((Coincides with part of the Dirge for Derrick Cork story, and Roach's arrest. Better late than never?))
It was a TV moment. Something you see on a reality TV show that you couldn’t help but watch because you don’t know what will happen next, and for the most part, it doesn’t really effect you. Roach was being arrested for killing Derrick. Peyton knew he didn’t do it. Sure they fought, but it was high school. What was the term? Frenemies? That’s what Westbrook had. Nothing was that serious, no one wanted anyone to die. Sure, they had fights, but that’s what happens. You have a big group of people living together, and they become like a family and you fight sometimes. But you don’t hate any of them, not really. No matter what you say.
Still, there he was, bag full of money nearby with two officers saying he was responsible for Derrick’s death. Peyton quickly pulled out her phone shortly before Roach near took out a vending machine. Maybe technically it could be called resisting arrest, but he was scared. Kids were all around, people were shouting, Peyton couldn’t help but think maybe the cops were scared too especially after Juan ‘scorped’ up. Did the detectives even have powers?
It wouldn’t help. Not the people shouting, not Juan threatening, everything would just make matters worse. Mr. Hererra - he’d talk to them and straighten everything out. He’d fix it. Tomorrow everything would be fine.
Juan - he was scared and angry and his words were as venomous as his spines, but him going to jail wouldn’t help. It would be just one more thing Hererra needed to fix. Peyton wished Wyatt was there, he was super strong and had that invincibility thing and he could have done something. Something better.
“Way I see it.” She thought back to telling Wyatt one night when he was looking for advice on something - most likely girls. “You can do three things. The right thing, the wrong thing, or nothing. The first two aren’t always cut and dry, but doing nothing is near always the worst thing.” Wyatt - he listened.
Juan wasn’t listening, he was yelling in Spanish, words you didn’t learn in class that she couldn’t hardly follow, but the message was still clear. She watched him, watched the police and her mind raced. Do something, or step aside? Does he have a plan? Will I ruin it? Will this help?
“Should I get Hererra?” Someone called. It may have been Holly, it didn’t matter.
“Yes! Now!” Peyton called back. He’d fix this. He'd know what to do. One of Juan’s spines flew into the side of the building. No time. Do something. Now.
She once read that the force of a penny falling off the Exarch Industries building could actually kill someone. Something about force and inertia. Inertia she had plenty of.
Run.
Everything else slowed down to a standstill. Henry used to say to keep calm. Assess the situation. She couldn’t help Roach. Even if he got away - where would he go? It’s not like they’d stop looking. Hererra - he’d know what to do. He'd help. There was Mia, holding onto Sam’s arm. Brook’s drone held the side of the building. There was the new kid, looking lost. Cassie was there, and Eric, all frozen in time for the split second that it took her to force Juan into the brick building, her forearm against his collarbone. She stopped when he hit, and like pressing play on a movie, things started moving again. Sounds first, then images.
“¿Qué diablos?” Juan muttered, the wind temporarily knocked out of him. Not good enough.
Run.
She held fast to him, holding him like you would swimming someone to shore, the force of the run increasing her strength just enough to get him out of the situation. “Zipping” she called it. Truth be told, it was the first time she'd try it.
She didn’t know how far they’d gone, only that if she stopped moving, gravity would be back to give her a reality check, and she wanted to be sure they were far enough away before that happened. Sure enough, the second she slowed, she and Juan tumbled to the ground rolling with the inertia. Juan was still ‘scorped up’, and Peyton covered her face protectively until they stopped, both scrambling to get to their feet.
Juan let loose another string of expletives. He waved his arms, he cussed, he pounded a fist on the side of the building.
“Easy.” She warned, breathing heavily more from adrenaline than the run. Her arm felt like it was on fire, an odd combination of heat, searing pain and numbness. She held it protectively against her, he other hand outstretched. She was trying to help. He’d see that.
“Why?” Juan demanded, a different sort of fire in his eyes when he turned them on her.
“Because it wouldn’t have helped.” She defended calmly.
“This won’t either!” Juan spat back. “This! Doing nothing! Like last time....” Peyton shook her head and softened her tone.
“No.” She soothed. “I know you couldn’t help Derrick. But this won’t help Roach.”
“It would! He’d be havin' someone could watch his back! You seen what the cops did. The rest of you happy enough to sit back an’ watch an’ he goes to jail an’ be gettin' the beat down... “
“You can’t save him.” Peyton tried again, trying to make eye contact, but Juan was done listening.
“I can try! I can do something!”
“This is Roach’s. If you want to help, let Hererra try and sort it out. We can help find out what happened to Derrick. Prove it wasn’t Roach...” He wasn’t listening. He was sprinting back to where the police had been. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help. Please don’t hate me for it. Don’t hate me.
Run.
Get help. An adult, someone. Coach Armstrong! Peyton skidded to a stop seeing the burly coach headed out of the gym, a towel still around his neck. She grabbed his hand and explained the situation as fast as she could. Roach, the police, Juan, help. I need help. I’m still just a kid. I don't know what to do. I don’t know if it’s the right thing, or the wrong thing, but we need to do something.
Juan hadn’t even made it off campus when she and Armstrong caught up with him. By then the burning feeling in her arm was spreading, her head throbbed and her already knotted stomach lurched. Something hit like a ton of bricks. Coach Armstrong, he’d know what to do, what to say, how to help. For now, something was wrong. Everything hurt. She needed to get out of there.
Run.
Action/Reacción (CLOSED)
If cheerleading was easy, they'd call it football.
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Juan Alacran
- Member
- Posts:48
- Joined:Mon Dec 05, 2011 11:24 pm
Re: Action/Reacción (CLOSED)
I punched the wall; it made me feel better for a second, even as I shook my hand from the pain. I never saw her comin’. Who ever did? Who could? But even if it woulda been possible to spot her when she got all sped up to quickness, I wouldn’t have seen her comin’. And then gettin’ coach?
I shook my head and slumped down on the metal bench bolted to floor and wall. This room obviously be a place you only get stuck temporary, and it was built as solid or more than the bunker. Cool-off room. Where the dangerous teen metas can get stashed when they lose it. I wondered how long they were gonna keep me in here. Prolly more’n long enough to convince the cops that a “traumatized” teen meta be their department and the cops were long gone. Long gone with one of ours. F’in cops; this definitely be a frame up. Maybe if we’d all rose up Roach coulda got away an’…somethin’. I dunno. Maybe made a break for the Isles? Yeah, great fate there.
Too late now, regardless. No one else be willin’ to thumb their noses at the cops to their face, only behind their backs, and I’d got shut down. I threw my feet up on the bench, sank further in thought, and started humming.
There’s always a song. Always a beat, a rhythm and a melody to move to. I really, true, and for real be believin’ that there ain’t been one thing worth knowin’, worth thinkin’, worth rememberin’, that ain’t been put to a song. Great thoughts, emotions, all the wisdom there ever been has music notes tagged on it. Listen to enough, and it be yours; move to enough, and it’s in your muscles, your bones, your blood, and you ain’t never even gotta think. Just move to the right beat and you’re good. I ain’t there yet, not by half, but ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from gettin’ there, either.
Still, right now I had a tune. A good one; not really my usual thing, but was hardcore, straight up not playin’ around. Fit this. So I was goin’ wit’ it.
“Si te acechan y no dejan,
Que tu elijas tu lugar,
No queda sino batirnos,
No queda sino luchar”
“If they haunt ya and ain’t let you, Choose your place to be, Ain’t nothin’ left but to struggle, Ain’t nothin’ left but to fight.” Damn right. If you got it all an’ winnin’ be no doubt, you can choose whether or not fightin’ be worth it. The cards be yours to play or not. With your back to the wall, wit’ nothin’ left? That’s when you gotta fight.
Well, I’d struggled, tried to fight, but I’d been shut down. What else could I have done other than try an’ hit the cops on sight, before I knew err’thing that was gonna go down? Prolly nothin’. So I’d done what I could, what I shoulda done. But Peyton…
“Las traiciones que bien matan,
Son las hechas con amor”
…and that was truth too. Sometimes, the person it be feelin’ like they stabbin’ you in the back be doin’ it for the best, for your own good. They doin’ it outta love. Me and Peyton had been cool. She ain't throw me to the cops...she be tryin' to keep me away. Anyway…never had been able to stay mad for very long at a cute chick, and Peyton went way beyond cute. Was gonna have to chat this out wit’ ‘er, but I knew I was prolly gonna forgive her anyway. And that was fine too. She really shouldn’t have run right into me like that though…no way I pulled back on the dose of scorp-juice I gave her. I had that dull ache in my belly I been learnin’ meant my venom glands be empty and be workin’ to fill up again. I hoped she was ok. She had to be ok. Someone would help her. But there was a line for that too.
“Y veras en la vida hay que sufrir,
Y veras en la vida hay que luchar”
“In life you gotta suffer, in life you gotta fight.” Peyton obviously knew that. She decided to use her meta on me even though I was all scorped up, cause she had to do what she had to do. I knew it too. I hadn’t be afraid of endin’ up in jail, or whatever else might’ve happened if she hadn’t stopped me. Hell, I been knowin’ that line. Why ain’t no one can tell me partyin’ an’ livin’ it up an’ grabbin’ all the attention from the chicas I could be a waste of time; if life gonna serve up sufferin’ no matter what, and it will, why wouldn’t I grab all the good stuff life be havin’ while I can? Sera un gran disparate any other way.
I wondered again how long they were gonna keep me in here. I was probably gonna have to keep doin’ them counseling sessions, too. More things eatin’ into my time. Worse, the lecture from pops was probably gonna be epic, in a real bad way. I doubted I was gonna get in too bad of real trouble once I explained to him and moms what really went down, but it was gonna be far from scott free.
This was so gonna suck. No wonder there’s so many gang members. Tryin’ to do the right thing is so way harder, and you ain’t even sure you’re doin’ it. More stuff like this, and it’d almost be enough to make me start doubting the choices I been makin, the way I be trying to take. I sighed and lay back on the cold metal bench.
…almost.
I shook my head and slumped down on the metal bench bolted to floor and wall. This room obviously be a place you only get stuck temporary, and it was built as solid or more than the bunker. Cool-off room. Where the dangerous teen metas can get stashed when they lose it. I wondered how long they were gonna keep me in here. Prolly more’n long enough to convince the cops that a “traumatized” teen meta be their department and the cops were long gone. Long gone with one of ours. F’in cops; this definitely be a frame up. Maybe if we’d all rose up Roach coulda got away an’…somethin’. I dunno. Maybe made a break for the Isles? Yeah, great fate there.
Too late now, regardless. No one else be willin’ to thumb their noses at the cops to their face, only behind their backs, and I’d got shut down. I threw my feet up on the bench, sank further in thought, and started humming.
There’s always a song. Always a beat, a rhythm and a melody to move to. I really, true, and for real be believin’ that there ain’t been one thing worth knowin’, worth thinkin’, worth rememberin’, that ain’t been put to a song. Great thoughts, emotions, all the wisdom there ever been has music notes tagged on it. Listen to enough, and it be yours; move to enough, and it’s in your muscles, your bones, your blood, and you ain’t never even gotta think. Just move to the right beat and you’re good. I ain’t there yet, not by half, but ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from gettin’ there, either.
Still, right now I had a tune. A good one; not really my usual thing, but was hardcore, straight up not playin’ around. Fit this. So I was goin’ wit’ it.
“Si te acechan y no dejan,
Que tu elijas tu lugar,
No queda sino batirnos,
No queda sino luchar”
“If they haunt ya and ain’t let you, Choose your place to be, Ain’t nothin’ left but to struggle, Ain’t nothin’ left but to fight.” Damn right. If you got it all an’ winnin’ be no doubt, you can choose whether or not fightin’ be worth it. The cards be yours to play or not. With your back to the wall, wit’ nothin’ left? That’s when you gotta fight.
Well, I’d struggled, tried to fight, but I’d been shut down. What else could I have done other than try an’ hit the cops on sight, before I knew err’thing that was gonna go down? Prolly nothin’. So I’d done what I could, what I shoulda done. But Peyton…
“Las traiciones que bien matan,
Son las hechas con amor”
…and that was truth too. Sometimes, the person it be feelin’ like they stabbin’ you in the back be doin’ it for the best, for your own good. They doin’ it outta love. Me and Peyton had been cool. She ain't throw me to the cops...she be tryin' to keep me away. Anyway…never had been able to stay mad for very long at a cute chick, and Peyton went way beyond cute. Was gonna have to chat this out wit’ ‘er, but I knew I was prolly gonna forgive her anyway. And that was fine too. She really shouldn’t have run right into me like that though…no way I pulled back on the dose of scorp-juice I gave her. I had that dull ache in my belly I been learnin’ meant my venom glands be empty and be workin’ to fill up again. I hoped she was ok. She had to be ok. Someone would help her. But there was a line for that too.
“Y veras en la vida hay que sufrir,
Y veras en la vida hay que luchar”
“In life you gotta suffer, in life you gotta fight.” Peyton obviously knew that. She decided to use her meta on me even though I was all scorped up, cause she had to do what she had to do. I knew it too. I hadn’t be afraid of endin’ up in jail, or whatever else might’ve happened if she hadn’t stopped me. Hell, I been knowin’ that line. Why ain’t no one can tell me partyin’ an’ livin’ it up an’ grabbin’ all the attention from the chicas I could be a waste of time; if life gonna serve up sufferin’ no matter what, and it will, why wouldn’t I grab all the good stuff life be havin’ while I can? Sera un gran disparate any other way.
I wondered again how long they were gonna keep me in here. I was probably gonna have to keep doin’ them counseling sessions, too. More things eatin’ into my time. Worse, the lecture from pops was probably gonna be epic, in a real bad way. I doubted I was gonna get in too bad of real trouble once I explained to him and moms what really went down, but it was gonna be far from scott free.
This was so gonna suck. No wonder there’s so many gang members. Tryin’ to do the right thing is so way harder, and you ain’t even sure you’re doin’ it. More stuff like this, and it’d almost be enough to make me start doubting the choices I been makin, the way I be trying to take. I sighed and lay back on the cold metal bench.
…almost.
Cuando amanece voy a inflingir, duros castigos y oscuros tormentos, a ellos que ni quieren ni dejan vivir
Re: Action/Reacción (CLOSED)
“A scorpion can control the amount of venom that flows out and accidental stings are typically not as deadly as an intentional sting.” That’s a good thing, right? Peyton sat in bed with her laptop, leaning her aching head against the wall as she read aloud. “If a scorpion feels threatened he will sting you, however if you step on a scorpion, he is not prepared and will only slightly sting you because he was not fully prepared to inject venom." Juan wasn’t expecting me to run into him like that. She could see the surprise in his eyes. Hopefully, he didn't even know she was careless enough to hit his spines when he was all scorped up. All that talk, keep your head in the game, focus... push comes to shove and I panicked. Careless. I could have hurt him- hurt him bad, dislocated his shoulder or something. I hope he's all right. “There are thousands of species of scorpion and only a few are dangerous. Regardless it's always best to get medical care. “ Peyton groaned. Sondra was still out. Juan’s in enough trouble without adding this to the list.
“Local effects include pain and swelling." Peyton looked beneath the ice pack on her arm. Check and check. “As most scorpion venom is of neurotoxin type, systemic effect is more to be expected. Blurred vision, slurred speech, drowsiness, nausea." So being stung is a lot like being drunk without the party that got you there. "Plus severe abdominal cramps, tachypnea, tachycardia, and mild swelling of the throat. Advanced symptoms are...” Peyton groaned again, closing the cover of the computer as she slid back down under the covers. Karma for not getting that stomach flu.
According to the website it was going to be a rough night. Her thoughts drifted to Juan. She hadn’t heard any sirens, maybe Coach Armstrong helped. Hopefully he was okay. Hopefully she didn't hurt him, hopefully he was getting help if he needed it. She’d go see him in the morning.
Peyton’s stomach twisted in another knot, and she covered her head with her pillow.
If I’m unlucky enough to live that long.
“Local effects include pain and swelling." Peyton looked beneath the ice pack on her arm. Check and check. “As most scorpion venom is of neurotoxin type, systemic effect is more to be expected. Blurred vision, slurred speech, drowsiness, nausea." So being stung is a lot like being drunk without the party that got you there. "Plus severe abdominal cramps, tachypnea, tachycardia, and mild swelling of the throat. Advanced symptoms are...” Peyton groaned again, closing the cover of the computer as she slid back down under the covers. Karma for not getting that stomach flu.
According to the website it was going to be a rough night. Her thoughts drifted to Juan. She hadn’t heard any sirens, maybe Coach Armstrong helped. Hopefully he was okay. Hopefully she didn't hurt him, hopefully he was getting help if he needed it. She’d go see him in the morning.
Peyton’s stomach twisted in another knot, and she covered her head with her pillow.
If I’m unlucky enough to live that long.
If cheerleading was easy, they'd call it football.
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Juan Alacran
- Member
- Posts:48
- Joined:Mon Dec 05, 2011 11:24 pm
Re: Action/Reacción (CLOSED)
“…no, yeah, Josue, they be doin’ all sorts of cool things. Lotta fire, some zappers, buncha magic. Una chica con alas. I tell you all about it next time. Can you, uh, go ahead an’ put pops on?”
“Ok, Juan! Dale duro!”
Juan smiled, despite his trepidation. “You know it, hermanito. Bye.”
Juan waited a few moments, then heard the phone being shuffled around. “Hola, mijo.”
“Moms? Where’s pops?”
“He had a meeting, but listen Juan. We talked to your school, your principal, about what’s been happening. You need to do what they tell you, tu me oyes?”
Juan’s brow creased in confusion. What was this? This wasn’t the lecture he’d been expecting from his father. And his father never missed a scolding, meeting or no meeting. What had the school told them? “Uh…si, mama. Claro. I have been, only…”
“I know, mijo. It’s going be ok, you just take care of yourself and do what you’re told. Everything you’re told. We trust them, and you have to too. No more tantrum, no seas malcriado.”
“It wasn’t a tantrum, moms! They rolled up in here and hit the kid with some weird thing and…”
“We know what happened, Juan. Your principal answered all our questions, and now you need to start behaving and listen. ¿Sí o no?”
“Yes mom.” Juan tried to keep the eyeroll out of his voice.
“Y por que siempres me tienes que responder al español con ingles?”
“Mom, I don’t always answer you in English. An’ you be breakin’ out spanglish too anyway.” This old argument? She only got worked up about that when she didn’t want to talk about what it was that was bothering her. Juan tried not to sigh in frustration; what had the school told his parents?
“Cuidado a como tu me hablas.”
“Yes mom. Sorry mom.”
“Ok, I have to go. I love you, mijo.”
Juan unconsciously looked around to see who might be listening. “Yeah, love you too, moms.”
“Be good.” *click*
Juan stared at the phone a few moments, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He was just starting to come out of his reverie when someone called his name. Sort of.
“Orteega? Juan Orteega?”
Juan frowned, finding who had called his name. Office aide. Uh-oh. “Ortega, anglo. I’m Juan. ‘Sup?”
“Follow me. Mr. Herrera wants to see you in the office.”
Juan’s frown deepened. He just knew things had gone too easy. Now here was the other shoe about to drop. “A’ight, let’s go.”
The walk to the offices wasn’t long, and neither was the wait outside Herrera’s office. Juan sat in the chair in front of the principal’s desk and stared neutrally. Let him make the first move.
For his part, Mr. Herrera was completely non-plussed. “You’ve been having some problems, Juan. First off, I want to say I’m sorry about some of the things you’ve been through, and we’re going to do our best to make sure you continue to get all the help you need.”
The corners of Juan’s mouth turned down in a slight frown. ‘I’m gonna stay in counseling indefinite, be what you mean,’ he thought to himself. Outwardly, he just nodded, waiting for the rest.
“Mostly, though, I’d like to talk to you about your behavior recently. I need to make it clear to you that that sort of hostility and disrespect is completely unacceptable. You do not confront the police in that way; if you have questions or concerns, you go to a member of the faculty.”
“Yo, that ain’t even right, them cops…”
“Don’t misunderstand me. This is not an open debate. If you have questions or concerns, you go to a member of the faculty. That is what you will do, or you will quickly run out any sympathy for your situation. And that sympathy on the part of the school administration has already had to shield you rather more than I would like. Am I understood, Juan?”
Juan crossed his arms, anger and petulance warring across his features. Still, dealing with teachers and principals, especially when they were already in touch with his parents, was a familiar situation to him; he knew how to play the game. Eventually, he nodded. “Understood, Mr. H.”
“Good. Now, I’ve spoken with Mr. Imp, and he agrees a five page essay on the dangers of rampant powers in stressful situations wouldn’t be out of line. And of course, we clearly need to continue your counseling to keep helping you get over all you’ve been going through. Ms. Wilson says you’re actually doing fairly well there, so I don’t see any problems in that area, either, right?”
Juan’s frown deepened, and he fidgeted at the mention of his talks with the school counselor; even having called the additional counseling a mile off, he’d been deftly outmaneuvered. His eye narrowed as he took a long, appraising look at Mr. Herrera.
Herrera, for his sake, continued on completely unfazed. “I’m going to be honest with you here, Juan. I see some good things in you, but frankly so far I haven’t been very impressed. A lot of unused potential is basically what I’m getting.”
“What?! You buggin’! You straight trippin’. I be getting’ it done, yo.”
“Like I said, I’m going to be honest here, because I think you can take it. Here’s what I’m seeing.” Mr. Herrera adjusted himself in his seat and twined his fingers together, resting his hands on his desk.
“You’re trying to do right, for the most part. The things you’re good at? You’re excelling quite well. The things you aren’t good at, though, you spend little to no time improving, instead of focusing on them the way you should to bring them up to the level of your other areas. Frankly, your parents agree with that assessment. In Biology and Trigonometry you’re doing well, almost despite yourself; in Social Studies though, you’re clearly performing far below where you could. Same with English.” Mr. Herrera shook his head and sat up straighter, if that was possible.
“More importantly, though, if you’re going to use your powers you need to start using your head. I see your conviction; you might not believe me, but I understand some of your mindset too. You’re willing to make a call on what you see as right or wrong and ride the consequences of your decision to the bitter end. That’s far from a bad thing; under the right circumstances, it’s downright admirable.”
Mr. Herrera continued before Juan could reply, or even start to puff himself up. He locked eyes with Juan, who didn’t flinch at the gaze, though he found it far from easy to maintain. “Your decisiveness may be a strength, but like I said, you’re leaning on it and ignoring the weakness. In this case, that weakness is your judgment. You need to be better at figuring out the best way to get the result you want. You’re only performing one-dimensionally. Someone acts; you react. Do you know chess at all, Juan?”
Juan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh, some? My sis be tryin’ to get me to play, but she always be curb-stompin’ me so I ain’t play much.”
“Well, here’s my advice to you, Juan. Stop playing checkers and start playing chess, or the chess players are going to make you a pawn.”
“Ok, Juan! Dale duro!”
Juan smiled, despite his trepidation. “You know it, hermanito. Bye.”
Juan waited a few moments, then heard the phone being shuffled around. “Hola, mijo.”
“Moms? Where’s pops?”
“He had a meeting, but listen Juan. We talked to your school, your principal, about what’s been happening. You need to do what they tell you, tu me oyes?”
Juan’s brow creased in confusion. What was this? This wasn’t the lecture he’d been expecting from his father. And his father never missed a scolding, meeting or no meeting. What had the school told them? “Uh…si, mama. Claro. I have been, only…”
“I know, mijo. It’s going be ok, you just take care of yourself and do what you’re told. Everything you’re told. We trust them, and you have to too. No more tantrum, no seas malcriado.”
“It wasn’t a tantrum, moms! They rolled up in here and hit the kid with some weird thing and…”
“We know what happened, Juan. Your principal answered all our questions, and now you need to start behaving and listen. ¿Sí o no?”
“Yes mom.” Juan tried to keep the eyeroll out of his voice.
“Y por que siempres me tienes que responder al español con ingles?”
“Mom, I don’t always answer you in English. An’ you be breakin’ out spanglish too anyway.” This old argument? She only got worked up about that when she didn’t want to talk about what it was that was bothering her. Juan tried not to sigh in frustration; what had the school told his parents?
“Cuidado a como tu me hablas.”
“Yes mom. Sorry mom.”
“Ok, I have to go. I love you, mijo.”
Juan unconsciously looked around to see who might be listening. “Yeah, love you too, moms.”
“Be good.” *click*
Juan stared at the phone a few moments, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He was just starting to come out of his reverie when someone called his name. Sort of.
“Orteega? Juan Orteega?”
Juan frowned, finding who had called his name. Office aide. Uh-oh. “Ortega, anglo. I’m Juan. ‘Sup?”
“Follow me. Mr. Herrera wants to see you in the office.”
Juan’s frown deepened. He just knew things had gone too easy. Now here was the other shoe about to drop. “A’ight, let’s go.”
The walk to the offices wasn’t long, and neither was the wait outside Herrera’s office. Juan sat in the chair in front of the principal’s desk and stared neutrally. Let him make the first move.
For his part, Mr. Herrera was completely non-plussed. “You’ve been having some problems, Juan. First off, I want to say I’m sorry about some of the things you’ve been through, and we’re going to do our best to make sure you continue to get all the help you need.”
The corners of Juan’s mouth turned down in a slight frown. ‘I’m gonna stay in counseling indefinite, be what you mean,’ he thought to himself. Outwardly, he just nodded, waiting for the rest.
“Mostly, though, I’d like to talk to you about your behavior recently. I need to make it clear to you that that sort of hostility and disrespect is completely unacceptable. You do not confront the police in that way; if you have questions or concerns, you go to a member of the faculty.”
“Yo, that ain’t even right, them cops…”
“Don’t misunderstand me. This is not an open debate. If you have questions or concerns, you go to a member of the faculty. That is what you will do, or you will quickly run out any sympathy for your situation. And that sympathy on the part of the school administration has already had to shield you rather more than I would like. Am I understood, Juan?”
Juan crossed his arms, anger and petulance warring across his features. Still, dealing with teachers and principals, especially when they were already in touch with his parents, was a familiar situation to him; he knew how to play the game. Eventually, he nodded. “Understood, Mr. H.”
“Good. Now, I’ve spoken with Mr. Imp, and he agrees a five page essay on the dangers of rampant powers in stressful situations wouldn’t be out of line. And of course, we clearly need to continue your counseling to keep helping you get over all you’ve been going through. Ms. Wilson says you’re actually doing fairly well there, so I don’t see any problems in that area, either, right?”
Juan’s frown deepened, and he fidgeted at the mention of his talks with the school counselor; even having called the additional counseling a mile off, he’d been deftly outmaneuvered. His eye narrowed as he took a long, appraising look at Mr. Herrera.
Herrera, for his sake, continued on completely unfazed. “I’m going to be honest with you here, Juan. I see some good things in you, but frankly so far I haven’t been very impressed. A lot of unused potential is basically what I’m getting.”
“What?! You buggin’! You straight trippin’. I be getting’ it done, yo.”
“Like I said, I’m going to be honest here, because I think you can take it. Here’s what I’m seeing.” Mr. Herrera adjusted himself in his seat and twined his fingers together, resting his hands on his desk.
“You’re trying to do right, for the most part. The things you’re good at? You’re excelling quite well. The things you aren’t good at, though, you spend little to no time improving, instead of focusing on them the way you should to bring them up to the level of your other areas. Frankly, your parents agree with that assessment. In Biology and Trigonometry you’re doing well, almost despite yourself; in Social Studies though, you’re clearly performing far below where you could. Same with English.” Mr. Herrera shook his head and sat up straighter, if that was possible.
“More importantly, though, if you’re going to use your powers you need to start using your head. I see your conviction; you might not believe me, but I understand some of your mindset too. You’re willing to make a call on what you see as right or wrong and ride the consequences of your decision to the bitter end. That’s far from a bad thing; under the right circumstances, it’s downright admirable.”
Mr. Herrera continued before Juan could reply, or even start to puff himself up. He locked eyes with Juan, who didn’t flinch at the gaze, though he found it far from easy to maintain. “Your decisiveness may be a strength, but like I said, you’re leaning on it and ignoring the weakness. In this case, that weakness is your judgment. You need to be better at figuring out the best way to get the result you want. You’re only performing one-dimensionally. Someone acts; you react. Do you know chess at all, Juan?”
Juan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Uh, some? My sis be tryin’ to get me to play, but she always be curb-stompin’ me so I ain’t play much.”
“Well, here’s my advice to you, Juan. Stop playing checkers and start playing chess, or the chess players are going to make you a pawn.”
Cuando amanece voy a inflingir, duros castigos y oscuros tormentos, a ellos que ni quieren ni dejan vivir
-
Juan Alacran
- Member
- Posts:48
- Joined:Mon Dec 05, 2011 11:24 pm
Re: Action/Reacción (CLOSED)
“Hello?”
“Yo, ‘sup Raquel.”
“Hey little brother, not much. School, studying. I’m kind of in the middle of doing some research for a paper right now, Juan.”
“Right, naw, I gotcha. Ain’t no thing. Just wanted to ask you somethin’.”
“This should be good. Go ahead, hermanito.”
“How you be winnin’ at chess?”
“How do I what?”
“Chess, hermana. How do you win at chess?”
“Juan, if this is some stupid joke…”
“Naw naw, f’reals. I’m askin’. You be pretty good an’ all. How do you get good an’ win when you playin’ chess?”
“Juan, I really don’t have time for any of your dumb game stuff right now.”
“Raquel. Yo, I need your help, hermana. I’m not playin’.”
“Ok, why do you need the help with chess soooo bad?”
Juan thinks, trying to decide what to say. Because he wanted to be the best, so he really did need to work on his weaknesses? Because Herrera looking him in the eye and saying he was going to end up a pawn actually spooked him? Because he actually missed talking to his sister but he needed an excuse to hold a conversation? All of those were true. “Why else, ‘mana? Doin’ it for a girl.”
She sighs. “Do you even remember how to move the little horsie?
“Like an L. Raquel, come on.”
“Fine. OK. Do you want specific strategies or just an overall?”
“Uh, can I get some of both? Whatever you can get me, ‘mana.”
“Right. Great. Well, it’s all about thinking ahead, Juan. Looking at the board and figuring out what’s going to happen.”
“A’ight, so how I be doin’ that?”
Raquel paused; he actually sounded serious. “You have to stop and think it through. Look at the possibilities. If you make this move, what would it make sense for your opponent to do? If your opponent makes that move, what is the best move for you? Then you have to try and get them to make the moves you want, put the pieces so that it looks like what you want is what they want instead. ”
“So, like…you gotta read their play, so you can be there for the interception even if the guy looks like he’s open?”
“Really, Juan? You have to come up with a dumbed-down metaphor for the metaphor of chess?”
“Only meta I be worryin’ about right now be me. An’ I just tryin’ to get what you’re sayin’. So’m I right or what?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s right. But you can’t forget that while you’re doing that the other person is trying to do the same thing. That’s where things get intricate. You have to be ready to fend off their gambits while adjusting yours to what they’re doing.”
“Right right, can’t let ‘em fake ya, can’t let ‘em play ya.”
“Easier said than done, though. Especially at first.”
“I ain’t say easy, hermana, but I can learn. Practice. Now I know what it be about, anyway.”
“So did you need some specific strategies and moves, then, or are you already the next Kasparov?”
“Who?”
“Why do I bother? No one, hermanito, no one. Do you want them or can I go back to my reading?”
“Pssh. You know better’n that, Raquel. I be out for all I can get.”
“Oh look…my finger, it’s hovering over the end call button. I think it’s getting tired…”
Juan rolls his eyes and makes a face that for sure would have gotten him hung up on if his sister had been able to see it. “Can you please keep helpin’ me out, mi hermana tan linda?”
“Muuuuch better. Ok, here’s a few things that work for me…”
Eventually, Juan finished up his talk with his sister and hung up. Overall he was satisfied, and he lay back on his bed staring at the posters on his wall. He wasn’t done talking to his sister about the topic, and she’d even suggested they play games by phone or email, but he backed her off of that; that was more than he was ready for. Still, things were looking up.
‘Then again’, he thought with a grin, ‘that’s just how things be goin’ when you go hard like I go hard.”
The grin quickly faded, though. That taken care of left one major thing to think about: Peyton. He spared a moment to shake his head at the irony of a hot blonde cheerleader causing a smile to leave his face. Only a moment, though.
What was he going to say to her? He clearly wasn’t going to cut her out, but they had to get things square between them. Did he want to confront her, come at her? Let it be known he had issues and wait for her to make a move? Maybe just say something to one of the other cheeries and let the grapevine pass it on.
No, he needed to face-to-face this. And for that he’d actually have to try and get with her; they sure weren’t in any of the same classes, and with her powers she could go anywhere to grab lunch and go just about anywhere to eat it. Besides, rumor mill eyes and ears were always working overtime during lunch.
Basically what he needed was a time and place she wasn’t going to miss. He mulled that over for a bit, then another grin split his face.
“Yo, ‘sup Raquel.”
“Hey little brother, not much. School, studying. I’m kind of in the middle of doing some research for a paper right now, Juan.”
“Right, naw, I gotcha. Ain’t no thing. Just wanted to ask you somethin’.”
“This should be good. Go ahead, hermanito.”
“How you be winnin’ at chess?”
“How do I what?”
“Chess, hermana. How do you win at chess?”
“Juan, if this is some stupid joke…”
“Naw naw, f’reals. I’m askin’. You be pretty good an’ all. How do you get good an’ win when you playin’ chess?”
“Juan, I really don’t have time for any of your dumb game stuff right now.”
“Raquel. Yo, I need your help, hermana. I’m not playin’.”
“Ok, why do you need the help with chess soooo bad?”
Juan thinks, trying to decide what to say. Because he wanted to be the best, so he really did need to work on his weaknesses? Because Herrera looking him in the eye and saying he was going to end up a pawn actually spooked him? Because he actually missed talking to his sister but he needed an excuse to hold a conversation? All of those were true. “Why else, ‘mana? Doin’ it for a girl.”
She sighs. “Do you even remember how to move the little horsie?
“Like an L. Raquel, come on.”
“Fine. OK. Do you want specific strategies or just an overall?”
“Uh, can I get some of both? Whatever you can get me, ‘mana.”
“Right. Great. Well, it’s all about thinking ahead, Juan. Looking at the board and figuring out what’s going to happen.”
“A’ight, so how I be doin’ that?”
Raquel paused; he actually sounded serious. “You have to stop and think it through. Look at the possibilities. If you make this move, what would it make sense for your opponent to do? If your opponent makes that move, what is the best move for you? Then you have to try and get them to make the moves you want, put the pieces so that it looks like what you want is what they want instead. ”
“So, like…you gotta read their play, so you can be there for the interception even if the guy looks like he’s open?”
“Really, Juan? You have to come up with a dumbed-down metaphor for the metaphor of chess?”
“Only meta I be worryin’ about right now be me. An’ I just tryin’ to get what you’re sayin’. So’m I right or what?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s right. But you can’t forget that while you’re doing that the other person is trying to do the same thing. That’s where things get intricate. You have to be ready to fend off their gambits while adjusting yours to what they’re doing.”
“Right right, can’t let ‘em fake ya, can’t let ‘em play ya.”
“Easier said than done, though. Especially at first.”
“I ain’t say easy, hermana, but I can learn. Practice. Now I know what it be about, anyway.”
“So did you need some specific strategies and moves, then, or are you already the next Kasparov?”
“Who?”
“Why do I bother? No one, hermanito, no one. Do you want them or can I go back to my reading?”
“Pssh. You know better’n that, Raquel. I be out for all I can get.”
“Oh look…my finger, it’s hovering over the end call button. I think it’s getting tired…”
Juan rolls his eyes and makes a face that for sure would have gotten him hung up on if his sister had been able to see it. “Can you please keep helpin’ me out, mi hermana tan linda?”
“Muuuuch better. Ok, here’s a few things that work for me…”
Eventually, Juan finished up his talk with his sister and hung up. Overall he was satisfied, and he lay back on his bed staring at the posters on his wall. He wasn’t done talking to his sister about the topic, and she’d even suggested they play games by phone or email, but he backed her off of that; that was more than he was ready for. Still, things were looking up.
‘Then again’, he thought with a grin, ‘that’s just how things be goin’ when you go hard like I go hard.”
The grin quickly faded, though. That taken care of left one major thing to think about: Peyton. He spared a moment to shake his head at the irony of a hot blonde cheerleader causing a smile to leave his face. Only a moment, though.
What was he going to say to her? He clearly wasn’t going to cut her out, but they had to get things square between them. Did he want to confront her, come at her? Let it be known he had issues and wait for her to make a move? Maybe just say something to one of the other cheeries and let the grapevine pass it on.
No, he needed to face-to-face this. And for that he’d actually have to try and get with her; they sure weren’t in any of the same classes, and with her powers she could go anywhere to grab lunch and go just about anywhere to eat it. Besides, rumor mill eyes and ears were always working overtime during lunch.
Basically what he needed was a time and place she wasn’t going to miss. He mulled that over for a bit, then another grin split his face.
Cuando amanece voy a inflingir, duros castigos y oscuros tormentos, a ellos que ni quieren ni dejan vivir
Re: Action/Reacción (CLOSED)
By morning, Peyton felt better. By afternoon, she was convinced she’d pull through, and by dinner time, she was starving. She hadn’t seen Juan for most of the day, but that was pretty common, she was a senior, and he wasn’t. And despite the fact that she really wasn’t supposed to use her powers in school, speeding made it easier to check hair and makeup between classes, plus go back to the room for anything she didn’t feel like carrying. It made it easier, there was no awkward run-ins in the hallway.
And it would be awkward. What do you say? “Hey. So... I got you in trouble and you made me sick as a dog. We even?” She wasn’t even sure how much trouble he got in. Maybe he was mad, ticked off. Having a big blow up in the hallway, causing a scene would just cause even more trouble, this time for both of them. It was better to give him space, let him cool off.
I did the right thing. The more she tried to convince herself of that, the more doubts she had. He’d been right about that cop being crooked. Maybe he could have proved it sooner. Or maybe he’d have thrown away his entire future. So many variables. The worst was not knowing what would happen next. Either they’d patch everything up, or they’d have a big fight and never speak again, she didn’t want the latter at all. Juan was her friend. When he let his guard down, when neither one of them was trying to prove anything, he wasn’t like the front he put up, he was her friend, a good friend, she didn’t want to lose that over this. He’d cool off. They’d patch it up. Tomorrow or maybe the day after.
The thought comforted her as she fell asleep until she woke up the next morning at 5, and headed to the stadium. She’d changed the time for the Cheer squad run to 6 am, she wanted the extra time to work on a bid routine for RISU. There was a Katy Perry song that was perfect, good beat, good meaning, and she watched enough footage of the Rooster cheer squad to see what they were looking for. They didn’t have a lot of tumbling, and hers definitely needed a little polishing, which is what she’d been working on that morning, imagining a crowd of people to get riled up.
“Get fired up, get all fired up!”
She snickered, launching into a series of back handsprings into a twist, that she miscalculated the speed landing on her feet before taking two hops falling back on her tail. Peyton laughed at herself until she saw the outstretched hand offering to help her up.
"Hey chica. Nice work. You managed to even make that look good.” Peyton rolled her eyes but took the hand up.
“There’s a line if I ever heard one.” She chided with a smile. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“I'ma prove a swimmer can hang on land, then you gonna owe me breakfast one-on-one. You down, or cheeries all talk?"
And it would be awkward. What do you say? “Hey. So... I got you in trouble and you made me sick as a dog. We even?” She wasn’t even sure how much trouble he got in. Maybe he was mad, ticked off. Having a big blow up in the hallway, causing a scene would just cause even more trouble, this time for both of them. It was better to give him space, let him cool off.
I did the right thing. The more she tried to convince herself of that, the more doubts she had. He’d been right about that cop being crooked. Maybe he could have proved it sooner. Or maybe he’d have thrown away his entire future. So many variables. The worst was not knowing what would happen next. Either they’d patch everything up, or they’d have a big fight and never speak again, she didn’t want the latter at all. Juan was her friend. When he let his guard down, when neither one of them was trying to prove anything, he wasn’t like the front he put up, he was her friend, a good friend, she didn’t want to lose that over this. He’d cool off. They’d patch it up. Tomorrow or maybe the day after.
The thought comforted her as she fell asleep until she woke up the next morning at 5, and headed to the stadium. She’d changed the time for the Cheer squad run to 6 am, she wanted the extra time to work on a bid routine for RISU. There was a Katy Perry song that was perfect, good beat, good meaning, and she watched enough footage of the Rooster cheer squad to see what they were looking for. They didn’t have a lot of tumbling, and hers definitely needed a little polishing, which is what she’d been working on that morning, imagining a crowd of people to get riled up.
“Get fired up, get all fired up!”
She snickered, launching into a series of back handsprings into a twist, that she miscalculated the speed landing on her feet before taking two hops falling back on her tail. Peyton laughed at herself until she saw the outstretched hand offering to help her up.
"Hey chica. Nice work. You managed to even make that look good.” Peyton rolled her eyes but took the hand up.
“There’s a line if I ever heard one.” She chided with a smile. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
“I'ma prove a swimmer can hang on land, then you gonna owe me breakfast one-on-one. You down, or cheeries all talk?"
If cheerleading was easy, they'd call it football.
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