Temporary Title

Chapter 1

"With great power comes great responsibility."

"I'm with you 'till the end of the line."

"It's an imperfect world, but it's the only one we've got."

So many quotes influence the way we see the world. So many heroes inspire us to see the good in the world. But, what if the hope they provide isn't enough to live through reality? Then you must become the influencer, become the hero, and change the world yourself.

I stood in the corridors of a new school, embracing the sights of white brick and dingy tiles against seas of grey lockers. My attention was divided between the crumpled schedule in my hands and the waves of people crashing around me. Midtown School of Science and Technology was an acclaimed school, famous throughout the country for its rigor and academia, but it felt like a fairly average high school from the inside.

I made my way to a mahogany door at the end of the hallway. My legs were trembling so hard I feared they might collapse, and my heart was pounding against my chest. I didn't want to complain, but why did my mom have to send me to a STEM school? Changing schools was hard enough, but it was even harder when you went to a school you knew you would struggle at. Sighing, I reluctantly opened the door to the physics classroom. Several pairs of eyes looked up at me in curiosity as I made my way into the dim room.

"You must be Alice," the older teacher smiled. "I'm Mrs. Warren. Feel free to sit in one of the empty seats."

I nodded before trotting nervously through the rows of desks. I had always hated having to find a seat in a packed classroom; it was so anxiety-inducing to have everyone stare at you while you had seconds to pick a desk. It was almost like you were a lab specimen kept under a glass cover, being poked and prodded at by curious students. I settled on a desk in the back of the room.

Mrs. Warren started to lecture about mass and acceleration, but despite my best efforts I couldn't find myself interested in the lecture. I weakly dragged my pencil across the loose-leaf paper and jotted down barely legible notes. Most of the students were intensely focused in their note taking, completely forgetting their curiosity about the new student behind them. That is, except for a boy in the row in front of me.

At first I didn't notice as the boy stretched and looked towards me, but it got increasingly more obvious as the class period passed by. Every few minutes he had an excuse to look back, from checking the clock to picking up dropped pencils. I instinctively looked away whenever I felt his gaze, desperate to avoid the awkwardness of locking eyes with a stranger. But after what felt like the millionth time, I couldn't help but peek. Before I could even react to our eyes meeting, the boy immediately darted his attention back to the front of the room. Pink hues crept us his neck and into his cheeks, and I could only imagine how fast his heart must be beating.

My lips curled into a slight grin. I had to admit, he was pretty cute. I had grown familiar with the slight curls running through his brown hair when he was turned away But why did he keep looking my way? Did he think I was cute? No; there was no way. He must've just been curious to see the new girl in class. But then why would he do it so often? Maybe I should try to talk to him. I shook the thoughts off as the bell rang, watching the shy boy scurry out of the classroom within seconds. My mental health was bad enough without hurting myself even further by chasing after someone I had no chance with.

Instead of dwelling on the situation, I grabbed my supplies before heading to my next class. There was no use; a mere puddle couldn't wish itself into a vast ocean, and I couldn't wish myself into something I wasn't. After arriving at my next class I grabbed an English textbook, happy to catch a break from the world of data and enjoy a good Shakespearean play.

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I sighed in relief as I walked through the exit of the school that afternoon. The day had mostly just involved adjusting to my new school and classes as I expected, but I was exhausted from the overwhelming information. It didn't help that I was thrown into the middle of the difficult curriculum in addition to being a fish out of water.  I was just grateful that I had an English and Art class to break up the academic torture.

It wasn't all bad moving to New York City, though. Nothing compared to the euphoric feeling of walking through the lively streets of the city, seeing skyscrapers and giant screens and unique people everywhere you looked. Maybe it was just me; growing up in a rural state made me grow tired of farms and countrysides. It was nice seeing something new and exciting. As I made my way down the maze of streets leading through the city, the tall buildings and urban aesthetics still took my breath away, glittering like unfamiliar gemstones underneath the beautiful-albeit, polluted-sky. I was told the novelty would wear off before too long, but I wasn't looking forward to that day. I enjoyed the feeling of exploring a new world, like the protagonist of a fantasy novel. Queens, New York was my personal Middle-Earth.

But I wasn't completely naive. One hand stayed grasped on the pepper spray in my pocket and the others held my keys between my fingers in a makeshift weapon, praying I wouldn't have to use them. Relief flooded my senses as I made my way to the front steps of my apartment building, basking in the fluorescent lighting and faux safety as I trotted through the lobby and rode the elevator to the second floor.

The third apartment on the right called to me, drawing me to my new home. The key fit perfectly as I slid it into the slot and twisted, unlocking the door and letting myself in. My mom was still at work for a few more hours, so I had the place to myself for a few hours. The living room greeted me with its worn-in brown furniture and the lingering aroma of cherry-scented air fresheners, plus the TV still playing old reruns in the background since we forgot to turn it off before we left. There weren't many decorations in the room yet: mostly just basics like knickknacks and pictures.

The pictures were mainly displayed on the wall behind one of the couches. Most of them were of me, documenting my journey of growing up throughout the years. Well, at least the good parts of it. Other pictures were cute, such as pictures of our pets, and some were nostalgic, such as the pictures of my mom when she was younger. What stood out to me, though, was the pictures of my parents together. The pictures of my dad looked so much like him on the good days- bright and goofy and full of life-and so unlike him on the bad days. So unlike the irritability and yelling and unpredictability. So unlike the insults and threats and gaslighting. My fists began to clench at the fact my mother would still keep pictures of him up, knowing all the horrible things he did to us. I stopped myself and shook my head erratically at the thought; I needed to remember the positives about him, no matter how much I hated him. It's not like he was here to defend himself anymore. My heart pounded faster when I looked at the clock on the wall beside me, realizing I would be alone with my thoughts until my mom got back from work.

I forced myself away from the pictures, feeling the conflicting emotions starting to build up in my body. I needed to practice the things my therapist had taught me. I started playing calming music as loud as I could without upsetting the neighbors, and looked at the list of distress tolerance skills circled in my therapy workbook. As much as emotional dysregulation sucked, at least one of the treatments was teaching yourself to practice self-care; in my experience even a lot of 'normal' people didn't know how to do that. So I lit a candle and grabbed a fuzzy blanket and sat on the couch, trying to focus on the lavender aroma and the feeling of the soft fabric wrapped against my skin instead of the reckless emotions in my head.

A feeling of pride was almost strong enough to escape the shame; even just a few months ago I wouldn't have been able to calm myself down without resorting to something harmful or impulsive. I just tried to focus on staying calm until the troublesome feelings went away, so then I could go back to doing homework or hobbies or the things a 'normal' teenager would do after school. Even during a whirlwind of change, I guessed some things always stayed the same, and that included the problems I wanted to leave behind when I moved to New York. I just couldn't help but wonder what things would be changed by my new surroundings, for better or worse.