CHAPTER TWO: SCHOOL DAZE

  Monday morning hit Andres like a brick. Three days in a coma-like state had passed since his encounter with Marcel Baptiste and the discovery of his strange abilities, but he hadn't moved since getting home exhausted. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the shadows moving around him, whispering at the edges of his consciousness.

  He dragged himself through the front doors of Miami Senior High School, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The hallways were already crowded with students, their voices echoing off the metal lockers. Andres kept his head down, moving with practiced invisibility through the throng—a skill he'd perfected long before he could actually manipulate shadows.

  "Yo, Vega!"

  The voice made him freeze. Andres considered pretending he hadn't heard, but that never worked. Reluctantly, he turned to face Chad Thompson, the 220-pound linebacker whose favorite pastime was making Andres's life miserable.

  Chad swaggered toward him, flanked by two of his football teammates. At six-foot-two, he towered over Andres's slight frame. His letterman jacket—red and white, the Stingarees' colors—stretched across broad shoulders.

  "You got my homework?" Chad asked, loud enough for nearby students to hear. A few glanced over, then quickly looked away. Nobody wanted to be Chad's next target.

  "I didn't do it," Andres said quietly. After what had happened Friday night, doing Chad's algebra homework had been the last thing on his mind.

  Chad's smile disappeared. "What was that?"

  "I said I didn't do it." Andres knew he should back down, make up an excuse, promise to have it tomorrow. But something had changed inside him. The cold emptiness he'd felt when using his powers still lingered in his chest, like a shard of ice that refused to melt. It made him braver or stupider.

  "You deaf or something, come meirda?" Andres added, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I. Didn't. Do. It."

  The hallway seemed to go quiet. Chad's face darkened with rage, his cheeks flushing to match his jacket.

  "You've got a real death wish, don't you, Vega?" He stepped closer, backing Andres against the lockers. "Maybe I need to remind you how things work around here."

  Andres felt the familiar urge to escape, to disappear. For a split second, his awareness shifted to the shadows beneath the nearby stairwell, and he felt the pull—the possibility of slipping away. But not here. Not with dozens of witnesses.

  Instead, he swallowed his fear and held Chad's gaze.

  "Mr. Thompson!" The sharp voice of Mrs. Delgado, the assistant principal, "What's the problem here?"

  Chad stepped back instantly, his threatening posture dissolving into exaggerated innocence. "No ma'am. Just talking to my buddy Andres about our algebra study group."

  Mrs. Delgado's eyes narrowed behind her horn-rimmed glasses. "Well, 'talk' somewhere else. The bell rings in two minutes."

  "Yes, ma'am," Chad said with a smile that vanished the moment she turned away. He leaned in close to Andres and whispered, "Gym class. After lunch. You're dead meat, asshole."

  As Chad and his cronies strutted away, Andres slumped against the lockers, adrenaline draining from his system. The shadows around him seemed to pulse sympathetically, responding to his emotions.

  "You okay?"

  Andres turned to see Elena Diaz watching him with concern. They'd been neighbors since elementary school, but in high school, their paths had diverged. She'd joined the debate team and student council, while Andres had faded into the background.

  "I'm fine," he said automatically.

  "Chads such a pendejo," she said, shaking her head. Her dark curls bounced with the movement. "You should report him."

  Andres laughed bitterly. "Right. Because that worked so well for Miguel last year." Everyone remembered how Miguel Fuentes had reported Chad for harassment, only to have his gym clothes stolen and his locker filled with rotting fish every day that week. The school administration had done nothing.

  "You can't just let him push you around forever," Elena insisted.

  "Don't worry about it," Andres said, suddenly uncomfortable with her attention. "I can handle Chad."

  The warning bell rang, saving him from further conversation. Elena gave him one more worried look before joining the stream of students hurrying to class.

  Andres lingered for a moment, watching her go. Then his gaze drifted to the shadows cast by the stairwell, and a slow smile spread across his face.

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  He knew he couldn't confront Chad head-on right now. But now he knew there was a better way he could get back at Chad.

  ---

  The morning crawled by. Andres sat through English and History in a daze, his mind repeatedly drifting back to Friday night. Had it been real? Could he really jump through shadows and make stuff with darkness?

  During the third period, Chemistry, while Mr. Benson droned on about covalent bonds, Andres cautiously extended his awareness toward the deep shadow beneath his desk. He felt it respond, rippling slightly like the surface of a pond. When he glanced down, a small tendril of darkness stretched upward, reaching for his hand.

  The girl next to him gasped. Andres quickly broke the connection, and the shadow returned to normal. He spent the rest of the class staring rigidly ahead, heart hammering in his chest.

  It wasn't a dream or a hallucination. The power was still there, waiting for Andres to use it.

  By lunchtime, a simple plan had started to come together. It could be a bit tricky, but the cold, empty shard in his chest urged Andres on. He sat alone in the cafeteria, picking at his cardboard pizza while mentally mapping the gymnasium and the deep shadows. The Lunch Bell rings, time for 4th period.

  ---

  Gym class was held in the ancient basketball court and track field at the back of the school. The Miami sun filtered through high, dusty windows, casting long columns of light amid deeper pools of shadow. Perfect.

  Andres changed quickly in the locker room, keeping his eyes down as Chad and his friends entered. Their loud boasting and laughter grated against his nerves, but he forced himself to remain calm.

  Coach Rivera blew his whistle, summoning them to the gym floor.

  "Today's dodgeball," he announced. "Thompson, Jefferson, you're team captains. Pick your teams."

  The selection process was painfully predictable. Chad's team was filled with all his jock buddies, while Andres ended up with the creative kids and band kids, chess club members, and anyone else deemed unworthy by the social hierarchy of Miami High.

  As the game began, Andres positioned himself at the back of his team's side, away from the initial barrage of rubber balls. He wasn't trying to win—he was waiting for his moment.

  It came ten minutes into the game. Most of Andres's team had been eliminated, leaving him exposed. Chad, still in the game as always, spotted him and grinned predatorily.

  "You're mine, Vega!" he shouted, hefting a red dodgeball.

  Andres stood his ground, focusing not on Chad but on the deep shadow beside the bleachers, just behind where Chad stood. He reached out with his mind, molding the darkness as he had on Friday night. This time, the connection came easier, like flexing a muscle he'd just discovered.

  The shadow began to move, creeping silently across the floor until it positioned itself directly under Chad's feet. As Chad wound up for his throw, Andres gave a mental pull.

  The shadow quickly stuck outward, wrapping an almost invisible tendril around Chad's ankles.

  Chad lurched forward, suddenly off-balance. The ball left his hand at the wrong angle, sailing high into the ceiling lights instead of at Andres. At the exact moment, Chad's feet seemed to slip out from under him. He crashed to the hardwood floor with a spectacular thud that echoed through the gym.

  The entire class froze, then erupted in laughter.

  "Smooth move, Thompson!" someone called out.

  Chad quickly scrambled to his feet, his face purple with rage and embarrassment. He stared at the floor, then at his shoes, clearly confused about what had happened.

  Andres felt a momentary twinge of fatigue, but nothing like the exhaustion he'd experienced after shadow-jumping. This minor manipulation barely taxed him at all.

  Emboldened, he reached for another shadow, this one cast by the basketball hoop's support pole. As Chad bent down to grab another ball, the shadow stretched and twisted, coalescing into something small and dark that scuttled across the floor.

  When Chad straightened up, the shadow-creature darted between his legs. Chad yelped in surprise, jumping backward—directly into the path of a ball thrown by one of his own teammates. It hit him square in the face.

  The gym erupted again, and students doubled over with laughter. Even Coach Rivera struggled to maintain a straight face.

  "What the hell was that?" Chad shouted, spinning around. "Something ran between my legs!"

  "Sure, Thompson," Coach Rivera said skeptically. "Maybe lay off the horror movies, huh? You're out. Hit the showers."

  As Chad stormed off the court, he shot a venomous look at Andres—who met his gaze with an innocent smile, despite the exhilaration coursing through him.

  For the first time since entering high school, Andres felt powerful.

  ---

  When the final bell rang at 3:15, Andres moved quickly. He knew Chad would be looking for him, fury compounded by the dodgeball humiliation. Instead of heading to his locker, Andres ducked into the bathroom near the science labs—the one furthest from the school exit.

  He locked himself in a stall and waited until the hallway sounds faded. When silence settled over the school, he reopened his connection to the shadows.

  This time, he created a small automaton—not much more than a blob of darkness with crude spider-like limbs, but enough to serve as his scout. He sent it skittering under the stall door and out into the hallway, mentally directing it toward the main entrance.

  Through his shadow-spy's perception, Andres saw Chad and two of his friends loitering by the front doors, scanning every departing student. They were waiting for him.

  Andres smiled grimly. Now for the tricky part.

  He focused on the deepest shadow he could sense through his automaton's vision—a dark corner beneath the main stairwell, well out of sight of Chad's ambush. The distance was considerable, much further than he'd attempted on Friday night.

  Drawing a deep breath, Andres grabbed for the distant shadow with his mind. The pull came immediately, even stronger than before; it was like the darkness recognized his touch. The world compressed around him, that same needle-eye sensation squeezing the air from his lungs—

  —and he emerged gasping beneath the stairwell, legs buckling beneath him as the cold emptiness flooded his chest. This jump had cost him more than the shorter ones, draining his energy substantially. He leaned against the wall, waiting for his strength to return.

  When he could stand without shaking, Andres peered cautiously around the corner. Chad and his friends were still watching the doors, unaware that their quarry had already slipped past them.

  A sense of power, of invincibility, surged through Andres. With these abilities, no one could hurt him anymore—not Chad, not Marcel Baptiste, not anyone.

  He slipped out a side exit, stepping into the warm Miami afternoon. The shadows around him seemed to deepen as he passed, acknowledging their new friend. School was no longer a prison, and bullies no longer his wardens.

  Tomorrow would be different. Everything would be different now.

  As Andres walked home, the shadows followed him like playful pets, eager to serve their young master. And in his mind, plans began to form—not just for payback against Chad, but for something bigger.

  Much bigger