[u][b]Classroom: “Listening” to Mr. Joux [/b][/u]

Being one of the youngest in the class was a privilege, one that Cameron didn’t want to lose so soon, so unlike most of the older students, the scrawny 13-year-old did his best to pay attention. Or at least, he intended to do so, but the student sitting two tables down was driving him up the wall. He tore his eyes away from the gnarled, blackened flesh and shot the dark-skinned teen his ugliest glare. The older boy stopped clicking his mechanical pencil and looked him straight in the eyes, as a taunting grin tugged at the sides of his lips. 

[i]“Don’t pretend you actually like that BS,”[/i] said a snarky voice in his head. 

Cams responded by sticking out his tongue at the guy. Despite turning back to the front of the class, the boy couldn’t resist disengaging with one final parting shot. [i]“At least, I respect Mr. Joux enough not to be disruptive. He has more experience than any of us. Just look beyond the fancy suit and accessories and you’ll know I’m right.”[/i]

[i]“Oooh teacher’s pet.”[/i] the guy mocked. 

[i]“Shut up!”[/i]   

[quote=unknown student]“FUCK THIS SHIT, LEAVE ME ALONE YOU CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER!”[/quote]

The bickering boys paused. Cams stared worriedly at the door, while Omar sat there was tensed with anticipation. The younger of the two swallowed hard, when the door bulged. Suddenly a head was shoved through it and he gasped so loudly that many older students thought he shrieked. No one responded with the usual snickering nor teasing, since most were staring at the fellow student. The guy’s pleading eyes unnerved Cameron to the point that he had to look away. Sorry, he muttered under his breath. I wished I could help, but I won’t. 

Bam! The guy catapulted across the room and disappeared out the window, drawing gasps from a few girls and whoops from the excited guys.  Rising simultaneously, the little vultures ran to the window for a better look at the carnage, though disappoint was written clearly across several faces. Cameron wasn’t one of them. He remained tip-toed with his hands gripping the window’s edge tightly, peering down at the smashed up door and the crumpled body. A faint look of distaste crossed his usually blank face, as he watched the veteran Asylum engage in some sort of bizarre victory dance. 

“You need help, kid.” Omar said languidly, as he continued perching on the window’s thin ledge like an overgrown feline. He lowered his bottom down onto the metal frame and dangled his right leg over. “Mercy, empathy … meh! In excess, they are like poison. Have just enough and you’ll be okay.” 

Cameron’s blue eyes blinked slowly. His mind seemed to be moving a slower pace all of a sudden, because he barely had time to react, before the strange “know-it-all” jumped. He stared as the guy spread out his arms and pulled them back, as if wishing to accelerate. “You’re going to get hurt!” Cam's yelled desperately. 

[u][b]Going Down to the Ground Floor – Who Needs the Lift? [/b][/u]

Whatever the blonde child yelled, it didn’t reach Omar’s ears. Feeling that he had gained enough momentum, the young man adjusted his position such that his feet were able to kiss the well-maintained surface of outer walls. He pumped his arms, as he willed his feet to cling to the walls. Step, step, step. He continued with precision and confidence until he felt the warmth coursing through his body – motem! This build up was channeled into a simple cast that made him Spider Man. Omar finally skidded to a stop a good half a storey above the ground. He crouched down and leaped off, landing smoothly precisely three steps and a half behind Sparks. 

“Did someone say party?” Omar beamed, as he straightened up. “Company is always nice, even when you’re in pain.” His eyes flit towards the injured student who was supported by two others – one was a young lady in black and the other a young man with hair dyed blue. At least, he assumed it was dyed, as no one he knew was born with hair that color. He strolled alongside the main two, forcing himself to keep pace with Kiara. “Don’t get me wrong, but if you don’t mind six people then seven should be a-okay. Right?” He grinned. “It’s one extra set of hands.” 

Giving Kiara the chance to reply, he observed the rest as discreetly as possible. Stopping only a fraction of a second longer, when his eyes fell on the young woman with apprehensive wide, dark blue eyes and hair the same color and the man with skin much darker than the majority of their class. He pulled his gaze back to their ring-leader, Kiara. “I think we make quite a merry little band, don’t you? Almost like those MMO games I see so many boys playing. I never get why they limit themselves to four characters.”

It was clearly mundane, out-of-topic stuff, but he’d rather discuss such trivia than suffocate the guy with too much concern. Speak of which, he has yet to puzzle out why no one bothered to alleviate his injuries with a simply heal. “If you guys had to pick a class, who would be our cleric?” He raised his hand, waving it about, hoping that someone would volunteer or at realized what he was hinting at. “Me? I’d be … that hairy chested guy with an axe. A huuuuuuge head-chopping one.”      

[u][b]Meanwhile, Back in Class [/b][/u]

Cameron sighed. No one else got hurt, so that was a good thing … was it? By now, most of the students had already filtered out of their class, leaving him with a few others, none of whom he was familiar with. The introspective teen thought about the many faces and where they sat earlier, wishing he knew who the other three were – yes, three of them whom looked around his age, though if he wished to be honest, the girls were perhaps a year or two older, he couldn’t be sure. Girls would always be an enigma given how much faster they’d mature at this age. 

Deducing that he’d have a much easier time pretending to bump into one of the others in the cafeteria or hallway, the 13-year-old decided to finally take his leave. He swept his sketchpad and half-assembled circuit into his sling bag and ducked low, hoping to avoid catching the eye of Mr. Joux or friend. Both men spelled trouble and he didn’t want to be part of that, because the reality was he still had five years to go even though he was assigned to share classes with graduating batch.