Chapter One: Cheating Bets, a New Mission and Shakespeare Sonnets

"Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can." -Arthur Ashe

There're really only a few things you need to know about me, and my phone number or bra size are not those things. Although my biology is rather pertinent to my introduction. I'm not that spectacular, not like people who can crack all their joints, do a splits or anything like that. What makes me extraordinary is in the most mundane thing. If only you could appreciate the irony in my use of the word mundane to describe myself.

The first thing to know about me: I have a human's biology. I look like the humans. I talk like them, I think like them to some degree. The difference: the human body is made of cells. I am made of something else entirely.

The second thing: I don't exist. The fact that I am alive right now is perhaps the best kept secret in written history. My reveal will be all anyone writes about in history for centuries.

One final thing you ought to know: I’m the single most dangerous thing to ever exist on the earth. I am near indestructible.

Caught up?

Good.

You know everything I know about myself.

Everyone has the same definition of a superhero: crazy outfits, even crazier hair and voices, quotable catchphrases, wicked powers, maybe a wisecracking sidekick and citizen adoration-- maybe. If you try to define a hero, people come up to you with a ton of different things. At the core, heroes are defined as people who take selfless action in a crisis or to help others. Essentially, someone with laudable traits.

Now, an eighteen-year-old blonde girl constantly trying to be impossibly taller than her roommates/friends-- benefits?--/mutants with unbelievable abilities? People scratch their heads, waste ten minutes of your time deciding that no, that isn’t how they’d describe a hero.

Maybe I haven’t yet reached that hero status yet. None of us have. We will, soon.

We leave on our first mission in twenty-two hours. At exactly eight o’clock, Cody, Andrew, Ty, Kelli and I are boarding a helicopter to go to the District of Columbia, where our orders are to eliminate the threat of an attack on our country’s leaders. War is going to begin any moment, and the risk of a terrorist attack is higher than ever. I don’t mean they’re arguing, I’m talking about being zero minutes to midnight. It’s time to pray to God, build a bomb shelter and withdraw all the money in your bank account.

If this war begins, there won't be a safe escape. There will be no hope for mankind. They will tear each other apart. There will be no winners. Each country will get blasted off the face of the earth, and that'll be that.

Except humans are terrified of dying. So some Americans made us to guarantee their survival.

Our whole lives, we’ve remained hidden. We’re going to be revealed as secret weapons "If," They mean when, "War begins."

The government knows about us. The public isn’t ready. Not for people like us. Especially not someone like me, whose every cell is made of fire. Yes, fire. My heart, my bones, my skin, my hair. I’m pretty sure ninety percent of the population would describe me as a, and I quote, "fiery demon from hell with ungodly powers." Who said that? An average human, seeing what I consider fun. They got the joy of witnessing me burst into a ball of flames.

The others are strong and fast like I am. They have more natural powers, like water, earth, wind and shadows. They needed a kick in there, a contrast to keep the world on their toes.

We’ve been training, learning how to master our powers. For the others, it was easy. When they were built, the scientists took a human body aged thirteen and injected it with a serum to introduce water, earth, wind or shadows to the body. The serum then molded with the body, combining to make super beings. With me, the fire destroyed the body and rebuilt it in the image of a human girl, only using solely fire.

The others were going through what every human went through, plus a few extra kicks. For me, it was a whole new experience no one could talk to me about. To this day, even five years later, I’m still having a hard time doing basic human functions.

I can’t touch anything that isn’t fireproof and built to withstand my soaring temperature of five hundred degrees. The sad part? Five hundred is my lowest temperature. It takes energy, discipline and restraint to reach that point. Drop said restraints and my temperature peaks at over two thousand. It’s been getting smaller, allowing me to be within five feet of humans. I’ve learned how to make the flames condense, allowing me to make contact with things. I still burn them, but I don’t go through them. Don't judge me-- that was a remarkable accomplishment on my behalf. My speed has grown, along with my strength. I’m the fastest out of the five of us. We each have special abilities different from the others. Andrew has his strength, I have my speed, Cody has his intellect, Ty has invisibility and Kelli has her manipulation.

Pretty recently, we took a week long test to find out who would do the best in war. The winner would get to lead the team on the battlefield and during missions. Of course, this triggered a competitive side in all of us except Andrew. It came down between Kelli and me, the two newest and most advanced mutants. In the end, I won because any bullets fired would go right through me. Her powers don’t work on me at all. Turns out that fire’s a source of light, and you can’t have shadows in the light. Besides, she has all the mundane flaws to make her inferior to someone like me.

I’m different from the others in ways Kelli isn’t. I don’t eat, drink or sleep like they do. The fluke in the serum has nearly stripped me of any physical humanity. I don’t bleed, I don’t cry. I don’t break, and thus, I don’t die. No one can kill me, and I make it known.

I’m far from a human, which is misleading. I look just like your everyday human. More or less. With restraint and effort, the flames appear to look like a fairly tan skinned girl with orange eyes and long, wavy dirty blonde hair. That being said, anyone could look at me and point out what differentiates us. Humans are flawed. Humans have wrinkles, pores and smudges on their skin. I do not. Humans have poor posture and asymmetrical faces. I do not. The humans created someone of my beauty once before. They called her Aphrodite.

Unfortunately, I, unlike the goddess of beauty, am required to clothe. The clothes have to be specially made to withstand the fire. If that wasn't a challenge enough, they had to make them durable and strong to hold their own in battle. And another issue they had to keep in mind: I’m always hot. Always. Even in a room that’s blasting the AC when I’m wearing tank tops and shorts.

I try to keep myself as free as I can be. I don't want some cloth to bother me. Today, I wear a white sports bra and red shorts. I required a strict color code: everything must consist of either white, red, yellow or orange. The others created their own palette and uniform.

They're probably done with breakfast by now. From midnight until seven, when everyone sleeps, I go into the second of the two large compounds. The second, the one I’m in, is for training. I spend seven hours here without rest, working on getting impossibly better. I run as fast as I can, throw things almost as well as Andrew and strengthen my flame powers, like throwing fireballs, erupting in an explosion of fire and my personal favorite: flying.

A few years ago, I learned how to blast flames from my heels and palms of my hands and fly like a rocket. Needless to say, I rarely touched the ground when I finally mastered it.

I slow my run down to a halt. I skid to a stop, my bare feet sliding against the cement. I pull my long, blonde hair out of the high ponytail and let it hang over my shoulders. I’ve heard the others complain about being sweaty when they finish training. I wonder what it’s like to have water come out of minuscule holes in the skin. By the way they talk about it, it’s annoying and the amount is something to boast about.

The door bridging the two compound buildings is to my right. I push the door open and walk confidently towards out of the training facility. I walk through a hallway that stands between the two architectural successes. There are no windows that allow me to see the trees and forest that surrounds the small valley we’re hidden in. The training facility doesn’t have any windows, either. That’s all right, the building I’m about to enter makes up for both.

I push open the door two French doors. Immediately, light floods the dim hallway. This building is five stories tall with balconies around the walls that gives us space to fly, jump and throw. The walls almost entirely windows. I see the wind blowing through the trees outside that go as far as I can see. Even when I stand inches from the fence, I can only see trees. We’re not allowed to fly outside. They say we might be spotted. I don't understand why they so fiercely hide us from the world. I am not something to be ashamed of.

This room is the epitome of life. The walls are a light yellow; pots of plants can easily be found. Natural lights floods the room, by night, the moon shines through the skylight. Despite the constant repairs― trying to control your strength and fighting are horrible mixtures― the building looks new, modern and fresh. At least we never have to worry about it becoming too dated.

I was right; the others are up and active. These are the successful, according-to-plan mutants. The ones that didn’t destroy everything in the compound when they were made. To be fair, no one anticipated my power. We were supposed to get stronger as we aged, and I had to deal with the unexpected strength of an adult mutant.

Let’s introduce them the way I met them. They were introduced to each other as soon as they met. I was born an unstable isotope, and had to practice restraint before I could so much as see them. After two weeks, I finally met the four mutants I'd heard much about.

We were all created within a year of each other, by the same people with similar formulas, yet the differences are very obvious and stark. We couldn't pass as family. Not even distant half-cousins.

Kelli is my predecessor. You find out a lot about her by her appearance. The shortest of all of us, barely over seven and a half feet stands with her long, curly dark black hair down, going past her waist. Stick with me, Kelli seems like an evil succubus at first. As if her white, and I literally mean white skin, pitch black hair, eyes, lips and tongue weren’t scary enough, she wears black t-shirts, black jackets, black pants or skirts with black leggings and knee-high black boots. She embellishes her skin with dark eye makeup, many metallic rings and a black necklace that changes day to day. Today, it's a simple black choker. To further nail in her vampiric personas, she gave herself fangs in place of her canine teeth. Is it excessive? I think so. Does she make herself look ridiculous? I can't say for certainty.

The thing is, she’s beautiful. She has hair most girls would kill for, ideally placed features and airbrushed skin. She's more voluptuous than I'll ever be, her skin shines and her hair glistens.

If you have the stones to talk to her, you'd primarily think that she despises you. She’s snarky, to say the least. But so am I. We get along, despite us being foils for one another. All I'll say on that is if you're going to pants someone, you're a dead man if you pull on tight black clothing.

Pantsing people is exactly the bridge to Ty. He isn’t that bad for someone who chose his last name to be, "The Guy Who Can Fly". Don’t trust him-- you probably won't after hearing his last name-- he thrives on pranks and trickery. His sole mission in life is to laugh at how gullible you are. That, and bet your money away.  I’ve taken place in his activities more than I’d like to admit.

I'd also not like to mention that Ty's a hunk, so I won't. They say he has Spanish descent, which might have made him bilingual before he became the wind mutant. If he had an accent, he lost it. He's still sexy, or at least as sexy as I can consider him while remaining platonic friends. He has tousled chestnut hair, pretty tan skin and gray eyes. He and Cody look the most like human beings. Well, Ty’s skin looks too perfect to be real and he could model for men’s underwear or audition for Superman. It's kind of unreal. He's a thin guy with good muscle tone and a sharp jawline. His nose is small and his smile is wide, constantly exposing his white teeth. His eyes are a beautiful almond shape and he has these gorgeously structured eyebrows Kelli envies. I envy him for different reasons. He always raves about how delicious Andrew's sandwiches are, and I'll never be able to taste them; although I do help steal them.

Ty and I are the resident troublemakers. Some view our antics as destructive and immature-- Kelli and Cody-- and they're really not.

Sort of.

We both try to be fun and not be serious unless necessary, so we became quick friends. We agree on most everything and laugh at most everything, making us a duo to be reckoned with. When you focus your life on being loose and fun, you can get kind of reckless. We both know that when we leave the compound, we have to be serious all the time, so we’re trying to enjoy each moment of carelessness. Our uncontrollable ways have earned us a reputation as well known as Kelli's cutthroat attitude. The people in the compound call us the fire tornado. Is it as original as the nickname we administer? Of course not. Ty and I are the self dubbed nickname duchesses.

Kelli, Ty, Andrew and Cody are in the center of the room. Andrew says something that Ty doesn’t agree with. I hear the popular line, "Wanna bet?" And suddenly, the two are running around, jumping twenty feet in the air after each other. Ty's betting problem is serious and we don’t bother trying to fix it.

You'd think Andrew and Ty are best friends. Ty isn't Andrew's exclusive best friend. Andrew is impartial to all of us, somehow giving us all an equal amount of care. In return, we care just as much, and that's all he's come to ask of us. He’s easily the most easy-going and friendly. He’s almost always smiling and laughing, and he’s the only one with cooler eyes than me. His irises look like the globe, with a huge black hole in the middle for a pupil. I can point out the green continents against the blue oceans. He has the shortest hair, almost as dark as Kelli’s. He has beautifully dark ebony skin, and his green t-shirts don’t preach about saving the earth and shove rainbow peace signs down your throat. Andrew’s a vegetarian, and if I ate, he’d convince me to be one, too. Everything about him screams charisma. He’s always smiling, his eyes are friendly and you just want to throw all of your secrets at him because you can trust him to catch them all. Everyone has to admit to admiring his adoration of the world.

Boy or girl, everyone, at one point, has made a mental note of Andrew’s good looks. I have to admit to having a crush on him until two years ago. I still kind of do, but not really. I had a crush on Ty when I first met him. Hell, I've had a crush on almost all the boys worthy of it.

There's one exception.

Cody and I have a past that can only be expected of fire and water. When I met him, I hated his guts and he hated mine. Ty and I would break the water tank he lives in, weld his door shut and dump leftover food onto him from higher stories. Against my prior judgment, he’s an almost decent being. Although, to be brutally honest, if he died, I wouldn't care. I can't say we have anything on common or are in anyway compatible. He wears blue, shocker, and prepare for this twist: has blue eyes. My favorite color. He always wears tons of layers and these green sneakers that never match the shades of blue he drowns himself in, and for some reason, that really bothers me. He has a soft jawline, long nose and eyes shaped like ovals. He was the first one they made, which is why he isn't as appealing to the eye. He isn't very strong or fast or powerful, either. Instead of pursuing the super powered human road, he chose one any average human could.

He has devoted himself to knowledge, and isolated the world as a result. He’s the smartest one out of all of us, hence the constantly pursed lips and slightly squinted eyes. I was wary of him when I noticed that ninety-five percent of the time, he never smiles. He might be just as unapproachable as Kelli. He has short and matted dark hair, not even comparable to the Queen of Darkness, but it’s darker than brown. He used to be as pale as Kelli, which was actually alarming. Before they tested him for a pigment problem, his skin began to darken. He's still the second palest. He hasn't made much progress since then. He--

"I’m going long!" Ty yells, running past me. He stands in the corner of the room, opposite Andrew in the other. Seconds later, a football goes soaring past my head. I turn my head as it flies by, easily twenty feet in the air. "I got it!" Ty shouts. He jumps into the air, easily clearing the distance. Unfortunately, the ball goes between his hands, through the window and into the sun’s orbit. Ty swears under his breath as he lands.

"Nice catch, Butterfingers." Andrew calls from the center of the room.

"Well, that was your last football." I remind Ty, only a couple yards to my right. Of course, everything we use is specially made to endure the hell we put it through. It only makes it more expensive about tenfold. I put my hands on my hips as he walks over. "Are we moving onto plates for Frisbee now?"

"I was thinking wadded up napkins for shot-put." He says, putting his hands in his pockets. "Maybe we could have a little Olympics. We’ll use plastic knives for the pole vault and forks for fencing."

"How traditional." I say, rolling my eyes.

"The Greeks were completely naked. If you want tradition, that’s a good place to start." He says, raising an eyebrow.

"You wish." I shove him, enough force to push over a building. On humans, it’d be enough to shatter their bones. On Ty, he barely moves an inch. I can actually make contact with Ty. You can’t burn air. In fact, losing air is one of the two only ways to kill me. If I’m deprived of oxygen or exposed to enough water, I die, and I stay dead. Fortunately, humans have the same ailment, so I'm good on that end. "I’d sooner kill myself with a plastic spoon."

Ty chuckles. "Ten bucks says Andrew signs up for naked Olympics." He offers me.

"He will. I bet you ten bucks Cody says no." I say back.

"We can’t make bets when we agree on everything." He complains. We hardly agree on anything.

"What about Kelli?" I ask.

"I think she’d do it. Any chance to show off to Cody."

"No way. She’s too reserved. Five bucks she declines."

"You’re on."

We walk over to Cody and Kelli, recently joined by Andrew. Cody’s giving them some sort of lecture on astrophysics or something along those lines. "We’re hosting the first annual little Olympics here. Amber says we should stick to the tradition laid down by the Greeks, so all participants must be naked." Ty announces. The things you say here won’t be said anywhere else. "What about you, Kelli? Are you going to sign up? Andrew, we already put your name down."

"Good. I got to get ready for Burning Man." Andrew says. We've been planning our trip to Burning Man for four years, ever since we first heard about it.

"Nice try. I have this theory of decency." She snaps. Kelli's tone is never inviting. You adapt.

"Women weren’t allowed to watch or participate in the first Olympic Games. If you’re going to be traditional, Kelli and Amber have to leave." Cody says.

"You’re only bringing up that aspect because you know we’ll win." Kelli taunts him.

"And you’re mental if you think I’ll pass up a chance to beat you." I announce. If I’m playing a game, even for fun, I want to win. I can’t help it. Beating Cody is a bonus. Fire is better than water, I’m going to prove it.

Cody and I have never been able to see eye to eye. It probably has something to do with the fact that he's almost entirely composed of the most fatal thing to me. Yeah, that might be it. Normal humans are over seventy-percent water, and I can barely stand them. Cody’s ninety-five percent water. I stood right next to him once and I learned my lesson. After writhing in pain on the ground for about ten minutes, I learned to keep my distance.

Learning, learning, learning. Cody craves it like a drug. All of us have been taught by the most advanced professors, but Cody decided to one-up us all and instead of attending the training sessions, he’d lock himself in our extensive library of hundreds of books― that I’ve been banned from ever entering after I nearly disintegrated the entire collection, including some sort of "rare copy of Gone With the Wind"― and wouldn’t come out for days. I guessed it paid off. Then again, his fighting skills are mediocre at best, which isn’t ideal in a soldier or a superhero.

"You owe me five bucks." I purr to Ty.

"I’ll pay you tomorrow." He says, waving his hand to dismiss my thoughts.

"Tomorrow? When tomorrow? We’ll be gone tomorrow." I remind.

"I’m quite aware of the fact, darling." He says in a phony British accent so cheesy and fake that makes it easy to imagine him in a maid’s outfit. And yes, I’m including the black shirt and white lace apron. I chuckle. "What?"

"Nothing. I’m just wondering if I can hire you to clean my floor for five dollars an hour." I say. The building is five stories tall, five mutants. Cody and his huge water tank sit on the bottom floor, below Andrew and his nature exhibit. Ty’s beautiful and extravagant floor of air, which is absolutely marvelous, is beneath Kelli’s realm of darkness. My story is constantly being refueled with old documents and dead trees. You’ll never understand the fun of letting flames cover your body and sliding into a pile of papers as tall as you are. The downside: the ground is covered in ashes. They blemish my otherwise flawless complexion.

"Mine, too." Andrew says, raising his hand. "You stay the hell away from my sandwiches, though." Andrew’s able to grow food like fruits and vegetables, including grain. He made a wood cabinet he thought couldn’t be breached, which wasn’t true. Wood’s not exactly the most fireproof material.

"While you’re at it, my floor could use a good clean." Kelli says, looking at her fingernails, painted dark black. Her fingers are circled by henna tattoo's gothic siste drawn on by some black ballpoint pen. It's like she has a goal of turning her pearl white, white skin black as her hair.

"You could clean all four floors, and we’ll each contribute one dollar and twenty-five cents." Cody says.

Ty holds out his right hand, pointer finger at me. "No," He says, then moves to Cody. "No," He moves to Andrew, "Maybe," And then to Kelli, "No."

"You only want my room for the sandwiches." Andrew protests.

"If you don’t want me to raid your stash, stop using avocado. You’re taunting me, and I can’t resist." Ty says.

"Miss Ashler?" A voice comes from the Andrew’s floor, the same room as the infirmary. They have Andrew grow plants they think will help the healing of injuries. Basically, medical marijuana. All five of us pivot around to face the young scientist the voice belongs to. She’s short with short, curly dark hair, tan skin and a round face; we call her Dr. M. "Would you please come up here for a moment?"

"No problem." I say. I head over to the ledge she stood on and jump, easily clearing the fifteen feet. I put my right hand on the railing and swing my legs up and over, landing elegantly. Miss Ashler, I know. It doesn’t really fit me; perhaps I should have just gone with Ash. We got to pick our last names, hence Ty's atrocity of a surname. If it wasn't bad enough, he tried to add on, "And Doesn’t Have To Try," But that was too wordy. Andrew chose Jason, so we could call him A.J. for the first few years of our lives. Kelli had Cody help her pick the best Spanish word for her last name. Kelli eventually ended up selecting Oscuro, which means "dark". It also means her initials spell K.O., and we find that hilarious. Cody, for some reason, felt "a connection to the name Zachary" and went with it. He makes a big deal about how "spiritually in tune" he is with the name. So none of us take it seriously.

I walk down the balcony to Dr. M. "What’s up?" I ask.

"We just need a quick checkup for the mission tomorrow." She says.

She leads me into the infirmary, measures my height, seven feet and nine inches, yet I’m still the second shortest. Ridiculous. If height was a reflection of talent, I'd be the tallest. She takes my temperature, five hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit. "What was your fastest speed training today?" She asks.

"Two thousand six hundred miles per hour." I say. That’s one of my new records. Approximately four times the speed of a bullet. Around three point four times faster than the speed of sound. But, you know. It’s platitude to me.

"And, at any moment, did you feel any pain?" She asks. She’s referring to the part of training when we make sure the bullets go through me, like they’re supposed to.

"No." I answer. I’ve never been hit. The only pain I’ve ever felt was that one time with Cody. Well, and the mental and emotional pain I feel when I lose a game. There are perks to being composed solely of fire. The other one: they can’t perform embarrassing physicals on me. They have to keep their distance and ask me about it instead of making me have to take a blood test or have them touch me.

"Your flying skills? How are they?" She asks.

"Good. I’m improving." I simply state.

"One final question before I turn you over to Mr. C." She says. Mr. C. is in charge of everything in this compound. He was the first face I ever saw. I dubbed him Mr. C. because of the clipboard he always carries around. Look, it was my first nickname. Don't expect it to be amazing. The name stuck before anyone could do anything about it. He's never told us his real name. "Do you feel your decision making is good?"

That's an odd question. It's still one I can easily answer. "Of course it is." What, did she doubt me?

She finishes writing and looks up at me with a smile. "All right. Mr. C. would like to see you now." She says.

"Why?" I ask.

"He’ll explain everything thoroughly." She says. "Can you tell Kelli it’s her turn?"

"Sure." I say, leaving the room. I head straight for the balcony and throw myself over it. It feels the same as a jump from three inches. The ground’s taken enough hits to be stronger than this. If Andrew, made of rock, can jump from the top floor and barely crack it, then I can jump from the second. Especially since I’m made of fire and have virtually no weight at all. "Kelli, Dr. M. wants to take naked pictures of you for her special magazine."

"Tell her I’ll be right over." Ty says, starting to pull his shirt off.

"My eyes!" Andrew shrieks, pretending to burn at the sight of a belly button.

"Keep your shirt on, cowboy. She’s making the male issue next time." I say. Ty groans as he pulls his shirt down.

Kelli walks over to the stairs, leaving Cody to roll his eyes. Had he been anyone else, and I’d have asked why he felt he was more mature than us. However, I try to not get bothered by someone whose only use is waking up teenagers who refuse to face a new day of school.

"Where're you going, Ashler?" Ty asks.

"The den." I tell him. We dubbed Mr. C.'s office after a lion's den, because Mr. C.'s annoying female assistant always drags us in to face him. Ty and I always ended up there. Always being scolded, always getting lectured. We're more than familiar to it.

"What'd you do this time?" He questions.

I shrug my shoulders. "I probably broke the speedometer again." That's usually it.

On the bottom floor, near the main entrance, there’s a small office. In said small office rests a man in his late forties with thinning brown hair. He has pale skin and blue eyes, and wears suits he always rolls up just past his elbows. In recent years, he’s gotten glasses to help his vision. He keeps the lights off in his office until the moonlight is not bright enough, and his small desk is crowded with computers and folders overflowing with papers. He often sits with his elbows against the desk, hands folded in front of his mouth, his back to the windows and the forest that traps― I mean hides― us. I push open the door, and sure enough, his folded hands are in front of his mouth. He stares blankly at the other side of the room, where the wall meets the floor. It used to be carpet, and because they can’t make shoes for me, I nearly burnt the entire room. It’s a common theme in my life. Most of the time, his awful assistant is there-- the lioness that turns us in for the slightest infractions. A woman about fifty years old, she has graying blonde hair, tan skin that’s now wrinkling and tinted gray and green eyes that seem very dull. She calls herself Mrs. D., even though I don’t like calling her that, because nicknames often show affection. She always has had some sort of grudge against me, sneering at me and making unnecessary comments. Yes, I, the queen of sassing back, admits that her comments are not purposeful and contribute nothing to society or to our conversation. I don’t want to nickname someone I can barely stand. Fortunately, today, she isn’t here.

"You wanted to see me?" I ask.

Mr. C. animates. "Yes, Miss Ashler. Take a seat." He motions to the seat across the desk. As if I need a reminder of the den's protocol. The chairs have been covered in the fireproof fabric I’m sure they’d love to wrap me in. I sit down, facing the man who practically controls my life. "A few months ago, we heard of a possible attack on the nation’s capital by some sort of organization. We quickly decided to introduce the five of you to those in charge of our country, to see who’ll be winning us this war." His voice is low, yet he talks fast. He talks with a purpose and doesn’t beat around the bush. "As you know, you leave to protect the country’s elected rulers. After testing to find which one of you was the strongest, you were decided to be leader."

I nod. "I’ve been training every chance I get. I’m honored to lead us." I say. Although Mr. C. was very aloof in my life, he’s had a big impact. He taught me not by using fear, by respect and promising my dreams a reality, so I listen to him, which doesn’t make me submissive or weak. It just means I’m willing to listen.

"Recently, several of our most reliable sources have told us about a terrorist group in California, ready to destroy the state." He says.

"Why California?"

"It’s the most populated state and it has the highest annual gross state product." I know not to understand the role of money in a war. We need soldiers and funding, and California’s a heavy supplier of both. "We have reason to believe this is a chain, the biggest near Los Angeles. All of our sources have gone out of their way to mention the urgency and danger in this situation. What they wrote places this at a higher position than the current condition in Washington D.C." He puts his folded hands down on the desk, his head tilted slightly down to peer over his glasses at me.

"Are you asking me which situation I find more important or are we aborting the D.C. mission?" I ask.

"Neither." He answers, which shocks me. "Both situations are dire. We’ve decided that the best thing to do would be to split the team up."

"Split us up? But we’ve trained to work together. We have codes and special attacks we need everyone for." I protest.

"I’m quite aware of that. While this is less than ideal, it has to be done. I spoke with my sources over what those assigned to the California mission would have to be. They would have to be able to withstand explosions, which eliminates Cody, Andrew and Kelli right away. They’d also have to be impervious to bullets, leaving only you."

"Hold on. Not only are you saying that the team has to split up, you’re saying that I also have to go on a mission alone? Who’s going to lead the team?"

He knits his eyebrows. "You're not concerned for yourself?" He wonders.

"Why would I be?" I ask. I know I can do it. If anyone on earth can, it's me. If I can't complete this mission, it can't be done. Besides, they can't hurt me. They don't know my weaknesses. They don't know I exist. Even if they did, they cannot stop me.

"Kelli can lead in your absence. She'll be eager to." I hate how right he is about that. "Now, I’m going to go over the mission plan with you." He turns around one of his computer screens for me to see. He must have the same image on another screen, because he selects a file. A map of California pops up with several yellow dots and long orange lines. "We know for certain that the first part of the group is in Sacramento. We believe that if you move south, defeating a new segment of the group each time, you’ll find the definite location of the largest segment, the ones masterminding the entire scheme. Each segment, as you move south, rises in power and importance. Each segment will have guns and bombs ready, and the sources suspect them to take hostages in a crisis. Now, if you look at the map, you’ll notice five yellow dots. Each marks either the location or our best estimation of the location. The orange lines are the quickest routes, giving you options in case there’s a problem. Understand?" He asks.

"One question. What’s that?" I ask, pointing at the green dot northeast of Sacramento.

"That is our location. We’re currently in the Tahoe National Forest." He says. No one’s ever said anything about where we are. All we’ve known is that we’re in the United States. I’ve never been outside; I couldn’t see if the air was humid. I don’t know what kinds of people inhabit the state; I’ve only seen the scientists and doctors that work here.

Something in the back of my mind bolts to life and focuses on a certain point on the map. Near the large bay I recognize as the San Francisco Bay― but no one calls it that. It’s just "the bay"; like San Francisco is just "the city" and never ever "Frisco"― is a small bridge on the southern end. Fairly close to it is a small town called Redwood City, and I immediately notice the words. They stand alone in my thoughts, tall, bold and vivid. Like a magnet, I want to go to this city.

"Is there any way I can go through Redwood City?" I ask.

My words seem to startle him. He straightens up a little bit and adjusts his rolled up sleeves, staring at me questioningly. "Why?" He wonders.

I shrug. "I’m not sure. I just want to go there." I say. Do I need another reason? My eyes lock on the small city. As I stare at the eleven letters, a new word pops out in my head. One about half the size. Jordan, I say in my head. Jordan? Who’s Jordan? Is it a street? A place? A company? I stare the town’s name, hoping I get another hint.

Nothing. Jordan’s a noun, and I don’t know its significance. I’ve never met anyone named Jordan. And of course, it’s one of those gender-neutral names. Jordan could be the name of the male stripper I’ve been secretly sneaking out to pay each night. Jordan might be my secret sister who didn’t turn out like they hoped, locked up in the basement to never be released. Maybe I should have chosen Jordan for my last name. Is this the feelings Cody had for the name Zachary? Perhaps his "spiritual connection" isn’t as lame and stupid as I thought.

"One of your emergency routes goes near Redwood City." Mr. C. says, moving his cursor over the orange line he’s referring to. This one involves me going across the Golden Gate Bridge, through the westernmost side of the country and along the coastline. It’s stupid for me to want to take the longer route reserved solely for emergencies, and we don’t use that term lightly. I banish the desire to encounter with an emergency from my mind.

"Do you know why Cody picked the name ‘Zachary’ besides his fetish for the name?" I ask.

"No." Mr. C. answers, plain and simple. He doesn’t show any emotion, any vocal range. He writes something down on a sticky note and slaps it on his computer screen.

"Last question: does the name Jordan have any significance?" I ask.

"No, we don’t think the country of Jordan will be significant in the war." He says, reorganizing some papers on his table. He puts the papers down and looks at me. "Let’s get back on topic: you will leave for this mission early tomorrow morning at dawn. We will supply you with clothes to help blend in better."

I scoff. "It's going to take more than clothes to blend in. Every boy," Or girl, for that matter, "Will be staring at me."

He continues like I never interrupted. "You are to try and remain unknown to the public, only to reveal yourself if you must. We’ve already placed a map in the pocket of your clothes for tomorrow, in case you forget the routes." Cody’s the best at memorizing, not only is his memory photographic, he literally never forgets it. None of us do. Our mental vaults only accept. Cody's still got an edge around us. Worst guy to be around when you’re tired. He knows things about Ty and Andrew no one should know.  

"How long is this mission expected to take?" I ask.

"Between three weeks to a month. Depending on how well you perform, it could be a week or a year." He says. I don’t understand the use of the word "perform". I’m not going on a stage to sing. I’m in charge of protecting millions. "Now, here are your guidelines: no stopping." No hotels, no movies, no dance clubs, nothing. My route is free from rest breaks. "Any interactions with humans must be simple and about this mission. You are to remain covert. Inside the collar of the clothes, there’s a panic button. If at any time you fear for your life or cannot complete the mission, press the button and we’ll come to your location immediately. Understood?" I nod. "Excellent. Would you like to explain to the others, or shall I?"

"I will." I declare. I don't want him to tell them. I don't want to have to say goodbye. I just want to run away and disappear without a word. I don't know why. I just do.

"Very well, Miss Ashler. You may leave now." He says, folding his hands, propping his elbows on his desk and pressing his mouth to his hands. It's as if I never even entered.

I rise from the chair and walk out of the room with shadowy lighting, putting on my best poker face. If anyone asks, Mr. C. was asking me about my speed. No, he was telling me about how I need to be careful around humans. That’s good.

Cody must be getting his check up, he’s the only one missing. I don’t have to get too close to listen in, Ty isn’t the quietest of people. "No way in hell is soy creamer flammable." He practically yells at Andrew.

"You want to bet?" Andrew asks.

"Of course I’m going to bet! Ten bucks!" Ty shouts.

"You’re on!" Andrew turns to face me. "Hey, Amber! Is soy creamer flammable?"

I nod. Soy creamer is on the very small, prestigious list of liquids I can be around without nearly having a heart attack. "Very." I confirm, stopping when I’m two feet from Kelli, Andrew and Ty. They can withstand temperatures of four hundred degrees, which is still not enough.

"Ha!" Andrew says as Ty groans. "You owe me ten bucks!"

"Aw, Blondie!" Ty moans, facing me. "I thought you were on my side!"

"You’re fifteen dollars in the hole. Today’s just not your day." I say, resting my hands on my hips.

"I bet I have a better day tomorrow." Ty says, putting his hands in his pockets. "Any takers? Twenty bucks?" I wonder what he’ll think when he wakes up and I’m long gone. I’m not on the best terms with Cody, I’m cool with Kelli, Andrew and I are good friends, but Ty and I are partners in crime, the two little hooligans running around causing problems. I don’t know what he’ll say or do, and I don't want to know. Maybe he’ll try to find me.

"Quit while you’re ahead." Kelli suggests.

"Deal." I say. "Twenty bucks."

"What? Are you going to trip me or throw me off a cliff?" He asks.

"I don’t need a bet to throw you off a cliff." That’s honest. "I think your nerves are going to make you puke." I lie.

"Ten extra bucks I don’t puke." He says, leaning down to be at my height. Curse him being five inches taller. Let’s put some perspective on this: I’m seven feet and nine inches, expected to reach eight feet and three inches by the time I turn twenty. And Andrew’s even taller than Ty.

"First of all, you have a gambling problem. Second of all, you’re going to owe me thirty-five dollars." I say.

"Yeah, right. What if I don’t eat breakfast? I’ll have nothing to throw up." He says.

"Then you starve yourself, worsen your metabolism and don’t have enough energy to complete the day." I say.

"If you’re going to skip a meal, it should be lunch. Breakfast and dinner are about twelve hours apart, lunch comes seventeen hours after dinner. Breakfast is nineteen hours after lunch. But you shouldn’t do that to your body." Cody says, walking down the stairs. I try to stifle my groan and barely succeed. Ty doesn’t bother hiding it. I don’t know what it is that makes Ty and Cody the bitter enemies that they are. Sure, I can easily understand being annoyed and/or angered by Cody. I don’t want to kill him, though.

"We’re just kidding. Can’t you tell?" Ty snaps.

"Don’t even start." Andrew warns. He’s always the mediator. Kelli and Cody always side together, even if they couldn’t be more wrong, and Ty and I see reason. Andrew refuses to pick a side and puts a stop to our arguing.

I try not to be stubborn and swallow the words I want to say. Ty turns to me, expecting me to speak anyways. I catch his eyes for a second and look away, unable to hold the secret about tomorrow.

He must know something’s up. He knows I’m far too argumentative to drop a debate like this. I have to be careful. I don’t want to lie to him, especially not before I leave, possibly forever.

The sun falls behind the trees at eight during daylight savings. At nine o’clock, every single night, I go onto the roof. Now, we’re not allowed outside, because someone might see us or we could destroy everything or whatever. There’s a little glass dome I’m allowed to come in. It was constructed four years ago when Cody asked about astrology, and I begged to be let on the roof. They complied, and the astrology done has become my designated territory. It’s the closest thing I have to freedom. I get in by flying from inside the compound to the ceiling and pushing open a panel, as does Ty. Andrew can jump; Kelli can climb the shadows. Most of the time, Ty joins me. Every now and then, Andrew comes. Once in a long while, Kelli sits with me. Most of the time, she asks for advice on what to draw. I always tell her the same thing: graphic fanfiction between Andrew and Ty. She always rolls her eyes, and yet she always draws it, and I'm always giddy for the next week.

Cody has never come.

By this time of night, the sun is gone, its iridescent reminders in sky wiped away, too. The stars are out, the dark is up and the glowing moon sits in the sky.

I sit on the fireproof metal, next to the skylight. The moon is at a sixty degree angle from me, in the young phase. Andrew’s obsessed with the moon. He’s always talking about the phases and how important the moon is to earth and frankly, Cody’s the only one who doesn’t get bored. Ty, Kelli and I like to just sit back and stare at it.

At least Kelli will be happy to be the leader. I can’t quite tell you what it is, but something in that girl needs to be in charge. I’m sure she’ll be fine without me. Cody will be happier, and he’ll probably repeatedly rub it in to Ty and Andrew about how I’m gone. Andrew, unless he’s been misleading me my whole life, will miss me. As for Ty, I don’t know. He’ll either know that I want him to be professional or he’ll freak out, chase after me and strangle me.

Good lord. You’re not dying. Everyone will be all right. I snap to myself. So melodramatic.

They have each other. If anything goes wrong, they won’t be alone. If Ty and Cody aren’t arguing, they can’t be beaten. I need to calm down.

We’ve been preparing for the D.C. mission for months now. We had protocols and emergency plans and escape routes, codes and terms and signals all laid out. We were going to put our most complex plans into action.

For the California mission, I hardly know what I’m doing. Plus, in D.C., many of the people we’d be near have had military training. California’s a diverse state, but the citizens don’t know how to properly act in a crisis.

I'm not nervous. I'll think of a plan. I always do. The citizens aren’t stupid. Most of them will follow their survival instincts, which I’m hoping are understanding of the fact that they can’t all be heroes.

I sit with my knees folded, arms wrapped around my shins, not quite hugging them to my chest. The windows around me are steaming up from the heat, and I used to always write messages. Maybe that would be a good way to say goodbye. I move the point finger of my left hand and stop. I hear a heartbeat. Someone’s approaching. I whip my head around, making bets with myself over who it is. Judging by the heartbeat, calm and rather quiet, it’s Andrew.

Yet the person who emerges from the edge of the roof is Cody.

Yeah, Cody. Water mutant who hates my guts and everything else in me, Cody. He walks over and sits six feet away from me. "How’d you get up here?" I ask. I've never really seen him in combat. I have no idea what he can do.

"There’s a fire escape." He says, pointing to the entrance panel. Sure enough, there's a ladder dropping down past my floor to Ty's. It's on the eastern end of the floor, where I've never had a purpose to tread.

"If I wanted to escape, I would." I mumble. I expect Cody to make some annoying comment, and he instead just stares at the night sky. I think he’s delusional. Ty’s taken over his mind somehow. Cody’s never taken on a bet, so this isn’t the punishment for losing one.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I asked Andrew where I could find you and he directed me here." He says.

"Why?" I wonder.

"I want to talk to you."

"There’s a first."

"You know we’re incompatible as anything except enemies."

"Try to keep up with me on this, Cody: I already figured that out. The whole polar opposite thing is a pretty simple concept."

"Can you be serious? For just a minute?"

I begin a countdown in my head and think of the smartest way to say challenge accepted. "The task shall be attempted."

"We aren't amiable. Ty and I aren't amiable. You and Kelli get astonishingly competitive. Andrew can’t waste time ending our arguments, and we can’t waste energy starting them."

"We’re not going to pick fights. We have our orders, we’ll select the best way to do them based on its efficiency and safety. That plan is then going to be put into action, and it becomes our top priority. We’re professionals."

I catch him off guard with my answer and decide to further him out of his game. "Are you sure you didn’t come up here for another reason? Let me guess: you’re going to ask Kelli out and you need my advice."

"I asked if you could be serious for a minute."

It’s been thirty-six seconds. So close.

"The task was attempted, and I’ve concluded that I cannot." At least not here, not with you.

He sighs and looks away. "Admittedly, there are several things I could use advisement on with Kelli." He says.

I chuckle. "No way. No way, the genius, who’s always rubbing his smarts in my face, is asking me for advice?"

"Professionals, remember?"

"Right, right." I wave his words away with my right hand. "What do you want to know?" I ask. "Before you ask it, I can’t get you Kelli’s underwear. Don’t even try."

"I would never ask for such a thing!" He snaps, making me laugh hysterically. I throw my hands over my stomach and collapse on my back. I struggle to breathe through the sound that’s a mix of crying, snorting, choking and hyperventilating.  "What’s so comical?"

"Your face is bright red!" I gasp out, pointing at scarlet cheeks. He got so flustered over a single thought!

"Yes, it’s a biological reflex we still have." He’s practically pouting. He got hilariously pissed off.

My laughter fades away and I can breathe again. "You’re too serious for your own good." I point out.

"Do you know how Kelli sees me?"

"Yes, actually." He perks up. "With her eyes."

"No, I mean as a friend, a brother or a…" His voice trails off.

"Do you realize Kelli doesn’t talk about that stuff? Ever?"

"Can you please do me a favor and ask Kelli? It’s foolish and childish, I’m aware, I’m just curious."

"I’ll try. Anything else you need?" I mean to be sarcastic, but he thinks I’m being serious.

"Not unless you have a question."

Cody’s opening up to someone other than Kelli? "You’re a man of science and fact. What’s up with you and the name Zachary?" I ask.

"I’m not sure. Somewhere in my mind, I’m connected to that name."

"Can you be more specific? Connected how?"

"I have very positive connotations with the name Zachary. It’s possible I once met a person named Zachary and admired his character."

Do I even have any connotations with the name Jordan? I search into my find and find no feelings. I don’t jump at the sound of the name and don’t cringe. "I thought you had the best memory."

"I’m trying to make a hypothesis with indecent predicaments." He says.

Show off. "Basically," I say, "It doesn’t make sense and you’re guessing."

"Basically, yes."

We sit in silence for a moment, before a question pops in my mind. "Do you know anyone named Jordan? Or any relation to Jordan that might be important?"

"Jordan?" He ponders it for a moment, then responds, "There was once a congressman with the last name of Jordan, but I don’t think you would care for him. Might I ask why?"

"Would you say that you feel belonging towards the name Zachary? Or is it more hopeful?" I ask. When I say the name Jordan in my mind, I want to flick my eyes up off the ground. I'm not sure why, and it annoys me beyond explanation.

"Belonging." He answers.

I would say I feel more hopeful. Still, the two aren't far apart. "I think both of us have a similar attachment to the names." I say.

"I’d like to make a proposal: aside from our mission, we should aim to discover what our connection to these names derives from." He says.

"If we have time to spare, then I accept." I confirm. "While we’re speaking like overly formal, rich, stuck-up snobs who’ve never spoken with another human being, shall I put on my silk gloves and fancy dress?"

He shakes his head. "You could have simply said sophisticated people." He says.

"What?" I ask, astonished. "You knew I was joking?"

"If you owned a dress and silk gloves, Ty would have worn them by now."

Ah, Ty and his cross-dressing ways. When he doesn't want to bet money, he gambles wearing Kelli’s skirts. He’s done it more than five times. Each time, he grows to enjoy it more than the last. I have a bet with Andrew that eventually, he’ll wear skirts more than pants.

I chuckle a little. "You’re nicer than you let on." I admit.

"I seem to be cruel?" He asks.

"You seem like the kind of person that feels better than everyone else, and I’ve always thought that you wanted to be isolated from the world."

"Why?"

"It feels like you need everyone to know how smart you are, which is really annoying. You always lock yourself in the library, you never tried to get to know me or talk to me, you only open up around Kelli. I assumed you liked your space and hated me, so I decided not to bother you. It looked to me like you were enjoying that, and I didn’t mind it, either. I always guessed you were a very introverted person."

He purses his lips, then turns to face me. "Well, it appears to me that you have some misconceptions about me. I use the vocabulary I find appropriate and admittedly, adore books. You have to understand that when they announced your creation, you seemed very intimidating, and came into the world loudly." I shrug, admitting to my fault. "Kelli, on the other hand, tends to be quieter and observant, therefore easier for me to speak with. In time, you’ve become louder and more intimidating. I’d also like to mention that every time I go near you, Ty begins an argument. I’m not very argumentative, as you probably observed, and Ty has a dangerous temper. I thought it best we interact as little as possible. And yes, to best excuse my behavior for the past five years, I am rather introverted."

I can’t help but laugh.

"What?" He asks. "What’s so funny?" I can hear a little laugh drip into his question.

"You sound like a forty-year-old English professor!" I accuse through the knee-slapper laughter. Cody mumbles something among the lines of how "it’s better to be a professor than a homeless person" or something.

My laughter dies down. "You know, I’ve never heard you laugh out loud. I’ve heard you chuckle, but never laugh."

"Most people laugh about fifteen times a day." He says.

"I only see you for about fifteen minutes a day." I point out. "I always assumed you snorted or farted made some sort of socially unacceptable sound when you laughed."

"Perhaps if I was human, Amber."

"You might seriously be the only person who calls me by my name."

"What else would I call you?"

I decide not to answer his questions with adjectives like, "beautiful", "wonderful" and "superior" to instead answer his question honestly. I'm not ashamed of my nicknames. Believe me, they could have been infinitely worse. "Blondie, Hothead, Miss Ashler," I list the names I’ve been called over the years. Surely, there more than those three. I dig deeper into my mind and pull out a few others. "Orange Eyes, Runner, Rocket," I say, even saying the names I’ve only been called once. "FF13," Comes out without a single thought or warning.

FF13? I don’t remember being called that. What does it even mean?

"Who called you FF13?" Cody asks.

I shake my head. "No one. It’s probably just some stupid inside joke from when we were thirteen."

FF13. I don’t know where that came from, what it means or why I said it, but I’m going to find out. I’m going to ask Mr. C., because this sounds like some computer software. Mr. C.’s the technology buff here, he spends his free time taking apart and reassembling computer monitors. If anyone knows, it’s him.

"I’m going to talk to Mr. C. Have a good night." I say, standing up and rushing to the exit panel. I don’t wait for Cody to respond. I kick the back of the panel, pulling the front up and opening a hope into the compound. Without another word, I jump down into the five story building.

For a moment, my arms are raised like wings, my feet are worthless. The wind is pushing hair in my face, eyes and mouth, and I’m falling.

That moment ends when I sense I’m nearing the ground. I send fire from the bottom of my feet, jolting my drop to a halt. I hover in the air for the force of the fall to dissipate, then drop the three feet to the ground. Did I have to catch myself? Of course not. A jump twenty times that size might require me to catch myself. The only reason I do is because I’m instructed to. If I were to hit the ground, not only would the sound be like the boom of thunder, it would send a shock wave in the earth.

I turn to the den and make my way in.

"Where on earth did you hear that?" He shouts, standing up and slamming his palms into the desk. I can see a vein in his forehead bulging, his heartbeat is surpassing normal. He was very calm and tired until I mentioned those four characters, and then he snapped to life like a rhinoceros on steroids. I take a step back, alarmed and honestly, completely confused.

"Nowhere." I say, trying to remain as collected as I can.

"Then why are you saying such a thing?" He yells. His eyes are huge, he’s barely breathing. He looks ready to kill. What’s going on with him?

"Cody asked me about nicknames, and it just came out." I admit. I take the chance to repeat my initial question. "Do you know what it means?" I mentally face-palm. Of course he knows what it means, or he wouldn’t be acting like this.

"You are never to speak of that!" He’s almost screaming now. These walls aren’t the thickest, I’m sure the others can hear him.

"I won’t, I just want to know what it means." I insist.

"Miss Ashler, that relates to a topic that is never to be spoken about!" His volume is lower, but he’s still shouting, and he’s still furious. I’m starting to lose my patience as well. Although I don’t think two mad people will end the anger.

"Well, it has to do with me. Can’t you just tell me why it’s one of my nicknames?" I demand. His rage is mixing with my curiosity. That’s never a good combination.

"I refuse to bring up this topic again." He growls, sitting down back in his chair. "This talk is over. You are not to say that again, now please, leave my office."

"No." I snap. "I always follow your orders. I always trust your judgment, like a soldier is supposed to. But I’m going to ask you this one thing: what does it mean? And don’t bother telling me you don’t know." I deserve to know. He is on no grounds to deny me.

"I’ll try to explain it again. We are dropping this subject immediately. Exit my office. That’s an order."

I don’t mean what I say next. Words erupt from my mouth that should have stayed in my head. I blame it on being impulsive. "I’m sick of taking orders from you! My whole life, I’ve been caged in here! I don’t even know what I’m capable of, because you never let me try! I want to protect the millions of people in this country and I want to make you proud, so I always bite my tongue! I ask you one thing, one time, and you respond like this? Do you have any idea what you’re doing to my head?" I yell.

He’s silent for a little while. He puts his elbows on the desk and folds his hands, pressing his lips against his pointer fingers. "From this point on, I shall no longer continue this conversation." He says.

My frustration quickly translates to a complete loss of understanding. "Why? Why can’t you tell me this? Why can’t you be honest with me?" I ask. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at me. "Fine. Whatever." I give up. I throw my hands in the air. "I thought you guys didn’t keep secrets from us."

I storm out the room, pushing the door open and not bothering to close it. I consider turning around and welding the door shut, burning all the food and storming into his office, no restraints, to burn everything.

Some logical side of me I hardly ever see tells me to walk away and get my anger out by training.

It’s nearly midnight. I grab the fireproof dummies made for target practice, walk towards the closest wall not four feet away and spin. As I turn, I release the dummy, hurling across the length of the building. I watch it soar, flying across, and burst into a sprint. I curl my hands into fists, fire enveloping my knuckles. I skid to a stop, punching the incoming dummy as hard as I can. I hear the boom first, then see the dummy burst through the cement walls, completely ablaze. I peer through the hole in the wall, watching the light disappear onto the far end of the property. I swear under my breath. That’s the third one, there’re only two fireproof dummies yet, and I need those for when I get lonely at night.

Don’t worry. I’m not one of those people who seem to fall completely in love with manikins, despite all of them being better listeners than all the people in my life.

Still frustrated with my complete lack of answers, I sit down on the ground, legs crossed and arms crossed. I’m probably red right now― a term we use for when my eyes change from orange to red in times of heavy rage. I could explode right now. I could engulf the compound in flames, burn a hole in the chain-link fence and the whole forest for all I care and just keep stomping.

I have to find out what FF13 means. If Mr. C.’s hiding something, I owe it to my curiosity to discover this secret. When I found out Cody had a secret, I nearly killed myself and him to find out. Was it worth it? Of course. He likes Kelli, that’s worth jumping off the top balcony to avoid being touched and landing on my back. I got in trouble and was locked in my room for several hours for shattering the floor. No regrets.

Speaking of Cody, he’s probably my only hope for cracking this code. It could be a computer code. However, I’m not very keen on turning to others for help. It makes me feel a weak and like a burden, and the last thing this world needs is another blonde that fits that description.

Do I have to ask Cody? I somehow don’t think he would enjoy being woken up at midnight by me. Maybe Kelli would be able to manipulate Mr. C. to tell us…

I already know the answer. Kelli can make Ty and Andrew tie their shirts together and have them go the whole day― they don’t need to go to the bathroom― saying they were either a bonded pair or lovers, but she can’t uncover secrets.

I sigh louder than I meant to. Fine. I’ll go to Cody. I’m only doing this because I can’t leave on the mission without knowing.

I head into the main compound and hurry over to Cody’s room, where a huge aquarium lies, full of fish and everything. I’ve never been closer than ten feet. I push open the door, used to seeing Cody lying on the bottom. I can’t tell you how many times Kelli’s burst out of his room, arms shaking in the air, screaming, "He’s dead! Cody’s dead! He died!"

I stand six feet from the tank, practically pressed against the wall to avoid killing the animals, boiling the water and melting the glass. I look around the tank, only seeing fish. Did he leave to go to the bathroom?

Those eight words launch me into a serious mental debate over whether or not he leaves the tank to go to the bathroom, and I have the perfect idea for my next bet with Ty.

I hear, faintly, a heartbeat to my left. I turn my head towards the darkest corner of the room not occupied by the water tank. There’re about six feet between the wall and the tank, allowing enough things to be in the space to worry me.

What would Cody be doing at midnight, in the dark without anyone else around? The possibilities that pop into mind are terrifying.

I take a few steps closer, seeing a dim light shining on Cody’s vacant face. He’s watching something on a phone; the colors and brightness change, and Cody grins. "Yes!" He cheers quietly. A large flash of light shines from the phone, and both his eyes and grin widen. "Justification!"

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He looks up at me and pulls two headphones out of his ears. "Pardon?" He asks.

"What are you watching?" I change my question.

"I couldn’t sleep, so I borrowed Dr. Tenning’s phone and hacked onto the Wi-Fi to watch Japanese anime." He says.

"Whoa." I say, honestly a little taken back. I was expecting him to say that he was watching a college lecture on advanced calculus. "That’s actually pretty cool." A thought strikes me, Ty and Andrew talking about a certain type of anime that is basically the incarnation of sin and my smile drops. "Which anime is it?"

"Not what you’re thinking about." He answers.

I chuckle a little. "Pop culture references? Everything I know about you is a lie!"

"We have too many misconceptions about each other." He says, turning off the phone, dropping the room in darkness, except for the dim light coming from the tank. "Can you not sleep either?"

"I don’t sleep. I never have." I blatantly say.

"Oh." Is all he says back.

Before an awkward silence even begins, I tell him, "See? Misconceptions. I’m here because I need to find out what FF13 means. I know it’s important, and Mr. C. refuses to speak of it."

"Let’s start in the library. I’ll bring some books out."

"You know I’m banned?"

"I had to put out the fire."

I laugh more than I should.

After a little while, Cody nudges the library’s French doors open with his foot. He glides through the doors, his arms straightened to hold all the books at once, balancing them by keeping them firm under his chin. I sit with my back against the fireproof walls, and he sits as close as he can to me. He lowers the book tower onto the ground on his right, closest side to me. "I have an encyclopedia on the letter F," He pulls the book out to show me before putting it on his left. "Computer coding," He holds up each book for a second or two, then adds it to the pile on the left. "Codes," He selects a thin book, "Anagrams," then grabs the largest one. "This one’s on the Civil War and their codes, I don’t know how helpful it’ll be," He reaches for the second to last book. "And finally," This one isn’t actually a book. It’s a folder with enough papers to put the dictionary to shame. "A file on the history of this experiment. I think these files were supposed to be confidential." I’m reading that one first. "Where would you like to begin?"

"What about the last one?" I ask, pointing at the only book remaining on his right.

"It’s unrelated, it’s a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin I’ve been reading."

His heartbeat increases in speed. I don’t believe him. I stand up and look at the cover, moving faster than I think Cody can comprehend, because he doesn’t have time to hide or move the book. I read the title out loud. "William Shakespeare’s Sonnets: The Complete Collection." I announce proudly. I actually start laughing. "What? Are you going to perform a sonnet for Kelli?"

He snatches the book away, hugging it to his chest. His heartbeat picks up. "No, I―" He looks away, and I’d bet that he’s blushing. I put my hands on my hips and smirk at him. He sighs and puts the book down between us. "Maybe. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to move to the left. I think you’re starting to boil me alive." He pushes his books further to the left and scoots over. He then places the book of sonnets on the ground and flips open to one of the many dog-eared pages. "This sonnet is about the strength of compassion over war. What do you think?"

I quickly read the sonnet, eyes taking in the fourteen lines in just a moment. "It’s a little cheesy." I think to a sonnet Ty once performed when he lost a contest over who could drink the most from what once was water, mixed with wasabi, ketchup, salt, lettuce, grape jelly, soda and nearly a whole cup of horseradish. Andrew ended up nearly chugging the whole thing after Ty only had a view sips. That was the first time Ty wore a skirt, and the third time he performed a poem about a woman to a man. "Try sonnet one hundred thirty."

He flips to the page and inhales the words. "This seems brutally honest." He says.

"Kelli doesn’t like being lied to." I say. She once beat up Ty for telling her that he ate her food on accident. Maybe it was more about the food than the lying bit, though.

"She also doesn’t like being told that her breath stinks."

"Think about what they’re saying: black hair, lips far from red, eyes unlike the sun, it sounds just like Kelli. And the part about her not being pale as snow." She's paler than snow. Impossibly and somehow paler.

"I somehow doubt Kelli would like to listen to me point out what she isn’t."

"You're using litote to describe her. Dickens did that."

He raises an eyebrow. "You know Dickens?"     

"Cody, you're starting to insult me." I snarl, squinting my eyes.

"I beg your pardon." He says softly.

I take a deep breath and refocus. "You should read this sonnet. Besides, you, of all people, would say the word breast. It’ll be the best moment of my life." And I’m going to miss it. I’ll be fighting terrorists as Cody recites old poetry to Kelli.

"I’m finding another sonnet." He begins flipping through the pages again. He stops on one near the beginning of the book. "Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?" He reads out loud, holding the book in the air with his right hand, this left arm at a ninety degree angle behind his back.

"No." I answer. "The last sonnet talked about how comparisons are stupid."

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate." He recites. Shakespeare, I hate to tell you this buddy, there’s a grammar error in your words. You aren’t the best writer if you say "more lovely" instead of"lovelier". And they have the same amount of syllables, so no excuses.

"It’s lovelier." I feel the need to voice my thoughts.

"Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May," He continues.

"Is this for Kelli or Ty?"

"And summer’s lease hath all too short a date."

"Oh, yeah. This is for Ty."  

"Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines."

"Cut it out."

"And often is his golden complexion dimm’d."

Laughter seeps into my voice. "No! Stop! No more Shakespeare!"

"And every fair from fair sometimes declines." He reads on, ignoring my protest. "By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d."

"That’s it." I walk over to him. "Give me the book."

He continues reading, so I take the authority to stand and kick the book out of his hands, which burns in the process. Ty would probably laugh, Andrew would say farewell to what once was a tree. Kelli wouldn’t care. Cody looks like he wants to cry. "I was reading that. You just burnt a book by one of the most famed authors in all of time." He whines.

I roll my eyes, groan and fold my arms across my chest; the "I’m frustrated and annoyed" trifecta. "Here’s the thing about Shakespeare: he said, and I quote, ‘Frailty, thy name is woman’, so I don’t have much respect for the dude. Kelli doesn’t either. If you want to impress her, state that quotation and explain to her why William here was wrong."

"She’ll like that?"

"More than she’d like being compared to her least favorite season."

"I’m surprised at the amount of knowledge you retain about Kelli."

"Seriously? There are three boys and two girls. We’ve got to stick together. Besides, neither of us are huge romance fans. I think believing in true love and having this idea of what it should be like is stupid. Love comes from chemical reactions in the brain. Not the celestial bodies or fate or anything like that." Love is stupid. I'm content never feeling it.

"What do you believe in, then?"

"Like, religion?"

"No, more in ways of believing in miracles, luck, and karma."

"No miracles, no luck, no karma. Reality isn’t as magical as we hope it is."

I find us getting on a rather deep topic, one that’s frankly kind of boring and insignificant. I take the liberty of changing the subject. "Do you think anyone will notice the sonnet book is missing?" I ask.

"No, I’m the only one who reads Shakespeare." He says.

"You’re going to have so many new nicknames." I warn.

"I definitely prefer references to Shakespeare over references to fairy tales."

We find out that FF13 has too many possibilities to track down in one night, and Cody needs rest for tomorrow. At around three in the morning, he’s in his room, sleeping. I head to the training compound, wondering what on earth FF13 means and why Mr. C. cares at all. He doesn’t really care about anything. He’s showed me nothing except apathy in the five years I’ve known him.

There may be something dealing with FF13 on the outside. It might be an idiom or maybe the name of a boy band. I could see Mr. C. hating that. Sure as hell sounds like him. I just wonder what it has to do with me, and why I seem to know of it.

I spend the rest of the night staring through the holes in the wall, imagining what dwells beyond the fence.