It's currently one a.m. on a Saturday morning and I'm eating cereal while watching the news.
In case you were wondering, no, this is not normal behavior for me. I like to, oh I don't know, sleep at night usually. Call me crazy.
So why am I up? And why, of all things to watch, would I choose the news?
I couldn't sleep, knowing that I had failed to do any research on Jenga and my life was on the line. I'd like to think that if your life was on the line, you wouldn't be able to sleep at night either. I hate to make assumptions though.
About an hour ago, I wandered around the apartment in the dark in my sweatpants and loose t-shirt, trying not to wake up Derek or Noah. I turned on the television, and within 30 minutes, I was witnessing a live news report on Jenga and some criminal activity going on downtown. My jaw dropped. This is why I don't ever see Jenga? Because she saves the day at the crack of dawn? No, wait, it's not even dawn!
I take in her appearance, pausing the screen as I observe new details every five seconds. First of all, she has bright, electric blue hair that she wears in a high ponytail, and it comes all the way down to her waist. That's obviously a wig. I haven't seen anyone in this small, rural town that has hair like that. Even on the college campus, I can't say anyone has ever reported spotting Jenga by her hair color. Maybe she's a high schooler. Still, somebody would've been able to seek out her blue hair.
Well I'm glad I have one thing clear: Jenga wears a wig. Good job, Sherlock. You've cracked the case.
The next feature I notice is how her entire suit is electric blue except for her knee-high black boots and matching black mask. There is no cape for this hero, which I must say is a good choice. Nontraditional, but really, capes are such a hazard.
As if she wasn't wearing enough blue, her ocean blue eyes pop because of her outfit. I'm mesmerized by the amount of blue. Honestly, I wouldn't be intimidated by her at all if it weren't for the black leather boots and sleek black mask. I'm not quite convinced that her ponytail isn't a weapon. I mean, seriously, that thing would hurt if it slapped you in the face.
Do girls grow their hair out to use it as a weapon?
"Beck! What the heck are you doing?" Noah calls out from his room.
It might have slipped my mind that Noah's room is the closest to the living room. I hear his feet hit the floor and make their way towards me. His footsteps are loud and heavy.
He's standing in front of me, blocking the t.v. within seconds of his march over here. I awkwardly take a bite of cereal.
He sighs, "You know I can hear everything from my room."
I give him a puzzled look, "Have you thought about closing your door?"
Noah pulls on his hair, looking like he wants to strangle me. "You know Derek took my door off the hinges!"
Ah, yes. I'm quite aware of Derek's prank. What Noah doesn't know is that his door is in the basement of the apartment complex. We'll see how long it takes him to figure it out.
"That's tough, man." I reply, shoving a spoonful of cereal in my mouth. I'm trying my best to hold back my laughter as my best friend screams at me in his bright pink boxers. That's what happens when you ask Derek to do a load of laundry.
Noah sits down beside me on the small couch. "What're you watching?"
"Obviously, I'm watching the news." I gesture towards the small screen.
"But why?"
I shrug, "I'm watching Jenga beat the crap out of some thugs. It's pretty interesting." It's honestly quite brutal. She keeps spinning around, facing one guy after another. She turns on her heel with her right arm straight out, whipping all of them in the face. If any one of them is left standing, they face the wrath of her mean right hook. One guy pops out of nowhere, pointing a gun at her. Obviously, the cops are all around, but his finger is on the trigger and he's aiming it at her just a few feet away.
The one night I watch Jenga on the news, she dies. Figures.
But then, the gun doesn't go off. The guy with the gun and a ski mask on looks puzzled as he watches Jenga march towards him. He frantically shakes the gun, trying to get it to work. The cops are on him in seconds, placing handcuffs on him and all of the other men.
Now that I get a closer look, I see where all of this is taking place - the old mill downtown. That place has been rumored to be the go-to place for drug deals at night. Well, the rumors can finally be put to rest.
Noah ushers towards the t.v. "What a weirdo, man. Jenga can just go in swinging her arms and fighting off thugs, but the second her life is on the line with a gun pointed at her, she can change her fate by saying, 'What're the chances that his gun doesn't have any bullets? Make that 100% for no bullets.' And then she's home free. It's whack, dude. Supers are freaks." He shakes his head as he props his feet up on the coffee table.
I swallow the lump in my throat and there's a knot forming in my stomach. Noah has never expressed how he feels about supers, but I guess his outburst explains his thoughts.
Oddities. Weirdos. Outcasts. Freaks.
Noah looks over at me, his face glowing from the light of the t.v. His grimace shifts into a frown when he sees the haze over my eyes. "Wait, I didn't mean you, Beck. You know that I didn't mean you."
I feel my jaw tighten, "No, no, of course not. I get it." I slowly get up from my spot on the couch, taking my bowl with me and walking away.
"Where are you going?" He calls out to me.
I turn around, trying to hide my broken spirit. "I think it's time I get some sleep." I shut myself up in my room, trying to tell myself he meant nothing by his comment.
But you are a freak Beck. That's why Dr. Hayes put you on the Jenga assignment.
I guess there's only one thing I can do. Bring Jenga in to The Undergrounds, and follow whatever plans they have for taking down the S.E.A. The S.E.A are responsible for making everyone think we're bizarre freaks of nature. It's time to change everyone's mind.
***
I can't sleep. Every ounce of my being tells me I need rest and to stop over thinking things, but my brain won't turn off. I look over at the digital clock on my beside table to see the numbers 2:30 staring back at me. I clap my hands together for the lamp beside me to turn on. That's my powers at work, by the way. We're too poor to have those special lights installed.
My phone is the first thing I grab, even though it makes me more awake than anything. To my surprise, I have several notifications to scan through. One specifically catches my eye.
Hey, hope you don't mind me texting this late.
I forgot I gave Emily my number. Why would she text me at one a.m?
It's fine, I can't sleep anyways. What's up? I reply.
A few minutes pass, but nonetheless she responds. I forgot to tell you when tutoring is. It's Saturdays from 10am-11am.
I groan at the sight of a.m hours on a Saturday. But I did say I would go, and the library is only five miles from my apartment. I run a hand over my face, battling with myself internally.
Finally, I text back, See ya in a few hours then.
I lay my phone down and fall back into bed.
Surely this will be fine, right?
***
Everything is not fine.
I wake up to Derek and Noah arguing with someone at the front door. However, I had forgot to set my alarm when I crashed earlier this morning, so I'm just now waking up at 10:45 a.m. I scramble to put on some pants and a random shirt lying on my desk chair and run to the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix my hair.
Holy fladoodlecakes why is my hair sticking up in 10 different directions?? I wasn't planning to go out looking like a porcupine today. Could I pull it off?
Ha! You're not Noah!
Down the hall, I hear Noah and Derek continuing their spat with whoever is at the door. So it's not the Girl Scout's selling cookies again? Usually Derek and Noah grumble about how expensive the cookies are, but they give in at the end.
I run to my room to get my bookbag, giving up on trying to fix my hair. I'll just slap on a baseball cap and roll with it. My keys in hand, I finally dash towards the front door, knowing I only have 10 minutes to get to the library.
But I wasn't prepared for the person at the door. Dressed in his typical skinny jeans and some brand-name-shirt-that's-better-than-yours, he awkwardly shoves his hands in his front pockets, standing there, gawking. Noah and Derek turn to face me, annoyance clearly written on their faces. I grip my hand around my keys a little tighter. What does Rhett want?
Rhett doesn't try to stop me as I push past him in the doorway. I don't have anything to say to him. Unless he's here to apologize to me, he has nothing to say either.
"Beckett, hold up-" Rhett starts. I've already made it down the steps, but I pause.
"My rent got too high at my new apartment." Rhett whines. Does he think I care?
I shake my head as my teeth start gritting together. I know exactly what he's about to ask for. It's not happening.
"Sounds like a personal problem." I retort without turning around.
Within a minute, I've already sprinted down the steps of my apartment complex, proceeding to get into my black truck and speed down the streets to the library.
We're not letting Rhett live with us again. I'd give up ice cream before I let that happen.