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Majorette By Lynn LeFey Majorette: Day One Glen Camdon walked the halls of Marshal High, toward his fourth period class. His books were held in his left arm, resting on his hip, in a rather feminine fashion. His steps were small but hurried. His dark hair was wavy, and matted from the perspiration of the quick walk all the way across campus. His hazel eyes watched several school football players with dread as they approached. He resigned himself to the inevitable torment. 'Hey Glen. Got a date for the dance coming up. We hear you're quite a dancer' one said. His name was Levi Adams. He was a big lineman for the football team. 'Yeah Glen. Oh, wait... you do ballet, right? You plan to wear a jacket or dress?' Joined another. That one was Keith Patterson. Another football player. They all had a good laugh at that one. The third finally knocked the books from Glen's hands, and pushed him against the row of lockers. This third one, Mike Mazzy, was a wrestler. He went all state. He was built like a brick wall. 'So, Glen, what's the scoop? You a fag, or what? You know... I don't much like fags.' As he threatened, Glen simply looked into his eyes, showing no emotion. Glen had learned from years of this kind of treatment that the best way to defuse it was to let these guys puff their chests, and they'd eventually get tired, seeing they got no reaction, and go find a more interesting game. Out of the corner of his eye, Glen saw Laura Sanders approaching. His gaze shifted, and alerted the three antagonists to someone's approach. 'What do you jerk-offs think you're doing?' She said. 'Laura... hey... we're just, you know, talking to your girlfriend... I mean boyfriend here.' Keith said. 'Well, back off!' she demanded. Keith and Levi slowly moved away. Mike leaned against a locker next to Glen calmly, smiling innocently. Glen began gathering his books, with Laura's help. Mike watched the process. 'Catch you later Glen!' Mike said as Glen and Laura marched off to their class. 'Jesus, Glen. Why do you let those guys treat you like that? You ought to stand up for yourself.' Laura chastised. 'Right, and get mauled by three of the toughest kids in school.' He said. 'So you just plan to take that crap for another year and a half?' 'Pretty much... yeah. The school's not going to do anything to three award-winning athletes, and you know it. The only reason you have any control over them is you're popular yourself. Gymnastics, cheerleader, God... you're everything...' Glen cut off his sentence. Laura looked at him intently. 'Anyway... thanks.' He finally said. Laura stepped in and gave Glen a hug. She felt comfortable with him. He was probably the only boy she could hug that didn't get an erection. They had been best of friends for years, but sometimes Glen's passive nature frustrated Laura. The two stepped across the threshold of the classroom just as the bell rang. Professor Mueler looked at them with his usual eye, following the two as they went to their seats. They were intensely aware that they were holding up the professor's class. He let them know it with his glare. The professor retrieved a stack of readout sheets from his desk, and began handing them out individually to each student. Not a test, but a genome reading. His class in life science had allowed each of the honors students to test for the Conrad Sequence a full year earlier than other students would be tested. 'Before we go over the results, would anyone like to refresh the class's memory on what the point of this genome search was?' The professor asked. Beth Mitchell raised her hand first. 'It's to detect the presence of the Conrad Sequence, and whether that sequence is dominant or recessive.' She said, giving a textbook reply. 'And the presence of the Conrad Sequence indicates what?' This time Andrew Paine was first. 'It tells us whether we have the potential for superpowers.' He said, full of excitement. 'Super... powers...' Professor Meuler said with a bit of disdain. 'In this class, Mr. Paine, we refer to them as "Beneficial Mutations", but yes. Due to academic excellence, you fine youth are allowed to know a full year before your legal age of maturity what every other student will be waiting to know. This test will show you whether or not you have paranormal abilities, or the potential for them.' The professor paced across the front of the room as he spoke. The students fidgeted as he drew out the suspense. The test forms had a cover sheet, and anyone braving a peak would take a severe tongue lashing from the professor. Finally he relented. 'You are now free to read the results.' The class erupted with the simultaneous sound of 17 sheets of paper turning in unison. Sixteen of the students in the class held their breath. Steven Andrews alone showed no particular anxiety. His beneficial mutation had manifested at puberty. He was given the nickname 'Sparkshower'. He was a low grade projector, one of three activated paranormals in the school. Glen turned his page, and prayed. Every person in the world had a desire for some particular power. Glen was no different. His eyes scanned the text. He finally exhaled, deflated. Nothing. Laura flipped her page and looked. Glen saw a reaction on her face. 'Oh my...' she whispered. She forced herself to take two deep breaths, and read it again, more slowly. 'Oh my God.' She said aloud. 'Is there something of interest in your reading, Ms. Sanders?' The professor asked. With a wavering voice, Laura stood up and announced 'I have a recessive trait, with external activation potential.' She was nearly squeaking with excitement. The class applauded. She received several hugs from other female students, and from Glen. The class went on after everyone settled down. One other student had a recessive trait, with no activation potential, which meant, unless he was artificially activated, nothing would ever come of it. The class eventually came to an end, and they filed out when the bell rang. Professor Meuler watched as they filed out. 'Glen, could you stay for a moment?' He asked, as Glen passed. 'Sure professor... what's up?' Glen asked... still somewhat melancholy from the news that he had no mutation. 'Glen... did you read your analysis thoroughly?' The professor asked. 'Well... mostly. I kind of got off track when Laura read hers.' He admitted. 'I guess I should just be up front with you, Glen. Your results indicate you have a faulty gene, which will likely cause some hormone problems. Were you aware of this?' The professor looked concerned. 'No, sir.' Glen said. He was feeling very down now. 'Your parents are going to be contacted this afternoon, and we'll be able to discuss with them and your family physician the best course of action.' The professor stated calmly. 'What is the likely treatment for this condition?' Glen held onto a thin glimmer of hope... 'Most likely gene therapy, and possibly testosterone boosters.' the professor said. Glen felt his heart sink. They were going to pump him full of boy juice. He would get hairy, and smelly, and his... muscles... would grow. Glen wandered out of the classroom nearly in shock. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he'd waited, and held his breath, hoping that the Conrad Sequence would grant him an escape. He wanted nothing more than... just once, to feel at home in his body. The next two hours rolled past, and Glen sank into a deep depression. Seventh period, an announcement came over the P.A., requesting him to report to the head offices. With lead feet, he dragged himself to the offices. His stomach rolled in sick lurches, and he felt like a wild animal, trapped. He wanted out so desperately. Finally, he arrived at the head office, where Mr. Chadwick, one of the vice-principals, was waiting. 'Glen, would you please step into my office?' He said pleasantly. Glen could see his parents already seated inside. He sat in the large, comfortable leather chair between his parents, facing Mr. Chadwick's desk. Mr. Chadwick closed the door and sat in his own chair, facing the three. 'Mr. and Mrs. Camdon... As you remember some time back, you signed a release form for Glen to have DNA testing performed. His scholar's class in life science was searching for Conrad Sequences...' at this, Glen's father brightened a bit, looking intensely interested, almost proud. Mr. Chadwick noted the reaction. 'He did not test positive for the trait. However, there was an anomaly in the test... the presence of a gene causing weak testosterone reception.' 'That figures', Mr. Camdon said, deflated. Glen tried to shrink into himself. He knew he wasn't what his father had expected him to be. Glen's father had been a promising athlete, running track in college. Glen had performed mediocre in virtually every athletic endeavor he'd attempted, except ballet, and Tai Chi. His body just seemed to have a fluid grace to it. Glen couldn't even say he was great at ballet. He lacked the leg mass and upper body strength to perform required lifts of his partners. 'You are now in the position of making some decisions about Glen's biology. He could have a simple gene therapy treatment to augment the failing gene, as well as hormone therapy. You might also consider psychological gender testing. If the...' 'I think we can make the decisions on our own, thanks.' Glen's dad intoned. There was a note of finality to the statement. 'Alright... well, here's a copy of the genome reading. I hope it wasn't too inconvenient for you to come down here for this meeting, and I look forward to seeing you both again.' Mr. Chadwick said, smiling pleasantly. Glen's mom looked at him with worried eyes, but said nothing. After Glen's parents were escorted out, Mr. Chadwick returned and again sat down. He watched Glen closely, and finally said, 'Is there something you'd like to talk about, Glen? If you don't feel comfortable speaking to me, you could maybe talk to your guidance counselor...' He saw Glen was staring off, out the window, his eyes on the verge of tears. Glen looked at him, wanting to express his feelings. Mr. Chadwick was a nice guy, but Glen couldn't bring himself to open up. He hadn't even told Laura how he felt, for fear of rejection. How much more awkward would it be telling someone in charge of his school? Finally, through a breaking voice he managed to speak softly. 'No Sir... thanks. I would just like to get back to class.' 'Alright then, but remember we're here to support you, Glen. If you feel a need to talk, I hope you feel comfortable talking to us. Everything you say will be held in strictest confidentiality.' Mr. Chadwick said. Glen thought he must have been trained as a social worker. Maybe for other kids that would have been enough, but Glen felt that his differences were a bit beyond the scope of what Mr. Chadwick was prepared for. Then again... the folks here also had to deal with... Leaving the office, he was passed by Gerald Johnson, another of the activated paranormals in the school. Gerald didn't bother opening the door to enter the office. He simply became transparent, and passed through the door as if it weren't there. Gerald held a slip of blue paper in his hand. He was in trouble again, apparently. The final bell rang as Glen walked toward his class. The regular school day was over. He turned and walked to the stairwell, now swelling with the current of kids anxious for freedom. He worked his way to the next floor up, and to his locker. He stood for a moment, focusing on clearing his thoughts. He turned his emotions off again. It was something at which he'd become a master. He was a good looking, intelligent young man. But his world was wrong at a fundamental level, and the future had suddenly turned quite bleak. He gathered his gym bag, stuffed it with the necessary books, and walked out of the main building toward the sports complex. He saw Laura with several other girls. He knew she was headed to gymnastics practice. She caught a glimpse of him, and waved. The other girls saw him, and waved as well, yelling and signaling for him to catch up. Just then, Glen heard the familiar chirp of his cell phone. He retrieved the little folding phone, and checked the number. It was from home. He signaled the girls to go on, and opened the phone, expecting the worst. 'Hello?' he spoke. 'Honey? Your father and I managed to squeeze you into a four PM appointment with Dr. Roberts. Can you make that?' His mother asked. Glen looked at his watch. He had almost an hour, and the doctor's office was maybe 20 minutes away. He wanted to make something up and say he couldn't, but he had no good excuse. 'Yeah mom...' he finally admitted. 'Great! See you when you get home, hun!' she said and hung up. Glen stopped in his tracks. Control. Don't think... just do. Don't panic. First, he knew he'd have to go talk to Ms. Lynn, his Tai Chi instructor. He was supposed to be there at her class in ten minutes. He set a quick pace, and got to the open aerobics room in no time. Ms. Lynn was shuffling through various tranquil-sounding CDs. 'Ms. Lynn? Sorry to bother you, but I'm going to have to skip class today. My parents just called to tell me I have a doctor's appointment." Glen blurted out. Ms. Lynn turned to look at him, and nodded. 'Glen... You've been doing very well with this, and I don't think missing one session will make you fall behind. Are you still planning on coming back Tuesday for Aikido?' She asked. She taught several forms of martial arts, as well as yoga, Tai Chi, and various other forms of meditative practices. Glen had moved smoothly from Tai Chi to Aikido months ago. He hadn't told anyone. He didn't want people at school having more reason to challenge him to a fight, or to start something. Glen felt certain that earlier today, he could have given those three a reasonable run for their money, but ultimately would have lost, and for no good reason. 'Yes, ma'am... Thanks.' He said. He always felt better around her. She radiated positive energy. Glen loved that about her. Finally though, he walked to his little civic, and drove to the doctor's office. After a brief exam, Dr. Roberts began filling out a sheet of paper, placing 'X's over various spots on some kind of form. A page requested his assistance in another exam room, and he excused himself. Glen glanced over at the form the Doctor had finished filling out. It was a sheet indicating modifications in genome. Glen picked the sheet up, reading the changes to be made. His heart then skipped a beat. The sheet had been torn from a pad of these standard forms, and a second blank form lay beneath. Don't think... just do. He tore the sheets apart, and checked several boxes. He'd just filled out very similar screening sheets in class. Where was the gender section? Soon, he realized the sheet was male specific. DAMN!! Still, all hope wasn't lost. He marked all the places required for insertion of the Conrad Sequence, and noted dominant trait with immediate spontaneous activation. A crap shoot was better than a certain strong masculine change. He frantically scratched the desired modification, and finally set the new sheet in place of the old. He held the old sheet, looking at it for a second, and as the shadow of Dr. Roberts fell on the frosted glass of the office window, he folded it and stuck it in his pocket. Glen knew what he'd done was a huge risk. The Conrad Sequence was uncontrollable. Glen knew whatever modification happened, it would be biomorphic. That much he could control. But whether than meant shape shifting, sprouting bat wings, or growing gills, he had no control over. He might end up becoming a huge hulking burly guy after all, but at this point, he would rather take a chance at something good, than be definitely stuck with something bad. The doctor didn't even take a second glance at the paper. Debates still raged over the ethics of intentionally inserting the Conrad Sequence into someone not born with it, but laws, as usual, lagged a bit behind. Glen feared that if this little trick were caught, it might affect Dr. Robert's career. For a moment, he hesitated, as the doctor began feeding the completed form into a sequencing machine. In moments, it would insert the requested changes into a virus, which would rewrite Glen's entire genetic makeup. Beyond that... everyone was screened for the Conrad Sequence these days. It was controlled by the ATF, like guns. The government couldn't have people running around with paranormal abilities, and not be able to track them. Glen's negative results had been registered when he was tested. The paperwork would arrive in days, with his registration. He was sure there would be legal consequences if he were ever determined to have a mutation later on. The paper quickly fed through the reader, and the computer blinked various lights as it processed the information. Glen's mouth went dry. Dr. Roberts droned on about what to expect over the next few days, and said the usually things... get plenty of rest, and lots of clear fluids. The virus would behave somewhat like any other virus, making for a few days of unpleasant symptoms. What would Glen do if one of those unpleasant symptoms was having his legs fuse into a giant snake tail? 'Beneficial mutation, my ass!' Glen thought. Not all so-called beneficial mutations were actually beneficial, and some were downright life-wrecking. Finally, he closed his eyes again, and cleared his thoughts. Don't think... just do. Ms. Lynn was fond of that phrase. How very Zen of her! Glen resigned to put himself in the hands of fate, and further vowed to accept the consequences. His sense of being trapped in a prison of flesh couldn't get any worse. The sequencing computer completed it's blinking, and now the serum was being produced. The viral agents were genetically programmed, and the liquid... mostly saline, was slowly dripped into a small vacuum vial. Doctor Roberts inspected the results, loaded the vial into an air injector, and swabbed Glen's shoulder. The 'pfft' sound was brief, as was the minor sting of the injection. So, it was done. Dr. Roberts wrote some prescriptions to be filled if Glen experienced muscle cramps, or other problems from the rapid increase in testosterone. Glen ran through what the doctor expected to happen in the next few days. The increase would deepen Glen's voice, broaden his shoulders, increase his muscle mass over time, and ... well, there was the whole issue of libido. Glen had never thought about how horrible all the aspects of masculinity felt. He had been fortunate, in his own mind, in that his build had remained slight, his skin fair, and his body hair nearly non-existent. His hands were fine, compared to other males his age. His brow had never grown heavy, like other boys. His sexual organs were ... well... not impressive. His voice was high and effeminate. The only thing even remotely masculine about him was his height. He'd reached five feet, nine inches. Not that girls were never that tall. It was just somewhat rare. He pondered all this while returning to his little car in open parking next to his doctor's building. He would probably have six to eight hours before the effects of the shot were noticeable. He headed back to his school to catch up with Laura. She would be finishing her gymnastics practice soon, and she'd need a ride home. In the main gym, Glen found a spot on the bleachers, spreading out several books and looking over his weekend assignments. A shadow fell over his books shortly after he began to read. His eyes lifted to meet those of a young man from his sixth period class, Brandon Shay. Brandon was... well, gorgeous. He was on the swim team. He was the editor for the school newspaper. He was in Men's Chorus. Glen could feel his heart flutter. He'd never had the guts to make a move on anyone before, but if he had to choose someone, it would have been Brandon. Like Glen, Brandon was obviously not a standard model of masculinity. Everyone assumed Brandon was gay, but then everyone assumed Glen was gay too, everyone except Glen. He saw himself in a different light. He knew he was... Well, aside from the obvious physical evidence, he knew he was a young woman. 'Hi Brandon.' Glen said, trying not to glow with excitement. 'Hey Glen. I just saw you here and wanted to see if everything was okay. You looked pretty down today in class.' 'Yeah. Our life science class did gene testing and the results came back today. I had a... faulty gene, and had to go to the doctor for a shot' At this, Glen pulled up the sleeve on his polo shirt, showing the red bump from the injection. 'Ouch. I hope it was nothing serious.' Brandon said, gently rubbing the bump. 'Oh, God... He's touching me!' Glen thought. He couldn't do anything but let a coy smile slip through. 'No, it was nothing big.' Glen suddenly had something click in his head. 'Apparently, it was why I'm not all that... you know, manly.' He admitted, hoping Brandon would feel some connection to the statement. 'I don't know, you always seemed like you were manly enough for me...' Brandon suddenly flushed... 'TO me...' he corrected, almost whispering. But the slip was obvious to both young men. 'Look, Glen.' Brandon looked so nervous to Glen. It was so cute. 'Would you like to go out with me...' Brandon clamped his eyes shut, blushing almost painfully. 'You know... for some pizza or something.' ' Yeah... that would be great.' Glen said, feeling so excited he was about to burst. 'How about tomorrow night?' Brandon asked. 'Sure, I'd... Oh, crap. I'm probably going to be sick from the shot tomorrow. God. I really want to do this... Are you busy tonight?' Glen asked. 'Well, I'm just going to the game to help with concessions. I'd be free after that, by about ten.' Brandon said, still quite flush. 'Sure... that would be great.' Glen said. He was a junior, it was about time he went on a date. Was it a date? It seemed pretty clear that Brandon wanted it to be more than a study session or something. Glen saw Laura was approaching. She had the slyest look on her face, seeing Brandon standing there. 'Hey boys!' she said as she walked up. 'Hi, Laura. You know Brandon don't you?' Glen said. 'Yeah, we've had a few classes together. So... what are YOU TWO talking about?' She said in a knowing tone. 'Well, I think Glen and I are going out for pizza after I close concessions this evening. Wanna come along?' Brandon offered. 'No, but thanks. I have a date after the game... and I wouldn't want to intrude.' Laura said, smiling ear to ear. 'Okay... well... I guess I'll see you at the game this evening, Glen?' Brandon asked. 'Sure.' Glen felt like he sounded lame, but could hardly think through the strange nervousness he felt. Glen gathered his books and packed them in his gym bag, then slung it on his shoulder. Both Glen and Laura watched as Brandon walked off. Glen imagined there was a newfound spring in Brandon's stride. 'He's a hottie', Laura said. 'I... guess. I wouldn't know.' Glen lied. 'Uh, he SO has it for you, Glen. Stop acting like you're oblivious!' Laura teased, tickling Glen in the ribs as she said it. Glen looked into her eyes. She had never once in the time they were friends made any statement about his sexuality. She'd never teased him about never having dates, and never asked if he was gay. Glen thought perhaps that she simply accepted, and it would never have to be said. Glen didn't know exactly what he wanted from life, or whether his feminine side could express itself in his male form. All he knew is that he did find Brandon just irresistible. 'Laura?' Glen began as they walked toward his car. 'Yeah, Glen?' Laura knew whatever it was, it was serious. 'I want to tell you something' he looked intently in her eyes. Don't think... just do. 'What is it?' Laura looked very concerned. 'I know when you look at me, you probably see a gay guy... but that's not how I feel. Since I was a little kid, I've always known I was...' Glen looked almost miserable with the burden of trying to speak the words. 'I've always felt like I should have been a girl.' He said. He waited for the big moment, when Laura would blow up, and tell him he was a pervert. Or the Hallmark greeting card moment where they would hug and cry... 'I know' she said. 'What?' Glen was stunned. 'I know you're a girl, Glen.' She said in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. 'How?' Glen asked, as he unlocked his driver's side door. 'Oh, come on... I make you over every now and then. When we hug, you don't get all hot for me. You're the only "guy" I know that will walk into Victoria's Secret with me and not turn bright red.' Laura stated. 'Maybe... Maybe I'm just a really femmy boy.' Glen tried to argue. 'Well, if you are, it comes across to me like you're a girl. It's how I think of you. I know there's the clich? saying of a girl thinking of a boy as "just a friend", or "like a brother". I always thought of you as my sister.' 'Really?' Glen said... somehow feeling very proud to have the female word used in describing him. 'Yeah, Really. If you wanted... if you had a female name, and would prefer me call you that, it wouldn't bother me.' Laura said seriously, looking at him across the roof of the little car. Glen blinked, stunned. In all the years he'd considered himself female in his mind, he'd never given that persona a proper female name. 'Not that I am pushing you or anything...' Laura added. Glen sat in the car and unlocked the passenger side door. Laura pitched her book bag in the back seat and sat down. Glen had the keys in the ignition, but sat staring forward. 'Laura, I'm really confused about the Brandon situation. Okay, I think he's hot. But, I think he's attracted to me because he sees a femmy boy, not a girl.' Glen said, still looking ahead. 'So? Do you want to kiss him?' Laura asked bluntly. Glen's heart raced at the thought. He'd only kissed Laura on the lips before, and there was never anything sexual about it, strictly friendship. 'Yes...' he admitted, somewhat embarrassed by his own feelings. 'Well... you're never going to find out if it works out between the two of you unless you try, right?' Laura continued her grilling. 'Why... Ms. Sanders, you have exceptional clarity of thought for a cheerleader!' Glen said in his best person-in-authority voice. 'Why... Ms. Camdon, you are exceptionally pretty when getting wet over Brandon!' Laura returned in kind. Glen burst out laughing, rolling the sentence over in his mind. 'Pretty' and 'Getting wet' were as far from masculine as he could imagine, but somehow felt very right. A vision of a clean table of green felt streaked by passing red dice flashed in his head. He realized the dice were still in motion. His beneficial mutation was going to spontaneously activate shortly, and just today, he seemed to discover his own sexuality. It had been a day of risks. He started the little car, and began his brief trip to Laura's house. She lived in a nice middle-class section of town, not more than a mile from his house. He didn't speak for a few minutes, letting himself go on autopilot. His mind conjured visions of his body becoming that of a beautiful young woman. He kept running over the thought of his potential beneficial mutation. Then it occurred to him, Laura had just today learned she was likely to activate at some point as well. 'So... what do you think your mutation will be when it finally comes?' Glen asked. 'I don't know. It's recessive, and likely neural from the tests. Maybe I'll have telekinesis or something. That would be cool.' Laura seemed only mildly enthused. 'You don't sound nearly as happy as I thought you'd be. Neural enhancements are great. There are no obvious signs, and as a recessive, it's not likely that the government will push you into some security position.' Glen said. 'Yeah. I don't know. I guess I always dreamed of being able to fly, you know?' Laura said. 'I do know how you feel. I mean, we all have dreams of powers we wish we had, but like the lottery, very few of us every see those dreams come true.' Glen stated. They sat silent for a moment, then Laura spoke. 'Glen... what were you wishing for when you flipped that sheet today?' She asked. 'You want to know the truth?' Glen asked. 'Yes. The 100% honest truth. I told you what my wish was.' Laura said. 'I wanted to be biomorphic. I hoped I'd be a shape shifter. I don't know if you could ever understand the... ' Glen sighed in frustration. There was no good way to explain the feelings he had to someone never feeling so out of place in their own body. 'It's like being the kind of person who should drive a small sportscar, but being in a big 4 by 4 truck with the doors welded shut, eternally trapping you in. Being a shape shifter, I could make my body into what felt comfortable to me, for once.' 'Would you give yourself big tits?' Laura joked. 'I'd probably be a petite build Caucasian, 5'2", auburn hair, green eyes, light freckles, B-cup, about 115 pounds.' Glen said without effort. 'That's pretty specific... I guess you HAVE been thinking about this for a while.' Laura held his hand for a moment, feeling some of Glen's life-long pain. Glen smiled through just a hint of a tear. 'Yeah' came his harsh whisper through a voice nearly cracking. Glen finally pulled up at Laura's house. She grabbed her bag from the back seat, and stepped out of the car. 'Well, I'll see you at the game this evening. Call me if you're feeling down before then, okay?' She said leaning into the open passenger side. 'Okay. Don't worry. I've lived with this seventeen years. I'm sure I'll make it till you see me at the game. Besides, I have Brandon to look forward to.' Glen said. 'Okay. See you tonight.' She said, closing the door and walking up the steps to her home. Glen drove off from her house, with his mind in a fog. He felt like ten thousand things were fighting to get his attention at once. He'd just come out to Laura, opening the most vulnerable part of himself. He could never undo that. He noticed a slight dizziness. He had a sudden flash of heat wash over him. Suddenly he thought of the virus coursing through him. It shouldn't be acting this quickly, he thought. No, a virus effecting his testosterone regulating hormones shouldn't act this quickly. He had no idea how that might differ from one installing the Conrad Sequence into his DNA. He turned a corner, only blocks from his house. In a flash, there was a young girl in front of his car on a bicycle. Glen acted on reflex, jamming the breaks, and cutting the car hard to the right, into someone's lawn. In his peripheral vision, he saw the girl swerve into the other lane, and could see the oncoming car approaching. That driver also screeched their breaks, but there was a disturbing metallic crunch, followed by screams. Glen was not thinking. He'd killed his engine, and was out of his car, heading toward the accident as fast as he could move. Time seemed to be moving too slow. He ran around the front of the car, seeing the small bicycled mangled under the passenger side. Glen dropped on his belly, trying to find the little girl. She was pinned under the car, and looked like a mass of cuts and blood. The exhaust system of the car was lying across the girl's left arm, and Glen could smell a sick scent of burning flesh. Moving utterly on reflex, he ran around to the back of the car, and grabbed the back bumper. He heaved up, and the plastic molding of the car tore away. Glen pitched this aside and grabbed the raw metal underneath, lifting again. He lifted the bumper to chest level, and took five sidesteps to his left, feeling the car pivot on it's front tires. He could see the little girl to his right now, no longer pinned under the car. However, the exhaust system had been torn free and still lied on top of the still form. Glen dropped the car. Again without conscious thought, he grabbed the smoking metal of the exhaust system and tossed it off the little girl. He fell to his knees beside her. She looked very bad. Glen feared moving her at all. He reached down to feel her pulse, but noticed blood tricking from his outstretched hand. He turned it palm-up to see the problem. It was a mass of shredded flesh, seared in places, giving rise to large white blisters even as he watched. His adrenaline rush began to die with this sight, and a flood of pain washed over him. He was vaguely aware that several people were coming near. One was the driver of the car he'd just... He wasn't thinking clearly. His body was beginning to hurt all over. His head spun, and his vision grayed around the edges. He felt nauseated, and suddenly tears were welling in his eyes. His hands felt like they were on fire. His shoulders were screaming like his arms had been torn out of socket. He wanted so desperately to help the little girl he'd seen, but his body was failing him. He heard broken fragments of conversation around him, and the sound of far-off sirens. A horrific, repulsive odor snapped him back into reality. He coughed, and pulled away from the scent of smelling salts. An EMT knelt beside him with a medical kit, examining his hands. Glen glanced around and finally spotted the little girl on a stretcher, just being loaded into an ambulance. There was a car, turned nearly sideways in the road, with it's bumper and muffler torn off. His car was on the other side of the road. Glen looked at his hands. The technician said he had some minor cuts, and had bandaged them. Glen moved his fingers. The joints ached, as did his forearm muscles. He followed directions from the EMT, in a rather dreamlike fashion. A police officer drove him home, in his own car, followed by the officer's partner in a cruiser. Every part of Glen's body hurt. He managed his way into the house, dropped his gym bag near the front door, and wandered to the couch, where he fell face down on it, and did not move for two hours. In a fevered dream, his mind replayed the accident. His body twitched as the scene played out. His mind was hazed with fever, as the virus ran through him, warring with his immune system. In a massive micro war, the virus was rewriting the fundamental blueprints of its host. Glen shivered, sweat, convulsed, and finally awoke in a terrible need of food. He looked around. He was at home. His hands were bandaged, and his body felt very weird. Opening and closing his hands felt slightly foreign. His biomechanics seemed different, slightly shifted center of gravity, different resistance to movement. And his senses registered hypersensitive. It seemed painfully bright and loud even in near silence. Glen touched his forehead, and noticed he was drenched in sweat. He altered course from his unconscious destination of the kitchen to the main bathroom upstairs. He pulled off his shirt as he climbed the stairs, noticing blood, dirt, rips, and burn marks. At the top of the stairs, he dropped his pants, kicked off his tennis shoes, and staggered into the bathroom in just his underwear and socks. He reached down with great effort, pulling off the socks, and dropping his underwear around his ankles. He turned on the water in the shower, and while he let it heat up, he unwrapped his hands. Under the bandages, there was only undamaged flesh, with areas of slight pinkness. He stepped into the shower, under the bright white light of the bathroom. His eyes hurt. It was like watching water under a strobe light. He was not seeing the water streams, but the individual droplets fall. The sound of the water hitting the tub was not a constant white-noise, but separated into each individual droplet splashing, breaking into smaller droplets, and splashing down again. Glen began with his hair, shampooing it, rinsing, conditioning, and rinsing again. The scent was much clearer than it had ever been. He then began soaping, first washing his face, and then rinsing it. It was when he started with his shoulders and arms that he noticed the first changes. His arms were thinner. Perhaps only fractionally so, but he could see it clearly. He could feel very clearly defined musculature under the thin layer of fat. His bone structure looked about the same to him. He felt very relaxed as the warmth of the water seeped into him. He washed the rest of his body, taking note of the change. Stepping out of the shower, he stood naked, staring at himself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door. He looked so thin! His effeminate features were somewhat enhanced with the weight loss. He stepped on the scale and was shocked to see it read 120 pounds. He weighed 155 when he got up this morning. He thought the virus might have burned a lot of energy in its rewrite. He wrapped a towel around himself and walked quietly to his room. He slipped into a clean pair of briefs, and a set of shorts. Then he pulled on a torn up T-shirt and gathered his dirty cloths, thinking of putting them in the hamper. He could hear the garage door opening. He tossed his pants, socks and underwear into the hamper, still holding the shredded polo shirt he'd worn to class today. The alarm clock in his room said it was 7:38 PM. He wanted to hold out for dinner until he could go out with Brandon, but he was absolutely famished. Glen could hear his dad's keys rattling in the garage. He could also hear faint conversation. 'Well, he had better not be.' Glen's dad said. 'Glen's not like that. I'm sure it's nothing, dear.' His mother said. Then Glen heard three clicks as lock tumblers slid against a key, and the lock was turned. Glen concentrated harder. He seemed to almost be able to hear the softest impression of their heartbeats. Not quite a sound, but just below. Maybe it was just his imagination. Maybe it was just fever. 'Glen?' his mother shouted. The sound was like an air horn in his ears. 'Yeah, mom. I'm coming.' Glen trotted down the steps, and into the kitchen. 'What's up?' Glen said, looking somewhat concerned. 'Glen, hun... we received a call from the police saying that you had been in some kind of accident, and that they'd brought you home. Are you all right?' Glen's mother looked at him full of concern. She glanced at the shirt he still absently held in his hands. 'Yeah mom, I'm fine. I wasn't in the accident myself. This little girl rode out in front of me, but I avoided her. She got hit by another car, and I just... you know. I was just there helping get her out from under the car.' Glen said, carefully selecting his words. 'They seemed to think you may have been injured, son.' His dad said. Glen noted with some pride that his dad actually sounded more concerned than angry. 'I think I might have cut up my hands some while moving the car... parts, but...' Glen looked at his unmarred hands. 'I guess I might be in the Francis Window.' he added. 'The what?' His mother asked. 'Well, for a short time after someone is subjected to a DNA altering virus, the human body exhibits some regenerative properties. There are cases of people regrowing eyes, fingers... there was one guy who had a kidney removed from cancer, who then grew a new one, and then had another kidney removed from cancer. Probably the first human ever to live normally after losing two kidneys without a replacement.' Glen said. Glen presented one hand for examination, and showed the shredded shirt in the other. 'Sorry about the shirt, mom.' Glen said, but his mother stepped in and hugged him. She pulled back, looking a bit concerned, then pulled his shirt tight around his waist. 'Honey, let me get you something to eat.' She said. Glen smiled most sincerely. 'Thanks, mom.' He said. 'Dr. Roberts suggested we let you rest tomorrow and Sunday, so you just take it easy okay?' Glen's Dad said. 'Um... Dad... I'm supposed to meet some friends at the football game tonight. We were maybe going out after the game for pizza, if it's okay. I mean, Dr. Roberts said it should be at least eight hours before I feel the effects of the shot. So, I thought I'd have my fun tonight, and take it easy through the rest of the weekend.' Glen stated, searching his father's eyes, hoping he'd go for the plan. Glen wanted nothing more than just one evening with Brandon. At the mere thought, he felt a slight stirring in him. Glen's dad was pondering the matter, and his mother was busy making Glen a sandwich. He stood, awaiting the verdict. Finally Mr. Camdon's expression softened. 'Okay. How about a midnight curfew?' His dad yielded. 'Oh, dad... thanks.' Glen beamed a smile, and sat that the island in the kitchen to eat his sandwich. By 8:30, Glen was in his car headed back to the high school to meet Brandon. It was long past dark, and he was driving cautiously through his neighborhood. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he imagined a young girl coming out of nowhere and riding her little pink bicycle out in front of him. As he drove, he wondered how the little girl was doing. She'd looked very bad. The thoughts were replaced as Glen approached Marshal High. The lights on the football field cast a glow into the sky, illuminating the whole area. The parking lot was reasonably crowded, and Glen ended up parking by the main building and walking across to the Athletics area. As usual, he had his gym bag slung on one shoulder. He planned on getting some studying done until Brandon was ready. The field didn't seem like the best place to concentrate, so he decided to see if he could get into the gym. Maybe he could sit in the aerobics room. It should be quiet enough there. Glen opened the door into the breezeway, and passed through into the main foyer. Only the lights leading down the hall to the equipment room were on. Glen turned down the other hall, into a darkness only interrupted by emergency exit signs. The door to the aerobics room was locked. Glen breathed a sigh and turned around. In the darkness, his vision adjusted to new levels of acuity. While he could see much better than he could in the past, it was somewhat more grainy, with occasional misreading creating something like static in his vision. Overall, vastly superior to how he normally saw in such poor light. He moved silently on the soft soles of his tennis shoes. As he again approached to foyer, a young man stormed past trophy cases and burst through the doors of the foyer, into the breezeway, and out the building, muttering something to himself. Glen didn't recognize the young man. 'What of fucking queer.' was about all Glen could hear. Impressive, considering the young man had only whispered it. Glen stood there pondering. Somewhere in the building, there was echoing of movement. Glen concentrated, wondering if he could pinpoint the location. It appeared to be thumps on pads, like the one's in the gym, perhaps. He moved toward the main gym, along the lit hallway. To his left were the multiple doors leading into the gym; to his right, the equipment room. Another thump, more clear this time, and definitely from the gym. Glen opened the door, and looked in. The gym was dark. He stepped in and let his eyes adjust. In the darkness, at the far end of the gym was Mike Mazzy. He was leaning against the stack of wrestling mats against the wall. 'Who's there? Is that you Eric?' Mike said. He turned and walked toward the door Glen had just come in from. Mike's pace increased. 'Who IS it? You better say something or I will put you in a world of hurt.' Mike continued, sounding nearly enraged. Glen reflexively stepped back out the door and turned to move down the hall. Then he thought better of it, knowing he wouldn't get away in time, and stepped instead into the equipment room. A moment later, the door to the equipment room opened again, and there stood Mike Mazzy. He wore his wrestling tights, and was covered in sweat. His penis stood in full erection, and there was a wet spot on the front of his uniform showing his obvious sexual arousal. Through the small windows of the storage room, light fell across Glen. There was nowhere to hide now, and nowhere to run. Mike looked almost insane with emotion. His face was twisted with rage. 'You!' Mike almost spat. 'It's fucking queers like you that have ruined my life.' Mike stepped menacingly toward Glen. Mike shoved Glen against the wall, and put an arm to either side of him. Glen could smell the strong scent of sweat. He could actually hear Mike's heart pounding. Mike grabbed Glen's wrist, twisted his arm in an arm lock that forced Glen to turn, facing the wall. Glen remained calm. He thought he would not likely be able to outwrestle Mike, but was probably now stronger than him. He would just have to wait for the right moment... Mike pushed Glen against the wall, pressing his body against him. Glen could feel Mike's erection against his butt. Mike seemed to settle it neatly between Glen's cheeks. Mike threw his free arm around Glen's throat. 'You fucking... faggot. You want my cock, just admit it. I'll fuck you till you bleed, you little queen.' Mike was shaking, almost shivering. Glen remained calm. Something was wrong with Mike. Glen didn't want to start a physical confrontation. 'Mike... you don't want to do this. Whatever's wrong, I'm sure we can figure something out.' Glen surprised himself with the soothing quality in his voice. 'Shut up. Maybe I like this. Maybe I'm a ...' Mike stopped pressing against Glen. He was still shuddering, but Glen heard something else. Ragged breathing. Mike was on the verge of tears. Mike released the arm around Glen's throat, and let go of his arms. Glen turned to face him. Mike held a hand over his eyes, but the tears rolled down his face. Glen had a deep swell of pity for Mike. He was somewhat shocked that someone who had tormented him for so long could raise such feelings in him, but Glen understood the pain of hiding who you are all too well. Glen reached forward, and embraced Mike. Mike reluctantly returned the gesture. Mike's embrace was strong, like someone clinging to another out of fear, as he sobbed on Glen's shoulder. Finally Mike pulled back, and looked into Glen's eyes. A look of disgust came across Mike's face, and he shoved Glen against the wall, then walked out slowly. He seemed in a daze. Glen just stood there for a moment, wondering if there was any possible way that this day could get weirder. He turned to look out the little windows, to the football field beyond. The game raged on. Glen looked at his watch. 9:17 PM. He looked over the field and the crowds. He opened the window to see more clearly. Apparently, not only his night vision had improved. He could see very clear details at a distance now. He saw Brandon working the concessions stand. He then spotted Laura with the other cheerleaders. She looked so cute in her outfit. Another of the cheerleaders, Lisa Cross, was the third and last activated paranormal in their school. Lisa could make photonic effects. Mostly just defracting light, or making little bursts. 'Wow, sign her up for saving the universe!' Glen thought to himself. Many students and a lot of the faculty sat in the stands. Glen hadn't gone to any sporting events, except some of Laura's gymnastics meets. He didn't realize how big a thing these were. Out in the parking lot, he could see a couple people standing around, smoking. One of them was Gerald Johnson. He was smoking pot with a couple other kids. Glen wasn't surprised. No wonder Ger was always in trouble. He didn't have the common sense to take his illicit activities off school property. Glen realized what it was that had made him take note of those individuals. He was now one of them, whether they knew it or not. Another movement caught Glen's attention. There was a young man walking through the crowds. He had green spiked hair, and wore a black shredded T-shirt. He also had on red vinyl pants. The color pattern seemed familiar. Green, black and red. Was he thinking of a country flag? He watched more intently, and noticed he moved with a small clique of other people: two males, one female. A memory clicked. A group of paranormals, calling themselves the Vandals, had a member who only appeared as a blur in pictures and on film. The person possessed superhuman speed. The group had only done minor crimes, but had hit several High School sporting events. What a stupid gig, Glen thought. High profile, low reward. They were probably High School kids themselves, with something to prove. Which meant there was going to be trouble. Glen decided he might get to find out the extent of his newfound powers this evening. He ran the scenario through his mind. He'd have to go out, in front of his entire school, and display superhuman abilities. He would get busted for sure. He needed a disguise. He turned to the equipment around him. He frantically dug through boxes of school uniforms. Several departments had spare boxes of stuff stacked about. Glen dug frantically, looking for anything to hide his identity. Football jerseys, a band uniform... and finally, at the bottom of one box, a majorette uniform. It was basically like a one-piece swimsuit, covered in blue sequins. There was an attached pleated skirt with red and white pleats. Glen dug some more and came up with the gloves. They were really only arm covers in red, with while fringe. Glen considered that uncovered shoulders would be all right, as well as his uncovered legs. He had virtually no body hair, and was more thin and femme now than ever before. The outfit came up in the front to a collar that encircled the throat. That would hide his Adam's apple. He still would need to cover his face. He continued to dig, and finally found another pair of gloves. He tore the seam of one, and hastily made a mask, using a little pair of scissors he carried with him in his gym bag. Hair... Damn... He knew his hair would be another give away. It was too short for a girl. He stopped, and looked back outside. He again found the four people he'd spotted earlier. They had split up, and were headed in different directions. Damn. He felt like he didn't have much time. He threw items from boxes, in a vain attempt to find some solution to his predicament. There, in the bottom of a box of theater equipment came the solution, an old wig of wavy blonde hair. Perfect. The disguise was complete. Now, to muster some assistance. Glen locked the door to the equipment room. He dropped his pants, and took off his shirt. He would have to stick with his shoes, but they were plain white tennis shoes, and could easily pass. He pulled out his cell phone and started flipping through memory. Laura was in there, but she probably didn't have a phone out with her. Glen finally came to Steve Andrews. Sparkshower... the only paranormal of any power in the entire school. Thank God for study groups. 'Please, please, please', Glen thought. The number dialed. 'Hello?' Steve said. Glen froze for a moment. He realized he was about to speak like a boy. 'Hello?' Steve said again. Glen could hear the sound of the crowd in the background. At least he was at the game. 'Hi, I umm... I would like to talk to you. Would you meet me behind the Gym in about ten minutes?' Glen tried using his best girly voice. This was stupid! It would never work. 'Who is this?' Steve pursued. 'Just a friend.' Glen said. 'Okay, ten minutes. This had better not be someone playing a trick.' Steve said somewhat suspiciously. Glen clicked off his phone. What the hell was he thinking? He rubbed his face with his hands and hastily pulled the majorette uniform up his legs. As strange as Glen found it, he was thrilled. It was like a dream come true. It fit fairly well, to his surprise, with just a slight emptiness in the chest. Even his somewhat narrow hips were well hidden with the pleated skirt. He finally decided to pad his chest. He pulled out some foam pads form a football uniform, the ones that slid into the sides of the hips. He managed a halfway descent job quickly, and luckily the padded cups of the uniform smoothed any bumps reasonably. Finally he put on the wig and mask. His only measure of how he looked was from his reflection against the window. That was dim, at best. Glen pulled off his watch and put the gloves of the uniform on. He pulled a roll of medical tape from one of the boxes, and retrieved the jo sticks from his gym bag. It would have to do to replace the batons. He wrapped them in medical tape, and used the fringe from the glove used to make his mask to make tassels for the ends of the sticks. At least if he was forced to fight, these would be more useful than batons. He didn't have lots of experience with weapon kata, but had a good grasp of the basics. He suddenly felt his tummy roll. Butterflies. The worst he'd ever had. He stuffed his clothes into his gym bag, climbed on a chair, and removed a ceiling tile of the drop ceiling. He slid the bag inside, and replaced the tile. He sat back down on the chair. He now only had his internal sense of time to tell him how soon he had to be outside. He had about three minutes. He noticed the sensation of the hair on his bare shoulders and the look of the bumps on his chest. He ran his hands down the sequins of the uniform, and brushed at the pleats of the skirt. He sat with his legs crossed at the knees for a moment. His heart was racing. Finally, he stood up fighting waves of fear. With the 'batons' in his left hand, he unlocked the door, and stepped into the lit hall. He took a deep breath and exhaled. Don't think, girl... just do. He... SHE walked down the hallway toward the foyer. In the bright reflection of the foyer lights on the breezeway doors, she saw herself. She looked very good. Long thin legs with a hint of muscle definition, narrow waist, and ample chest. Her skirt swished from side to side and the cool air of mid-autumn caressed her bare legs. She pushed the door into the breezeway open, with confidence. She likewise pushed the door to the outside open with all the authority she could muster. She could see Steve approaching from her left. She stood there, with the light of the breezeway spilling across her. Her skirt fluttered in the light breeze. Her heart raced. She felt so alive. He stopped a few feet from her, looking a bit puzzled. He looked her up and down, and restrained a smirk at the sight of a mask. 'Hi.' he finally said. 'Hi... Look, I don't have much time to get this out, so here goes. There is a group of paranormals here at the game. They call themselves the 'Vandals'. There are four of them. I want to be in a position to stop them, if they decide to start something.' Glen said, in his best girl voice. No, He was not a he, and he was not Glen. Not at the moment. SHE had said it. She was finally free, and refused to be referred to by male pronouns. 'Great... well, umm... miss, I'm not a superhero. I just have some...' He began in a matter-of-fact manner. 'You're Sparkshower, and you have the ability to project a hail of plasma sparks. You're also academically brilliant, and I would hope you have a strong sense of civic duty. You are the single most powerful activated paranormal within five miles at the moment... and I need your help.' She again asserted. 'Who are you?' Steve asked. He was totally shocked by her manner, her confidence, her... appearance. While he thought she was a little tall, she looked pretty hot in her uniform. 'Just call me Majorette!' She said, extending a hand to be shaken. Steve let out a little crooked grin and took her hand, kissing it. She flashed a huge smile, rolled her eyes, and blushed. 'What do you want me to do?' Steve asked. 'Just hang out near the concessions. If they're here for money, that's where they'll hit. Keep your cell phone handy. If anything starts going down. Call the police, okay?' She turned from him to her next meeting and paused, looking over her shoulder. She saw Steve watching her. 'Sparkshower... see if you can talk to the activated cheerleader, she may be able to help.' Majorette turned and sprinted toward the main parking lot. Steve watched her go. He was amazed at her speed and athleticism. Without a doubt, Steve knew she was paranormal. A cute young lady... another activated paranormal, like himself, and one who knew him. He pondered the mystery. As he came back around the building, he found himself watching the crowd intently. He moved toward the concession stand, and ordered a Sloppy Joe and drink. The young man serving him was named Brandon, he thought. Smart kid, but a little... Well, a bit girly. Steve leaned against the stand, ate his sandwich and thought. Just today, Laura Sanders had been found to be paranormal, but apparently hadn't activated yet. Actually, the test only determined whether you WOULD activate, not whether you HAD. He pondered this, and crossed toward the area where the cheerleaders congregated. He thought Laura was on the squad. If she was here, that would eliminate her from being the mystery girl. He also needed to try to get Lisa Cross's attention. Across the main parking lot, Majorette sprinted toward a beat up old four-door sedan. Four guys stood there in a little circle. She had been sprinting for nearly two hundred yards and didn't feel in the least winded. Majorette just relished the feel of the wind rushing past her. When she reached the car, she didn't bother slowing, but instead used the side of the car as a springboard to leap into the air. Midair, she rolled, and turned, then came down of the far side of the group, landing almost silently. The two facing her stared, shocked. The other two turned in surprise. 'What the...' One began. 'A bust!' shouted another. 'Run!' came the final verdict from a third. Gerry Johnson didn't run. He just looked at the girl before him with a total look of apathy. She stood her ground, and finally spoke, when she felt the others were safely away. 'Gerald Johnson... I need your help.' She stated. 'That's nice. I'll have my agent call your agent. They'll do lunch. Love ya, hun.' He said mockingly. He turned and walked away, through the car directly behind him. Majorette launched herself forward, vaulting over the car, and again coming to rest before Gerry. He stopped and became solid. 'Why should I CARE if you need my help?' Gerry said, now angry. 'Gerry... look. I'm sure you have some strikes against you. You may even have a juvenile record, but there are four paranormals over in those crowds who are felons. Even if you don't care for the jocks and the other folks there, helping them could only help your record. I'm asking you to help me, and to help yourself.' Majorette implored him. She again was shocked by her own actions. Somewhere, her mind must have been working some of these details out subconsciously. Gerald looked at her, trying to figure her game. 'Forget it. It's not my problem.' Gerald said. Majorette felt something new growing in her. She felt anger. 'Okay, I tell you what. If anything goes down, cops are going to be all over this place. Even if they don't catch you, I WILL! If anything happens to the people here because you were too chicken-shit to help, I will never give you a moment's peace. And don't think you're ghosting powers will help you.' She said with a burning voice. 'Jesus, you've read too many comics girl! Get your panties out of a bunch. I'm not helping you, and I seriously doubt that anything you could do would make my life worse, okay. So, just go play hero by yourself. ' Gerald said bitterly. Majorette felt suddenly deflated. She had gotten a little wound up, and threatened this guy. She felt suddenly very egotistical and thoughtless in her handling of the situation. 'Look... Gerry... I'm sorry about the threat, but I have a lot of people I care about in that crowd. You have to believe me when I tell you I know what it feels like to be an outcast, but I truly need your help. If you change your mind, they have a member who can teleport. If they try to escape, I'm guessing he can't take all four of them far, and will likely come out here for a car. Just... keep an eye out for them.' She tried hard to undo the damage she'd done. She didn't feel like she had time for more. She turned and bolted, sprinting back toward the game. 'Yeah... whatever...' he said. Majorette thought about her and Sparkshower against four paranormals. She didn't like the odds. She could hear the band playing. It must be halftime. She ran around the corner toward the bleachers. Several hundred people meandered about, talking, eating. She slowed to a trot. She climbed the bleachers, noticing several heads turning to watch her. When she reached the top, she scanned the area for the four faces she'd seen earlier. Nothing... nothing... Then she spotted the girl that had been with the speedster. She was talking to the police officer assigned to security at the game. He was walking away from the game with her. What was going on there? She kept scanning the crowd. She spotted Steve down talking to several cheerleaders, including Lisa Cross and Laura. Why Laura? It took her a minute to realize Steve would be trying to discern her identity, and Laura's announcement in class today would make her a candidate. Majorette felt a brief sense of pride at the thought that someone might assume she was Laura. 'I really have to come up with a better name for myself than Majorette.' she thought. She studied the area around the concessions. If they were here for money, that would be their only target. She looked at Brandon hustling hotdogs, and felt a flutter, which was cut short by spotting green hair in the crowd. Majorette thought it was time she moved. 'Aren't you supposed to be out on the field honey?' An older man asked. He was most likely the father of one of the players. 'Hardly.' Majorette said, giving him a stern look and vaulting the rail on the top of the bleachers. She fell twenty five feet and landed lightly. She wondered briefly how far she could jump, or fall... and what her running speed was. Well, it certainly wasn't up to the speed of the green-haired kid she approached. He was her first concern, and her mark. She wandered near the green haired boy, just sort of watching him casually. The mask drew a few odd looks on occasion, but she generally stood undisturbed. Where were the other members of the group? She watched the marching band leave the field. Brandon made the last call for concessions. The stand always shut down just after half-time. The green-haired boy walked past Majorette, looked at her with interest, and finally stopping within feet of her. He flashed a smile. He was rather cute, but Majorette wasn't falling for his flirtations. 'Hi. What's the mask for, cutie? I think you look fine not covered up so much.' He said. 'Wow, you move kind of fast. Is that your best pick-up line?' She asked coldly. 'Honey, you have no idea what fast is.' He replied, moving closer to her. 'What's your game, green?' She asked point blank. 'What, can't a guy have pleasant conversation?' he looked shocked. Now Majorette stepped closer. She was virtually equal in height to him. 'I mean you and your friends. What are you here for? I have folks in the bleachers waiting to make calls to 911 at the first hint of trouble, and I have you and several of your friends covered. Perhaps you'd like to reconsider starting anything.' she bluffed. She did it well, with the