Superhero Effects

9. I SEE YOUR TRUE COLORS

I was sad. Like, really sad. I was a fraud, a mutated Magical teen with weird DNA, and I was no longer a reporter for Conquer Prep's newspaper. But what I was most sad about was realizing what made me the most miserable.

It was Archer, and all through History, I couldn't shake it. I kept thinking about him hurrying after me just that morning before the school break-in to make sure I was okay. I kept thinking about all the times I pushed him away in subtle ways after that stupid kiss, so I didn't have to break his heart by telling him that I was pretty sure I wasn't capable of falling in love. And all the thoughts made me want to cry.

What was happening to me? I couldn't...I mean, it wasn't possible that I liked Archer Samuel as more than a friend. He was a liar! He was a stranger to me, and he chose someone else over Peggy and me! People don't like people who choose other people over them! So, what was wrong with me?

The classroom door shut forcefully and snapped me out of the battle in my head.

Mr. Floyd was actually smiling, broadly—so broadly the dimple in his left cheek was showing. (I didn't even know he had a dimple).

"No, no students," he said, lifting a haughty finger, "don't question me. I have been strictly ordered not to say anything about the staff changes in the school."

Staff changes? What was he talking about?

"Yes," Mr. Floyd was saying, "it is a shame of the scandal that had been occurring right underneath our noses, but I am here to tell you bright young minds that I am here to stay, and an investigation is underway so no need to worry. Now the lesson..."

What had I missed? I didn't have the slightest clue what was going on. Scandal? New staff? Occurring right underneath their noses? Investigation? It all sounded so severe. How did Mr. Floyd expect us to concentrate on our lesson with the bombshell he had just dropped?

I wasn't the only one that looked confused either. Many students were glancing at each other questioningly after Mr. Floyd's words.

The whispers started when Mr. Floyd jumped into the lecture material of the day, instructing us to pull out our textbooks.

Audrea, the girl in front of me, turned completely in her desk and said, "You're the investigative reporter of the class, Tristan. Do you know anything about this?"

My heart kind of dropped, but I didn't correct her. I just shook my head. "Not a clue."

"CLASS! My instructions were not to give you an invitation to whisper amongst yourselves!" Mr. Floyd hollered, rounding away from the whiteboard to glare at us.

The whispers died down as we faced the front, but as soon as he turned his back again, students leaned to different sides or turned in their seats with whispers again. It continued like this for the first twenty minutes of class until Mr. Floyd shut off the lights and made us put our heads on our desks for the rest of the thirty minutes.

When the bell rang, and class ended, the talking started back up, and no one paid attention as we streamed out of the room to Mr. Floyd's warnings to be ready to work the next class period or write until our fingers fell off.

The new staff question answered itself.

My second-hour teacher was gone. In her place was a very tall woman with even taller shoes, Ms. Supper. She instructed the class to sit in alphabetical order instead of our regular seats, and, when we griped, she slammed a yardstick down on the desk so loudly that all complaining ceased instantly. The goosebumps on my arms grew more than what had erupted when I stepped in. In the sweetest manner possible, she repeated her instructions to our startled faces, and we followed them quietly.