CHAPTER TWO
All Eyes On Me

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AS PER USUAL, the first two periods of the school day passed by in a blur; with Honours Physics and AP Calculus back-to-back, Cecelia was too busy to even be bored. It seemed like she'd only just sat down at her seat by the whiteboard before the bell started to ring. She gathered up her notes, thankful she was nearly halfway through the day, and made her way into the hallway to find Alex and Christine. Both of them had Chem while she had Calculus, and their teacher was chill enough to let them out a few minutes early. So, by the time Cecelia arrived at their lockers, they would already be waiting.

When she approached today, Christine held up a black-and-white checkered lunch bag. "I've got us covered," she announced triumphantly. "No sour milk and soggy fries today."

"Good, because I'd rather starve than try the chicken nuggets again," said Cecelia, stowing her books back into her locker. "I don't even think they're made of chicken meat."

"It's horse, probably," Alex said.

"Nah, it's got to be rats. What do you think lunch lady Alma does with the ones that find their way into the cafeteria?" Cecelia closed her locker door. It shut with a satisfying bang. "Anyway, what have you got, Chris?"

"Sushi for the two of us, and a vegetarian wrap for the vegetarian," Christine responded, shooting a pointed look at Alex. He shrugged sheepishly. "It'd be easier for all of us if you ate fish, Alex. There's a thing called being pescatarian."

"There's also a thing called 'not wanting to eat any meat at all' that should be respected," said Alex. "I mean, you've got to admit the meat industry is all kinds of messed up."

"I can agree with that, which is another reason I miss the rez," Cecelia said. "Native Americans have always treated the animals they hunt with respect. The white colonizers just care about making as much money as possible."

Alex and Christine both looked away. Cecelia didn't often talk about where she'd lived before—before New York, before foster care, before the explosion that incinerated her family and gave her the abilities her uncle so admired—and when she did, it was only in short bursts, random interjections into conversation. The point was to bring a little bit of normality to the situation. She'd lived on the West River Sioux Reservation until she was five years old. And yes, it had exploded, but before that, it had been so full of life. It would be nice to talk about that life without automatically being reminded of the death that came after.

But, of course, it was hard not to think about it. Which was why Christine and Alex averted their eyes now.

Sensing that she'd injected some awkwardness into the conversation, Cecelia decided to change the subject. "Thanks for bringing lunch, Chris. Again."

She and Alex would have packed their own lunches, but unfortunately, the Olivier household was a crowded one. Between the four children, their conflicting dietary needs (Jules had a gluten allergy, Eva hated fish, and Alex was vegetarian), and their packed schedule, it was a struggle just sitting down for dinner as a family. To make things a little easier on themselves, instead of worrying about lunches, Mom and Dad would shove a few ten-dollar bills into Cecelia and Alex's hands and tell them to go to the cafeteria. Neither of them mentioned that the food in Midtown Tech's cafeteria was probably worse than what was served at a prison.

When Christine had seen them picking their way through rat-meat nuggets and heaps of sad vegetables that only vaguely resembled salads, she'd taken pity on them. Now, whenever she could, she packed a lunch for the three of them. Sure, there were still days where rat-meat nuggets and charlatan salads weren't out of the question—mainly on days when Christine was cramming for a test or finishing last-minute homework), but they were now few and far between. Fortunately.

"Yeah, thanks," Alex added. "You're the best."

Christine winked. "I know. Now, come on, let's eat. I didn't have time for breakfast this morning."

She linked arms with Cecelia and Alex and steered them down the hallway towards the cafeteria. As per usual, her cheery attitude rubbed off on Cecelia. She was still exhausted and a little grumpy, but she wasn't walking like each step personally offended her anymore. And, finally, she'd straightened her back out of its slouch.

They sat at their usual table by the left window. It only looked out into the parking lot, but at least sunlight streamed through. Cecelia often calmed herself by counting the cars. Most of them belonged to the faculty, but there were a few students lucky enough to have one of their own. Flash did.

Asshole.

As Christine pulled out her sushi platter to share with Cecelia, Alex pointed to Cecelia's left. "Hey, check it out," he said. "The banner's right. Homecoming is almost here."

"What?" Cecelia asked. Then she followed her brother's gaze. There, she found Liz balanced on a ladder, fastening a banner to the wall. It was navy blue and speckled with stars. Homecoming is almost here! Are you ready? was written in pink calligraphy. "Oh."

"Just a few more weeks," said Christine, bringing chopsticks to her lips. "We've got to go dress-shopping soon, Cecelia."

"Homecoming is overrated," Cecelia grumbled. "Why do we even need it? We're a science and technology school. Not a dumb public school that prioritizes sports—specifically football—over everything else."

"Because it's fun," Alex said. "Oh, wait, I forgot that you don't know what that is."

Cecelia extended a specific finger at him. He clenched his heart and fake-gasped.

"You're still going, right?" Christine asked. "You better be. I'm not going there alone."

"As if. You have, like, a hundred friends," Alex said, biting into his veggie wrap. "Why do you even sit with just us?"

"Because they all have different lunches than I do," Christine said. Then she grinned. "Just kidding. I sit with you guys because you're my best friends."

Cecelia gagged. "That's so sweet I think I'm getting cavities," she said. "Or a stomachache."

"Oh, shush. I know you love me."

Cecelia didn't even notice the approaching footsteps—lost in the hum of the cafeteria, as it were—until they stopped right in front of their table. When she looked up, it was revealed that Liz had descended from the ladder and made her way toward them. Betty Bryant, in the flesh, trailed behind her.

"Hey, guys," she said. "How's it going?"

"Hey," said Alex. "Doing well, doing well."

Cecelia shrugged. "Meh."

Christine, used to this, merely rolled her eyes. "I love the banner."

"Oh, thanks." Liz smiled, and Cecelia swore a few heads turned. That was the effect she had on Midtown Tech's population: complete and utter enthrallment. She'd probably had at least twenty different people ask her to Homecoming by now. "We've been working on it for about a week now. All of this Homecoming Committee stuff takes a lot of time."

"Well, it's worth it," said Betty, adjusting her hairband. "With us in charge, we're going to make this Homecoming the best Homecoming ever!"

"Yippee." Cecelia threw up some jazz hands. Both Alex and Christine sighed.

Liz shifted in place. It took her a moment to begin speaking. "So... I'm having a party tomorrow night."

"A pre-Homecoming party," Betty clarified.

"Yeah. Um, I was wondering if you three wanted to come? There will be drinks, but you don't need to partake. Especially you, Christine. I know you're uncomfortable with that kind of stuff. But there will also be music, dancing, and pizza, if that sounds like something you're interested in."

A party. Cecelia had never been to a high school party before. Not because she was too uncool for it—Robotics Club and Academic Decathlon gave her enough acquaintances, if not friends—but because she simply hadn't been keen on it before. According to the media, high school parties were warzones of Red Solo cups, keg stands, and kids puking into bushes. It didn't exactly sound like a good time.

Besides, she was usually busy. Even if she wasn't, though, there was always a better use of her time.

But here was Liz, captain of the Academic Decathlon team, popular, and probably the sweetest girl Cecelia had ever met, extending her hand out to her. Taking it would mean at least one night Cecelia got to be a normal teenager. Not a mutant, not a lackey of her uncle. A normal teenager. Doing whatever it was normal teenagers did.

Still... "I don't know."

"We're in!" Alex piped up at the exact same time.

She shot him a glare. "He might be in, but I don't know if I am." She scratched the back of her neck. "I've got a lot of studying to do for Nationals..."

"Oh, don't worry about Nationals," Liz said, taking a seat beside Christine. Betty slid in next to Alex. "I know I've been pushing you guys lately, and myself, too, but I think we all need a night off. You can still study after school if you're really worried, but I wouldn't be. All three of you are brilliant. I think we've really got this."

Christine beamed. "I'll come," she said, taking a sip from her Midtown Tech water bottle. "Who's gonna be there?"

"Oh, lots of people. The Academic Decathlon team will be invited, obviously, and the Homecoming Committee... probably art club, maybe the football team."

"So basically everyone?" Cecelia asked. Liz laughed.

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'll think about it."

Liz reached over to squeeze her arm. "Great! I'd love to have you there, Cecelia."

Betty's eyes flickered over to the clock, then realized it had been covered by the banner. She checked the time on her phone instead. "Liz, we've got a meeting in three minutes. We've got to go."

"All right." Liz stood up, smoothing out her skirt. "It was nice talking with you three. I'll see you guys in Decathlon practice, okay?"

"Got it," said Alex, speaking through a mouthful of veggie wrap. His cheeks bulged with food, and Christine wrinkled her nose. He swallowed visibly, then repeated himself. "Got it."

Betty laughed. Liz just smiled. "Bye."

She and Betty snaked their way through the clusters of tables and headed back into the hallway. Alex took another enormous bite of his veggie wrap, then a sip of his Coca-Cola. "Don't be a buzzkill, bozo," he said, flicking Cecelia's arm. "You have to come to the party. I'm not letting you miss out on another one."

"What's the point?" Cecelia asked, stacking her fists and resting her chin upon them.

"What's the point?" Christine echoed. "The point is that you should have fun for once in your life, Cecelia."

"I have fun!"

"Really? When? And don't say in class," Alex said. "I know we're a nerd school, but that's a whole new level of nerd."

"Robotics Club is fun," Cecelia muttered. "So is Academic Decathlon."

"Outside of school," Alex said.

"I don't have time for fun after school. It's homework, internship, eat, sleep."

"Which is why it's time for a change, doofus! We're fifteen. We're not adults yet. We can't even legally drive."

"Flash does."

"I think Flash got held back a grade. But back to my point. We deserve to have fun while we can. Before we graduate school and are forced into the hellscape that is Capitalism, selling our bodies and getting pennies in return."

"Okay, Alex." Christine kicked him under the table, and he yelped.

"What! I'm just being realistic!"

"No, you're being pessimistic. That's Cecelia's job. I'm the optimist, she's the pessimist, and you're in the middle. It's the equation of a perfect friend group."

"Tell me why we're friends, again?"

Cecelia huffed and buried her head in her hands. "It's a good thing neither of you are on the debate team. You're terrible at changing people's minds."

"Right. The point," Christine said. Cecelia finally raised her head to look into her best friend's eyes. They were abnormally serious, devoid of their usual cheeriness and humor. Cecelia couldn't help but sit up at the sight of them. "The point is that you're killing yourself, Cecelia. You're fifteen years old but already act like you're in your twenties. You deserve a break, too. And I think this party can prove to be a good one."

Cecelia breathed in. Exhaled. Concentrated on the weight in the left pocket of her jeans, pressed right against her thigh. Any minute of any day, it could buzz, summoning her to the warehouse, to a mission. It made her live on the edge; she didn't want to get herself into anything she couldn't get out of if the inevitable text came a-chiming. But Uncle didn't ask for her every day. And she'd just been on a mission last night, so maybe...

"Fine." The words were out of her mouth before she could do any more deliberation. Alex's head, which had been turned down to his tray, snapped back up again. Based on the way he immediately winced and rubbed it, it had been too quick of a motion.

"Really?" Christine's lips spread back into a smile, and there she was again, peppy and animated. "You'll come?"

"Sure. It's not like I have anything else to do."

"Yes!" Christine lunged forward.

Cecelia saw her coming. She saw the way her hand came to her arm for what was obviously a friendly squeeze, just like Liz had done. It had been a gesture performed about a million times, and Cecelia had never cared before.

But this time, when Christine's hand latched around her arm, she gripped it a little too hard. Her acrylic nails dug into Cecelia's skin, opening an old scab. And suddenly, Cecelia couldn't breathe.

Her chest tightened, throat constricting. Everything blurred around her—the cafeteria changed into a formless blob, the swell of voices combined into a roar, and the touch on her arm became something else. Then there was a whisper, loud enough that it felt like it was actually being hissed into her ear, reminding her what to do. It's rude to use your abilities when I don't want you to, Cecelia.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

"—elia? Cecelia? Hey, Cecelia, you okay?"

You're a mutant. A freak of nature. You were never meant to exist.

"Cee? Cee? Shit, Alex—"

But I might as well use you while I've got you. It's about all you're good for, anyway.

Cecelia squeezed her eyes shut. The hand on her arm had disappeared, but something wet streaked down to her elbow. Something she'd seen so many times that the colour was burnt into her mind. Taking shuddering breaths through her nose—she could breathe, she could breathe—she focused on her heartbeat. It was galloping faster than normal, a horse that has been whipped by its rider. Still, as she held her hand there, it slowed back to a trot.

I'm safe.

"Cecelia?"

Cecelia finally opened her eyes. Both Alex and Christine's faces swam there for a moment, doubling before combining back into one. She took in another deep breath and settled a hand on her arm, blocking the blood from view.

"I'm okay," she said, looking down at the table. Suddenly, the sushi she and Christine hadn't yet finished was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Do you need your meds?" Christine asked. "Cecelia, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It wasn't your fault." Cecelia's breathing was slowly evening, as well. "They just—they go off randomly, you know? No need to beat yourself up about it."

"I'm getting your meds," Alex said, unzipping the front pouch of Cecelia's blue-and-pink backpack. He plunged a hand in, coming out with her wallet, her calculator, and a small tube of Hello Kitty hand cream before finally grasping onto the tiny plastic pill bottle. He twisted off the cap and shook a pill into his hand. "Here."

Too weary to argue, Cecelia took it. Christine passed her the bottle of water to aid in her swallowing. The Xanax went down with ease.

"Sorry," Cecelia said, tightening the water bottle's cap.

"No, no, don't apologize," Christine said, putting a hand on Cecelia's shoulder. Thankfully, she didn't flinch this time. "You know we're here for you, right? We're always going to be here for you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Cecelia slumped in her chair, heat coming to her cheeks. Please, don't let anybody have noticed. Thank Creator Liz and Betty are gone.

"Oh, my God! You're bleeding!" Christine had finally noticed the dark streak of blood under Cecelia's hand. "Did I scratch you? Cecelia, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Don't finish that sentence." Cecelia grabbed a napkin and held it to her arm. There really wasn't much blood there—she'd dealt with worse. It was just a small trickle. Something you could slap a Band-Aid on and have gone in a day. "I'm fine."

He's not here.

Alex and Christine exchanged a look. Cecelia picked up her chopsticks again and forced a smile.

"See? Fine."

FORTUNATELY, IT SEEMED that everyone in Midtown Tech had been too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to the hyperventilating teenager during lunch. Cecelia knew this, because later in class, nobody asked her about it. Nor did the meaner students laugh and whisper behind their hands when she walked by. So, after Phys Ed was over—why was it a mandatory class in a science and technology school?—Cecelia headed to Academic Decathlon practice with overwhelming relief. She had been getting better at reigning in her panic attacks lately—and when they did happen, they most often happened in the solitude of a bathroom stall or in her room when Eva was sleeping—and she didn't want anyone thinking she was fragile again. New school, new opportunity. New Cecelia.

The panic attacks had started when she was five. A product of the explosion and the subsequent uprooting of her life. They'd been incredibly frequent, and the social workers hired to look after her were honestly unequipped to deal with them. Cecelia didn't remember much of that time—only flashes—but she recalled the same panic crawling through her chest when she was two feet shorter. Back then, she'd been tiny enough to worm her way behind bookshelves and under beds without using her abilities. Alone, she'd gasp and cry, wondering if she was dying.

It wasn't until she became a part of the Olivier family that she got an official diagnosis—PTSD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. She'd gone to therapy for a little while, and was prescribed a daily intake of Fluoxetine and Xanax for when things got really bad. No longer did she wonder if she was broken, but she often wondered why she had to be so weak. She had to be strong for Uncle—why did she need to crumble so often?

Nobody's looking at you, nobody's thinking about you, was her constant mantra as she walked. It was true; everyone was engaged in their own little worlds to care about whether or not Cecelia was breathing properly, but sometimes it still felt like the whole universe had its eyes on her. Maybe the aliens had attacked New York because she was there, lighting up like an anxiety-ridden beacon.

Fortunately, Academic Decathlon practice always proved to be a perfect method of distraction. When Cecelia was wrinkling her brain in an attempt to conjure the answers, she wasn't thinking about the multitude of reasons she had to panic. She wasn't even thinking about her phone in her pocket that had become a grenade.

Three tables sat on the stage, each with two students on them: Cindy Moon and Abe Brown on the first, Ned Leeds and Charles Murphy on the second, and Cecelia and Christine on the third. Alex was meant to be on a fourth, but Peter—who'd been his partner since practices started—was speaking to Mr. Harrington. So, Alex and Michelle Jones sat in chairs against the wall. She read. Alex just crossed his arms and huffed.

"Let's move to the next question," Liz said now, glancing down at the notecards in her hand. "What is the heaviest naturally occurring element?"

Charles rang the bell just a fraction of a second before Cecelia. "Hydrogen's the lightest." At the inquisitive looks of his teammates, he looked down. His blue-framed glasses nearly slipped from his nose. "That's not the question."

Abe tapped his own bell. "Uranium," he announced. Beside him, a frazzled Cindy flipped through her notes.

"That is correct," Liz said. "Thank you, Abraham. All right, moving on: what parts of the eye are easily seen by other people?"

Ned and Cecelia were in a race for the bell at that one, but Liz ended up calling on Cecelia for the answer. "The cornea, pupil, iris, and sclera," she answered, sitting up straighter in her seat.

"Correct, good job, Cecelia. Now, everyone please open your books to page ten."

Cecelia obliged, flipping through her handbook to find the specified page. Just as she found it, though, Flash, who'd been sitting in the middle of the cafeteria reading a magazine, feet propped up on a chair, announced—loud enough for the whole room to hear—"You've never even been in the same room as Tony Stark."

"Wait. What's happening?" Cindy asked, looking up from her book. Cecelia did the same.

"Peter's not going to Washington," Sally Avril announced. She was lying on the floor on her stomach, going through and highlighting her notes.

Everyone's eyes widened. Alex actually jumped to his feet.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no. No." Cindy shook her head in disbelief. Beside her, Abe tapped his bell.

"Why not?"

"Really? Right before Nationals?" Liz asked, disappointed.

"You've got to be kidding," Alex said. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"He already quit marching band and Robotics Club," Michelle said. All heads turned to her, and she swallowed. "I'm not obsessed with him. Just very observant."

"Flash, you're in for Peter," Liz said. Alex made a noise that sounded like a cross between a cough and a scream.

"Oof, I don't know. I gotta check my calendar first," Flash drawled, eyes trained on the folded magazine in his hand. "I got a hot date with Black Widow coming up."

Abe rang the bell with a flourish. "That is false."

"What'd I tell you about using the bell for comedic purposes?" Mr. Harrington chided, his tone, as usual, slightly depressed. Cecelia had never figured out if that was stress from the impending competition or his natural personality. Though, given the amount of caffeine he had in a day, it was probably the latter.

Christine glanced at Peter, jaw quivering. Then, lowering her voice so only Cecelia could hear, she whispered, "I think I'm gonna kill him."

"Really? You?" Cecelia responded.

"It's Nationals, Cecelia. Nationals! Can't he take a break from his internship for a few days?"

"Apparently not. Why would the National Academic Decathlon competition be more important than the oh-so-special Stark Internship? I hate to agree with Flash on anything, but he's right. Peter's never been in the same room as Tony Stark. He shouldn't be so worked up about this."

Christine pursed her lips, but before she could respond, Liz instructed them to go back to their books. Cecelia did, but not without narrowing her eyes at Peter first. He made the mistake of looking up at the exact time, and when they met gazes, he wilted like an overwatered flower. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then looked away.

Cecelia returned her gaze back to her book. Poor Alex.

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