"You're not as light on your feet as you think."
•••
A young girl by the name of Lyra always knew she was different. It wasn't until she was ten that she found out she was a mutant. Her parents having been killed by mutant hunters left her as an orp...
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Peter approached me in the front of the school after most of the school had left. I had taken my time leaving my last class, hoping he would've left before me. Obviously, he didn't.
"Where were you the other day?" He asked me as we walked down the hallway towards the back doors that lead to the football field.
"Sick," I said simply, avoiding eye contact by staring straight ahead. Why was he in my nightmare? What does that mean?
"Okay, then. I stole Warner's coat yesterday. He was pissed. Still didn't catch me, though," Peter smiled, tucking his hands into his pockets.
"That's nice," I breathed out.
"Okay, what's wrong with you?" He asked, grabbing my shoulder and stopping me. He turned towards me, forcing me to face him. I looked at him blankly.
"What do you mean?"
"By now you'd be throwing snarky comments left and right. What's up?" He looked down at me. I gave him a small glare.
"Why should I tell you?" I spat.
"Because we're friends," Peter raised his eyebrows.
"We are not friends," I scoffed. I didn't know what I said before it came out of my mouth. I couldn't stop speaking. Peter had a face of shock. "We met each other a week and a half ago, we only talk to each other once a day, and I've only ever seen you once off of campus. We're nothing," I shook my head.
"Okay then," Peter cleared his throat. My glare faltered and my face went blank again. Not knowing what else to do, I turned and pushed my way out of the doors, running behind the bleachers and to the hotel.
•••
I held my hands over my head, having a panic attack as my fingers sparked. I attempted to slow down my breathing, but was forced to when I heard a knock on the door. I wiped away my tears and rubbed my eyes, figuring it was just the owner of the hotel.
I opened the door. To my horror, it was not the hotel owner, but a nervous looking Peter.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I yelled in terror. I wasn't worried as to why he was here. I was worried as to why anyone was here.
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't like how we left the conversation so..." Peter tried to spit out, but looked around at my room, making me close the door up to my shoulder so he couldn't peer in. "Why do you live in a hotel?"
"That none of your business," I spat at him. "Go away." I started to slam the door, but was stopped by his foot stopping it. How did he move his foot so fast? I looked down at his foot and back up to him. His eyes were filled with determination as he placed a hand on the door, opening it wider.
"It is my business, actually," he shook his head.
"Why do you think that?" I crossed my arms.
"Because we're friends," he glared at me. I opened my mouth to demand that we weren't, but he held his hand up. "We are friends, regardless of what you say." I sighed. Looking down.
"Peter," I looked back up. "You don't want to be my friend."
"And why is that? Because you have bad taste in music?" Peter joked. I knew he actually loved The Rolling Stones, but he loved mocking me even more. A small smile played on my lips.
"No. I have a lot of baggage. You don't want that on your shoulders," I leaned against my door frame.
"Who doesn't have baggage?" He shrugged.
"Mine is a little more heavy than most. Trust me," I sighed. Peter looked to the side, tapping his chin as he contemplated something.
"How about we still be friends, but don't talk about any serious stuff whatsoever?" He asked.
"Just music and hole punchers?" I smiled. He nodded.
