Regenerate | X-Men/Avengers - Pt. 1

Ch. 8

Matt is moping in the kitchen, dejectedly munching on a handful of roasted peanuts. "Sonic's a cool name."

"No," I say firmly. "I can't call you Sonic."

He clicks his tongue. "Everyone else has cool names by now except me."

"Cool being the operative word here."

He throws a peanut at me, I throw one back. He tries to take the bag, and I try to wrestle it away from him. Our tug-of-war continues until I hear a student in the hall say, "Hey, Mr. Summers?" and let go.

Nuts fly everywhere, bouncing off cabinets and skittering across the kitchen floor. I don't wait for Summers to investigate, I run for the back door and phase through it, snickering at the fact that Matt will have to clean up on his own.

When I feel I'm at a safe enough distance, I sit down on a retaining wall. It's warm for February, but the sun will set soon and take the temperature with it. For now, some of the younger students are playing tag in the yard, tripping over piles of crusty snow.

Then I sense him near me. The new kid, Vincent, comes around the corner from the south wing and stops to watch me. He's done this at least twice since Matt annoyed him the other day. Static fills my head. I look over my shoulder at him, but he stares boldly back. When I get up to walk away, the static only increases. I shoot him a look.

Someone flicks my shoulder and I spin around with a hiss. Matt sucks in his breath and steps back.

"Don't jump at me like that," I snap. "I could've hurt you."

"I thought you could hear me coming," he replies, scratching the back of his head.

I look over my shoulder again, but the new kid is pretending to no longer be interested. He may not be able to get into my head, but I'm not so sure about Matt's. "Let's go."

---

Everyone is outdoors, enjoying the temperature while it lasts. Vince tries to tune them out, focusing on his own thoughts like the Professor taught him, but it's excruciating. The noisiest perpetrators both mentally and vocally are the girls. Each one checks out the prep, a few even tease him over their giggling friends' heads. The prep flirts back, body lax and arms draped across the back of the bench, but never strays from the only girl who doesn't flirt. Those two would stand out anywhere; him with the grace of a movie star next to her wiry, flat-chested figure. His spun sugar crown lofty above her coffee grounds hair, painfully straight and falling past her brown elbows.

Vince turns onto the path that passes her bench, telepathy giving him a relentless migraine. He's aware that it bothers her, but he doesn't follow her often- and he too hates being stared at. It's just that her empty head is an oasis from the mental noise that boxes his cranium 24/7. If only approaching her didn't also mean approaching the rambunctious tangle of chords beside her.

Prep is guffawing when Empty smacks his arm, an uncommon smile on her plain face even as she sights him out of the corner of her eye. The cacophony of thoughts weakens as he approaches her, but already he dreads having to walk away. If he could just sit where Prep's sitting.

Vince spits at the guy's feet and retains his pace.

"Hey!"

Guys like that don't follow up and risk staining their eighty dollar polo with nosebleed. Vince ignores him and cuts across the lawn, thinking distance from everybody will clear his head.

Someone hits him hard across the backs of his knees. He hits the turf face-first, dirt under his nails and the unfamiliar taste of grass on his tongue. Turning over quickly, he sees Empty standing over him, studiously curious like he's not what she expected to find. She offers him a hand. Scowling, Vince gets up on his own. She crooks an eyebrow and starts to walk away- he's gotten off with a warning- but Vince knows better than to let a girl think she's won.