“Ughhhh this is so harddd!” Max groans. “It’s only the fifth week of school.” I say, already finished. “Congratulations, Mr. golden boy. I’m so glad you can count.” He says sarcastically. “The math is still hard!” “No it’s not. Just carry the two.” “‘Just carry the two’!” He mocks. “Figure out how many grains of sand are in the next sandstorm!” “Max!” I growl. “Just do it!” He sticks out his tongue. “Done.” I peer at the work. “No. You did that wrong. You were supposed to do the parentheses first, and then subtract.” “GAHHHHH!” He aggressively erases the entire thing, and I let out a resigned sigh. He’s never gonna get this. Nadia arrives in the student study room, dumping her stuff on the table. “How’re you two doing?” “My life is over,” Max groans, collapsing onto the table. “No it’s not. You literally had to change one thing to get it right! There was no need to erase it all!” I retort. Max has messy, short black hair and purple eyes. Today he’s wearing a simple t-shirt with a chest pocket and shorts. Nadia has brown hair streaked with red and bright blue eyes. She’s wearing a plaid sweater-vest over a white dress shirt with sweatpants and tennis shoes today, with her usual science goggles perched on her forehead. “I blew something up in the science lab again today.” She says, plopping down in a chair next to us. “Of course.” I murmur. “You’re gonna give Ms. Filery more gray hairs.” She waves a hand. “Ah, she’ll be fine. The woman’s basically immortal.” “I assure you, she’s not.” “Uh huh.” She holds up her phone with a picture of Ms. Filery in the middle of a lecture, glowing gold. I study it. “That’s edited.” “No, of course not!” She lies. I raise an eyebrow, and return my attention to Max. “Now, let’s try this again. Do the problem in the parentheses first, and then subtract that answer by fifteen.” He groans again, and I leave him to it, pulling out my sketchbook. “Don’t you have gym next period, Wilder?” Nadia asks. I look up from my drawing. “Yeah. So I can fail some more at trying to be athletic.” “Aw, you’re athletic when you put your mind to it, Wilder!” “Athletic at tripping.” I growl. I continue drawing, moving my black cape with a purple inside off my arm. My cape is only attached at one shoulder with a strap that goes across my chest. Today I’m wearing a white sleeveless vest and pink feminine shorts with brown boots. Along with my pink gem pendant, spiked metal wristbands, and butterfly earrings. The principal has often joked I look like I just walked out of an adventure story, and has given me the award for “most creative daily-wear.” My hair is spiky and dyed red at the top, with slightly more cut black sides and base. It falls over my left eye. ⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡ After school ⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡ “Hey, Wilder!” Snaker calls as I arrive home. We live in a pretty big house, but it’s cabin-style, because Snaker likes the “camping out” feeling. The cabin house is in a clearing in a forest nearby to Star’s city. There’s a cobblestone path Snaker spent days building from our door to the city, and his flowers and various plants lining the house. Every window is lined with purple drapes with magic symbols on them. I pull off my boots in the entranceway, putting them next to Snaker’s. “Where are you?” I call. “Kitchen! How do tacos sound?” I walk down the hall and turn into the kitchen. The kitchen is the first room closest to the door. The living room is on the other side of the hallway. The stairs are after the living room, going up to the loft and our bedrooms. The kitchen is simple, but nice. It’s got a long counter, a nice stove, a sink, a refrigerator, a few cupboards, and a table with two chairs in the middle.
Snaker is a shapeshifter. He usually shows as a thirty year old man with lots of energy and sarcasm and white skin, unlike mine. He has short, flat brown hair and heterochromatic yellow and blue eyes. He has earbuds in, bouncing to the beat. Today, he’s wearing a double-color shirt, yellow on the top, blue on the bottom with blue jeans and black socks. I snort. “For someone so old, you’re surprisingly modern and energetic.” He gasps, offended. “Are you calling me an old man??” “Uh yeah. You were literally born before dinosaurs.” He rolls his eyes. “And I’m immortal, child. I find it easier to live forever if I stick to the present. Now, how to tacos sound?” “Ah, detalles. Tacos sound good, Snaker.” “Coming up! Set the table, mx. crítico!” He chirps. “Why are you putting me to work?!” I protest. He turns towards me smugly. “Because I’m the one making dinner. Also have you come out to your friends yet?” I look down at the plates in my hands. “No. I can’t bring myself to.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “That’s okay. Take your time, Wilder. It’s your gift to them.” I nod, sweeping my hair out of my face. It’s starting to grow out, and I’m thinking of keeping it that way, instead of cutting it and dying it again. “You need a haircut, Wilder!” Snaker teases, setting plates of tacos on the table. “Nah.” I sit down. “I’m gonna let it grow out, and then cut it.” “You want the natural black back?” He asks. I smile. “Or I might dye a little of it purple.” “That’s the spirit!” He eats his tacos easily. “Hey, Wild? Have you had any disturbances with your powers?” I tilt my head, confused. “I’ve felt it buzzing a little under my ribcage, why?” “Good! Good! That’s progress!” He chirps. “How was your third day of the fifth week of ninth grade?” “Chaotic. Also you don’t need to ask me that specifically every day. Just ask how my day was!” “Boring!” He stands up. “Come on! Training!” I shove the rest of my taco in my mouth as he kicks on his shoes, walking outside. “Be out in ten!” He calls. I swallow, unclipping my cape and pulling on my boots. I jog out of the house after Snaker. “Okay! Remember what your mother used to say, right?” He chirps. “‘Chaos paves the way for something new.’” I quote. “Yup! So keeping that in mind…” he gestures to the closest oak tree. “Embrace that buzzing. Destroy the tree. Then create something new from it.” I take a deep breath, clenching my fists. The buzz below my ribcage grows, turning into a warm thrum. And then it erupts. I let it flow, and red smoke swirls around me. My heart beats in my chest. I fight the fear away, but it’s too much. Too much. No. It went out of control. Five years ago. I was being bullied. They poked my chest, asked what I was, I stammered I was nonbinary. They laughed in my face. The memories flash through my mind, and I collapse. My power went out of control. It just erupted. The entire school was destroyed. Five kids died. I clutch my chest. No. No, I can’t use this again. I’ll go out of control. The smoke cuts off, slithering back into me. I lock it back up inside me. Snaker sighs, and grips my shoulders. “You can’t stay afraid of it forever.” He murmurs. “You have to let go of the past, and learn to control it.” “I can’t.” I sob. “I’ll lose control!” “Wilder, Wilder. No you won’t. And no one will get hurt if you do, because we train all the way out here.” He soothes. “And you know very well I won’t get hurt.” He stands up. “Try again.” “But-” “Try again, Wilder.” He growls. “You won’t learn if you give up.” I nod, gulping. I embrace the buzzing again, standing up. This time, I swallow my past and my fear. My mother’s face flashes in my mind. Her grin. “Don’t be afraid of chaos, my butterfly. It’s your friend. It will not hurt you.” I let out a slow breath, and the smoke swirls up out of the ground again. I shoot out my hands, making a cupping motion at the tree, and the smoke moves to circle the oak.
