I Was A Teenaged Metahuman Ch 01

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This story is a slow build. There's no sex in this chapter, but there is miniature golf.

Many thanks to icedragonmo3 for invaluable beta reading and editing expertise. If there are any mistakes, it's because the author didn't listen.

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I Was a Teenaged Metahuman

Chapter 1

Un-Schoolish

"You'd best be on your way to work, Max!" His mother's phone voice was why Max kept the volume turned so low.

Max held the phone close against his face and tried not to sigh. "I'm on the way. Mister Thomson wanted me there a couple minutes early."

"What am I saying? You can't go to work. You've got to come home right this instant and finish your math project!"

"I already did it."

She had this way of ignoring things like this. As if he'd just confirmed her point, she continued, "And you've got to study for the history test!"

"I'm all ready for the history test."

"God is watching you. You tell the truth to your mother."

"What? My last grade was a 93!"

"Study anyway. The moment you get home from work."

His shoulders slumped. "Yes, Ma'am."

"You do it!"

"I'll study, okay? I said I would. I think I have an hour before—"

"Then you study for an hour, Mister."

Max boiled with anger and frustration. While he took deep, calming breaths, she went on, "I've been getting a strange feeling about you lately. Something has been placed in your path. I'm going to pray on this. You need the Lord now, more than ever."

He muted the phone and sighed heavily before continuing. He needed a version of the Lord that wasn't on his mother's side. "I'll study for an hour, then."

"You do that."

"Yes, ma'am!"

"I love you."

"Yeah. Me, too."

He hung up and considered his options. The next fifteen minutes would be his only free time of the day. He had to spend it here, at the school, because trying to go somewhere else would waste it.

Watching the students mingle in the school parking lot, he decided this was the last place he wanted to be. He looked around carefully, trying to find the must un-schoolish spot.

It was shockingly easy to climb up to the school's roof. There was a ladder with one of those mesh covers on the bottom part, but those didn't work against sufficiently fit and determined individuals such as him. Or against anyone with working arms and legs, really.

It

was

different up here. He liked the perspective, but as he gazed down at the courtyard, where his classmates laughed and joked as they spilled out of the building, it seemed too fitting. Like the physical separation now matched the social one.

At least it was a nice day

Something tickled his nose, a musty floral scent like burning hay. He knew plants, but this one was unfamiliar.

He turned to investigate and started in surprise at the girl, sitting in the shade of an air conditioner, watching him.

Giving her a little smile and a nod of his head in greeting, he waited for her to leave. Instead, she stood up and walked toward him.

She wore her blonde hair in a messy bun atop her head. Her pink-edged blue eyes sparkled with mischief, and he noticed for the first time that she was holding a cigarette.

"You caught me," she said. With a cheeky smile she took another drag off the cigarette, which he'd been smelling. It was hand-rolled and rather than the harsh odor of tobacco, it was...

"Marijuana!" he exclaimed. He knew the smell from his coworkers.

She giggled at the combination of fear and awe in his voice. "You got me, Copper." She crossed her wrists before her. "Now what are you gonna do with me?"

"Oh, heh. Nothing. I won't turn you in." Max envied her freedom, but spoiling it for her wouldn't make his life any better.

She eyed him speculatively. "I don't know about that...?"

"Max." How did she not know his name?

"I don't know about that, Max. I think, just to be on the safe side, you'd better smoke some, too."

"Oh, no. I would get in so much trouble."

Her smile was so pretty. "Only if you get caught. Just don't go home for an hour or two, they'll never know."

"Oh, that's a problem, I'm going to work in a few minutes."

"Hmm. What kind of job?"

"Landscaping."

"Oh yeah, easy. Here."

She held out the smoking device. He reached, but hesitated. His mother would never allow such a thing. She'd go nuts if she caught the tiniest whiff of it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, another message from his mother.

He took the joint and drew deeply, then had a brief coughing fit.

"There," she said, plucking it from his fingers and taking a drag. "We're both guilty. You can't turn me in and vice-versa. It's the perfect crime." She was having an awful lot of fun with this.

They passed it back and forth, and when it burned down to a stub he thought it was done, but she took his wrist to hold him still and carefully pinched a corner of the thing, then brought it to her lips without quite touching them. When she inhaled, the end flared orange and smoke flowed in a stream between her lips, and Max couldn't not stare.

"We can't hand it back and forth like this," she croaked, and stepped forward. She put a hand on his shoulder and held the joint to his lips. He inhaled as well, and for a moment his whole world consisted of only her and him. He'd never been this close to a non-relative, and he discovered he really enjoyed it.

When his hit was done, she inhaled until there was nothing left but a little corner of paper that she flicked away before it burned her fingers. She was holding the smoke in and her eyes were on him, quite possibly the most exciting moment of his life to date, but then... Then she moved closer to him and got his jaw between her thumb and forefinger. She moved her mouth close to his and emitted a thin stream of smoke which he eagerly inhaled.

Max felt a sudden stab of sadness. This wouldn't last.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Felice," she replied.

"I'm Max," he said. He took a deep breath. It had been good while it lasted. "Max Garland." Oops, hadn't he already said that?

She blinked. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Wh—uh, this is the part where you leave." He hadn't meant to say that out loud, he a little spacey and felt so

comfy

right about now.

"Oh. It's like that, huh?" Through his haze, he was dismayed to see a note of hurt in her eyes. Dismayed, and shocked that she'd care.

He quickly stammered, "Oh, nononono. Believe me. If it were up to me, you'd stay."

Mollified, she asked, "Am I supposed to leave? Why would I leave?"

He shrugged. "Everyone else does."

She blinked. "Why?"

"I, uh, I was kind of an asshole when I was younger. Everybody remembers."

"Hah. I just moved here."

Max thought,

So this is what infatuation feels like.

He was amazed at how much he enjoyed just the smell of her hair.

"You okay?" she queried.

"Are you seeing anyone?" he asked, before he lost the nerve.

Eyes steady on him, she shook her head.

Max drew a deep breath, "Can we go on a date? Friday night?"

She smiled and held out her hand. Max looked at it in confusion, then with warmth exploding in his chest, put his hand atop hers.

"Your phone?" she said pointedly. "For your number?"

"Oh!" He sheepishly handed his phone over and tried to put the hand-holding faux pas behind him.

Felice didn't let go. She smiled so sweetly she might as well have hauled off and kissed him for all the effect it had. With her other hand she entered her number. As she handed it back to him, she let him see her checking him out.

As he scrambled to text excuses and prevarications to his mother, he thought that this was the best day of his life.

*

Pest Control

"Hiya, Twerp."

"Hey, Rhonda." He didn't make an issue of the nickname. She'd been using it since he was ten, which coincidentally was the last time he'd ever been twerpy. Now, nearly six feet tall and towering over his sister, he didn't feel slighted.

She squinted at him, "You look thought-y. What's up?"

Max couldn't stop smiling as he said, "I've got a date."

He could tell she was genuinely happy for him but she said, "Who's the unlucky girl?"

"Her name is Felice."

"Ooh, you've got it bad! Tell me tell me tell me."

He sat on her bed and told her all about his meeting with Felice, the girl who'd put herself in his contact list as "Sexy Dynamite." He regretted having to change it to 'Weston Pest Control' to hide it from his mother.

"You've got to keep this girl a secret," Rhonda said. "The Old Woman can never know."

Max felt a fleeting smile at the nickname. It had been Rhonda who had spearheaded the use of 'mother' over more endearing words for their parent, and now she was taking it a step farther. He said "I can't date this girl, 'The Old Woman' would never approve."

Rhonda's eyes blazed. "You must!"

"How?"

*

Tournament

Max found Vayden in the back corner of the computer lab, at a table decorated with books, a disconnected computer monitor, and a little printed sign that read, 'Fraunfelder High Business Center.'

"Dude. I need a favor."

Vayden didn't look up from his phone. "You can't borrow my car."

"I don't... Why would you think I want to borrow your car? I have a car."

His friend took a moment from his phone to flick a scornful look at him. "If you say so."

Max reined in a snappy response and instead said, "I need you to make a social media post about the Overwatch tournament we're competing in on Saturday."

"I hope that's one of your cover stories, because I've got plans this weekend."

Of course he had plans. Since he started dating his most recent girlfriend, he always did.

Max handed him a thumb drive. "That's got all the details, plus a flyer I made for the tournament and a play by play of Saturday's round and the one before it. Post something before and after and please don't indicate you're doing anything else."

"Did you just say 'indicate?' Man, you read too much. Okay, stop with the puppy dog eyes, I'll do it."

"Thank you.

Thank you

. Oh, uh, you need to tell your girlfriend to take down her post about that drive-in y'all are going to. Thanks, gotta go, bye!"

*

Ice Cream with Strangers

Max needed good grades or he'd be made to study on Saturday night, so he applied himself with a vigor. Thursday night he went to the church to help serve food for the Seniors for Jesus committee, then cleaned up after the Spiritual Warfare class.

Friday night, he returned to the church for service and when the rest of the kids went for ice cream, he went home and studied. He didn't mind not going with the rest of the youths; He'd tried it and found it was basically eating dessert in a big group of strangers who wouldn't talk to him.

If he was honest, they weren't just not interested. They actively avoided him, especially if they were into anything illicit. He was, after all, the son of that horrible loud woman with all the opinions, and therefore a security risk. And he had done what he had done.

He was up at six the next morning and worked until two, then rushed home to do his family's yard and that of old Mrs. Frizzenhauser next door, who had once complained of frailty in his mother's presence and been granted a lifetime subscription to the Max Garland Yard Service. He didn't mind helping his neighbor, but he wished he'd been able to offer his services instead of them being given away without his say-so.

Thoughts like that weren't godly, though, were they? He was supposed to be grateful and willing to help however he could without regard for his own wants. His mother had explained that to him, and his preacher frequently touched on the subject in his sermons.

He used to feel so guilty about thoughts like this, but lately it was like his guilt muscles were wearing out. The emotion just didn't have the same painful zing as it once did. Sometimes he wondered if this was because of something he'd done wrong, but even that thought didn't bother him like it once would have. He worried about that, sometimes.

For instance, he didn't feel guilty at all about packing up his game console and gushing about the upcoming tournament to his disinterested parental unit before driving to Felice's house to pick her up.

*

The Final Hole

Felice got a good look at him at dinner, his rumpled shirt and slacks that he'd smuggled out in the bottom of his gaming bag, his tousled brown hair and eyes the color of fresh coffee, his beat-up sneakers. "So what's your deal?"

"Uh, I go to school?"

"No, like... Your thing. Your brand. Your classification. Are you a nerd, jock, motorhead, metalhead, band geek, slut, dweeb, goth, emo, rocker, or what?"

"I... I have a job."

"You told me. Mister Outdoors, workin' on your tan." She spoke of this with some familiarity, as if his sun-kissed skin tone had already been catalogued. "Now what do you do for fun?"

"I read. And listen to music. It's the three 'L's, basically. Landscaping, Literature, and Nineties Groove Metal."

She giggled. "No extra-curriculars? Clubs? Sports?"

"Does church count?" he asked in a glum tone of voice. His responsibilities at church were what prevented his enrolling in extra-curriculars.

"Ah, got it. Church Hostage."

He'd never heard it put that way before, and it seemed fitting. "Pretty much, but only Sunday morning and evening, Wednesday night, Youth Group Meetings and choir practice, and then there's a Friday night service my mother organized as a little Jesus booster to get us through the week."

"Holy crap!" she laughed. "Wait, did you mention choir? You sing?"

His face took on a rueful expression. "Poorly. I'm told I sound like Lemmy from Motorhead without the character and rhythm," which made her laugh. "The choir hates me," he added.

"Then why do it?" she asked.

"Family. So how about you?"

"I'm a Nomad. Like an Army Brat but without the insane parents and access to explosives. This is my fourth school in five years, although Mom says we're staying here awhile. She moves with her job. Without that, my thing would be Band Nerd and maybe Cheerleader."

She did a little pretend pom-pom shake, smiling ruefully. "That's why I was on the roof. You could see the courtyard where the cheerleaders practice from up there, and I wanted to learn the moves," she admitted.

Max told Felice, "I wish you luck joining the team."

She crinkled her nose. "Oh no, I'm already in band. I just like it, you know? It's kinda sexy."

The word she'd just used —sexy— resounded in Max's mind. Sexy was a word that he had heard many times, but he'd never heard anyone use it in person without sneering. It was always hemmed in with high-dollar words such as 'licentiousness' or 'promiscuity'.

*

If Max could think of one word that described Felice, it would be exciting. Her hand would brush his arm when she laughed at his jokes, as if she were so overcome with amusement that she had to reach out and steady herself on the nearest eligible male. When he was particularly funny she would toss her bouncy blonde hair and show her even teeth, her blue eyes sparkling.

Max was so very, very eligible. He'd been thoroughly educated on the dangers that the opposite sex represented to a young person's virtue, but he wanted to see for himself.

Dangerous. That might be a better word for her. She was entirely too friendly with her eyes, for one thing. A few times he'd looked round to catch her looking at him intently, particularly his butt. When caught looking, she didn't glance away or look embarrassed, just... playful.

He wondered what she saw in him. At eighteen he supposed he was as tall as he'd ever get, just shy of six feet. He wasn't a bodybuilder, but hard work had made him fit, and all that time in the sun had brought out auburn highlights in his dark hair.

Apparently he was also funny. That, or Felice was trying too hard, because she even laughed at the jokes that didn't come out right.

It was understandable, her over-amplification of her signal. Most guys were oblivious to the point it was a huge cliché. Max, not content to be another statistic, had fought the odds with hard work and careful preparation. He paid close attention to her. He tried to put himself in her shoes, and to ensure he wasn't just another stereotypical oblivious guy, he went so far as to read young adult fiction written for teenage girls and young women.

It hadn't been easy. There were awkward encounters at the library, checking out lacy coming-of-age titles and enduring the amused looks of the nice old lady volunteer at the main branch.

"I'm trying to learn how women think," he'd said by way of explanation, and regretted his new awareness of subtle signals because now they told him she thought he was hilariously dim.

Stubbornly he'd persevered, however, and despite the librarian's doubts he read a couple books, which weren't

horrible

necessarily. He now knew the difference between a capri and a culotte and why you didn't wear white pants after labor day or on certain times of the month, and while he didn't necessarily have the answers to why women were the way they were, he at least had a long list of useful questions and a few anecdotes waiting to be fused together into an insight. And it was something to keep him occupied during those long stretches in the library that his mother insisted on.

Felice was clearly now thinking, "While he's distracted I'm going to whip his little monkey ass," as she dropped another putt and marked her score on the card. He was distracted, it was true, and delightfully so, but his mini-golf game was strong.

It came down to the final hole, as these things often did. Sinking it required hitting the ball into one of three tubes, where it spiraled down to a lower putting green and hopefully rolled into the hole. The tubes weren't exactly precise. Even when hit into the correct tube, a ball could miss the hole due to some quirk of spin or unseen bit of debris on the green. The ways of mini-golf were harsh, and it took a strong will to endure.

She held her putter with both hands and leaned on it like the third leg of a tripod. This allowed her to swing her little rump back and forth mockingly. "You've got your work cut out for you," she sing-songed mockingly.

Distraction had taken its toll and he was now behind by two strokes. He'd have to sink it correctly to win the game.

"Let's bet on it," said Felice with a grin. "If I win... I mean

when

I win, you'll have to... Mow my lawn, Landscaper-boy!"

"That's... That's a pretty big victory condition, Felice."

"Yep," she said amiably. "So how about it?"

Slowly Max reasoned, "So when I win..."

"You're not gonna win!"

"Geez, you're competitive. So

when

I win I'm going to want something comparable."

"Like what?" she asked playfully, a hand on her hip. Tight jeans made her hips into a work of art, and her wide-necked top gave him enticing little glimpses of her lovely breasts. Not that there were breasts that he wouldn't classify as lovely, at least not on women his age. Breasts were the definition of loveliness. He could see why so many people risked hellfire to get at them. Even now, he was trying to calculate how much risk he could bear safely.

"Equal or greater value," he said, buying time to think of something.

She tilted her head this way and that. "Like what?" she repeated as if he were slow. He had to admit, he was, especially when he was thinking about her busty ways.

She followed his gaze, and her knowing grin made his face burn with mortification.

She smiled. "All right," she said slowly. "If you win, in the

unlikely event

that you win, I'll show you these babies."

Max was instantly erect. At times like this, he was glad his thing wasn't that big, or it would have taken more than an untucked shirt to hide him.