TORYTORY:
TORY: The housekeeper, Sofia, shoved a breakfast shake and a packed lunch in his hands and escorted him out the door, lecturing him on sleeping in late and setting his alarm.
Tory hadn’t slept in late—he had just taken a long time to decide on his look. Should he be sharp and poised, as if nothing was wrong, or should he be slightly bedraggled to curate sympathy from the student body?
He had decided on perfection. Like a prince showing up to appear before his gathered people after an assassination attempt to comfort them and put on a brave face, Tory would don a bold red jacket and blue jeans that recalled Gray American style, his grin white and his stance confident.
Never mind the soreness in his bruised ribs from coughing after all of the smoke on Saturday.
Never mind the ghostly touch of Vent’s fingers still around his throat.
Tory massaged more dye in his hair that morning, as well. He kept bottles of red and blue dye in his personal bathroom. The blue dye was locked in a drawer that he needed to hover his watch in front of to open, and the red dye was—well.
His bathroom usually looked like a murder scene until he used his powers to glide his hand over the dye mess and dissect the stain from the sink, tub, or from under his fingernails.
His powers made stripping and reapplying the color to his hair a simple task, but he still needed to renew the vibrance once in a while with more product. He could stain the strands of hair instantly without time or heat and then remove the excess product with a flick of his wrist, leaving his hair shiny and smooth.
“Should you even be going to school today? You and your mother are all over the news—someone tried to kill you both!” Sofia had huffed, her apron stained with fruit juice from making his smoothie that morning.
Tory had shrugged. He wasn’t into school, personally, but who was he to starve his fans of an appearance?
Besides, he hadn’t texted Alex in at least twenty-four hours. An intolerable length of time. The only thing that could make up for it was seeing his face.
He got in the back of the hover vehicle that his mother normally took everywhere, her driver and chief of security taking up the front seats.
“Your personal devices.”
Natalie handed him his phone and laptop and their chargers. They had been on lockdown for the last twenty-four hours, his mother’s people scouring them for malware and making certain they were secure.
“Did you go through my camera roll?” Tory asked, pouting as he found that all of his applications had been erased. He’d have to redownload them.
“Of course.”
“Well?”
Natalie turned to look at him, confused, and he grinned.
“Didn’t seeing my face so many times make your task less tedious? How would you rate your experience?”
She rolled her eyes. Tory chuckled to himself.
Joking about the whole thing was honestly all he could do to keep bile from rising in his throat. They’d probably gone through all of his messages with his friends. His messages with Alex.
It wasn’t like he had anything to hide. His mother’s closest net of security knew about Everlux, and he wasn’t exactly a harbinger of scandalous photos and internet history—that would be a leak waiting to happen.
Alex, Marisol, and Delaney were just…an untainted part of his life. A source of good and uncomplication. Politics were ephemeral concepts, follower counts and news hits were fun gossip, and heroes were untouchable, attractive celebrities.
Well. Tory remembered his newfound information on Alexander Hale. Maybe the heroes were a little more touchable than he had previously thought.
“Our team will be sticking by you in school undercover. Don’t attempt conversation with us. Just ignore us. Go about your day as you normally would and don’t attempt to alert attention to yourself,” she said, meeting his gaze in the driver’s mirror.
He grinned. “I don’t think there’s any helping the amount of attention I get.”
She sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“Can we stop for coffee?”
“We need to get straight to the school.”
“Please? I’ll get you something.”
Natalie stared at him. The only break in her dead-pan expression was a single eye twitch.
“Fine. But we’re not going to Super Shake—we’re going to Bronze Beans. We’re getting the good stuff. I deserve it.”
Tory absolutely concurred.
ALEX:
ALEX:
Justice High was aptly named because about two percent of the student population was currently super powered and required by law to attend Paragon Guild training, where they would learn how to kick shiftbeast ass and quote the guild’s justice code.
Rumors about which students were the paragons rose and fell like a tide on a weekly basis, and the teachers did their best to quell them where they could.
Of course, the more forbidden the topic was, the more the students talked about it.
Alex checked his appearance in his locker. It was, as usual, completely ordinary and not that interesting. Plain face, spots of acne on his forehead, dark undereyes, black t-shirt and skinny jeans. It was no wonder that paragon rumors had never circulated around him, even when he was in training. The most unique thing about him was probably his dedication to Gray American styles of clothing.
He tugged his fat binder of sheet music out of his locker and walked down the hallway to meet Victor Burns, his social opposite in pretty much every way.
The hallway around him flashed with newsreels across the smart glass built into the empty wall space where lockers weren’t crammed in. Some were clips of the football team during last week’s game, some were reminders from the vice principal of the dress code policy, and some were from the journalism class, reporting on current events as if they were practicing for real newscasting.
And then, all at once, the smart walls blared an electrifying image of Everlux wielding a glass sword as he rescued the mayor in Gary Nickelson’s studio.
It was so crisp and dynamic, Alex wasn’t entirely convinced that it was a true unposed candid. Everlux’s hair was a blue blown-back mess and he was covered in grass stains and leaves, however, so perhaps it was real after all.
He grimaced. Since that night, his parents had been out of the house a lot, stopping in only for quick bites to eat and to sleep a handful of hours. Uncle Xavier had been around more often than they were. They were running on fumes trying to figure out how to help Wild Blossom, spending favors to find ways to talk to her through the responders.
He was worried sick for them, getting hardly any sleep. He was worried about Wild Blossom, too. And of course, he was always worried about Tory, now more than ever.
Alex was listening to the Chuckwalla Archive’s new music releases on his ear buds as he walked through the hallway, carrying his trumpet. August of 2017 had some interesting Gray American contributions to the punk and pop genre, but nothing specific had really intrigued him, yet. Dodging through the tangled hallways filled with alarming news and chaotic students was difficult, but the sense of isolation the ear buds gave him brought him down to earth and gave him roots.
Then he caught sight of Tory in the hallway, and his heart stopped.
Tory was a perfect mask, his smile crooked and dashing as he clapped his old soccer teammates on the back, his jeans and jacket sleek and perfectly tailored, and his vibrant red hair brushed to one side and falling over one eye just a little, in just the right way. He turned to his locker and waved his phone over it, and it popped open with a click.
Alex’s mind was a dust storm whenever Tory blew through. It took the dust a while to settle before he remembered he was supposed to be mildly irritated with him. And deeply worried. But mostly irritated.
He hadn’t responded to any of Alex’s texts in the last two days, and now he was here? In school? Acting like his weekend was perfectly normal? As if the hallways weren’t currently plastered with images of Tory’s mother being rescued by Everlux from one of Tory’s favorite superheroes gone rogue? As if Martin’s dad wasn’t currently in jail? As if he hadn’t gone to the hospital!
“Victor Bartholomew James Burns,” he hissed, marching up to him, and Tory’s eyes tore from his school tablet and met Alex’s.
His smile blazed right through Alex’s irritation. Stupid dimples.
“Hey.”
“Don’t you hey me,” Alex blustered, his voice fierce but tamped down so that only Tory could hear him. “I’ve been worried sick. You haven’t responded to my texts since the party.”
He grinned. “You were worried about me?”
“Don’t laugh. If I get an ulcer, it’s your fault.”
“Aw, come on, don’t be mad.” Tory pouted a little. “I was on lockdown all yesterday. My mom’s security team said I wasn’t allowed to leave the apartment or use the Net at all. It was so boring. I’m lucky they let me come to school.”
Tory took a long sip from his iced coffee, and Alex found himself on the verge of panic just thinking about the fact that there might be super villains after him, and he’d stopped for coffee on the way to school. The school itself was fairly safe, and Tory’s home was secure, but Tory’s car? It was a vulnerability.
“You should have stayed home,” he said, catching himself chewing on his thumbnail and pulling it out of his mouth. “Everyone’s talking about Vent. And you.”
“People are always talking about me. As they should,” he waved him off. “Besides, I was not about to miss out on your Monday morning grumps.”
He slurped from his coffee and draped his arm around Alex, steering him towards their class. He was so cute and so infuriating.
“This isn’t Monday morning grumps,” Alex deadpanned. “I’m deeply distressed.”
Tory finally sobered a little and stopped jostling Alex. “Yeah, I know. It’s been insane.”
Alex felt a little bad for killing his mood, but he needed Tory to come back down to earth. Tory had this way of laughing things off when he was at his most panicked. Right now, that wasn’t what either of them really needed.
“Tell me what’s up,” Alex said. Tory’s shoulders fell and he was quiet for a long moment, trying to sum up some kind of response. Alex hoped he was going for a truthful one.
“Martin, his family. What happened was really messed up.” He shrugged. “I want to talk to him. Ask him questions about it. See if I can get my mom to offer any kind of financial relief with Vent under arrest, and see if there’s anything I can do to get the press’s heat off of them.”
Alex’s stomach coiled in tighter knots with every word. No. Tory needed to stay away from this entire thing. Breezes, he was so kind and sweet to even think this way, but he couldn’t get more involved. He was clueless. Alex needed to protect him.
“It’s not your responsibility, you know. Vent hurt you,” Alex said, trying to keep the pleading out of his voice. “I don’t want you any closer to this stuff than you already are.”
“Right,” he grunted noncommittally.
“And whatever you have to ask Martin, the responders have definitely already bothered him about. You should wait to see if he approaches you first.”
“Yeah...” He didn’t seem entirely convinced.
Alex knew, right then, that Tory was hiding something. He just wasn’t sure what.
Whatever it was, he reasoned, Tory would tell him eventually. He better, anyway, if he didn’t want Alex to judo-flip him into another dimension—not that Tory knew that he could do that.
“Well.” He sighed loudly and stole the iced coffee from him. “You should have found a way to text me. You usually do.”
“You know breaking the rules is my favorite pastime,” Tory said, a smile finding its way onto his face. Something about the smile chafed Alex. It was too automatic. “But my mom’s security team is mean. My phone, my laptop, and my chargers were behind three different vaults with long numerical combinations.”
“Bullshit.”
“Swear on my life!”
“You are so full of it.”
They reached their senior history class, and Mr. Garcia stopped them outside of the classroom.
“Good morning, Mr. Hale. Mr. Burns, good morning, can I talk to you for a moment?”
Mr. Garcia was one of those teachers that referred to his students only by their last names. Alex didn’t mind it, but Tory found it amusing. He usually retorted with the comment, “Please, Mr. Burns was my father,” but he managed to hold his tongue that day.
“Sure.” They stopped and waited expectantly.
Mr. Garcia held a tablet, tapping it with an electronic pen. He made two quick notes—perhaps checking them off for attendance. He pushed his glasses closer to the bridge of his nose and glanced back up at the two of them.
“Are—are we just going to do this with—” He looked between the two of them, and then he sighed and reconsidered. “Never mind. Alright, Mr. Burns, we’re going to be talking about your missing assignments and your declining grade in my class.”
This was not news to Alex. He glanced at Tory, who hesitated. “Yeah...I know.”
“Now, I’m not blind. I’ve seen what’s going on. I’m not here to pass judgment—in fact, if there are any extensions you need, just talk me through your plan. I’ll work with you. But I can’t give you special treatment, either.”
“Thanks.” Tory’s face was a mask of agreeableness and understanding, but he wasn’t making any promises. Alex noticed it, and he was pretty sure Mr. Garcia noticed it, too.
Mr. Garcia sighed. “I understand if you didn’t complete the weekend assignment, so you can turn it in tomorrow. Victor, I have to say, I’m a little surprised you came in at all. The school would understand if you didn’t.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” Tory grinned. "And here I thought I was your favorite student."
Alex snorted.
"I don't have favorite students," Mr. Garcia said dryly.
"Come on, we have a thing! You're the serious and disillusioned but secretly tender-hearted teacher on tenure, and I'm the rowdy ragamuffin with declining grades and a heart of gold that reminds you why you chose this career in the first place."
Mr. Garcia stared up at the ceiling like he was asking God why, why did he have to deal with this particular ragamuffin. Alex asked the same question sometimes.
"I'm sorry, Victor, but you have too much privilege to claim to be the ragamuffin. I also have some serious doubts about the heart of gold."
"Hey!" Alex protested. "His heart's at least silver. It's very shiny."
“I pull off silver better anyway.” Tory’s smile turned wry. “I took a skin tone quiz on Nexus and it told me I’m a Winter, and I should wear predominantly silver jewelry.”
Mr. Garcia rolled his eyes and opened his classroom door, pointing his head inside. “Alright, inside, you two. So attached at the hip.”
They did. Tory barely stifled his grin as he took another long coffee sip.
Alex sighed. “Tory. I have plenty of things I’m already anxious about. Should I add your high school degree to my list?”
“You are always welcome to think more about me,” he said airily. “But I’m fine. Do you think if I doubled Sofia’s income she would do my homework for me?”
“Please don’t bother your poor housekeeper,” Alex said dryly. “And you won’t learn unless you do it.”
“Ugh. If you insist.”
Continued in next episode.
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