Super Who

    Alison sat at her desk, keeping her head low. She pretended to study the text book which was open upside down in front of her. Around her, the kids laughed and messed around before the teacher came in. Billy came by her desk and jostled her, accidentally on-purpose. Alison gripped the edges of her desk quickly, her foot shooting out to stop her from toppling over with the desk. A chorus of laughter and several thuds rewarded her as the class cheered and laughed, and her books fell to the floor. Alison seethed. Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes, closing her ears to the other kids' cheers. She bent down to pick up her books, tryign to calm herself down. Suddenly, her head hit the floor, and the rest of her toppled over her head as she did a makeshift front roll. She never felt the push. She was lying on the ground on her shoulder blades, one foot hooked over the back of a chair, and the other on the same chair's top. The class laughed and jeered at her. Alison bit her lip and started to try to get up.
    "Hey Tony! I think she wants you!" It was Billy's voice, Billy's laughing voice. Alison trembled slightly, her cheeks burning.
    Tony looked at her as she twisted, getting her foot off his desk. He laughed. "Want help dearie?" He jeered at her.
    Alison sat up. Grabbing her leg, she lifted it out from around the chair. She glared at Tony, and then at Billy. "Someday, I'm gonna get you back...," she muttered. She bent down and grabbed her books, this time careful to place her balance right, so she wouldn't fall as easily.
    "What was that?" Billy's voice sounded right next to her ear. She clenched her hand into a fist, consciously keeping it by her side. Her fist shook, and she knew it. She stood up, her shoulder knocking Billy's chin, closing his mouth hard. She grinned wryly. I hope he bit his tongue, she thought.
    "Want help?" Billy asked. He grabbed her arms and lifted her into the air. Alison shreiked- she couldn't help herself. Dropping her books onto her desk, she kicked out behind her wildly. Laughing, Billy threw her onto her desk, which toppled over.

    The crash welcomed the teacher, as did 23 students in their seats, and one on top of her toppled over desk. Alison was already in the process of getting up. She knew that Billy wouldn't get in trouble. He was too quick to get caught. Cheeks burning, she awaited the teacher's bawling out.
    "Alison! Why, why, why do you insist on always causing trouble? I bet Mrs. Indare heard that crash downstairs! Get that desk up! I'm going to call your parents!" Mrs. Peratre yelled. Alison stopped, in the process of getting her desk up, to look both hopelessley and exasperatedly at her teacher. She wanted to cry, Oh, Mrs. Peratre, I didn't do it! I'm not causing trouble! Don't you see? Don't you see?  Instead she just looked down, and made sure her desk was upright. She ducked down underneath it, and was placing her books on the top of her desk as the teacher walked out.

    Alison sat slowly. Crossing her arms, she buried her face in them, wishing the torment would end. Why, oh why, did Mrs. Peratre have to leave again? Didn't she know that that was one of the worst things she could have done? But her lot was not for her torment to end, at least, not yet. Billy scooted over to her. Alison pretended not to notice him, but she braced herself. She kept her face in her arms.
    "Alison? Why are you such a troublemaker?" Billy asked mockingly.
    "I'm not. You are, and you know it. You just never get blamed, and I get framed," Alison said bitterly.
    "Alison? Why are you so weak?" The laughter was evident in his voice.
    Alison sighed. "Go away, Billy. Why can't you just leave me alone?"
    Laughter erupted in the classroom. Billy leaned closer. "You know, Alison, you may want to get stronger. A guy could do anything he wanted to you," he jeered. His meaning was evident, both to those in the classroom, nearly dieing with laughter, and to Alison. Her cheeks burned, and she shook, trying to control herself.
    "Is that a tremble? Are you scared Alison? Or-" Billy was cut off by Alison.
    Alison leaped up, crying, "Stop it! Shut up! Just, just shut up! All of you! Just leave me alone!" Alison ran for the door. Unfortunately, the teacher was just coming in. Not seeing her, Alison ran into her. The teacher didn't budge, but Alison was thrown backwards by the force of impact. She landed on her rear, skidding backward, propped up by her elbows.
    "Alison! Stop your tricks!" Mrs. Peratre scolded. "Now get up and go back to your seat!"
    Alison got up, sure enough, but she didn't go back to her seat. Tears brimming her eyes, she shoved past Mrs. Peratre, and ran out into the hall. She heard Mrs. Peratre's call, but neither understood nor wanted to understand it. She ran down the hall as fast as she could. Tears streaming down her cheeks, running like rivers down little creases in her face.
    Running toward the stairwell, she both forgot about the wall, and didn't see it, her vision clouded by tears. She ran into it and tumbled backwards, on her rear for the second time in less than ten minutes. Laughter greeted her ears as she wiped her tears away angrily.

    "Hey, Crybaby, what are you- blind? I think there's a wall there!" A girl jeered as she walked past, talking and laughing wiht her friends.
    Alison got up and half ran, half stumbled down the steps. She burst into the unused girl's bathroom in the basement of the school. The bathroom was small, but it had a homely quality. It had one stall on one wall, and then a sink next to it. An ancient warm air dryer that only worked when it wanted to was positioned beside the sink. Above the sink, there was a medium sized mirror. A door stood on the third wall, using up about half of it. The fourth wall was covered by nothing but simple, yellow wallpaper that was in the slow process of peeling itself away from the wall in the corners. Near the sink, most of the wallpaper had been peeled away to reveal a shining white surface. Two walls still had most of their wallpaper. One wall was completely covered by a side of the stall.

    The stall's walls were a gleaming whitish color. The outside of the nearest wall had pictures of Alison through the years on it, arranged in a circle around a sign, on which was scrawled "Keep out. Ali only." The pictures ranged from age 7 to this year, when she had turned 15. Inside the stall, the wall next to the bathroom wall had pictures of horses, including some of the greatest, like Secretariat and Man o' War. The other half of that wall had all sorts of dog pictures on it. A list of the breeds were near the exact center of the wall. The wall opposite that one was filled with pictures of DNA and chromosomes. It had people on it, too- all sorts of people. One big picture of a DNA molecule filled up one half of the wall. On it were marked the genes and what they influenced. A toilet stood at one narrow end, and on the inside of the stall door was a list of various facts and jokes. There was a stock of toilet paper by the toilet, and one ready to be used. The stall was clean, gleaming as brightly as any other thing in the bathroom.
    The sink was porcelein, gleaming white porcelien. It's ancient metal knobs, drain, and water outlet were polished, shining metal. It was clean, with no sign of rust or mold. The floor was tiled, and plain, a dull white color. The door was made of beautiful wood, its doorknob gleaming with a brassy sheen. It was strong, perhaps oak. No one ever came into this bathroom, because it was so outdated. Even the janit ors never bothered to clean it. Only Alison came here, and Alison was the one who kept it clean and beautiful, because it was her refuge.
    Alison closed the door behind her and threw herself on the ground. Burying her face in her arms, she cried. Tears streamed down her face, running down to her chin until they plopped to the floor, where they ran to the drain in the center of the floor.

    "Why do I have to be like this? Why does everyone pick on me? Because I'm smaller than them? Because I'm not as fast? Because I'm not as smart, or as good at sports, or as strong, or as agile? Because I get sick more? Because I won't live as long, anyway? Why? Because I'm real, and they're fake? They're so mean! I hate it here! I hate my life! I hate them!" Alison cried out, telling her sorrows to the walls of her one haven.
    "God, are you even real!? Why don't you care about me? You let me get picked on all the time! I don't understand it! Why? Are You so mean, as to do that?! I think I hate you too!" Alison screamed, lashing out in fury and frustration. She sank back on the floor, sobbing.
    "I hate you..," she whispered sullenly, wiping her tears away, leaning back against the wall.
    She spent a long time like that, slumped against the wall, staring into space. She didn't move except to breathe, caught up in her thoughts. Mentally, she was wrestling with herself. She almost didn't hear the bell.

    Alison scrambled to her feet, jumping around swiftly to kick out the stiffness that threatened to overwhelm her. She fumbled with the lock on the bathroom door. Finally suceeding in unlocking it, she flung the door open and dashed for the stairs. Flattening herself against the stair banister as she reached the first landing, she sidled her way up to the second floor. Dodging her way past people, she started for her second hour class, Math II. A kid, one of the football players, she could tell from a glance at his uniform, brushed her shoulder, sending her careening into the wall.
    "Ooooff!" She gasped, sinking to her knees against the wall.
    But there was no peace for Alison- not now. A twist of her body sent her legs sliding down the floor, turning, and pressing against the wall. She could feel the oncoming person's shoe brush her calf muscle. She sighed, gritting her teeth. A pair of shoes stopped in front of her.

    "Oh, bowing to me now, are we, Alison? You really don't have to, you know. My ego is already big enough, as a certain someone told me, if I remember correctly," the owner of the shoes commented.

    "Oh go buzz off. Join your vulture companions, Billy. They need a leader like you to show them how to be ugly egomaniacs," Alison retorted, surprisingly calm. She knew it wasn't very good, but she couldn't come up with better- not right now.

    Billy laughed. It surprised her. He bent down, offering a hand within her range of vision. Alison was even more surprised. She took his hand, starting to get up. Suddenly, her feet left the earth. She could feel that through the soles of her shoes. She knew. In the wild, giddy rush that followed, her brain took in information she didn't know how she knew. Her hand left contact with Billy's, and she was on her own, flying through the air, somersaulting in a wild, uncomprehensible flight that she was totally unprepared for. She hit the ground, did a somersault, and then rolled to a stop.

    Billy was laughing. She could hear his giddy, malicious laughter following him down the hall as she lay on the floor, part of her still half wondering how she got there. She shook her head as if to clear it, and got to her feet slowly. Without a sound, she made her way to her locker. As usual, she was pushed around by the girls near her, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, but she got her books, and started toward her next class- Math II.
    Alison entered the room, and knew immediately that something was wrong. It dawned on her as she looked around at the unfamiliar faces- she was in the wrong class. The students looked at her in her bewilderment, and chuckled. A wave of laughter swept over her. Alison set her jaw, and then turned, walking away with as much dignity as she could muster. But the laughter followed her, ringing in her ears. She never should have gone down to the basement bathroom. It was her only haven, yes. But she had missed at least one class while down there.
    She walked to the school's office. Cheeks burning, holding her books tight against her chest, she asked the secretary what hour it was. The secretary looked at her down the length of her long nose.

    "Young lady, what hour were you just in?" The secretary asked her.
    "Well, see, I was crying, and went to the bathroom to clean up, and I guess I just lost track of time," Alison stammered, knowing her story sounded phony. She kept her eyes down, wishing she could be invisible.

    "Alison Smith, is it?" Mrs. Timly, the secretary, asked. Alison nodded wordlessly.
    "Go in to the counselor's office. Talk to him."
    Alison's hopes crashed to the ground. With feet that felt like lead, she turned, and went through the door leading to Mr. Carson's office. She closed the door silently behind her, and looked up at her counselor. She knew he would have no more mercy on her than Mrs. Timly did. With luck, she might get away with only a suspension- if she was extremely lucky.
    Mr. Carson was a big man. His thick auburn hair was parted on one side, and he had the beginnings of a beard. But he was not a comfortable big man, like Alison's father. Mr. Carson was a man of polished steel. He looked up from his desk at Alison and raised one bushy eyebrow.
    "Yes?" Mr. Carson asked.
    "Mr. Carson, can I go home? I've had a terrible day, and I don't know what hour it is," Alison pleaded. The words just gushed out of her like water from a breaking dam. She was surprised at them, but hoped maybe it'd work.

    Mr. Carson tilted his head to one side. "What kind of a terrible day, Alison?"
    Alison's eyes widened. What kind of a question was that? "Horrible, humiliating, and I want to go home!"
    "Have you been crying?" Mr. Carson inquired aloofly, tilting his head to the other side. He sounded like a scientist studying an interesting specimen. Alison hated it.
    "Yes, I have! Please let me go home!" Alison cried.
    "Alright- go home," Mr. Carson told her, picking up his pen and looking back down at his cluttered desk.
    "Really? Thanks!" Alison smiled as she started for the door. She flung open the door and was just stepping out when Mr. Carson called out to her:
    "I'll just write this detention slip."
    Alison whirled around to face him. He looked at her nonchalently, and she glared at him in return. With all her might, she slammed the door of the counseler's  office, making Mrs. Timly look up at her disprovingly. Alison turned her glare on the secretary, as well, and stalked out. Just as she got to the door, however, a younger boy walked in. He attempted to sidestep her, but their shoulders collided, and both turned to the side. Alison looked at him in disbelief, for she had fully expected to fall backward from the impact, but the boy had already turned away. She looked at the secretary, and then dashed out. The boy turned to look at her, but she was already gone.

    Alison raced to her locker, threw it open, and dumped her books inside. She grabbed her jacket, and then raced out of the building, her anger carrying her faster than she'd ever gone before.
 
    Tyler stared at the girl who had bumped into him as she ran out of the office like a bat free from the Abyss. He shrugged some, and turned to the secretary, who was watching him, waiting.

    "Can I have my medicine, please?" Tyler asked the secretary.
    "Oh, so that's it! Sure thing, Tyler. We're sorry, things have been so hectic around here, and well, after you've settled in, we can set up some sort of schedule so that I know what you want when you come in here," Mrs. Timly told him. She was always nice to him- so far. He figured it was because he was new to this school. Tyler waited patiently while Mrs. Timly found his `medicine' and handed the vial and needle to him.

    "Can you inject it yourself?" Mrs. Timly asked him.
    "Sure," Tyler said with a confident grin. With no visible qualms, he took the vial and needle, and injected the liquid into his shoulder.
    "Mrs. Timly," Tyler began, taking the needle from his shoulder. "Who was that girl that ran into me?"
    "Her? That was a sophomore. Her parents- she wasn't engineered like the rest of us. She spoiled, too- wanting to be like us, with all our rights and priveleges. But she can't- you know that- she's just too weak, and dumb, and slow.

    "Okay.. But.. What's her name?" Tyler asked curiously.
    Mrs. Timly leaned over the counter, looking at him. "Why are you so curious about her? She's a nothing."
    "Sorry- I'm just curious. I can't help it." He handed the empty vial and the needle back to Mrs. Timly, grinned again, and walked out with an air of confidence.
    Tyler sauntered his way down to the Middle School section of the building. He was confident now that no one would guess that he was not genetically engineered. His shot would take care of that- until it ran out again. With dark brown hair that he spiked out straight from his forehead, he was not all that bad looking, even with his hair, which refused not to stick up in spots. His face still had some of its childish appearance, and some people regarded his clothes as old fashioned. But he didn't care- he had his own style, and everyone knew it.

    Tyler stopped at his locker to pick up his books for his next class. It was just around the corner and it was his favorite class of the day- right before lunch, no less. He grinned his grin as he sauntered into the science room and took his spot by the door.

    "Hey man, where've you been?" Jason, the kid beside him, asked.
    "I was sleeping in the bathroom," Tyler answered with a grin. "You know how those late night studying for this class go."
    The kids around him laughed, and he grinned even more. Tyler noticed with satisfaction that even the teacher was chuckling and shaking his head. So far, they hadn't gotten any homework, which made his excuse even funnier to his classmates, since they kne w he was making an excuse. Tyler plopped his books onto the top of his desk and slumped down in his seat, grinning at the teacher. Still, as class went on, Tyler's mind wasn't with what the teacher was teaching. He wondering the what-if's, like `what if the other kids find out about me, and how I'm not genetically engineered?' He didn't want to be treated like that girl he met before.