubbings of her skin, followed by shaving away the unwanted hair that had gone unchecked. Six minutes of gentle brushing of the teeth, followed by three one-minute sessions of gargling mouthwash.

She selects a white blouse, a dark-grey jacket and matching slacks, a thin black belt, and two-inch heels from her closet. From her jewelry box, she takes two rings (one for each hand), a black-beaded bracelet, and moonstone earrings. All of this she had on hand for any potential visits from her Senator father that might involve the press snatching photos of the family. Which will probably happen today whether she likes it or not.

Her iOp, surprisingly, is exactly where she left it. She'd assumed that the authorities would have taken it hoping to find clues of her whereabouts; perhaps they left it in the hopes she would return for it. Regardless, after two weeks of sitting in her desk drawer it is out of power. After putting it on its charger, she takes a moment to leave a note for October.

Hey.

I know I have a lot of explaining to do. The important stuff is that yes, I'm okay and I wasn't kidnapped or brainwashed into some cult or anything like that. On the other hand, I have no idea what you've heard at this point so I guess I should also say that if you've heard I've erupted, that part is true. I've got to go clear everything up with my family and let the FBI or whomever know that I'm not dead or a terrorist or whatever, but after that I'll be back and I'll tell you about the two weeks I spent trapped in middle of nowhere Arizona until I could figure out how to teleport back. They don't tell you about that part of learning how to be a nova on N!.

-S.J.

She folds the note twice and leaves it on her roommate's bed. It is now fourteen minutes after noon in Tennessee. Just after nine in Anchorage. Time to take a deep breath, stop procrastinating, and go home. Thinking of the walkway that leads up to her family's front door, the familiar red vortex appears and opens. Trying her best to squelch the butterflies in her stomach, she walks through the gate and up to the buzzer.

The door opens, revealing her mother. Part of the reason she had such clothes on hand today was due to her mother's insistence that a family that had such a public life always needs to be ready to look their best, and even now her mother lives up to those expectations. Few other women would open the door to their home dressed in workplace attire when she didn't plan on leaving the house, but that was her mother's way.

An awkward moment hangs in the air while her mother looks at her without any recognition in her expression.

"Yes?"

In all the ways she had imagined this happening, this was not one of them.

"Hey..Mom, it's me.."

The recognition hits after a widening of the eyes.

"Vauny??? Oh my god!"

In one quick motion, her mother both breaks down into tears and pulls her into her arms. Mindful of her strength, she cautiously returns the embrace and leans her head against her mother's shoulder.

She hears heavy footsteps from down the hall coming to investigate. That would be her father; she had erroneously assumed that he would have already left for the office. Lifting her head slightly, she sees him smile and breathe out as though a heavy burden had been removed from his large frame. His eyes moistened and he wiped the tears hastily away, but did not try to hide them from her.

"Come on, Audrey," he says after collecting himself. "Don't just stand there in the doorway, both of you come in."

Still crying but a bit more under control, her mother releases her and they both walk inside. Her father takes a moment to wrap his big arms around her. She has always associated him with the word strong; he had been a college football player in his youth and has kept himself in good shape throughout his adult life. While his embrace is still comforting and safe, she is amused that she is now physically his better in every way.

"Was worried about you, S.J," he whispers. She's gone by S.J. for years now, since she started at Baylor in the sixth grade. Only her mother still calls her Vauny.

"I'm okay," she whispers back, trying to be reassuring. "I'm okay."

"Dear Lord, you're..." her mother struggles with the word, "...beautiful. Like an angel sent down from heaven itself...they said you might be different...but I never thought my own child....I mean just look at you..."

No one at school saw her this way. Well, that's not exactly true, no one at school said anything to her if they did. Maybe mothers just cut through the bull in ways strangers can't. Then again, there was the one night with October and the moonlight...

Still, maybe something is different now.

"A nova," her mother stammers on as they all walk to the family room, "they said you erupted at the beginning of April. Vauny, why didn't you tell us? Why did you run from Project Utopia? Where did you go? Where have you been?"

"Hon," her father says to her mother, "slow down. One thing at a time."

She takes a seat in a chair near the entrance of the room. Her parents sit together on the nearby sofa.

"Oooookay," she collects herself. "I didn't run from Project Utopia. They surprised me as I was coming out of the locker room. I panicked a bit when they said they'd been tracking me down. I teleported away from Baylor on accident, then. I didn't even know I could do it when I it happened."

"You can teleport?" Her mother sounds surprised. She had assumed that Project Utopia would have told them that. Maybe they weren't sure of exactly what she did back at the Aquatics Center.

She realizes then that her teleporting equals Jennifer Landers equals her mother's favorite member of Team Tomorrow. That's going to make things very, very touchy.

"Yes," she nods. No real point right now in discussing the finer details between the ease of opening gates and the difficulty in moving herself directly.

"Please keep in mind," she continues, "I said when I teleported away from Baylor I didn't know how to do it. I just did it. I couldn't just teleport back. I still didn't know how. I had to figure it out first."

"Wait," her father suddenly looks very concerned, "are you saying you were stranded until you learned how to do it on command?"

"Pretty much, yes."

"Where on earth were you that you were stranded?" Her mother this time.

"Arizona. Somewhere in the middle of the desert there."

That hangs in the air for a while before her father notes, "You don't look very tanned for someone who spent two weeks in Arizona."

"I also don't look like I never eat or breathe, either," she says with a slight chuckle, hoping to interject a little humor. "But I haven't really eaten since a few days after my eruption and I've held my breath for over three hours underwater. The desert didn't bother me."

Her words have the complete opposite of her intended effect; she can see the shock in their faces. She had hoped they would understand that she had been in no danger due to her adaptive nature, but apparently that isn't what they took out of it.

"Oh god," her mother shivers visibly, "I don't even want to think about what that was like for you. Two weeks in the middle of nowhere trying to find a way to get back home. If only you had let us know before, you could have learned all of this someplace safe."

"Mom, I was safe," she insists.

"Honey," her mother continues, "you teleported into the middle of a desert and couldn't get yourself back for two weeks. That's hardly safe. What if you'd ended up in China? Or any of those other nations that enslave or experiment on novas? What if you ended up in outer space? You're lucky you only ended up in Arizona!"

"It doesn't work like that!" she insists again.

"Hon," her mother simply will not relent, "you say that now that you're back here. But what about when you didn't know how to do it? Why did you not let anyone know? It's been a month now."

She steels herself; she has stood up to her parents before, but never on something as big as becoming a nova, hiding it for two weeks until she was discovered and then vanishing into the desert for two more weeks.

"I wanted to do it on my own," is her reply. "I didn't want help."

"You're lucky you didn't hurt anyone, S.J." her father finally chimes in. "I understand the desire to be self-reliant. I even understand the motivation to be self-taught. But quantum powers are nothing to take lightly. This isn't like learning to ride a bike. Please consider for a moment what could have happened if you had manifested, say, some kind of radioactive field instead of teleportation. The reason places like Rashoud Facilities exist is to help you discover powers like that, and learn to control them where other people won't be in harm's way."

Her father makes an excellent point. She had, after all, been mindful of her developing physical power during the early days after her eruption. She had not, however, considered the possibility that she could have spontaneously and unintentionally manifested something lethal.

"I think if I had deadly abilities," she says smoothly, "I'd have had a dangerous eruption. Something where my life was being threatened."

"Fair enough," her father concedes. She has always known him to be fairly educated in matters nova. It has been part of his job since 1998, after all. He has regularly been involved with Project Utopia, and Senate hearings on nova issues.

"S.J., I'm not doubting you here, but if you were certain that you weren't in danger of hurting your schoolmates because didn't have such an eruption," he resumes, "how did you come to erupt with teleportation? That's not exactly a power that comes from safe situations..."

She knew this question would be coming, but unfortunately, she has no way to tell the full truth without implicating the other three Bohemian girls. Most especially October, who is the one actually bringing the absinthe onto school grounds. That isn't something she's willing to do.

"I don't know how teleportation came into it, to be honest." That much is truth, after all. "I was ill Friday night, stayed in bed until Tuesday. After I had recovered, I realized I had changed sometime that weekend. I don't know how it happened. I'm reasonably sure that my adaptive abilities probably came from fighting off the sickness."

Her father leans back in his chair. "So you don't remember erupting at all?"

She can see where he is leading this. He will want to ask her how she can be sure she wasn't dangerous if she can't even remember her eruption.

"I was ill on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. I was in bed during this time. While I was ill, I erupted. Can I tell you which fever dream I was in the middle of when I erupted? No. The illness and the eruption headaches bleed into the same memory and I couldn't tell you where one begins and the other ends."

After eight seconds, he finally nods back to her. He is smiling warmly. "Must have been one bad bug you caught. You know, to make you erupt."

She smiles back. "Probably something I ate earlier in the day."

"Must have been one bad hamburger, then," he continues grinning. "Better erupting and spending a few days in Arizona than catching mad cow disease. Either way, we're glad you're safe now, and that the initial transition for you was not as rough as it is for some novas."

"You gave us quite a scare, you know," her mother says with a more serious tone. "It's not easy hearing the news that not only is your daughter now a nova, but she's gone missing."

"My iOp was back at my dorm," she shrugs. "Not a lot I could have done to let you know where I was."

"You still could have told us," her mother insists. "You knew for a while before teleporting away. It's not like this is something minor, like failing a test."

"What she's saying," her father chimes in while reaching for his own iOp, "we'd both feel less worried about you and all of this if you spent some time with the experts."

"You mean spend some time with Project Utopia," she says softly.

He nods as his fingers scroll expertly along the iOp's surface. "It would be best if you knew everything you were capable of, and also knew how to control it. I'd rather not have the next call I take be from someone hesitant to tell me my daughter has stranded herself on the other side of the solar system."

She grins wryly, the grin dissipating slowly as she speaks. "I've already spent the last month learning what I can do, and understanding how to control it. I didn't endure two weeks alone in Arizona just so I could jump through hoops for some curious doctor."

"Hon," her father shakes his head, "if what you've told us the truth, you endured those two weeks in Arizona because you didn't spend time with a curious doctor."

"No," she pushes back. "I wouldn't have been in the desert if Utopia hadn't made it their business to find me. From the moment I knew I had erupted, I wanted to do all of this on my own. I wouldn't have teleported into the middle of nowhere if I hadn't been startled by an entire team of people waiting for me as I left the locker room. I'd have remained at school discovering my new abilities naturally."

Her father's fingers freeze over his iOp, and then his arms drop slowly to his sides.

"You're saying," he tilts his head, "that you blame them for what happened to you?"

She shakes her head. "I don't blame them for doing what they felt was the right thing. I'm saying that regardless of their intent, it wouldn't have happened if they hadn't been there. I didn't want their help before and I don't want it now."

"You don't want it?" Her mother's expression is frozen in disbelief. "Vauny, you've met Jennifer Landers! Tony Chang! Ana Texeira! Ricardo Montoya-Bernal! Allison Pflatzgraff! Some of them have even been here for dinner...what does it say about you that you'd refuse their help?"

Her eyes narrow at her mother's insinuation.

"Only that I don't need to follow the same path they did," she holds her ground, unaware that her voice has suddenly taken on a terrible beauty. "I respect them and everything they have done, but I do not wish to be like them."

A very unnatural silence remains suspended in the room for exactly twelve and one-half seconds while both of her parents look at her with eyes she has never seen before.

"Okay, S.J.," her father eventually says as he begins making the call on his iOp that he briefly forgot about moments before. "We'll trust you on this for now. But another mishap like your Arizona adventure and we are going to revisit this."

He rises to his feet, walking towards his office. "I'll be back in moment. I need to let the FBI know our prodigal has returned."

["X"]

The four of them gather on the roof as they so many other times. The moon is obscured by clouds; its pale light just barely sufficient to illuminate the top of the buildings. October brought and prepared the absinthe to this gathering, but no one has picked up a glass of the green liquid. Nonetheless, they wear the trappings of the ceremony as though nothing has changed.

Kayron has braided her hair and beaded the braids, very similar to the way Venus Williams once did at the start of her professional career. Her beads are a rich indigo and violet, which in the pale moonlight might as well be dark blue. She wears a poet's skirt and blouse; the color of the fabric mimics that of the beads.

October wears green the color of absinthe, which contrasts against her long, sable hair, looking oddly like Shego from the old Kim Possible cartoon. Her top is made of spandex, low cut and revealing. The patterns upon it appear to swirl like liquid in the dim moonlight despite the fact that they are static. She wears dark, boot-cut jeans below that, but instead of boots wears sandals.

Lora is a mix of black and white fabric below a stunning short copper-red wave of hair and ruby-red lips, with a woman's fedora to top it all off. Lora is elegant and mysterious and practically out of another era; she looks at Lora in disbelief and wonders why she is the one who erupted and not Lora.

She, Shevaun Jean Laren but known to her friends as S.J., the young nova who calls herself X, wears a maroon smoking jacket, a white peasant blouse, and black crushed-velvet slacks, all of which she found at a vintage used-clothes boutique two months ago, the same boutique where all of their ceremony clothes were purchased. She has removed all of her jewelry, and is barefoot. Her eyeliner and eye shadow now have a very gothic bent.

The three other girls look at her now as though seeing her for the first time; their combined gaze surprisingly does not phase her. They deserve the chance to see her as she is now, without holding anything back.

"Speak your minds," she says softly, the same voice that manifested at her parents' home earlier in the day coming to life again. She can, with a bit of effort, summon it now at will. She does not know how it will affect them, but they deserve to hear it, nonetheless. They need to understand what she has become.

"The time for secrets has passed."

October tilts her head, then leans in closer. "It was the absinthe, wasn't it? The night you drank the whole bottle? You were sick for days. That wasn't illness. You had post-eruption headaches."

October's brother attended Baylor a few years ago, and was just as rebellious as his sister. He has supplied the group with the imported French-absinthe since October requested it, and finds it amusing that the four of them want such "prissy" alcohol. She suspects that October doesn't particularly care for the whole faux-Bohemian aspect of their social circle, but goes along with it because she loves the other girls dearly.

She nods her reply. No need to elaborate any further.

October nods with her. "Did you know it would happen?"

"No, and I wasn't even aware that it had happened for nearly a week. I thought I was sick, just as you did."

Lora looks at her now with sad eyes. It is a heartbreaking contrast between how exotic her friend appears, and the distance that fills her eyes. "You have no way of helping us become like you, do you..."

She shakes her head very slowly. "No. I'm sorry, but I can't make you like me. I would dearly love to be able share what I have been given with you, but I know of no way to do it. "

The four of them have always occupied a very peculiar dynamic. Kayron is the soul of the group, she of the poet's love and Bohemian sympathies. October is the heart of the group, the listener who is always available and isn't afraid to venture into uncomfortable topics. Lora is the mind of the group, the problem solver and the puzzle-cracker. And she, S.J., has always been the body of the group, the athlete whose muscle and dexterity gave her a second life in sports beyond that of the four of them.

But now, Lora is no longer the strongest mind, and those sad eyes indicate that Lora herself has discerned as much simply by observing the changes. The dynamic has been shattered, and Lora knows it even if October and Kayron do not just yet...

Lora now bites her lip and nods ruefully. "You knew, didn't you? The last time we were up here and you were crying? You knew then what had happened."

She nods, a careful smile barely visible. "Yes, I knew."

Lora looks away, while Kayron just continues to stare at her. Kayron is one of those beautiful girls who believes in faerie-tale romance; her skin is the gorgeous color of warm coffee with milk. She has had a secret crush on Kayron for months and never acted on it; to the best of her knowledge none of the other three girls are bisexual as she is, and she would never have put Kayron in the awkward position of receiving unwanted attention from a close friend.

"What is the biggest difference," Kayron asks, "between now and then? The biggest changes?"

She thinks for a moment. "All of the differences are big, and all of them have changed me. What was once strong and sturdy to me is now fragile and delicate. I no longer eat, and rarely sleep. I am always warm, and never hot or cold. I am aware of space in the same way that you are aware of color, I can see distance and volume the way you see blue or red. Language is like music, in the way that you can hear a few bars and hum along, I can read a few words or hear a few phrases and know its structure. "

It is not her intention to make them jealous, though she can see by their eyes that she has done exactly that. But she will not sugar-coat the differences for them.

"So...what happens now?" Lora has found her voice again. "Are you off to Utopia, to be part of Team Tomorrow with all those people your parents know or something else on the bright and shiny other side of the fence?"

"No. Utopia is not in my future. Nor is DeVries or any other nova organization. I will find my own way, and discover what I am meant to do."

She relaxes her node and lets the terrible beauty recede into the ether.

"I'm now holding part of myself back," she explains, exaggerating a bit. The terrible beauty is part of her as much as any other ability she has gained, and they need to experience it.

"I wanted you to know what has happened to me," she continues, "and to see just how much different I am now."

Kayron breathes out. "Wow, I feel like I've been holding my breath all this time. As though you were just sitting there waiting to pounce on us, like a puma staring down a meal."

October nods in agreement. "The difference is startling. You are, I don't know, scary? When you do that, I mean. It's almost like you are a different person entirely."

She grins back. October isn't quite wrong; she feels different when the terrible beauty surrounds her. More imperious, and in some ways, socially bulletproof.

"It's kind of heavy," she acknowledges. "Something I'm just beginning to get used to. I used it reflexively when telling the 'rents that I wasn't going to go to a Rashoud Facility despite what they expected."

October grins deviously. "It worked, didn't it?"

She continues grinning back. "Yes, why yes it did."

Lora's mood has not improved since she withdrew the terrible beauty, and looking down, her friend rises to her feet and puts her hands in her pockets of her black jacket.

"You still haven't answered me, S.J.," Lora says without looking at her. "What are your plans? What happens to us?"

She shrugs. "I have no plans to leave school or anything, if that's what you mean."

Lora chuckles under her breath. "Yeah, that's going to work out. You can't be on the fencing team anymore, so you're gonna stay here and be the only nova student in a school of kids hardly your peers?"

October jumps in with, "Hey!"

Lora does not cave. "Don't hey me, October, I'm not trying to be mean here." She turns away from October and to her, and they make eye contact.

"I know you're holding back a lot more than you've shown us," Lora says firmly. "Not only with what you can do, but how you feel about it and how much different you are as a result of all of it. You're more articulate, you stand different, it's depressing to look at you because you're so freaking beautiful, and you've even lost that silly Alaskan accent we used to tease you about in sixth grade."

Lora takes a moment to throw her hands up in mock-frustration. "Even the way you look at me is different. I feel like I have to get to know you all over again. I mean...happened to my cute little Alaskan jock who always needed my help with her Spanish homework?"

Kayron and October watch Lora, and then turn to her without adding anything else. All three of them are watching her.

She shrugs as though it is all out of her control. "Maybe you will have to get to know me again. You're right, Lora, I'm not the same. I still want to be your friend, though."

October finally adds, "I just don't understand the secrecy...you knew for a while without telling anyone. Did you think we'd be mad?"

"No, but I knew we'd be having this conversation eventually," she sighs, "and I didn't want to have it. Even more than that, though, I didn't want my parents finding out before I knew what I was capable of, and I definitely didn't want Project Utopia finding out."

She shrugs again. "That meant telling no one. Even you three. Do you understand?"

No one says anything for exactly one minute and two seconds. Then, Kayron's face brightens, and she nods. "I understand perfectly. It means if we decide to cut class, we're cutting class to go to Paris."

She smiles at Kayron. October blinks, looks at the two of them, and then laughs. Lora looks at all three of them, and slowly smirks.

The smirk vanishes into a smile, and Lora finally picks up a glass of absinthe.

"To Paris!"