Ascend

By M Anderson

A lot has happened since Megan found out that shes an Avian, an Antiquus, to be exact.

After being tracked down by Irenesav, the corrupt Avian government, Megan was shipped off to one of Irenesavs strict boarding schools against her will. Although Megan is thankful she is not aloneJason and Paul are there with herdealing with these guys can get complicated.

Just outside the sphere of Irenesavs influence, rebellion boils precariously close to the surface. Verus, the organization of Avians who have been in hiding since Irenesavs near successful attempt to wipe out the rebellious society, is working harder than ever to weaken the corrupt government.

As Megan, Jason, and Paul transition into life at WS Academyfull of violence, brainwashing, and secrets they find themselves working with Verus, their allies, to take down Irenesav once and for all. After all, what better way to sabotage Irenesav than from the inside?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504978545

M Anderson

M. Anderson is originally from the northwest suburbs of Chicago. Currently, she is attending Calvin College, a liberal arts school in Michigan. She is planning on graduating in the spring of 2019. You are likely to find M. Anderson devouring a book or creating art, whether it be painting constellations or making clay mugs. She also enjoys running, eating dark chocolate, dancing in public, and laughing with her sisters. Anderson is an avid adventurer who finds great joy climbing mountains, going on late-night treks with friends, and living vibrantly. Ascend is her second novel. Like M. Anderson on Facebook and find her on Twitter and Snapchat @morganander2.

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© 2016 M. Anderson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/11/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7855-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7853-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-7854-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016902217

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Author's Note

About The Author

Dedicated to those now prepared to soar

I want to think again of dangerous and noble things,

I want to be light and frolicsome,

I want to be improbable and beautiful and afraid of nothing

As though I had wings

-Mary Oliver

Don't think about making art,

Just get it done.

Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad,

Whether they love it or hate it.

While they are deciding,

Make even more art.

-Andy Warhol

Chapter 1

Wind colliding with open flesh. Smoking gunpowder stinging flared nostrils.

It's not a bad dream. Nor is it a nightmare.

It's a memory.

The incident no longer itches the back of my mind, now it's this behemoth taking its place to perform a head on attack. I'm afraid of the feeling going numb. Because if it does, then gradually, so will my resolve to fight it.

I refuse to accept defeat... because the second I do, I know for certain that this misery will never resolve itself. Miracles can happen. Not magic.

I arch in my seat, my wings cramping.

It's been fourteen days since we were captured. Two weeks.

Jason. Paul. Me. A most unlikely trio, even I'll admit. All of us cocky. All of to the air as if we were born among the clouds. But it's so much more complicated than that...

Jason O'Connolly.

Jason. The incident- childhood boundaries overstepped, striking a resounding chord of fear, the fear of having no control. Finding out that half of it was a ruse, a necessity to get that one stupid hair, wasn't necessary by any means to touch me. Jason's seductive smile and baiting laughter, finally it's not as abrasive. My surprise and fury at discovering Jason was an Avian. My initial guilt for feeling satisfied at the tiny scar that marred his one wing. Him drunk at New Year's at Verus in Colorado, blundering around, just as hopeless and confused as anyone could be.

But then there's that ever-present hinting grin, that clenched jaw, tensed body, and resilient, flashing, and the unforgettable, hazel eyes. A strong Avian, born not only to fly, but to enjoy it. The slightly honey tanned skin of his, even in the white cold of winter, starkly apparent especially on the flesh of his muscular wings, one of which is decorated with the tiny organic design tattoo. An undeniably attractive face, one that, at first, I never assumed I could trust, but its just adornment for someone who is far more than just that.

Paul.

Paul.

His lips brushing against mine... the lingering flash of his eyes... promising to always come back for me before giving up to Irenesav... of the three, I know it's the promise I hold the most precious. Paul Nicholson. The one who got me into this whole mess months ago and rattled my cookie cutter life. Heck, he was the one who helped kidnap me for the first time. Agh. Sometimes, admittedly, he frustrates me, angers me, confuses me, orders me about. And yet... also the same one who challenges and will readily protect me, who never ceases to surprise me, whose fierce morals I can't help but admire, whose strength is obvious both on the inside and outside. And Paul's had no easy life, but instead of letting it destroy him, he astounds me by working through each new challenge, becoming an even more intriguing person.

Paul is... Paul is an unfolding tapestry that changes like the wind, one that I can't help wanting to discover more about.

My wings shudder and I fight to keep my eyes from flashing white and slipping into mutatio. Slipping into my Ancient instincts.

I'll need a refill of BK12 soon.

The reason why Irenesav, the secret Avian government, is wanting so desperately to have me all to itself. Jarvis, the sleek doctor slash evil model, is the primary director of me, for all I can tell at the moment. I mean, when they found out a kid popped up an Avian out of the blue, they kind of went nuts. Especially because being an Avian is hereditary, yet none of my parents or any other family that I know of is an Avian, let alone an Ancient; a puzzle that even I'm still confounded by. And don't even get me started on how on earth I am going to keep them from finding that out, let alone get home. In my whole month and a half of being an Avian, and almost half of that practically being on the run, I barely knew about the Ancient part of me. Thiele did, and only then because he is one as well. However, for the rest of the Avian population, Ancients are myths, fantastic legends of them in their previous glory. If not for Thiele, both I and the secret of Ancients would be long lost to Irenesav. It was particularly confusing at first though, first he was called Cauldron, staging as Paul's 'uncle' in an effort to assimilate me into Irenesav, then revealed as a betrayer by Jarvis as well as Caldron's name really turning out to be Thiele. But really Paul and Jason had been planning to break away to help me stay safe by finding refuge with the hidden group of rebels, Verus, which housed Paul's long lost grandfather. When I was kidnapped for what seems like the thousandth time- this time by my roommate for goodness sake, who turned out to be a love-mad psychopathic wacko- who knew, right?- he finally revealed to me the truth. Thiele is an Ancient working undercover, his mission primarily to keep me safe.

So when I announced my intent to destroy Irenesav, he had little choice to say anything but yes. Even though I know Thiele's quietly sabotaging them himself, he had expressed his concern for me to get involved. And sure, for a normal seventeen-year-old girl to face something like this, he's totally right, but the thing is, this war isn't only about me getting my life back-

It's more than that.

Irenesav wasn't always evil. Hundreds of years ago, it was formed in an effort to safeguard Avians everywhere from the curiosity of humans and indirect- and more often than not- direct harm from them. From what few books I've been able to get my hands on, I've learned that it was a time of prosperity and peace. But Irenesav grew greedy; they divided the Avian society. The élites- the privileged- emerged. They were those who were loyal to Irenesav and the corruption it now stands for.

Finally, the rest of the Avians rebelled, as was well within their rights. And perhaps in another century they would have been successful- they held the majority over Irenesav and the elite. But not in the twentieth century... not with the weapons, biochemical and smoking steel, so easily accessible...

It was a massacre. It was the Revision.

Even hearing about the bloodshed now, fifteen years later, still makes me shudder. Irenesav covered it up with a mass epidemic.

Families murdered for two years straight, the children brought up in the government's watchful eye, demanded to live to their raised standards. Officially known as Group Two's to Irenesav. But to everyone else: changelings. Paul, Jason, Lucy, Ollie, and Travis- all their parents held out under the guise of élites. And Ollie and Travis... well, now Ollie, Travis, their parents, and Paul's parents are permanently gone. Thiele unfortunately was naïve in his act of accidentally bringing Paul's parent's doom. Nevertheless, it was an especially tough thing for Paul to live with, without understanding while Irenesav punished them both by forcing Thiele, of course, to act as Paul's 'uncle' on mission.

Now children are scarce, an even mix of élites and Group Two's for the first time. The Avian population is a third of what it was, with an overwhelming majority of young adults, fifteen to twenty-one, the ones deemed impressionable enough to be spared.

Thiele confirmed to me that it's one of the boarding schools, surging with changelings and élite teens, where we're being sent now. W. S. Academy. I'm not sure what to expect. Is Irenesav sending all of the élite children here now? Do they know who they really are? And if not, could I convince them? But how? Kidnapping, speaking from experience, is extremely rude not to mention extremely distrusting and so far out of my pool of resources that it's in a desert some continent over. So therefore out of the question. Yet the questions stubbornly persist.

More importantly, what is that overwhelming majority capable of?

Helping or hurting our cause?

Chapter 2

I shudder with relief as, at last, Thiele, turns to me, glaring. The other men in the front seat don't glance back. Jarvis should have assigned two more Irenesav guards back behind in the rear of the jeep, to keep an eye on me. Although I may appear frail, my body is strong enough.

Sexist bastard. Paul and Jason probably have double. Bah. But I'm grudgingly thankful, for it's because of his nearly absent precautions that no one notices the small white pill flicked at the seat next to me from Thiele's swift hand. I scoop it up and bend forward allowing my tresses to cover my face as I swallow it fleetingly.

Mussed hair, matted from lying on an achingly cold examining table, but just wavy enough to pass inspection from any random person along the road. My eyes are a thick brown I've come to appreciate, set in a normally bright face, when I choose to show it.

I may be detained, but I can still take in my surroundings despite the blackened windows. Technically, I assume we're on our way to somewhere off of Australia, like Thiele said, but Australia is huge; for all I care I still don't know our destination. Two weeks ago, being spirited away from Denver, for me ended up in a lab somewhere in an Irenesav base in Chicago. Tests were conducted practically nonstop. I saw Jason twice. Paul once. Luckily, Thiele managed to maintain his position as my personal babysitter, which worked out enough for him to slip me small doses of BK12, a nasty drug developed by Irenesav that weakens Avians. It's untraceable within minutes in the bloodstream and also masks my Ancient qualities, specifically muto, my instinct to transform, to lessen the extreme difference between my Ancientness and any regular Avian's inner qualities that quietly show the difference. Other qualities past that I'm not particularly sure about. It made me only just interesting enough to Jarvis, enough to guarantee not being disposed of.

The second flight recently ended, perhaps less than an hour ago. The same fancy jet, again getting blindfolded on and off into cars, but Thiele was the only prickly comfort on the long flight to wherever we're driving to in Australia now. No Paul or Jason. Yet. Hopefully, yet.

Riding isn't particularly smooth; the asphalt is still there, even if the roads curve often. And I'm still cold, but from the air conditioning, not any external forces, like in Colorado. Australia is our destination, but I'm just not sure if we're there yet. The Outback seems like an ideal place for seclusion, although flying would be dull without many obstacles and only red sand dirt for miles. I don't know much about the place really, and there hasn't been time for Thiele to fill me in on anything without attracting attention. Australia is filled with marsupials, the Great Barrier Reef, the Outback, and people that say g'day mate. Yup, that's the extent of my knowledge on the huge continent.

I pitch forward in my seat, barely catching myself on the front headrest. The car pulls to a complete stop. Really? So soon?

I gulp down a breath of air, willing myself to calm down. My back arches as a shot of pain spikes through my spine and my wings quiver. I dig my nails into my palm, finally, after confronting the prospect of being jolted from the cutting BK12 mixed with my urge of muto. The slices of pain are what happen when both of them are combined, only getting worse if my feelings crescendo.

Luckily, it's now under control. But it shouldn't have happened. Slipping up like that will be noticed sooner or later. All I can do with my broken façade is buy time. Although, exactly how much time I'll get in this rising war is another problem entirely.

The front window rolls down and I flinch in surprise as a shaft of piercing sunlight enters my vision. But after the rapid blinking dissipates the white spots, it fades to a light rosy glow: still morning. I inhale deeply, the sent of leather becoming less prominent with every breath. My skin tingles with the wave of balmy wind. After sitting in stoic air for so long, a breeze as alive as this makes my heart ache for open skies.

Passage requested for Mission Six?

Rubber on iron squeals loudly in protest.

Passage granted, a loud voice responds to the driver. The window is shut and darkness reigns even harsher, as well as the car lurching forward.

Moments later the door opens. Thiele climbs out stately and I meander after him obediently, but my heart is thumping as loud as a big, tense moose. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Rough hands of the two Irenesav guards grasp my arms on both sides, practically dragging me, and paying little attention to my eyes flicking around like a squirrel on coffee.

The sun is on its way, just peeking over early morning mist. But everything is shrouded in gray shadows still, the sun barely illuminating the tops of buildings. The structures are ridged, tall, and formal, all a pale white I would assume, in natural light. The most imposing form around a quad while the others that branch off are more flat in submission. One is the most grand, with high columns and pillars, and a big convex top. My vision narrows as a head appears in one of the flatter structures' inky open windows. Another joins it. The faces contort slightly in a smile or grimace; I'm not sure. A moment later they disappear, then I blink in surprise as the whole dorm appears to awaken. Twenty or so girls, all teenagers, peer curiously at me, but I can't hear their hushed whispers. I flick back to the other building and sure enough, there are teenage boys watching as well, their voices loud and masculine, but still inaudible. I open my mouth, and then snap it shut vigorously. What do I say?

Anticipation and even a little bit of fear squirm in the pit of my stomach. W.S. High School Academy, if that's even its real name, may be a school for Avians, but it's still a high school.

Lord, help me.

I'm led to the main, most important-not to mention most imposing- building, and set up in a sterile room in what seems to be a nurse's wing. It's maybe as big as the prison hallway in Verus, there's about twenty-five beds, only more open than it was in Verus. They fuss over me for a while, first with needles drawing blood. I relax slightly as time passes without incident; the BK12 is working, right on schedule.

Thiele passes in and out of the room constantly, a hard expression on his face. My brow contorts slightly; even his acting isn't that good.

Jarvis strolls in. Oh.

Italian suit, skinny white tie, he flicks his disdain on me like a child flicks buggers. Little buzzing lab coats finish their work hastily. I envy them as they dart out freely.

Welcome to W.S. Academy, his cold, calculating tone saps the warmth from my body like eternally icy metal. I would rather be painstakingly flying through a blizzard at Verus than here- with a wisp of a plan, opposition from all sides, and no hope for rescue except for three other people here combined with me.

My head tilts downward sluggishly, and my jaw aches from clenching. But my throat tightens as I swallow.

Luckily, Jarvis is too preoccupied in his own voice then actually pressed for a response from me. It's a workout to keep my tongue silent.

While Jarvis enjoys hearing himself and only himself have a conversation, I zone out until the telltale patter of feet reel in my attention once more.

Wait, what exactly is he saying? Is he directing this at me specifically?

...So, you see it's rather beneficial to us both if you cooperate, love.

Jarvis's thin tongue sneaks out and wets his lips as he presents his proposal with a flourish.

And for a moment my heart lifts.

Paul's hazel eyes are blazing. Tensed body, prepared for the best and the worst. A wisp of a smile, teasing me at the edge of his lips. And only mere steps across the room...

Then it plummets even deeper into panic.

I make out dark circles from days of deprived sleep frame Paul's eyes. He stands awkwardly on one foot. A yellow bruise colors his chiseled jaw.

My brow furrows and suddenly hands are pressing down on me while I sit on the examining table. I hiss furiously at Thiele. He sternly wages war against my glare. He had no right. This is utterly ridiculous and inhumane. How far will he go to get what he wants?

Then I feel it, the power rushing through my veins, surging through my wings. The flash through muto to unleashing the Ancient pulls like itching a scab.

Pop. Everything flashes white. Oops.

Now Thiele's nails are digging into me. I slowly inhale. Allowing the pain to blot out this feeling, this seductive surge of emotional power... look away, look away, look at the celling, look at the floor, anything but at Jason.

The darkening flicker in my pupil and Thiele's exhale tell me it's over.

I try to remain stoic as I turn back to Jarvis.

But it's hard- oh it's so hard- especially when Jarvis waves a gleaming smile right in my face.

I wish I could pull out every perfect tooth which, lucky for him, is probably all of them.

He steps forward, Italian shoes clacking menacingly, It's quite simple really, his finger flicks to me, You follow my rules, and Paul here, he reaches out and slaps Paul's cheek, making him growl, Is fine. However, if you don't, well... Jarvis gestures up and down Paul's bruised figure.

You won't have to worry about his appearance being this way anymore. Darling, I can guarantee that it will be worse.

I roll my shoulder out from Thiele's hand, my jaw tightening eyes narrowing.

Understood.

Good, because I will get what I want no matter what.

Perhaps I won't get what I want, but you better believe I will get what I need.

My jaw grinds teeth together, Proceed.

Then I exhale, mustering all my confidence, and move my arms, pressing them behind me to lean backwards lazily. A smirk completes my patronizing image.

Jarvis' smile disappears like a sheep among wolves.

Point Megan.

I pray you listen carefully, he grinds.

Whatever.

I wince slightly, preparing myself.

It's still a shock when air whistles past my ear and-

CRACK.

My body hunches over in sharp pain.

Aaaaand point Jarvis.

I rub my stinging cheek, but the tears are already clouding my vision.

There's a shuffle of feet as Paul surges forward, then a grunt as Irenesav guards leave their posts at the wall and take him away.

First and foremost, that attitude of yours has to go, Jarvis spits at me, Obedience, understand? That is what will be expected of you from now on.

Forever.

You will not ask questions.

You will make acquaintances and participate in the going-alongs here.

No time is to be spent with Paul Nicholson and Jason O'Connolly, alone.

Smart. Forbidding contact would be too noticeable, and people already saw us being brought in, so they can't hurt them permanently, for now at least.

You will not answer questions about your family, save for that they abandoned you and that you've been a Group Two your entire life.

The name you are assigned her is Megan Smith.

Well it's better than Eugenia.

You will be subjected to any tests as I or another with higher rank deems fit at any time.

You will inform us of any traitors.

I blink slowly, his words sinking in to me like ink bleeding over paper.

Traitors. I never thought I would describe traitors as wonderful, but it's been a crazy day, why not. Now I'll just have to find them... but how?

You'll find your things in your room. Thiele will take you there.

What things?

Although you're welcome to stay here if you like, you seem accustomed to harsh conditions, hmm?

I slide off of the examining table, willing my war face of sass to be as cold as it's metal.

Thiele takes my shoulder roughly and pushes me toward the door.

Oh and Megan? Jarvis calls tauntingly, You'll have a week, how shall I say, ah, to yourself and for perhaps frequent visits back here, then you'll start your classes.

***

My forehead creases.

So this is what Jarvis meant by 'time to myself'. Solitary confinement.

It's been seven days of this. I'm careful not to lose track. The first day all I did was sit. Meals came in. Trays went out. But at least there was a little side bathroom. An Irenesav goon that wasn't Thiele, which was irritating, escorted me to the bathroom whenever I asked. He never would answer any of my questions, whether they were barbed with malice or dripping with sweetness.

The tests are random. Usually once a day. One day was blood work. Another was a bunch of shots. But by night, Thiele is my guard, sleeping in the room across the hall. He kept me from banging my head on the wall and more seriously, from slipping into muto with the daily doses of BK12, and a dangerously large one for the blood work day. With him there, I was free to go over his drills constantly on my wings and the rest of my body before going to sleep, both of us intent on keeping my strength up. The whole while I'd shoot questions at him, How are the boys? and Have you seen them today? while more often than not it would be the same vague reassurance.

So when I'm shoved a uniform instead of breakfast this morning, forgive me for looking forward to finally getting out of here. When I'm led into a shower, forgive me for not, relishing in being clean rather than focusing on what I know is more important.

I dress quickly, my hair still damp. Yet as much as I want to despise it, the uniform slices over my skin like water. Extremely better than slutty anime uniforms, and better than Amish ones too. There's a pleated navy, high-waisted skirt, white blouse, plain except for the low dipping back for wing purposes, and even black spandex for underneath. The shoes are simple brown loafers. I also find a bag filled with books and notebooks. Most are normal, covering subjects like math, English, and science, save for two, Avians: The Full and Complete History and Australia.

Australia, not America. The lethargic feeling of mutatio rises up but is easy to quell thanks to Thiele's extra dosage last night, just to be careful. I nibble on the edge of my lip. Just what I need, another reminder that I'm not at home. Not waiting for Callie to take the bus or to walk to school with Gwen. Not taking a packed lunch from Dad or leaving with a kiss goodbye from Mom. My family. I blink away tears.

Stop being so selfish. I'm not the only one hurting here. I never was. Only now, when I actually choose to look beyond myself, I'm finally able to see.

Ready?

Thiele pokes his head in through the doorway, his face sharp and already playing his role as captor, but his weary eyes a little behind, a speck of hope still in them.

Exhaling, I'm relieved he'll be here to help, the next best person that is even a part of my new world.

I stand but remain looking down, picking at the soft fabric.

Am I ready?

To take down one of the most powerful and guileful governments in the world?

To risk my life?

Of course not.

But honestly, when was being ready relevant?

Chapter 3

It's awkward, more than anything, walking outside, being trailed by two guards and Thiele. They're like hovering parents, decidedly uncool, no matter which of the seven continents you're on.

Speaking of which, I haven't exactly determined where I am yet. Off the colder southern coast of Australia, sure. But it's Aus-freaking-huge-tralia.

To be honest, it reminds me of home in the summer, only not so scorching. And it technically is summer here anyway I suppose, being on the opposite side of the equator and all. Weird. There's lush, fluffy grass all over the quad. Trees are littered here and there, big and leafy with wide glossy leaves, and even others with needles. It reminds me of summer, but in reality it's entirely different. About a half mile out, down a main road that connects to the quad, the trees thicken for a while, to configure, I realize, around some sort of fence. It's not the height that worries me, that part is pretty much for show but the Irenesav guards patrolling around it. I'm accustomed to flat land like that of the plains in Illinois, beautiful plains that expose everything in sight. But for flying, Colorado- that was incredible. My wings ache as I reminisce of the biting winds, the fierce challenging mountains, the thrill of living on the edge. Here, it's like a mixture of both, with a splattering of mountains miles in the distance, but not nearly the highest I've seen.

Dialects ring in my ears. Some Australian. Some European. Even Chinese and Spanish. And boys and girls- I don't bother to count them all, but they seem to be over a hundred, but not over three hundred- are flushed out upon the commons. Everyone ranges from fifteen to perhaps twenty-one years old, the age of those filched from death in the Revision. Which they frustratingly have no idea about. It's hard to resist clutching my aching brain. Psh. No problem, right? I'll just convince them with a couple words and pitifully small facts. I cringe staring at the seemingly thousands of them; oh man, it's going to be harder than I thought.

I am so in way over my head.

Watch it!

My feet stumble and I mumble an apology, shrinking away from a pack of girls. Their uniforms are identical to mine, navy pleated skirts and white blouse. Well duh, I'm an idiot, they're uniforms after all. The boys wear knee high navy shorts or pants and similar white shirts, but with small cuts instead of the low backs that the girls have for their wings. But I disregard most of that, instead keenly interested in looking at how a splattering of them release his or her wings from confinement, letting them rest freely against their backs.

Almost instinctively, I follow their lead, shrugging mine out of my back not too quickly but far more expertly than my first struggling attempt over a month ago. The balmy, seventies air is heaven against my skin, which on second thought is a rather odd adjustment. It's still snowy in the U.S. but then again this is in the Southern Hemisphere- the seasons are flip-flopped. Tendrils of wind practically beg me to pay attention to them and simply soar.

Yo, Megan!

My heart jumps, first from surprise, then hope, a desperate hope- but it's not necessary. Although, I still flash a small smile at a familiar face.

Hey, Jason, I reply, my eyes apprising him. First, I search for any telltale bruises, but he's flawless. Typical, really. Tall stature, thick and short curly, ebony hair, Caribbean blue eyes, hard and liberal. In the same shorts and shirt as all the other teenage boys, really, but there's a swaggering confidence that makes people stare and blink in his harsh bright light. I know I did years ago. Already, the kids here notice him, the boys with wariness and the girls with open curiosity and shy smiles. Hence the wary boys, and rightfully so.

Who's that?

"With him? I bet it's another Seppo."

Seppo?

A frown tugs at my lips, as I along with everyone else enter the most imposing building in the quad, which doesn't exactly help my mood.

It means an American. Not exactly sure how, though I doubt it's a compliment.

You've got a point.

A hand settles on my shoulder gently, and then lifts away. My fleshy, tucked in wings shiver. Not the variety of blinding flash going through mutation, when it sears through me, but an inward glow, steadily throbs through my body, starting in my chest then reaching up to flush my face and extending out to tingle the tips of my wings.

Paul's face is bright; I've been called it twice already.

My broadening grin isn't easy to rein in.

It's difficult. Terribly difficult. It would make things so much simpler if