The school bell had already rung, the metallic echo bouncing off the lockers and linoleum floors of City Center High. Fortunately, Leander was only a hundred meters away from the freshman classroom on the first floor.
As he leisurely walked towards the door, his mind still half-stuck in a cloud bank over the Atlantic, a frantic, high-pitched shout erupted from behind him.
"Move aside! Please move aside! Look out! The brakes—the brakes are dead!"
Leander's keen senses, sharpened by months of combat and kinetic awareness, didn't even require him to turn around. He could feel the vibration of rubber tires skidding on the pavement and the frantic heartbeat of the rider. The out-of-control mountain bike was closing in fast, a blur of blue and pink metal.
Without breaking his stride, Leander took a small, calculated step to the left. As the bicycle rushed past, he reached out with one hand and caught the back of the rider's jacket, casually hauling the figure to a dead stop. At the same time, he splayed the fingers of his left hand. The speeding bike didn't crash; instead, it responded to an invisible magnetic tether, spinning around in mid-air and landing perfectly in his grasp with a soft clink.
"Ahhh!!! Put me down! Don't drop me!"
Leander gently set the screaming girl on the ground. She was a mess of tangled blonde hair and a rumpled school uniform, her face pale with terror. He handed the handlebars back to her with an expression of mild annoyance.
"First, you need to dismount and push your bike once you pass the school gate. It's a safety regulation. Second, if you scream in my ear like that again, I'll throw you out over the fence," Leander said, his voice flat.
He didn't wait for a thank you. He couldn't stand the sharp, glass-shattering pitch of her voice. He turned and continued walking toward his classroom, his internal monologue returning to its favorite theme: 'I really, really don't want to be here.'
By the time Leander reached the door of Room 104, the girl had already scrambled to park her bike and was scurrying right behind him, trying to fix her hair as she ran.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Leander found himself in a room filled with the smell of floor wax and adolescent hormones. A middle-aged white male teacher was already at the podium, leaning back with an air of practiced indifference.
"My name is Heck, and I'm your history teacher. Oh, looks like we have a late arrival."
Heck looked at Leander, his eyes squinting behind thick glasses. "Wait, I know you. The only Asian boy in this block. Your name is Leander, right? Leander Hayes?"
He picked up a laminated student roster, checked a box, and gave a lazy thumbs-up. "Congratulations, kid. You're not the last one. There are exactly two seats left in the back row. Consider them the 'VIP lounge' for the vertically gifted."
Leander didn't say a word. He walked to the back corner, feeling the weight of thirty pairs of eyes tracking his movement. Some were curious, some were judgmental, but most were just bored. He simply shrugged, his indifference acting like a shield.
Just as Leander reached his desk, the classroom door flew open again, and the messy-haired girl from the bike incident tumbled in.
"Sorry, teacher! I woke up late, and then my bike... well, the brakes failed, and a boy saved me, but then he was mean, and I—I'm sorry!"
"No need for the life story, take a seat," Heck said, checking the final box. "Alright, everyone's accounted for. Better than last year. The latest student was only three minutes late. Last year, I had a kid show up three days late because he claimed he got lost in a Subway sandwich shop. That was a long three days."
Teacher Heck had a scruffy chin, a receding hairline that had mostly surrendered, and a smile that suggested he had seen everything and cared about none of it.
"Next up, we're doing the classic. Everyone comes up, says who they are, and why we should care. If the world doesn't end, we'll be stuck together for the next three years."
The room erupted into chatter. A black boy in the middle row shouted out, "Yo, Teacher Heck! Does your name mean what I think it means? Like, 'Huck u'?"
"Alright, settle down, you little hooligans," Heck said, unfazed. "I know you're fifteen or sixteen, bursting with energy and looking for someone to annoy. So, I'm giving you a target. Next class, we elect a class president."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
"The class president," Heck continued with a mischievous glint in his eye, "is the most powerful person here besides me. They collect the class fees, they can organize the homework piles—some even say they get to decide who does the cleaning. It's a lot of responsibility. And a lot of perks."
Leander watched Heck from the back row and felt a flicker of respect. 'Smart. He's dangling a carrot of 'fake power' to get the loudest kids to police themselves. He finds the biggest troublemaker, makes them the president, and now they're his assistant instead of his headache. He's a pro.'
The room was already descending into chaos as students began campaigning, whispering to their neighbors and sizing up the competition. Leander leaned back, looking at the ceiling. 'Is this really the top-tier school in Queens? It feels more like a zoo.'
The girl from the bike sat in the desk next to him. She had finally managed to comb through her hair, revealing a cascade of golden, shoulder-length locks. Her skin was remarkably fair, almost sickly so, and she was currently peeking at Leander with intense curiosity.
Heck stepped down from the podium. "Alright, thirty-one of you. One minute each. Let's see who's got the loudest voice. We'll start with..."
He didn't even get to call a name. A tall, confident white student practically sprinted to the front.
"The name is Mike. Mike O'Loughlin," he announced, his voice booming. "My family owns Mike's Fast Food—we've got thirteen locations across Queens alone. I was the president in middle school, I know how to handle the budget, and I know how to throw a party. My birthday is in a few days at the Fete Villa District. If I'm elected, let's just say there might be some free invitations going around."
Leander looked at Mike, who stood at least 1.8 meters tall and had the jawline of a college senior. 'What are they feeding these kids? I'm barely 1.65 meters and this guy looks like he could play for the Knicks.'
Student after student went up, each more desperate than the last to prove they were the "coolest" choice. Leander ignored them all, his thoughts drifting back to the high-tech silence of the workshop or the vibranium-laced air of Wakanda. He missed the feeling of metal responding to his thoughts instead of humans responding to social status.
"Hey... hi," a soft voice whispered from his right.
Leander turned. The girl next to him was fidgeting with the collar of her uniform. Up close, she had a delicate, small face with a high-bridged nose and deep blue eyes that sparkled with a mix of innocence and genuine interest.
"I'm Karin," she said, extending a small, pale hand. "Karin Fete. I wanted to say thank you again. Seriously. If you hadn't caught me, I would have been a human pancake on the asphalt."
Leander looked at her hand for a moment before shaking it. Her grip was light, almost fragile. "Leander."
"So... Karin Fete," Leander said softly, his mind connecting the dots. "As in, the Fete Villa District that Mike was just bragging about?"
Karin winced, glancing around to make sure no one was listening as a girl named Tina started her speech at the front of the room. She leaned closer to Leander, whispering, "Yeah. My dad built the place. But please, don't tell anyone. He wants me to have a 'grounded' education. If Mike finds out, he'll never stop talking to me."
"Your secret is safe with me," Leander replied. He wasn't interested in high school drama or wealthy lineages, but there was something oddly sincere about her.
"Um, Leander?" Karin asked, tugging at the lapel of her own blazer. "Why is no one else wearing the uniform? I thought it was required."
Leander looked around the room. Most students were in hoodies, expensive sneakers, or trendy t-shirts. He was wearing a simple black jacket over a grey shirt. Karin was the only person in the entire room dressed in the full, formal school attire.
"Karin," Leander said, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. "Unless it's a graduation or a funeral, no one in a New York public high school wears the uniform. It's an unwritten rule. Even if the principal demands it, the students will ignore it until it becomes a suggestion."