I looked at the flight of stone steps that led up to the transparent double doors of Williamsburg Heights, my school.

I gripped the straps of my heavy backpack tight where they hung on my scrawny shoulders and swallowed my saliva.

Am I really going to do this?

The trouble was, I didn’t really have a choice. It was here or the special school, and since I had finally recovered—more or less—from my beating at the party and owned up to my psychiatrist about my ‘delusions’ there was no point in me being at the special school any more. They had realised that I was smart and the truth was that I just wasn’t being pushed hard enough there. My teachers from this school had sent me work to do, but it was a poor substitute for actually being in their classrooms. I needed to come back, to at least try coming back for one day, to talk to them and get some guidance on my studies.

So here I was again. I stood at the foot of the steps for a little while longer, watching other kids strolling up them and going in through the doors. A girl in a pink beanie. A dorky kid with a rucksack twice his size. A gaggle of popular kids joking around with their phones. I didn’t recognise a single one of them. Had the whole school population changed while I had been away, or had I just forgotten what everybody looked like because I didn’t know them very well in the first place?

I had pleaded with Mom not to send me back here, but she had said that there was no alternative.

“I know it’s difficult,” Mom had said across the breakfast table, “but it’s the best thing for you. And the Principal assures me that Donny Vickers has been expelled. It’s actually illegal for him to set foot in the school again.”

“Well, that’s something,” I said, looking down at my soggy cereal, “but Donny Vickers isn’t the only person I’m worried about. He’s just the person who happened to beat me up worst at Sam’s party.”

“But the others will have learned a lesson from what happen to him,” said Mom. “You know the psychiatrist said the best thing is for you is to try to ‘reintegrate’ at your old school. Trust me, it really is the best thing.”

Of course she had won the argument, in the end, which is why I found myself where I was now, in front of my school. I was trapped. I wanted to finish my education so I could get away from this place and go to college, but Mom and I didn’t have enough money for me to go to college. And now I didn’t even have my Miracle Force fantasy to guarantee me a college place.

I took a deep breath and walked up the steps, going in through the double doors.

I immediately regretted it.

The school atrium greeted me, a wide-open space with a grey linoleum floor, a reception desk with a scowling old lady behind it—I didn’t recognise her either—and another set of double doors off at the far end with a keypad set in the concrete wall next to them.

The atrium too was filled with students, some hurrying in to class, some standing around brazenly disregarding the time, holding their rucksacks with one hand over one shoulder or swinging them around by the straps, chatting, joking, kissing, winding each other up.

I didn’t know what my place in this scene was. I would have looked for one of my friends but I hadn’t had any when I had been at this school here before and I didn’t have any now.

And Ali wasn’t anywhere either.

At least this is better than the special school, I thought.

...is it?

I pulled my sweater’s hood up over my head as I weaved through the students to the next set of double doors and tried to will myself to become invisible, like a superhero might have been able to do in that story I’d stopped writing.

Neither of these tactics worked.

As I passed them, a few kids glanced sideways at me and muttered to their friends. One girl deliberately stepped out of my way, as if I carried a contagious disease.

I guess I did have a disease: I was pathologically uncool. A social pariah. Whoop de do.

“Weakling,” I heard someone hiss.

“Look, it’s weakling,” another whispered.

“What’s Gordon doing here?” said another.

I felt as though every single person in the atrium was watching me, though of course they couldn’t be. Could they? I tried to take some comfort from the fact that even though I hadn’t seen Ali yet, I hadn’t seen Sam or Bill or anyone else from the football team yet either.

I made it to the double doors and tapped my ID card to the reader, which beeped and let me in. This also served to officially register my attendance for the morning.

Well, I had shown up now. I might as well grit my teeth and try to bear what the day had for me.

I looked at my timetable on my phone. A walk down a dusty corridor to the Humanities wing, dodging more students as I went and overhearing more hushed comments, and first period I had English.

In English, pretty much right away Mrs Dean asked me if I could meet with her at the end of lunch after she finished running debate club. Oh God. She probably thought the Miracle Force story I had handed in to her for my creative writing assignment was a load of juvenile garbage and would want me to rewrite it. I spent the whole of the lesson on Macbeth wondering how I was going to explain it to her, and what I would write instead.

After English I had Math, which went even less well. My Math teacher was a young, tall, spindly guy called Mr Edwards, fresh out of college. He seemed absolutely miserable to be a teacher, and he struggled to control even my normally well-behaved top-set Math class. I hadn’t quite been able to follow how to do simultaneous equations from the remoteness of my hospital room, so when he called on me and I didn’t know the answers I got irritated chastisements.

In break, I went and hid in the toilets, shutting myself into a cubicle and praying to the God that I didn’t believe in that this day would pass more quickly.

It didn’t.

After break was Gym class. No football team players in this bottom-set, thankfully. They were probably off somewhere practicing for a game, but I did have to climb the dreaded ‘rope’. Hospital had made me even weaker than before and I failed outright to get anywhere up the rope. Coach Aardman bellowed at me that I was a pitiful useless worm then sent me off to get changed. I wished I had superpowers.

Period four was Shop. I hadn’t been sent work to do for this class at home. Everyone else was already half-way through making their desk-lamps, so I had a lot of catching up to do. When I failed to cut a circle of plastic properly Miss Henderson looked over her glasses at me like I was some sort of slow-witted imbecile.

Maybe I was. I had been to a special school for a while, after all.

At lunch I sat at a small table by myself.

Ali, Sam, Bill and the others might have been in the crowded lunch-hall, but if they were I didn’t know because I spent the whole time staring down at my grey quorn sausages and instant mashed potatoes.

Towards the end of lunch, I moped back over to Mrs Dean’s room, gritted my teeth, and knocked on her door. Oh well. Here we go. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse. Could it?

“Come in, Gonzalo.”

I walked over to Mrs Dean’s desk where she stood on the other side of it. Mrs Dean wore spectacles, brown curly hair and a kind smile, though she often hid that last one behind a mask of severity which I knew was all an act. In front of her on the desk was a fat, typewritten printout. Oh God, I thought, not again. I had recognised the header on the top page. This was all too reminiscent of that disastrous meeting with Ali.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“Gonzalo…” Mrs Dean said eventually, “first, how are you doing?

“Huh? Me? Oh, I’m ok I guess…” A personal question from a teacher?

“I know you’ve been through a lot recently, what with the incident outside of school, and your stay in hospital. How has your first day back been?”

“Er…it’s been ok, I guess,” I lied. I didn’t want to tell her the truth because I didn’t want to start crying in front of her. “I’m just trying to take it one day at a time.”

“That’s very wise. You do that. One day at a time.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Awkward pause.

She put her hand on the pile of paper. “Now, Gonzalo, I’ve asked you to come to see me to talk about your creative writing assignment. Thank you for sending your ‘Miracle Force’ story through to me for the deadline a few weeks ago. I should tell y—”

“Er, yeah, about that,” I butted in. “I’m really sorry. I know I got a bit carried away, and I know it’s dumb and childish. It’s a load of garbage, really. I’m sorry. I’ll re-do the assignment if you want. Just please don’t fail me for it, Mrs Dean, I need to keep a good GPA for my future applications. I’ll re-do it.”

Mrs Dean didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she frowned at me, took off her glasses, placed them on her desk, and frowned at me some more.

Come on, don’t leave me stewing here. Just tell it was garbage and that I can re-do it. Fricking teachers.

At last, she spoke. “Young man, I do not think this is ‘garbage’.”

“You don’t?”

“No. In fact, I asked you to come to see me so that I could tell you what an accomplished piece of creative writing it is.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It’s very accomplished, for a fifteen-year-old. You have a very rich imagination. I especially enjoyed the invented episode in your apartment, and all the intrigue around the ‘Djinn’ character. Is it definitely yours?”

“Er, yeah, it’s mine. I guess I just read a fair bit, and in hospital I read a few books about creative writing after you set the assignment, and just did what they said and, you know, had a go. I guess I worked pretty hard on it.”

“You must have. It’s so accomplished for a fifteen-year-old, in fact, that I entered it into a competition for young underrepresented writers run by Columbia University.”

I stared at her. My mouth was open, but no words came out.

“They loved it, Gonzalo. They want to offer you a scholarship there when you leave high school. Provided you graduate from here and maintain your high GPA, of course… Congratulations.”

The world had taken on a warm, golden hue. I remembered this. This had happened once before…

“A scholarship to go to college…?” I said, still not completely believing.

“Yes,” said Mrs Dean, smiling.

That was a dream in itself.

I dared to risk another question.

“So I could study…”

“You can study what you want, so long as you take it for the next two years and maintain your grades, and so long as you take some classes in creative writing when you’re there.”

“…Physics?”

“I don’t see why not. Mr Oswald tells me you’re very strong in Physics.”

“YES!” I jumped up and down on the spot, ran round the desk and gave Mrs Dean a big hug.

As soon as I realised what I was done, I leapt back, horrified, the golden tint to the world disappearing for a moment.

“Oops. Sorry, Mrs Dean, I didn’t think…”

Mrs Dean coughed into her hand. “Ahem. That’s quite alright, Gonzalo. Though don’t do that again. You must be very excited. That was all that I wanted to tell you—but I wanted to tell you in person. I’ll have the confirmation letter sent through to you in the mail. That’ll be all for now.”

Mrs Dean’s brown curls glinted in the golden light that filled my vision. “What do I do now?” I said, like a puppy who had just won a prize awaiting its next instruction.

“What do you mean, ‘what do I do now?’?” Mrs Dean said, her warmth retreating back behind a mask of teacherly sternness. “You go back out there, you work as hard as you can, you graduate from high school, and you go to college. Off you go, Gonzalo.”

“Yes, Mrs Dean.”

I picked up my bag and walked towards the classroom exit, weightless with wonder.

“Oh, and Gonzalo?” Mrs Dean called out as I reached the door.

“Yes, Miss?”

“Don’t get in any more fights.”

I smiled at her. “I won’t, Miss.”

I shut the door behind me.

“YES!” I said, and jumped up and down on the spot, pumping my fist in the air. Some passing kids scrunched up their foreheads at me like I was a total freak, but I didn’t care. A college scholarship! Creative writing and Physics! What more could I want? I couldn’t wait to go home and tell my Mom.

The bell rang. Oh. I had forgotten there was one more lesson left in the day. What was it?

Physics.

This was the real reason why I had come back to school, why I had been prepared to endure the five hours that had come before it, I realised. The prospect had been hovering just at the edge of my mind, but now it flared there bright and beautiful: Ali would be in this class. Maybe I would get to talk to Ali here. And the way things were going right now, maybe we would be able to resume our friendship again. I couldn’t wait to tell Ali, either.

I ran through the corridors and entered the familiar setting of Mr Oswald’s lab, a rectangular room crammed with rows of work-tops, behind which stood pairs of wooden stools.

I was first in so I was greeted by the lone, suited Mr Oswald standing behind his desk at the front of the room.

“Ah, hello, Gonzalo,” he said. “Good to have you back.” He fidgeted with his hands and looked to one side, as if even he was embarrassed by me. The Physics teacher! They must have been told what happened to me. It was on the local news, after all. But he’s the first to acknowledge it. Maybe he’s the only one who remembers.

“Thanks, Mr Oswald, nice to see you,” I said in reply as I took my stool.

“Not over there, sorry,” said Mr Oswald. “You’ve been away for quite some time, Gonzalo, and I didn’t know when, or if, you were coming back, and the lab partnerships have been reassigned. Quentin left the school last semester, so with you back it’s an odd number of students. You’ll have to sit at the back and work by yourself for today until I can figure out another arrangement.”

“Oh,” I said. “Ok then.”

Darn it, I thought as I moved to the back of the lab. Ali’s not my lab partner any more. Oh well, not to worry. I wasn’t going to let this little obstacle stand in my way.

I took the stool that Mr Oswald gestured to and unpacked my old Physics lab book from my rucksack.

By now my classmates had started to file in one by one, chatting contentedly. I kept my head forward, trying not to be too obvious. She hadn’t come in yet. Then I became aware of a movement of dark hair over to my right. A prickle went up my spine. I risked a glance.

There she is!

She took a stool next to Peter Tepper in the front row of worktops, over on the right, at completely the opposite side of the classroom from me. He must be her new lab partner. She didn’t look at me once. Had she even noticed me when she came in? All I could see was the back of her head, but I allowed myself to continue stealing glances at her as Mr Oswald ordered quiet and started explaining the experiment we were going to be doing today.

She wore her dark hair down to her shoulders, as usual. She sat straight and elegant, listening carefully to Mr Oswald’s instructions, which were completely passing me by. She was still wearing her Abercrombie and Fitch sweater. That was still unusual. Who was she trying to fit in with?

Everyone stood up, scraping their stools back from the worktops, and turned around to walk towards me. Surprise pinched my chest, but then I realised that they were just getting up to retrieve what they needed for this lesson’s experiment from the back of the room. I turned round too, looking at Ali one more time out of the corner of my eye as I did so.

I moved to the plastic trays arrayed on the work surface at the rear of the lab, reaching them first because of my prime seat at the back of the class. I took one of everything—some wiring, a variable resistor, a voltmeter, a battery, a small wooden block with a bulb in it—trying to watch what my classmates were taking at the same time because I hadn’t listened to what we were meant to do.

The other kids stood back away from me slightly as I fumbled my way through the trays—either out of considerateness or, much more likely, because they didn’t want to get too close to this societal outcast and be contaminated by my lack of cool. Well, screw you guys. I’m going to college one day!

On my way back to my stool, it happened: I passed Ali. I deliberately took a route that meant I could brush past her elbow in between her and another student as she finished collecting what she needed for her own experiment. I smiled and looked at her…

...but she didn’t even acknowledge me. She kept her eyes forward on what she was doing, and didn’t give me so much as a glance or a raised eyebrow.

I sat down again. She must have seen me that time. Mustn’t she? She’s ignoring me. Isn’t she? I guess she’s following through on her promise of everything being over between us. Is she?

I slouched in my seat, weighed down by my heart. One of my dreams was coming true. But it didn’t mean as much if I couldn’t share it with Ali.

I looked down at the assorted electrical equipment I had collected. I had no idea what to do with it. The whole time Mr Oswald had been speaking I had been thinking about Ali. Weakling, I thought automatically.

After a little while of connecting different objects up to each other and poking bits of wire into places they weren’t meant to go, trying to look over at the next row of work-tops to see what other people were doing, Mr Oswald came over and patiently explained the experiment to me again.

He stood in front of my worktop, talking to me in soothing tones like I was some sort of idiotic wounded woodland animal, and this meant that he had his back to the rest of the class. Occasionally people looked round at me, whispered, and then grinned maliciously.

I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I didn’t have to. Neil Curran turned around and stuck his tongue into the skin below his bottom lip so that it thrust out at me, a gesture that in our school meant ‘dumbass.’

Neil Curran, for God’s sake, the dorky kid with the rectangular glasses on the lowest rung of the school’s social ladder, a ladder that apparently I’m not even on.

The golden light had gone again by now.

Mr Oswald finished his re-instruction and I got on with the experiment.

I looked at Ali as much as I dared while I did so. She never turned round once. All I got was the back of her head. Come on, Ali, I thought. I don’t want your pity. You don’t have to welcome me back with open arms or anything. But at least acknowledge me. I just want to talk to you so we can make up and be friends again. I’ll even settle for just being friends this time. I’d given up that other delusion of ever being her boyfriend now, of course.

When the bell eventually rang for the end of class, I gathered up my things into my rucksack and was first out of the room.

And that’s when I found myself back in the Science corridor, back in the place where my ‘powers’ had first manifested, face to face once again with Bill Jackson.

I froze.