Friday arrived quickly, and like a child throwing a tantrum, it kicked Rose in the shins, as she imagined Porsche wanted to. All the 10th graders had to stay in the cafeteria after lunch for the student officer elections. They had voted earlier in the week in English class, but since Rose wasn't taking English, Dean Whitley had given her a ballot during seventh period. It was just a blank slip of paper with two lines on it, and the dean told her to write two names, a boy and a girl. Rose had no idea who to pick. The only person she really knew had already been chosen for leadership. She thought about her classmates, and wrote two names randomly. Now, she and Ellie sat with Jeremy Franco and the people he hung around with. It seemed that Ellie and Jeremy had gotten to be friends through leadership.

Rose wasn't really paying attention as the dean spoke about what it meant to be a student officer. She was distracted by Alastair's emaciated form at the next table. Rose supposed he would look normal to others, maybe even to her, but she had developed a sense for when people aren't feeling well ever since he called her a healer last year. Now, it was like she could see the sickness seeping from people's pores. Once, she had taken a cold from Grant, when he moved her hand this way or that in class. He probably just thought he had fought it off. She glanced at Alastair again, but there wasn't anything obviously wrong with him, except for the bones sticking out at his collar and wrist. He looked like he was starving to death. Rose wanted to walk over and make him better, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself or to him. Plus, she thought, frowning, I didn't feel anything when I hugged him last week. 

A loud peal of laughter pulled Rose back to the moment. She heard a gasp from her table, but everything else was muted by her heart pounding in her ears. What had she missed?

Ellie nudged Rose, who stared blankly. "You have to go up there," Ellie whispered, pushing her again.

Rose stood and walked like an automaton toward the front of the room, keeping her face expressionless. Porsche, who sat a few tables along, stuck one foot out in Rose's path. Rose was happy to kick it out of her way.

"Sssss. Bitch," seethed the bully, rubbing the side of her thin, fancy shoe.

As she stood next to the dean, Rose noticed that the whole 10th grade class, except for Ellie and Jeremy, were laughing. Rose and Omar, the other kid who had apparently been voted in as a joke, weren't laughing either. So this was Porsche's revenge. To humiliate Rose by rigging the vote. But she was too strong now for this to hurt her. She had been strengthened by everything she had lost, everything she had seen. Everything she had become.

Rose wasn't sure what Omar had done to Porsche, but his expression broke Rose's heart. He looked crushed by their chortling. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into a deep bow, like actors at the end of a play. Rose raised her eyebrows at him and gave a slight shrug, wanting to say, "We're in this together. Let's show them they can't break us." His flushed face broke into a smirk, and as they stood up, he began to wave like the queen of England, or maybe a pageant winner.

"Thank you, thank you," he blew kisses out to the audience, who had fallen silent in their failure. Rose squeezed his hand and smiled in triumph. They were two of a kind--Porsche's would-be victims because they were different. Well, Rose was sick of being treated like a freak, and it seemed Omar was, too.

Alastair wished he had known that they were going to select Rose, so he could warn her about going up to the front. She looked angry, especially compared to the horrified face of the kid next to her. But he suspected it was probably embarrassment under that mask, and he understood. It had not been easy for him to get up on stage two years ago, with Mason Warner and Tommy Roarke muttering taunts at him. Based on the wave of laughter that circled the room, he was pretty sure she was being mocked. And Mason's snotty little sister Porsche was right in the middle of it. He felt a dark rage surging from deep in his soul, but before he could lose Control in front of the entire sophomore class, he snuck out the side door.

Alastair's need for Amp had been satisfied yesterday, when he finally found Keira and Jonathan. He used the time he was supposed to be at NYU to track them, with info from his mom's home phone bill, finally zeroing in on them at a small house in Queens. Jonathan had straight-armed him at the door, pulling it shut behind him, as if Alastair wasn't meant to see whatever was in there. 

"Dude, what are you doing here?"

"I'm out. I need more."

"What?" Jonathan's expression revealed his disgust. "You already finished that whole stock? Are you kidding me?"

"Relax, Babe," Keira descended the stairs, wrapping her arms around Jonathan's waist, her mint green bra sticking out of the ripped collar of her punk rock t-shirt. "He's still learning. Just give him a couple vials."

Keira's intervention had worked, and Alastair now had three almost full vials stashed in his room. But Jonathan was right. He had burned through his other supply way too fast, and if he didn't ration this supply, he would run out again. As he walked up the stairs toward the arts room, he bumped into Sarah. She knocked the breath out of him, not just because she was so beautiful, but also because the hard edge of her book caught him just under his lungs, her large engagement ring digging into his flesh.

"Sorry," she said, awkwardly patting his back, as he leaned over to find air. "We have to stop bumping into each other this way."

"S'okay," he puffed, righting himself, but not daring to look her in the eye. "Where're you off to?"

"Oh, um, I have the familiars lab next."

"Right," the word stretched slowly from his lips as an idea worked itself out in his mind. "How is Cain compared to Jackson anyway?"

She shrugged, her arms and shoulders so lovely in the fitted white shirt she wore. He just wanted to hold her, but he fought back the impulse, which was especially hard while Amping. "I dunno. I miss Jackson, but I guess I shouldn't, considering. Cain's all right. It's just not the same."

He nodded, wishing--for a change--that she would go. It was too hard to be around her. The silence was enough to push her on her way, and a tiny wave was the only goodbye between them. Once she was out of sight, he ran to the elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. Cain would be at the familiars lab, one floor down. This was his chance to get his hands on more Amp, or at least the necessary ingredients.

Luck walked him through the door, which was locked, but not closed tight. He opened the cupboards that should have been locked, but weren't, to find there were several small vials of the potion already prepared, and tons of the hard to find components. Alastair took a little of each--just enough not to be obviously missing--and started to sneak back out. But Cain's messenger bag on the floor caught his eye. The flap was flipped back, and there, right in the front pocket, was the ID badge of the guy who killed Bennett. Cain had snatched it from Alastair's hand, back in May, and had kept it a secret all this time. Just one more way Cain had been shady.

He ducked down and grabbed that too, stuffing it in his pocket. With a quick look around the hall, he slipped back out, pulling the door shut tight.

He ran down the stairs, sipping from the vial and wondering when his luck would run out.

««•»»

Dean Whitley dismissed the sophomore class just before the bell, but she kept Rose and Omar behind. "I don't know exactly what went on here, but you have the right to refuse, if you don't wish to be in leadership."

Rose shook her head. Leadership equalled Alastair. She wanted to be there.

"I'll stay, too," Omar said quietly.

"Very well," Whitley said. "Rose, your assignment won't change this year. Omar, see me at the start of 7th period tomorrow, and we'll get you set up."

"K."

Rose smiled at his single letter answer. Not even a full word. And the way he said it. Like he was simultaneously annoyed and excited. They walked toward the stairs together, the full depth of what just happened sinking in. Porsche and her friends had tried to break them, but they won.

"Thank you," he said, placing his hand on her arm. "I almost let these assholes get me down."

Rose smiled and rested her hand on his. He was a gawky kid, average height but very gangly, like his arms and legs were made of rubber. He almost looked like a Muppet, with a big nose and crooked smile. But he often made Rose laugh with his comments in class, and he seemed really sweet. They were a team now--not just part of the leadership team, but one of their own. Just the two of them.

"How did you do that?"

Rose frowned, taking her little notebook out. What?

"You, I dunno, made me feel like it would be okay."

She shrugged, completely clueless.

"Well, I have film now. I'll see you tomorrow." He loped away.

Rose wondered what it would take to get Porsche off her back, if there was anything she could do at all. And then there was Grant. He had been better lately, but he was still a bully. Either Porsche or Grant was always pestering her. Rose felt like she had no relief, and no idea how to stop them. Rose had never been anywhere long enough to have to worry about bullies. By the time anyone started to bother her, she was on to the next foster home. And at CYRS, there really weren't any bullies. Everyone was too dull from their meds to pick on each other. If only someone would give Grant some lithium, she thought as she entered his class. He only glared at her for a moment, and then started right into the lecture, leaving her alone for a change.

««•»»

Alastair felt numb and hyper at the same time. Like a nerve that's been dulled and pinched. Like a sloth on meth. Like a--a--he couldn't think of anymore examples. He was still overusing the Amp, he knew. He needed to make it last. He needed some way to extend it.

He spent the weekend at the library reading about potions and how to make them long-lasting. There were some hints and tricks he found, but he was reluctant to try them. What if he wasted all his supplies to make something that didn't even work? That would not fly. There was no telling when he would be able to lay hands on these supplies again.

Poke. Poke. Poke.

He finally realized someone was actually poking him; he wasn't just thinking the word. Rose stood there with that damned concern on her face. Like he was pathetic. Like he needed to be saved. He was. And he did, but he didn't want to be. She was annoying, just staring at him with her pretty features furrowed and hands fisted on her curvaceous hips. Jesus. Not this again.

He waved her away before his errant thoughts got him in trouble, but she didn't go. Instead, she sat down next to him and began to read the books he had pulled. Alastair stared at her incredulously as she pored over the pages, her dark eyes scanning the text so quickly. He glanced down at his notes and books, and covered up anything to do with Amp. "I'm--I'm close to figuring something out," he stammered. "I think I can make certain potions last longer, if I just find the right additive. It's for my senior project," he lied so easily now. There was no senior project.

Rose leaned close to hand him a muffin from the dining hall, her hair falling forward and brushing his cheek. It smelled like caramel. Or coconut. Her hair, not the muffin. God, his mind was wandering. His heart quickened, but it was just the Amp. Just the Amp and the excitement of making more Amp. Right? He had been in the library for hours, and he hadn't eaten since at least yesterday, for sure. He just sort of forgot about food when he was Amping. But now that it was in front of him, he realized how hungry he was and ate the thing in two large bites.

"Fanksh," he said through a mouthful of dough, hardly even noticing the taste.

Rose was really worried about Alastair. Up close, he looked terrible. She wondered why no one did anything. But still, she couldn't sense what was wrong. He wasn't sick. Except he was. She reached for a book, brushing her arm against his, skin against skin in an attempt to identify what ailed him. There was a flash of something familiar, some nauseating flavor she couldn't place, but no illness she felt she could pull from him.

She settled back and read the texts before them, figuring she'd help him with this, if nothing else. After an hour of reading, and not finding much, she considered his problem from a different perspective. Trying to make a potion last longer. All the texts in front of him were magic in nature, but what he needed was probably more from chemistry, from medicine. Rose dug through her memory, then scooted over to the bank of computers behind them and googled a few terms. She scribbled some notes, slid back to him, and tapped his shoe with her pen.

"Did you find something?"

She nodded, passing him the pages of notes.

"This is perfect. Thank you!" He beamed at her, his eyes glowing brightly as they had when she first met him, and Rose wondered if maybe he wasn't sick at all. Maybe his body was worn down over something else. Maybe he was just heartsick. Maybe it was stress. Rose knew better than most how stress could shred one's insides, like swallowing razors. There were no sharp objects in her gut just then, but she was reminded of her issues with Porsche.

How do you get a bully to leave you alone?

"You don't." He shook his head. "You can't."

She waved the note at him again, insistent.

He snatched the note with a mixture of anger and amusement. "If I ever figure it out, I'll let you know," he scoffed. She frowned. "Seriously. I have been fucked with by the same kids since I was six. Ten years, and I can't get them to stop. Short of murder, I don't know."

Rose felt herself leaning away from the bitterness in his voice. Last year Grant had taught them the word vitriol. That was a good word for Alastair's tone, his expression, his whole demeanor. She had never heard him cuss, nor speak so darkly before. She imagined having Porsche, or even Grant, torment her for ten years. She might be ready to kill someone too.

It wouldn't be murder. It'd be self defense.

He snorted a laugh as he gathered up his books and notes. "Yeah, really. Hey, thanks for this, though. You saved my ass."

Rose watched him walk away, his steps lighter than the clunky trudging he'd done of late. She stayed on the floor of the library reading for another hour before heading up to the dining hall for dinner. As she plunked her tray on the table she regularly shared with Ellie, Rose caught Tommy's gaze across the room. Last year, she had watched him throw food at Alastair almost every day. She wondered if he still would--if Alastair was there right now, that is. It didn't seem to fit that this kid who had been there for her all summer had tortured Alastair for years. He grinned at her, those green eyes gleaming in the light. She knew she was missing something, and as she returned his smile, she worried that she had fallen for some flirtatious act that wasn't the real Tommy.

A few days later, Alastair took Rose's notes, his vials of amp, and all the supplies he had stolen to that tiny, unused dressing room in the auditorium. He felt confident that she had cracked the secret. Hydroxypropyl cellulose. This had not been easy to find. It's primarily an ingredient in medications, but he found that it was also added to mass-produced foods as a thickening agent. And wouldn't you know, right over in New Jersey, there was a huge soup production plant. He had snuck in late last night, by himself, which should have scared the magic out of him, but the Amp gave him unbending nerves. There, in the ingredient store, he found a huge bag of the powdered form. He just hoped it would work.

Alastair set up his mini-chem lab, fancying himself a younger Heisenberg. He was definitely breaking bad right now, like Walter White. WW. Walt Whitman. Whitman Academy. His thoughts zoomed around like bees at the first spring flower, excited and chaotic. He organized all the elements, and began the first steps of making the Amp from scratch, something he had done many times over with Keira. The problem he had to resolve now was when to add the cellulose.

He began experimenting, tiny batches at first. The first several attempts were massive failures. One was a clump of thick paste, gray and lumpy, like rotten mashed potatoes. Another had no potency at all. Most were somewhere in between--too watery or too viscous--but without the desired Amplification and extended release. Finally, at about two in the morning, the potion gelled just right. He took a sip and felt that usual burst of power slide over him. But stronger. Now, he would just have to see how long it lasted. He cleaned up the mess and packed the ingredients and equipment and returned to the dorm. He laid down on the couch in the common area and waited. A few hours later, he got up before the morning rush and went down to the dining hall. He felt better than he had in a long time. He felt the magic coursing through his body with great force, but he didn't feel out of Control. He grabbed a plate, heaped it high with food and sat down to eat, feeling almost like himself for the first time in weeks.

Alastair had a new cockiness about him as he walked through the school. His modification of the Amplification potion had been beyond successful. It had reduced the negative side effects of the potion, as compared with its original recipe. After some further research, he learned that hydroxypropyl cellulose was used as a stabilizing agent in medications. Well, it had stabilized him for sure. He no longer lost Control of his magic, and he was able to focus on his schoolwork, while maintaining the buzz from the potion. It was like the perfect solution, and he had done it all on his own.

Okay, almost.

But he had done the work. He had found the right composition of the elements. He had made an unparalleled breakthrough in modern magic. This was huge. Alastair wanted to tell someone, but what the hell could he say? "Hey, I've been abusing this potion, so I wanted to make it last longer, and look! I've made it better!" Yeah, that would not go over well with the grown-ups. So, he smirked to himself as he went from class to class, day to day, week to week, knowing that he was loaded the whole time, and no one suspected a thing.

As September gave way to October, a bitter cold nipped at the air. And Alastair found himself almost out of potion. Again. He had plenty of his good friend HC, as he had begun to think of this new ingredient, so he tucked himself away in the auditorium to cook up a new batch. As he was finalizing the potion, though, he was distracted by noise out in the stage area. Voices. And crying. He opened the door to the unused dressing room cautiously and listened.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"  A girl's voice wept quietly.

"How could I? She's your--" Alastair bumped the door, and its echo bounced around the empty theater like a pinball. "Come on. Let's go."

Alastair knew that voice, deep but still immature. It was Daniel Choi, another student officer. But he should have been in class, probably advanced potions. Alastair remembered his own advanced potion, and turned back to find it almost complete. He needed to heat it up a bit more, and then it would be set. As he put the finishing touches on, he noticed that the color was slightly different than the first time, but he figured that was just a fluke. He poured out the potion into several small vials, capped them, and labeled them as Liquid Calendula, just to be safe, before tossing everything into his bag.

««•»»

Omar had joined the now very crowded dining hall table, which Rose had claimed alone her first day of school last year. Ellie had joined her last Thanksgiving, and had never left, although the loud crush of her voice had subsided somewhat this year. Perhaps because Jeremy Franco and his friends had also joined their group, and Rose was pretty sure that Ellie liked him. What a difference a year made--Rose went from loner to leadership, suddenly surrounded by people she actually thought of as friends.

"Did you do Bennett's homework?" Omar asked Rose, pulling her from her thoughts. She frowned, confused. Then she remembered that he meant Mrs. Bennett.

She shook her head and scribbled on her notebook, I'm not in that class.

"Damn, did Grant fail you, too?" Mario, one of Jeremy's friends, asked.

No, I took this year's English in summer school, she shoved her notebook across the table toward him.

"You mean, I'm the only one that failed that class?"

"You never went!" Jeremy chided. "What did you expect?"

Mario shrugged. "I know, but still."

"Where were you anyway?" Omar asked him, with that sort of snotty tone in his voice that made Rose laugh automatically.

"Around."

Omar rolled his eyes at the cryptic answer and turned back to Rose. "So, what are you taking, instead of English?"

"She has Grant for defense," Ellie answered. Rose realized it was the first thing she had said all day.

Mario raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that an elective?" As Rose nodded, he continued, "Why would you elect to take another class with him? Why would anyone?"

"I enjoyed your time in my class as well, Mr. Vasquez," Grant said as he passed by, patting Mario on the shoulder.

Rose laughed in her shuddering, silent way. She wasn't ready to talk to them. Yet. Still, her quiet chuckle joined the whole crowd of laughter. Her crowd. She had people, people who were like her. And who seemed to like her. She glanced at Tommy across the room, and as always, he was watching her, smiling. She felt like a stray cat who's found a home, warm and grateful, but still just a bit on edge, still with claws out, just in case.

««•»»

Alastair finally shared his new concoction with Keira and Cesar a few days later. Not Jonathan, though. He had been too much of a prick the last time. But he wanted to show someone what he had done--this great accomplishment of his. So he told Keira to meet him at Cesar's apartment up in Washington Heights, right near the Cloisters, that he had something to show her.

"I've perfected the Amp."

"What do you mean, 'perfected'?" Cesar asked, skeptically.

Alastair held his hands aloft for them to see. "No more loss of Control. No more tart flavor and smell. No more dilated pupils. I've stabilized it, all while making the potion last longer."

"Shut up!" Keira shouted, grabbing at his outstretched hands. "How?"

"Yeah, how?"

"I read about this stuff they use in medicine to stabilize the ingredients. I did a few experiments, and wham, it worked."

"What stuff? How did you find it?"

Alastair didn't actually know how Rose had come up with the HC. So he lied, "my mom's a nurse. They put this stuff in all kinds of medicines. And they put it in food, as a thickening agent, so I stole some from that huge soup cannery in Jersey."

"What!"

The wide-eyed expression on Keira's face boosted Alastair further. "Yeah, it was no big deal." He felt so cool. So powerful.

"Well, then, let's have some," Cesar said.

Alastair took out the last unopened vial of his first batch and passed it around. Keira shivered as the potion spread over her. "It feels stronger, somehow."

Cesar nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's good. It's really good."

"I told you," Alastair said smugly. "It's perfect." Perfect.

"You have more?"

"Nah, that's the last of what I made." How easily he lied these days. To anyone and everyone. "You can keep it, though. I'll make more."

"Let's go cast!" Keira tugged on Alastair's arm.

They wandered over to the park and lay on the grass, casting until the alert on Alastair's MP3 player told him it was time to get back to Whitman for class.

"I gotta go," he said. "I'll text you."

"Bring more!"

Alastair laughed and nodded as he walked away. He felt like a god, invincible and all powerful. He could make anything he wanted happen. He could even get Sarah to love him, finally, or again. Or whatever. He could.