Dylan wasn't looking forward to his next class. He wasn’t a big fan of the material it taught, and even worse, he had recently been assigned a group project. He wouldn’t have minded so much, except he didn’t know anybody here. It made it awkward, especially since nobody else seemed to have that problem. His groupmates laughed and joked like old friends. While it meant that there wasn’t any friction between them, it also meant that they tended to ignore Dylan’s input. Dylan didn’t think that they were doing it on purpose, probably, but the end result still meant that the entire ordeal was frustrating for him.

He took some solace in the fact that he was on time. It was a lot easier with no Mr. Johnson to make him late. He settled into his chair and waited. There were still a few minutes before the class started, and quite a few of the other students hadn’t even arrived yet, including his groupmates.

The teacher was already sitting in her chair, idly scrolling on her phone. Mrs. Baffles was her name. She was younger, probably only in her thirties. Dylan hadn’t known her for long, but he already thought that he didn’t like her. She was the English teacher, which meant that Dylan had actually come into the year with a positive attitude. He’d always gotten along with his English teachers back in junior high, after all.

But something was different about Mrs. Baffles, and Dylan couldn’t quite place it. Not different in a hiding something way, no. Rather, Dylan just found her odd. She’d seemed nice, at first. In fact, his first introduction to her had been her accidentally misplacing the attendance list for the class. She hadn’t seemed concerned, though, and simply smiled and remarked that everyone made mistakes.

He’d thought, at the time, she was just being realistic. After all, everyone did make mistakes. Surely she’d apply the same standard to her students as she did to herself, right? Dylan found out, rather quickly, that this was not the case. He’d forgotten his homework at home, one day. He’d approached her, before class, intending to explain himself. He’d expected a mild rebuke, or even getting some of the points from the assignment docked. Instead of doing any of that, she’d simply looked him in the eye, and told him that he’d be getting a zero for the assignment, and if he kept it up, he’d end up in academic suspension before long.

Dylan had made sure to have his homework on hand, since then, but he hadn’t forgotten it. She hadn’t been unfriendly since, but Dylan suspected that it was because he hadn’t given her cause to be.

Eventually, his group mates filed into the classroom. Only a few weeks into the semester, and he had already been assigned a group essay. He’d been a little relieved, at first, but it seemed that nobody but him actually wanted to work on it. Instead, the others were more than content to chat with each other during class time.

Today was no different, it seemed. He was in a group of 4. Sitting closest to him was Jared. He was tall, blonde, athletic. In any other circumstances, he probably would have been a nice enough guy.

Andrew sat next to him. He followed Jared around everywhere, in a way that appeared increasingly puppyish to Dylan. He had played on the same Baseball team as Jared in junior high, but Dylan suspected that, now that the standards were a bit higher, the mousy boy wouldn’t be able to make it onto the team.

Finally, there was Finlay. She was average height, for a woman her age. She had short cut brown hair. Dylan didn’t know as much about her as the other two. She tended to be quieter. He only knew that she’d been friends with the other two for a long time.

Today, the three were talking about the changes to Baylorvilles superhero team. Luminary, a flier, had been killed in the emergency that had happened a few weeks ago. He’d been a mainstay of the city's team, and the news of his death had caused a general panic amongst the public.

“I still can’t believe he’s dead, man. I grew up with that guy, y’know?” said Jared.

Finley nodded.

“It’s crazy, that’s what it is. We obviously knew that he wasn’t like, invincible, but it still doesn’t feel real, you know? Like, it doesn’t feel like something that should have happened? How did he die? I’ve seen him walk out of collapsing buildings, you know?” Andrew babbled.

Jared shook his head.

“It is crazy. What’s even crazier is that they’re replacing him already. Did you all hear about that? Apparently, somebody is coming out of retirement to fill his spot. Some guy called Crimson-”

Dylan tried to tune them out. He’d had enough of the superhero discourse for a lifetime. He browsed the internet, looking through websites for proper sources. It was slow going. He couldn’t complain, he supposed. Not every school was able to loan their students laptops. They were magnificently cheap, but it was better than nothing.

He was having trouble finding good articles. He’d found one, already, but only after he checked a dozen websites. Most of the articles he’d looked at were out of date, from irreputable sources, or had misleading headlines.

With a sigh, Dylan clicked out of yet another fruitless page. He felt a mounting sense of frustration. This whole thing was turning into a giant pain in the ass. Some of the other groups had already started working on their essays, and here he was, still gathering sources, while his group mates jabbered away.

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Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey, guys. I get your friends and all, but we need to get this done. I’d appreciate some help.”

The others broke from their conversation, seemingly surprised that he’d spoked up.

“Man, don’t worry about it. We still have, like, two more weeks. It’s plenty of time,” Jared said.

Dylan had to hold back a sigh.

“It’s not going to seem like a lot of time in a few days. We have a lot of work to do, guys. Plus, I have other classes. I won’t be able to cram it in and write my section in the last few days.”

Jared rolled his eyes.

“If you want it done so badly, do it yourself. We’ll do our parts when we’re good and ready, alright? No need to have such a stick up your ass.”

Dylan felt his nails dig into his palms. This asshole. Dylan wasn’t asking much.

“Jared, do your work. I’m not asking anymore.”

Jared turned to face him.

“Why don’t you go ahead and make me?”

Dylan could hear his heart beating in his ears. He could make Jared do it, couldn’t he? Make him sorry, for being such an asshole. Jared was athletic, but Dylan doubted the boy had been in a fight before. Not like he had. It would be so easy, to hurt him, to make him sorry.

Dylan realised that he’d been staring at Jared.

“Fine, whatever.” Dylan said.

It seemed like the blond boy had been waiting for that.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought” he exclaimed, rather loudly.

Dylan bit back his frustration.

“Is there a problem over here?” said Mrs. Baffles.

Dylan turned to stare at the teacher.He hadn’t heard her. She must have been drawn by the raised voices. He started to speak, but no sound passed through his open mouth.

Jared, however, was unhampered.

“No, no problems. Just a little disagreement, right, Dylan?”

He turned and smiled at Dylan, who felt a surge of disgust at the lie.

“No, Mrs. Baffles. No problems. I just got a little excited” Dylan forced out.

Mrs. Baffles gave them the stink eye for a few more seconds, before she turned and left, apparently satisfied that whatever had been going on was now resolved. Jared had already resumed his conversation with the others by the time Dylan turned back.

Dylan had never been happier to hear the bell ring. He’d thought that Mr. Johnsons class was bad, but at least Mr. Johnson wasn’t openly hostile. Now, he’d have to see Jared's smug face every day, and remember him sitting there, daring Dylan to do anything.

He was, as usual, the first one out of the classroom. Dylan kept his head down and strode through the halls. He was nearly out the door when he bumped into somebody. They let out a breath, and fell to the ground. Dylan mumbled out a quick apology, and stepped around him. He was walking away when a hand latched onto his shoulder. He turned, trying to ascertain who had grabbed him.

It was the tall guy from lunch.

“Hey, fucker, you do that on purpose?”

He got closer to Dylan.

“If you think you can push me around, you got another thing coming. I’ll beat the hell out of you-”

His voice cut off when Dylan grabbed him around the collar and turned, slamming him into the lockers that lined the hall. The student tried to escape Dylan’s grasp, but he pushed harder, keeping the man trapped on the lockers.

“Hey, buddy, what's your name?” Dylan growled.

The student squirmed, trying to free himself from Dylan’s grasp.

“Let go of me!”

Dylan continued to hold him there until the struggling slowed.

“I’ll ask you again, what’s your name?”

The student looked Dylan in the eyes. He put on a brave face, but Dylan could tell he was ruffled at being manhandled by somebody a few inches shorter than him.

“It’s Micheal. Mike.”

“Listen, Mike. I don’t want trouble with you. It was an accident, ok? Let’s just go our separate ways, alright?”

Instead of responding, Mike stared out at something over Dylan’s right shoulder. He started to turn his head, to see if Mike was staring at a teacher, or some other staff member, come to stop the scuffle, but before he could, he felt a hand on his wrist.

It pulled, and he turned, letting go of Mike, unprepared for the sudden tug. He stumbled slightly, off balance.

A girl with red hair stared back at him, hand raised in the air, pointing at his head.

“Knock it off, dude. We don’t tolerate bullying here.”

Dylan stared at her. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

“I wasn’t bullying him, I just-” he spoke, trying to defend himself, when she cut him off.

“I don’t care, frankly. Apologize, and then leave, or I’ll make you regret it.”

Dylan realized who she was. A freshman, like him, she was one of the students who flaunted their powers in public. That explained why she was able to move him, at least.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Eventually, Dylan realized that he wasn’t going to get out of the situation unless he gave her what she wanted. With a huff, he turned back towards Mike.

“Mike, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I hope you’ll forgive me” Dylan crossly stated. He walked away before Mike could respond. He kept waiting, expecting to hear a voice demanding that girl's voice, demanding he come back, and redo his apology, but it never happened.

Soon enough, he was out the door, and on his way home, anger still simmering in his gut. It seemed like no matter what he did, everything would go to shit.