SKATE OR DIE

After a short survey of the male’s face, he decided on looking back at the television. It seemed like today was the day of grieving, both for the humans and the superhumans. Lovely. He was in mid eye-roll when the boy said his name, causing him to immediately shoot him a rather shocked expression. “The pariah…I’ve heard about you. I’m Terry.” His voice lacked its usual peppiness, an observation that shocked even himself. Perhaps he spoke too quickly, forgetting to add in actual depth to his words. He had to remind himself of that, lest he end up sounding like a drone. No one liked talking to a robot.

"Pariah? That's a new one," he chuckled. Yeah, it was no news to Andrew that he was hated for his blunt outlook on life. That just meant that he wouldn't get dates anytime soon. Andrew nodded his head. Terry's tone dropped. Perhaps tiredness? Andrew hoped he wasn't boring or annoying. He would have to give up his seat if someone more interesting and likable came by. "Yeah, the actual superhero," he said, remembering Terry's social position. He glanced at the television; they moved onto weather. At least it wasn't berating superhumans again.

"Why isn't there a superhuman news channel? I heard one of the girls at WRAL has Electrokinesis. A blackout happened on air because she sneezed too hard," he explained, chuckling at the mere image. There was his attempt at being...likable?

Suddenly a shadow cast over her, blocking the sun off of her. She pursed her lips in disapproval. Johanna cleared her throat. “Uh, excuse you. You’re standing in my sunlight. Remove yourself now, annoying person. Thank you.” She squinted, waving her hand at whoever it was in her way.  

He stopped midway. His hair began to get into his face; he needed to readjust his beanie. Also, he saw some girl shooing people away bitterly. He decided that he wanted to torment her. Andrew knew exactly who it was. The resident queen of mean herself, Johanna Rivera. Andrew stood in her way, letting the song come to an end. As it did, he took off his headphones and cast a confused look. "Sorry. I didn't hear that," he taunted, chuckling after his statement.

George Brennan appeared on the screen following the car commercial and the politician’s voice triggered a scowl to briefly appear on face. Political talk about the president and other people on his side were one thing, seeing as how they did away with a lot of laws oppressing superhumans, but men like Brennan were an entirely different subject. He remembered reading an article in which he helped a girl with Enhanced Synesthesia get a scholarship into Yale. Wonderful news, he thought, until he read a separate article about him personally ‘dealing’ with troubled superhuman youth in his city while acting as it’s mayor. In what world is one superhuman’s life worth more than another?

As Andrew weighed the costs and benefits of what each of his fellow students had to offer, Terry made a mental note of his final decision and the price he was willing to put into the pool. “Considering what said individual would have to do in order to replicate the damage dealt by Mr. Ashton, I could honestly say it wouldn’t be Rosaline or Audra. I’d have to put my money on you.” His voice was unwavering as he turned to return the look he knew would follow such an accusation. “You’re the only person in this room I don’t know anything about.”

A news report about a female superhuman being shot and killed came up on screen. For once, it was sympathetic. A poor child was shot dead on the outskirts of San Diego. Just to think, there used to be a school out there. Andrew looked around to the onlookers; some were agitated, some were heartbroken. Andrew politely turned the channel.

"Andrew, by the way," he said justly.

Another voice sounded behind him, and Terry’s head tilted exactly 30 degrees to the left, allowing him to identify the boy whom it belonged to without having to do a full turn. After the boy’s appearance sparked no jolt to his immediate memory, he returned his gaze to the tv, which now was showing a commercial for car insurance. “A crime’s a crime unless it’s done by a superhuman, then it’s a stepping stone in our terrorist agenda,” he retorted. “And it’s not garbage. Prejudiced or not, the news is still our only source of information about the outside.”

A muffled laugh escaped Terry as the male moved around to take a seat on the couch. He quickly moved his hands, which were outstretched at his sides, to sit against the exposed couch satin between his thighs. He hadn’t realized how valuable that motion was until the rough surface of the boy’s skateboard made contact with his elbow. “As far as they’re concerned, this school is doing just that. It wouldn’t be too far-fetched,” he babbled, eyes never once directing their attention away from the screen. “Pretty sure one of you lucky superhumans is gonna go down in history for 'Lancing' up the place. Wanna take bets now while we’re still able?”

Though his words were not towards anyone in particular. He was speaking his mind. Something he became notorious for. The cars were nice on this commercial. It is ironic, considering that most cars that insurances deal with were totaled. "Terrorist agenda? Yeah, we're all a fuckin' hivemind, waiting for our leader to tell us our mission. Honestly, if we were all together, do you think humans would even exist?"

The next commercial was on some presidential matter. Another ironic moment. Andrew would believe networks timed these damn commercials. Of course Fox News would broadcast political commercials involving the Nazis--Republicans. George Brennan: another stiff walking, fake smiling, baby kissing, cock (figuratively, Andrew hoped) sucking man who would turn on America in a heartbeat. Funny thing is that Jason Masters was an Independent prez.

"Dude, I'm going with the vamp chick in Senior class. One look in those eyes of yours and you're under her control," she started to explain. He looked around him, jokingly. "Like I shouldn't say much, one of these dudes might be bangin' her already. He's trapped for life!" He snickered at his own antics. "But seriously, I think the redhead might doom us all. We're by a fuckin' ocean. She'd drown us all on accident; we don't get badass deaths like those peeps up north," he concluded. "So I got fifty on her. You, brotha?" he asked, turning his head slightly to Terry, keeping his eye on the Taco Bell commercial. It made him hungry.

The voice of a female reporter echoed in the background. “This just goes to prove that superhumans aren’t trying as hard as they’re leading us to believe they are. They don’t want to assimilate. They are taking advantage of our patience and I’m sorry but that patience is running thin…”

"Wow, rude," the boy sitting on the couch uttered, repulsed. He crinkled the bridge of his nose, pointing the remote and turned down the volume as the woman continued on her tangent. Anything and everything a superhuman did just had to be more proof that they weren’t meant for society. The very human marine who decided he’d murder his wife in Onslow county didn’t even make the news, let alone get the attention of anyone of power. It just wasn’t quality news unless it something that could be used against the superhuman race. "Remind me not to sneeze near a human. Wouldn’t want to get charged with public endangerment."

The sounds of Converses echoed along with the pretentious human's. "Lance, Magnus, how many more superhumans do we have to suffer through until we have another man like Jason Masters step up? We want to believe that they change but they keep doing things like this?" A teenage male snickered at her words. He leaned over the couch, picking up the remote in his hands. He bounced in between his hands.

"Fox News, huh?" he said, eyeing Terry. "Yeah, she didn't say 'shit' about the guy that killed some kids, but they're talking 'bout some guy that accidentally shot someone with electricity," he explained, giving another look to the biter woman on the television. "Don't fill your mind with this garbage, bro," he said, walking around to the couch. He took a seat and brought his skateboard to his lap. "By the way, sneeze on a superhuman, they'll charge you with treason. Trying to spread the superhuman 'virus'," he quipped. "Trying to start another superhuman army," he added quickly.

"Fuckin' idiots," he angrily murmured.