Thus began my journey through high school.

In the mornings, Anne and I would check on Paul, change his urine and waste bags, adjust his glucose and vitamin dosage, and update the doctors about his condition. Then we’d quickly prepare our breakfasts, pile into the autocar, and head for school.

My first day started with Chemistry. My lab partner was a dark, heavyset boy with close-cropped hair.

“Lou Armstrong,” he introduced himself. “How’s your skills in chem lab?”

“Andrew Drake,” I replied. “I’m home-schooled. First time in a laboratory.”

Lou groaned. “Just don’t mess up my grade, man.”

The instructor took us through a lecture on Bunsen burners and the safety precautions involved in dealing with flame - a bit redundant for me with a Cooking Level Six. The actual experiments weren’t complicated - diluting acids and bases, litmus paper testing, adding phenolphthalein to a solution and watching it turn pink.

At the end of the class, Lou graced me with a grunt. “You’re not too bad. Seriously, the first time in a lab?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

Coach Briggs was a middle-aged man with a gut that spilled out of his gym shorts.

“Have you played any sports before?” he asked.

“No, but there are a few I’d like to try out for,” I replied.

“Which ones?”

“The four-hundred meter run, swimming, archery, and javelin throw.”

Briggs frowned. “We don’t have javelin here at Everard. We can do the track-and-field program, and Coach Potter handles the swim team - you can meet him after. Archery isn’t part of the program, either, but there’s an archery club - they meet on the weekends. Any reason for these four in particular?”

I shrugged. “I just want to learn.”

Briggs eyed me suspiciously. “I’ll speak to Coach Potter. Meanwhile, you can do your running for today. Let me see what you’ve got before I put you up for the four hundred.”

I had little difficulty keeping a steady pace during the run.

The rest of the class - ranging from the very fit to the morbidly obese, like Lou - staggered around the track at varying speeds. By the time they’d finished the required two laps, I’d finished five.

Coach Briggs approached me. “You did okay,” he grunted. “When’s your birthday?”

“20th December 2062.” It was the date we’d claimed on my ID card.

“Too bad.” Coach shrugged. “If you were a March kid, you’d be able to participate in the under-eighteens in February. Still, keep up the good work.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

I walked over to where other students were doing cooldown exercises. Lou was there, along with two other boys - a tall redhead and a lean, raven-haired teen.

“Hey,” the black-haired boy greeted me. “New kid.”

“Uh, hi,” I responded.

“Stop making us look bad,” he grinned. “Lou tells me you’re with him in chem?”

I nodded.

“Jimmy Reagan,” he introduced himself. “This here’s Mike Halloran.”

“‘Sup,” intoned the redhead.

“You a runner?” asked Jimmy.

I shrugged.

“Well, good run,” he added. “I’m on the track team. You planning on trying out?”

“Yeah. I'm planning the four hundred metre run.”

“Sure, why not.” He shrugged. “So what do you do for fun, new kid?”

Jimmy, Mike and Lou turned out to be quite the conversationalists.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to say much. In the group of four, Jimmy did most of the talking. Lou did what was left. Mike just listened to everything the others said, and made the appropriate ‘hmm’ and ‘yeah’ noises at the right time.

I found myself falling into the same pattern as Mike.

Jimmy’s dad was a doctor - an eye surgeon - who worked with Medivent (small world), while Lou’s and Mike’s parents worked in logistics. (Which was a fancy way of saying deliverymen.) Lou was on the academic fast track, while Jimmy planned to become an actor.

Mike Halloran was Irish, and in the archery club.

“Saturdays,” he intoned at me when I asked him. “Bring your own bow.”

My new acquaintances, however, didn’t have much of an idea about javelineering. “I think there’s one place that lets you practice,” Jimmy told me when I asked, “the Brahampton Sports Stadium.”

“Where’s that?”

“Brahampton, duh. Since it’s professional training, you’d probably have to pay.”

“How do you know about that?” inquired Lou.

“Dad’s an Olympics nut,” replied Jimmy. “Took me there a dozen times as a kid. Tried to convince me to do track training there.” He shrugged. “Told him to give me the twenty bucks an hour instead. I remember, though, that they had javelin as an option.”

Twenty dollars an hour… It seemed a lot. I resolved to give it a few tries, but not to spend too much.

True to their word, the school scheduled my recess to coincide with Anne’s. Unfortunately, with the number of electives I had, free periods didn’t exist. The main time we got to sit together - during recess - was occupied by a hastily grabbed lunch, then off to the next set of classes.

“I don’t understand,” Anne told me over lunch on the fourth day. “You joined to keep me out of trouble. Why are you cramming so much into your day?”

“The quests,” I reminded her. “Getting the boosts would be a huge thing.”

“But you’re working like a madman. You even spend the full evening studying, without a break. Nobody does that.”

“Nobody?”

“Nobody I know. They say you’re giving Michael Vickers a complex.”

“Who’s Michael Vickers?”

“You should know, he’s in your grade. He’s supposed to be the top student and have the best shot at valedictorian. At least, until you joined.”

I frowned. “I’m a late-semester transfer. Surely I can’t challenge the valedictorian.”

Anne giggled. “You have no idea what people are saying about you, do you?”

“Don’t tell me. You having any more trouble with Wanda?”

“Not so far,” she shrugged. “I heard the teachers gave her a talking to, and now she’s staying the hundred feet away. So am I.”

“Good, just focus on your studies.” I picked up my lunchbox and tray and headed for the bin.

Halfway there, a red-haired girl dropped her lunch tray in front of me.

She did her best to make it look like an accident, of course. Empty boxes fell all over the floor and a leftover dollop of mustard sauce splattered my shirt.

I knelt down to help her with the scattered boxes and whipped off a quick Observe.

GEMMA KINCAID

CLASS: STUDENT

FACTION: NONE

HP 60/60

GEMMA KINCAID IS ONE OF THE QUEEN BEES OF THE SCHOOL. AN AVERAGE STUDENT, SHE HAS AN ENTHUSIASM FOR MOVIES, BEEFY HEROES, AND BALLET. SHE WANTS TO BE A MODEL SOMEDAY AND HAS A STRONG TENDENCY TOWARDS ANOREXIA. SHE HAS PERFECT BALANCE AND HIGH FLEXIBILITY, BUT HAS DONE LITTLE TO BUILD HER BODY TO A NORMAL, HEALTHY WEIGHT.

The girl smiled at me. “Hey, sorry, I’m a bit of a klutz.”

I smiled back neutrally. “It’s nothing. We all have our off days.”

“I’m Gemma, by the way. Aren’t you in my History class?”

“Andrew Drake.” I put the last of the scattered boxes back on the tray. “There, all fixed now. I have to get my shirt cleaned off, though.”

GEMMA KINCAID IS A VALID TARGET FOR SEDUCTION. WOULD YOU LIKE TO ATTEMPT TO CHARM GEMMA KINCAID?

I hastily stood up. “Have a great day, Gemma!”

I walked out of the cafeteria in a hurry, with Anne quickly following behind. As I walked, though, I got a notification:

YOUR PEERS WERE IMPRESSED BY YOUR COOL HANDLING OF THE SITUATION!

GEMMA KINCAID FINDS YOU MYSTERIOUS AND EVEN MORE DESIRABLE.

+1 ATTRACTIVENESS. CP INCREASES TO 230.

…. My power just loves messing with me….

Anne was grinning ear-to-ear as we rode back home. “Gemma totally likes you,” she informed me in a sing-song voice.

“I got that,” I sighed. “I hope it’s just a passing fad.”

“Nuh-uh,” Anne replied. “In English class, Lily Collins was pestering me with questions about you.”

“Who’s Lily Collins and what does she have to do with this?”

“Lily’s sister, Nora, is Gemma’s BFF.”

“BFF?”

“Best friend forever.”

I sighed. “So the school has an active intelligence network.”

“Yup. And they’re all trying to find out about you.”

“What do you mean, all?”

“Macie Burns also talked to me. She was fishing for information about you.”

“.... who’s Macie Burns?”

“You should know, she’s the hot redhead in your History class.”

“..... I don’t know her.”

Anne shrugged. “Maybe you will, soon. She asked me straight-out if you had a girlfriend.”

“Please tell me you dissuaded her.”

Anne grinned wickedly. “I told her you enjoyed working with your hands. And that you didn’t have a girlfriend. So expect her to ask you out soon.” She shrugged. “Unless you ask Gemma out first, or Clarice.”

“Who’s Clarice?”

“You should know this one, at least. Your friend Lou’s sister.”

“I really don’t know any of these girls.”

“Maybe you should get to know a few of them. You know. Just to, um, broaden your horizons?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Anne put on an innocent expression. “I’m just looking out for my big brother.”