That’s not to say I became some sort of master or anything in the span of a few weeks. Jessica put me on my ass nine times out of ten, and Orca wasn’t far behind. But I didn’t feel utterly useless either. As much as part of me enjoyed the raw, combative nature of Nikolai’s class, Weapons Training was flat-out fun.
•—•—•
Weapons Training was succeeded by another boring hour of Control, but after that came Mobility. Macy Johnson was bald and whip-thin, with skin the same soft brown as Ishmae’s, but without the Pyro’s almond-shaped eyes. She was always smiling and always in motion, her individual movements frequently too fast for the naked eye to see.
Like Emery, Macy had been surprised to be sent a student who didn’t have powers suited for her class. I couldn’t fly or teleport, I didn’t have super speed, and what agility I possessed paled to that of Paladin and Orca, making me by default the worst student in her class. Unlike Emery, the older Jitterbug didn’t care. She’d left for a fraction of a second and come back with a scaled-down set of agility drills for me to participate in. Before I knew it, I was dodging around obstacles and learning how to incorporate Jessica and Nikolai’s lessons in falling while running at full speed.
We both knew I’d never make it to the higher-level Mobility classes, but Macy worked her nonexistent ass off anyway to ensure I learned something as her student.
We were never friends. I was only in her class for the one semester, but I can still remember Macy Johnson’s smiling face. I remember the way her dark eyes sparkled when Supersonic challenged her to a race, and the arch look she gave him when he stumbled across the finish line forty seconds later, having been lapped twice by the older woman.
We were never friends, but I miss her.
CHAPTER 50
The upside of owning nothing but sweats is that you don’t have to worry about hanging them… or even folding them. The downside is that it can take weeks before you notice that someone did hang something in your closet.
“What the fuck is this?” I’d just come back from doing laundry to initiate a room-wide search for the one sock that somehow always went missing when I realized that the only hanger in my closet was no longer bare.
On his side of the room, my roommate cracked one eye open, saw where I was pointing, and let that eye drift shut again. “It’s called a suit.”
“I know that. Where did it come from?” In addition to the black jacket and matching pants, there was a synth-leather belt and a dark red button-up shirt.
Jeremiah sighed and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, slowly hoisting himself to his feet in the way only big men ever have to. “I brought it from home. Figured you might appreciate having something other than sweats the next time a formal occasion comes up.”
“Did I ask you to buy me clothes, Stonewall?”
“I knew this was going to go to shit,” the other man muttered. “I didn’t buy the suit. My little brother outgrew it, and my parents were going to donate it since he’s the last one left in high school. I figured you could use it instead.”
“You figured wrong.” I threw the suit, hangar and all, across the room, where Jeremiah plucked it out of the air.
“Are you kidding me?” He stocked past me to gesture at my empty closet. “You’ve got nothing, Damian! Are you going to wear sweats to the Remembrance Day dance?”
“That’s my problem,” I growled. “I don’t need your charity.”
Stonewall threw his hands up in the air, suit, hanger and all. “What is it with you and charity?”
Three months earlier, I would have just sneered and stalked off. But that was before Shane’s death and Bard’s lecture. That was before Sally Cemetery’s visit and Alexa’s baseball reference. Instead, I dropped back onto my bed and, for the first time that I could remember, tried to put the feeling into words.
Before I could, there was a knock at the door, and Paladin’s blonde head peeked in.
“Everything okay in here?”
“What the fuck business is it of yours, Matthew?”
Blue eyes turned on me and he motioned to the wall by my bed. “Supersonic has the hangover from hell. Normally, I’d be all for him being taught the error of his drunken ways, but I’ve had to empty the bucket twice already, and he just finally dropped back off to sleep. If you guys want to rage at each other and wake him up, you can deal with the next bucket.”
I opened my mouth to tell Paladin what he could do with Supersonic and his vomit bucket, but Jeremiah cut me off.
“Sorry, Paladin. We’re hashing some shit out, but I’ll try to keep it down.”
“I’d appreciate it.” He nodded to the big man. “Hektor was looking for you last night at The Liquid Hero.”
“Yeah.” Jeremiah sighed. “I know. I’m going to find him this afternoon.” He waited for the door to close and then turned back to me. “I know you and I aren’t ever going to be friends, but could you at least try to stop assuming every little thing I do is an attack?”
“The first time we met, you called me a thief and threatened me.”
“And how many times have you beaten the crap out of me in Combat class since then?”
“A bunch, although I guess that’s over now that powers are in play.”
“Maybe.” He shook his enormous head. “Keep the suit or toss it. I was trying to do something nice, as an apology for sticking our noses in your business last semester, but if you don’t want it, that’s fine too.”
I looked at the
