![]() Needing to act like such a bitch all the time. ![]() I know from experience that if I give in and accept anyone's compassion, I'll have a stalker the next day. I push past them all, even the kindly ones who only want to help. Some even notice the red tear streaks on my cheeks. They tilt their heads down as I pass, trying to see my face under the curtain of my remaining hair, like they always do. I can make it the last block at a normal pace. I see my building and slow down to a walk. In seconds I've cut diagonally through the park and I'm at West 59th at the bottom of Central Park. I leapfrog over the pedestrians and the stone wall before their eyes can focus on me, and smack down on the packed earth of Central Park. I hurl myself over the bumper-to-bumper traffic, my arms and legs reaching and striding like I'm running on air before I touch down on the opposite sidewalk. I only have a few blocks to go from school to home. If I were to collide with humans at this speed I could kill them. ![]() There are too many people, and a collision is almost inevitable. Central Park West isn't the easiest place to navigate at Scion speed. I race through the empty hallways, vault over the metal detector at the entrance to the school, and I'm out on the streets. Luckily everyone is inside their classrooms and I don't cause a disturbance. ![]() I'm fast enough that no one can see me, although they would be able to feel the rush of air as I blow past them. ![]()
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