ScreamingMimi

The man met you at the airport. As you came through security from the gate, you saw him: he was large, ebony-skinned, and dressed in a charcoal-grey suit. He held a small placard in his hands; across the top, in printed letters, it read Saint Joseph School. Across the bottom, hand-written with a dry erase marker, was your name.

The man bent at the waist when he shook your hand. He did not smile, but his eyes were bright, friendly—almost warm. “Welcome to Paragon City,” he said, and his voice was very deep. He took your bag from your hand. He carried it as though it weighed nothing at all. “My name is Paul,” the man continued, “but you can call me Train.”

You nodded and tried not to be afraid.

“Do you got any other bags?” Train asked.

“No,” you replied quietly.

Train smiled. “Traveling light. I like that.”

You shook your head a little. “I have a trunk, but its coming UPS.”

Train nodded. “Okay, then. We got a car waiting outside.”

Train offered you his hand, but you did not take it. You were twelve years old, and far too big to be holding hands.

Saint Joseph School has students from all over the world. Maybe you came from New Zealand, maybe you came from California, maybe you just came across town. Wherever your character came from, please understand that no one arrives at the school completely anonymously. Students are met when arrive in Paragon, or perhaps even picked up at their houses, by members of the faculty or the alumni association.

Some students come to Saint Joe’s from more unusual backgrounds: aliens, extra-dimensional beings, even science experiments gone awry. Most of these students are referred to Saint Joseph School by groups like SERAPH or MAGI, and these organizations have strong ties to the school.

During the drive, Train tried hard to get you to talk about yourself. You didn’t feel much like talking, so the conversation was mainly one-sided, and Train told you all about growing up in Chicago. He had a big family, and he was the second-youngest of the four brothers and three sisters. His oldest brother used to wrestle all the other brothers at once, and he always won.

“Well,” he said with a faint smile, “at least until I turned thirteen.”

That caught your attention. Something in the way he said it, or maybe the subtle sadness in his smile. He was different, just like you.

You swallowed hard, but asked, “what can you do?”

Train gave you a sidelong glance, and for a moment, you thought you might have angered him. But his faint smile remained as he said, “once I get going, I’m very hard to stop.”

His answer didn’t make much sense. “When you get going how? Like, talking?”

Train laughed, a deep, friendly sound. “I guess I do jabber on,” he said. “But no. When I’m moving, or running. I build up an unusual amount of momentum.” He glanced down at you, and his voice changed a little when he asked, “you know that word? Momentum?” He sounded suddenly like a teacher.

You nodded. “And that’s why they call you Train?” You asked.

“And that’s why they call me Train,” he replied.

You thought about that for a while as the sedan sped across the highway, exited, and cloverleafed onto residential streets. You had only met a few others with powers. You’d read about the famous ones, and seen them on TV. But you’d never been this close to another super-powered person, and certainly never for this long.

Finally, the question that burned in your mind slipped past your tongue. “Did you ever use to be a superhero?”

Train looked a little surprised, but nodded. “For a while.”

“Did you ever catch any real bad guys?”

Train chuckled a bit. “Once or twice, yeah.”

You bit your lip, and breathed in deeply. “Did you ever… hurt anyone?”

You expected Train to say nothing, or ask why you would ever ask such a thing. Instead, he looked down at you and said softly, “yeah. When I was fourteen, I hurt my brother real bad.”

You looked into Train’s eyes, and saw a deep hurt there. You recognized that look. You saw it every day in the mirror. “Me too.”

Train nodded, and it wasn’t just acknowledgment that you had spoken. You saw that he understood. For a moment, it seemed he was just like you.

Many Saint Joseph students come from troubled homes and backgrounds. Most young heroes do not inherently know how to control their powers, and often, that can lead to tragedy. While this may not be the focus of every character at Saint Joe’s, adjustment issues in general are often central to the characters here.

Coming of age in a super-powered world brings its own unique challenges. With role models like Statesman or Mynx, many students aspire to greatness. Other students wish for nothing more than to lead quiet, normal lives. At the same time, students at Saint Joe’s are clearly aware that they are different from other kids, and can feel isolated from the rest of their generation. That is one of the missions of Saint Joseph School: to give these special young people a place to grow in a positive fashion.

The sedan slowed, and on the left, a large wrought-iron fence, maybe ten feet high, separated the street from a vast expanse of grass and trees. The fence was supported by brick columns at regular intervals. At first, it looked like a park, or a memorial gardens. But a few buildings were scattered in the distance, and you could see the spire of a church above the treeline.

“We’re here,” Train said.

The car turned onto a driveway, flanked by massive iron gates. A big bronze plaque was set into one of the brick columns that supported the gates. It read Saint Joseph School, Est. 1912. Your chest felt suddenly tight.

The sedan started up the drive, and across the groomed lawns, you could make out goalposts. What seemed like dozens of figures moved to and fro between them, flashes of blue and white. Strangely, you could see another figure seemingly suspended in midair, above the field. Beyond the field, a semicircular building stood, made of glass and steel. It looked large enough to have a stadium inside.

Directly ahead was a long, three-storied brick and stone edifice. It had high shingled roofs and thin, medieval looking windows. A few distant figures stood and sat on the steps leading up to the main doors. You recognized the building from the brochure, still folded in your pocket. It was the main school building.

To the right of and slightly behind the main building, the chapel was more visible now. It reminded you of a much smaller version of National Cathedral; your old school had sponsored a trip to Washington DC last Spring. Near the chapel, another ornate stone and brick building was nestled back among the trees. A high wall seemed to completely surround it. A long, roofed walkway led from the walled-in building to the side of the chapel nearby.

You pointed. “What’s that?”

Train looked over and said, “that’s the residence. It’s where most of the nuns live.”

You frowned at the high wall. “It looks like a prison.”

Train chuckled. “It is, sorta.” You turned to him, confused, and he explained. “It’s a convent. The whole place used to be a convent, but when they opened the school, they built the residence. The nuns who live there don’t have much to do with the outside. A lot of them never leave the residence’s grounds except for mass.”

You frowned. “Will I have to go to mass?”

Train shook his head. “Not unless you want to.”

With a twinge of guilt, you felt glad. You weren’t sure you ever wanted to go to church again.

The School itself sits in one of the nebulous side-zones of Paragon City, the type that you go to a “train mission” for. It has expansive, manicured grounds and several buildings. A few of the buildings date all the way back to the turn of the twentieth century, but most are much more modern. During the Rikti invasion, the campus was damaged, including the collapse of part of the main building. It has since been rebuilt, and new buildings have been erected on the property to continue to help meet the needs of the student body.

Though Saint Joseph School and the surrounding property are owned by the Church for tax purposes, students are neither required to attend services nor convert to Catholicism. The nuns of the Order of Cupertino stay largely within their convent, but for those students who need spiritual guidance, the school has a regular mass and scheduled religious retreats.

The car pulled to the front of the main building, following the teardrop-shaped drive that curved around a raised circular garden. At the center of the flowering plants and shrubs rose a large stone statue of a man, dressed in robes. He held a large cross, carved of real wood and set into the stone figure’s hands. The figure was leaning forward, almost falling, but the posture showed no awkwardness or fear. Only one of his feet was touching the ground, the other drawn up, as if he were ready to leap off his pedestal. You recognized the statue from the brochure as well: Saint Joseph of Cupertino, the flying friar.

Train shut off the engine and stepped from the car. As he made his way to the trunk to get your bag, you looked at the faces of the few other students on the steps. They regarded you curiously, and talked among themselves. You couldn’t help staring at one of them: a young girl with long, curving antennae that poked up through her forest-green hair. She saw you staring, and for a moment, your eyes locked on each other. Then the girl screwed up her face and stuck her tongue out at you. You were shocked at first, then found the gesture strangely comforting, letting you know that kids here were just like kids back home. Well, maybe not just like them.

The massive wooden doors swung open, and two women started down the steps towards the passenger door. One was dressed in the traditional black and white habit of a nun, and her presence scattered the students on the steps. The other wore a suit jacket and a matching skirt. She was very lovely, like a model or an actress, with a slender build and smooth skin the color of cocoa. You thought she looked a little like Halle Berry. As she reached the car, you opened the door and stepped out onto the gravel driveway.

The woman in the jacket extended a gloved hand to you and smiled warmly. “I’m Janine Sinclair,” the woman said. She shook your hand gently, but it felt strange to shake a gloved hand this early in the autumn. “You may call me Gemini, if you like.” You realized you might have to get used to that: people telling you two names, and letting you pick. You wondered if maybe you would get a second name. The woman continued. “I’m the admissions director. This is Sister Mary Constance. She works in the office with me.”

You nodded, and looked to Train uncertainly. He caught your eye and smiled a little. He stepped back from the trunk with your bag, shut it, and stood beside you. “Sister,” he said respectfully, nodding. The nun smiled. Train turned to Gemini. “No problems. We got a trunk coming by mail.”

Gemini smiled. “Well then,” she said, and made a sweeping gesture to the wooden doors. “Let’s get you set up.”

No school, no matter how super, can guarantee that all its students are going to get along, or even be on friendly terms. Saint Joe’s has bullies, nerds, jocks and loners, just like any other large group of young people. Though they may come together when the chips are down in a Rikti attack, it may not be the case when the crisis has passed. They still play pranks, circulate rumors, and hold spots at the lunch tables.

Many the students at Saint Joseph School will eventually take on a heroic moniker. Most members of the staff were at one point heroes themselves, and they are well used to being called by their alias. The administration long ago realized that this transition was a healthy one for the students: many of them leave behind their old lives to start new ones at Saint Joe’s, and sometimes, taking on a new name can be a part of the process of rebuilding their identity in the city of heroes.

Passing through the office, you saw a woman who was obviously Gemini’s twin sister, talking on the phone. She even wore the same suit jacket. She smiled at you when you followed Gemini, Train, and Mary Constance into the office. Another woman was knelt down, looking through the lowest drawer of a huge filing cabinet. She too wore the same jacket and skirt. You thought perhaps it was part of the staff dress code, until the woman looked up as you passed.

Identical triplets?

Sister Mary Constance walked behind the desk as Gemini opened one of the office doors and stepped aside. Train was right behind you as you entered.

Gemini’s identical quadruplet sat behind the desk in the room beyond. She was shuffling some papers around, and a stack of file folders sat high in a bin on the desk. She looked up as the door opened. You couldn’t help but stare: no one at home would ever believe you’d met identical quadruplets.

“Did we miss anything?” Gemini said as she closed the door behind her.

The quadruplet rose from behind the desk, smiling. “Nothing of consequence,” she said, removing one of her gloves. “Doctor Conrads is on his way in.”

“Well, we were only gone a moment.” Gemini walked to her sister and slipped her glove off as well. For a moment, you thought they would embrace, but instead, they touched their bare palms together. Inexplicably, the two women shimmered for a moment, and then only one woman remained. She stood still for a moment, as if gathering her bearings. Then her smile returned, and she sat. She gestured to the chairs that sat facing her desk. “Please,” she said, and you sat, still dumbfounded. Train remained on his feet.

The question was obvious, but you asked it anyway. “Is that… what you do?”

Gemini nodded. Train said from behind you, “That’s not the half of it.”

You craned your neck to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Train folded his hands and his voice was full of admiration. “Gemini can also absorb and duplicate other people’s powers. So can her twins. She’s a one-woman army.”

You looked at Gemini wide-eyed. “Did you go to school here, too?”

Gemini looked a little sad, and Train made a quiet noise. “No,” Gemini said. “I went to school… somewhere else.”

Janine Sinclair and Mary Constance are the only staff the admissions office has, and even Mary Constance is at times superfluous. Gemini and her twins handle most of the day-to-day operations and do most of the recruiting for the school. Some of her twins travel across the country, seeking out young people who need Saint Joe’s. It’s very likely that Gemini was your first point of contact with Saint Joe’s, and if not, it’s a certainty she has spoken a few times with your parents, social worker, or legal guardian. She is focused in her work, dedicated to the purpose, for a simple reason: she did not have the benefit of Saint Joe’s when she was a child, and maybe if had, things would have turned out different. Janine went to school in the Rogue Isles, at the vaunted Bloodvine Academy, and it was there she honed her powerful abilities.

Gemini smiled again and turned to you. “I think you should have an envelope for me?”

You nodded, and unzipped the side pocket of your bag which Train had set by your chair. Inside was a thick legal-sized white envelope. You pulled it from the bag, and zippered the pocket closed again before handing the envelope across Gemini’s desk.

Gemini took a letter opener from her desk drawer and sliced the flap of the envelope open. She withdrew an assortment of forms and documents and set them down in front of her.

You recognized those papers from home: they were on the kitchen table while your parents had argued over them for the last few days before your departure. You had sat in your room, listening to them shout at one another. Your father was angry with your mother because she wouldn’t sign them, and you cried, powerless. You were still unsure what all the papers said, though you had heard the words liability waiver and legal custodian several times.

Gemini finished leafing through the papers, and then withdrew one of the forms from the stack. She turned the paper and slid it across the desk towards you. “Okay, we’re all set. I just need you to sign your name right there at the bottom.” She offered you a pen.
You reached forward with a trembling hand and took the pen from her gloved fingers.

The administration learned long ago that the students of Saint Joseph School were going to get into trouble. The pressure to use their power was too great, the needs of the city of heroes too enticing to ignore. Particularly after the Rikti invasion, the school’s students were called upon more and more by the various heroic factions of Paragon City. And when they acted, they were going to get hurt, and somehow, the school had to be protected. Through legal minutia not worth elaborating on, Saint Joseph School shields itself from legal action by the families of its students. Students without families are sometimes taken under the legal custody of the Church as foster-children or as wards of the state.

Doctor Conrads didn’t look much like a doctor. He looked smart, sure, but frazzled, too, not the calm, severe demeanor you’d come to expect from doctors. He stepped into the office with another of Gemini’s twins, and again, you found yourself staring when the sisters recombined. At least Gemini did not seem to mind.

Conrads offered you his hand. “I’m Doctor David Conrads,” he said with a thin-lipped smile.

You nodded. “But I can call you...?”

Conrads frowned a little, and seemed confused. “You can call me Mister Conrads or Doctor Conrads, I suppose? Some students call me David, but I really don’t care for it.”

You felt embarrassed, but Train laughed out loud.

Gemini cleared her throat. “Doctor Conrads is one of our guidance staff,” she explained. “You’ll be meeting with either him or Ms. Atwood in the next few days, and then once or twice a semester.”

Your frown elicited Conrads to speak. “Everything you talk about with us is confidential. But it’s important that students here be able to talk really freely about their experiences. I’m sure you already know how difficult it can be, once your powers manifest.”

You nodded without meaning to.

“Is Valerie coming?” Gemini asked Conrads.

The doctor looked at his watch. “I think it’s safe to say she’ll meet us there,” he replied.
“Meet us where?” you asked.

Gemini smiled as she rose from her seat. “We’re going to take a little stroll across campus,” she said as a duplicate shimmered into existence next to her, touching palms. Gemini walked towards the door as the twin sat back down and drew her glove back on. Oddly, it was the twin who finished the sentence: “and once we get over to the Athletic Center, you can show us what you can do.”

Your blood ran cold as you were ushered out of the office.

The guidance staff at Saint Joe’s certainly have their hands full. With an average of 300 students at any given time, David Conrads and Valerie Atwood see at least three students a day, every day, five days a week just to be able to rotate through the entire student body twice each half. Some students require more attention than two visits a semester, either because they are having trouble adjusting or because of genuine mental stress or depression. Normally, they schedule their routine sessions for the morning, and schedule their special meetings for the afternoon. Conrads is an empath who can sense the fluctuating emotions of the students. Valerie is a psychic, drawing insight from the pictures and doodles that she unconsciously draws as she sits in session. Between them, they have a good feel for the pulse of Saint Joseph School’s community.

The dread of what was coming seemed to drown out everything else. You followed Gemini, Train, and Dr. Conrads as you crossed the campus. You listened as Gemini talked and pointed, but you did not hear her, not really. Bits and pieces got through.
There was the Chapel. The memorial tree. The mathmatics, engineering, and computing center, which she said the students called “mecca.” She said it like it was supposed to be funny, but it wasn’t. This was the quad. The dorms.

There seemed to be kids everywhere, both in and out of uniform. Some read beneath the trees or on the stone benches near the Chapel. A green-skinned girl was playing Frisbee with a huge, square-shouldered blond schoolboy. A girl flew overhead, carrying books. A young man, moving at blinding speeds, was playing hacky-sack with himself.

Gemini just kept on talking. You weren’t even sure what about anymore. “After the War Walls went up, things got much quieter, which was when it was rebuilt with more modern conveniences. And just down this way, the Athletic Center.”

Those words got through: Athletic Center. That was where they were going to make you use your powers. You looked up, and saw the large semi-circular glass and steel building beyond the fields. The fields were empty now. Whatever was going on there when you had first arrived was over. The building loomed large and devoid of humanity. You had thought it looked pretty before, shining in the sun, but now it had lost its charm.

Dr. Conrads put a hand on your shoulder and it startled you. His face looked as though he was deeply concerned. “There really isn’t anything to be afraid of. I’m sure this all seems very menacing and new, but you really will get used to it.”

You felt simultaneously comforted by his words, and perplexed that he had thought to say them.

As you approached the building, a grizzled man in a grey sweatshirt and dark blue shorts stepped outside and removed his baseball cap, wiping at his brow with his forearm. His sweatshirt read Property of Saint Joseph School Athletics Dept. and had the same symbol that you had seen on the students’ uniforms. Looking up as you drew near, he put the cap back on his head. “Well, well, well,” he said in a commanding voice, “Train, best running back I ever had! Long time no see.”

Train smiled and stepped towards the older man. “Coach,” he said, and embraced him.

The coach shrunk away from the hug. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, and his awkwardness in the face of Train’s affection reminded you of home, for a moment. The coach turned and looked at you, surveying you. “This the new munchkin?” He asked Gemini. It occurred to you that this was the first person you’d met here who had not introduced himself.

Gemini nodded. “Are we all set inside?” She asked.

“Yes ma’am,” the coach replied, and held the door for you.

Saint Joseph School does not always follow a conventional daily school schedule. Students in grades 7 through 9 are required to attend classes in a traditional way, starting at 8 in the morning and ending at 3:30 in the afternoon, with a break for lunch in the cafeteria. However, starting in the 10th grade, the students of Saint Joe’s are given much more freedom. Their classes are scheduled along a more collegiate style, with students of different grades meeting together for lectures and labs that are held on weekly schedules. Their lunchtime is not scheduled anymore, and they are free to leave campus for meals. In order to meet the curriculum needs as framed by the No Child Left Behind Act, Saint Joseph School holds classes year-round. That way, the students of Saint Joseph School can serve the needs of Paragon City and still graduate in a timely fashion.

The room was large and heavily built: it looked like a bomb shelter. Gemini, Train, and Dr Conrads sat at a table, where they were joined by a blonde woman who introduced herself as Ms Atwood. They talked quietly among themselves and made notes on clipboards laid out on the table. The coach stood apart, watching you closely, making you feel very small.

Two other adults, dressed in lab-coats, moved efficiently between a cart of electronics and the bundles of cables that led from it, checking connections and adjusting knobs. The cables were attached to mannequin-shaped targets, set out in a pattern across the floor. It reminded you uncomfortably of a shooting gallery, or an obstacle course. One of the technicians walked over to you and knelt down in front of you. She held out a small, round device about the size of your fist, but thin, like a credit card. Lights played about on its surface.

“This is a med-badge,” she said, attaching the device to your jacket. “It will monitor your vital signs and let us know if anything is wrong. Do you understand?”

You nodded vaguely.

Once the badge was in place, the technician gave the thumbs-up to the assembled faculty and your heart leapt in your chest. You heard the device respond with a soft tone.

Gemini nodded to you, signaling for you to begin.

You moved through the targets, channeling your power. The technicians called out numbers and figures, and Gemini and the others took notes. The coach just kept on watching you, and the butterflies in your stomach grew stronger. The mannequins reverberated and shook from the impact of your attacks. You finished your movements through the pattern of targets and stood quietly.

Dr Conrads was frowning with concern. He gestured to something on his clipboard, then looked up at you. “You’re really holding back,” he said, and you wondered how he knew. “You can really go for it on these mannequins, so feel free to really show us what you can do.”

You didn’t know that you had spoken until you heard your own voice. “No,” you said.
The coach made a dismissive noise and looked away, but Gemini ignored him and spoke encouragingly. “Unless you show us what you can do, where your limits are, it will be very difficult for us to help you develop.”

You shook your head a little. You thought back to the day you lost your temper. To the day you hurt your friend. You felt panic rise in you, and Dr Conrads put a hand to his temple. He spoke quietly to the others at the table, and they nodded. Train rose from the table and walked over to you. Just like at the airport, he bent at the waist and looked right into your eyes.

“You’re worried about hurting someone,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “It’s what happened last time,” you said quietly.

Train smiled softly, keeping his eyes on yours. “I know. But you got to be brave. You have to do this. No one is going to get hurt. You got to be brave, okay?”

He understood. He knew. You wiped at your eyes and nodded a little. Train stood upright again and stepped away.

You moved to the nearest target again and your power surged through you. You felt your eyes well up with tears, but still you focused on that target. Your mind drifted back to that day five weeks ago, the day it happened. You thought about that day, the other kids laughing. Even your friend laughed when someone called you a dirty word. Anger clouded your mind.

You were only vaguely aware that the instruments on the cart were wailing, the technicians calling out ever-increasing numbers. From the corner of your eye, you saw Gemini stand from the table.

The kids had laughed and called you freak. They taunted you, even as you cried. Your friend had laughed. Their malicious, smiling faces surrounded you. You had to get away, but they hemmed you in. You had to get away.

Gemini was shouting something. The coach was moving towards you, hand extended, eyes narrowed. He was sweating with silent effort.

The kids moved closer, the circle getting tighter. One of them shoved you, another said something nasty about your parents. You searched their faces, looking for a way out. But they blocked your path. You had to get away. Your friend’s face twisted from a mocking smile to a mask of confusion when you moved towards him. You had to get away.

The coach was still coming towards you. He was shouting at you, calling your name. As he neared, you felt something in him oppose you, sap everything from you. Your power flared a final time, then died away, somehow completely absorbed by him, suppressed by him. You fell to your knees and cried. You felt someone wrap his arms around you, and you looked up into the face of the coach. For the first time, he seemed concerned, his air of distance replaced by a genuine expression of affection.

“You’re okay, kid,” he said, lifting you tenderly to your feet. “You’re going to be just fine.”

As he led you away, you glanced back at the room. Gemini and Conrads were talking. The technicians were scurrying about, bringing the systems back under control. Train was following behind you, smiling softly, proud and sad at the same time. Beyond, the room was filled with flares of light.

The target was broken from its base, sending a shower of sparks flying into the air.

Every student at Saint Joseph School is taught about their power. Under certain controlled conditions, each student is evaluated to help place them with the faculty that can help them. For some students, this means attending Applied Energy Dynamics in a class of twenty, twice a week. For others, it means one-on-one counseling with a staff member or alumni.

Not all the students of Saint Joe’s will use their abilities to take to the streets and fight crime. For some of them, learning how to control and harness their powers is just a challenge to allow them to lead lives of greater normalcy. As player characters, you will be among those students that do venture forth into Paragon City to live a life of danger. However, many of the non-player characters of Saint Joe’s lead more reserved lives, incorporating their powers into their plans for college, career, or family. Saint Joseph School draws no differentiation between the two groups: the mission of the school is to educate its students in both their powers and in curriculum subjects, and leaves the decision of how to use that knowledge to the students themselves.

You were still crying even after the coach had walked you back outside. He had tried his best to soothe you, and now he didn’t seem so mean. But you would not be soothed. So he left you beside the field and went back into the Athletic Center after exchanging a few parting words with Train.

You half-sat, half-collapsed down onto the grass and wiped your face. Train sat down beside you. You could tell he wanted to say something, but he held it in. He watched you as you plucked a blade of grass from the field and tossed it into the wind. Up the slope, you saw the main school building and the dorms, and you could hear the kids still playing on the quad. But they were far away.

After a while, you said, “I hate it here.”

Train sighed. “I think I said the same thing, my first day,” he said, and he chuckled just a little.

“I mean it,” you insisted.

“No you don’t,” Train replied. He said it like he knew something you didn’t.

“They didn’t have to make me do that,” you said, tears welling up in your eyes again.

Train replied softly, “Yeah, they did.”

“Why?” You demanded, ripping out a fistful of grass for emphasis. You stared at Train for an answer.

Train spread his hands and looked down at them. He had big, powerful hands. “Saint Joseph School is special, just like you’re special. You can’t just get taught reading and math anymore. You have to get taught about your powers. And just like you take a spelling test to see how much you know, this is a test to see how much you can do.”

You thought for a moment, until anger welled up inside again. “They made me go too far,” you resolved, and you felt fresh tears roll down your cheeks. “They shouldn’t have made me go that far.” You couldn’t help thinking about that day when you hurt your friend.

Train leaned down a little and caught your eyes. “Everyone gets taken too far the first time,” he said matter-of-factly. There was something in his eyes, a sadness, like before. “And you’ll get taken there again when you’ve had practice. And soon, it won’t be too far anymore. Soon, you’ll be able to do things you never imagined without losing control.”

You didn’t even want to think about that, so you asked, “What was it like when you did it?”

Train’s eyes lightened a little. “I could barely move anymore when I first came. I had to get strapped into a wheelchair, cause if I moved, I kept moving. I’d reach for a book and I’d knock the whole shelf over. I couldn’t control my own momentum.”

You sat, wide-eyed, trying to imagine what it would be like to start moving and not be able to stop. “What happened?”

Train held out his hands in front of him, and slowly balled his hands into fists. He smiled proudly. “They taught, and I learned. Took a while, and a lot of help from coach, but within a few weeks I could walk again, make little movements. Running took a few months. Sometimes I still got to watch it,” he chuckled. “But by the beginning of Senior year, I was playing varsity football.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Train looked at you and frowned. You continued, “I mean, what happened your first day?”

Train laughed and pointed to a cluster of trees, further down the hill. “See those trees? I went straight through the wall, and I got all the way down there before coach caught up to me and slowed me down.”

You giggled a little. You couldn’t help it.

Train smiled warmly. “You got to give them a chance,” he said. “They’ll help you. They will. Before you know it, you’ll be giving some new kid the same talk I’m giving you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, maybe when I’m old.”

Train looked surprised. “What? How old do you think I am?”

“I dunno,” you said. “Old, like thirty or something.”

Train looked at you reproachfully as he got to his feet. “Thirty? Shoot. I’m only nineteen.”

You shrugged. “Whatever. You’re old.”

Train laughed again. “Okay, whatever you say,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, unless you’re really going to walk back to the airport, I think we better get a move on.”

You blushed a little as you got on your feet. Train was right. You couldn’t go home without learning how to control what you could do. You fell into line with him as the two of your started back up the slope towards the main building. “What else do I have to do?”

“Well, first, we got to get your bag back from Gemini,” he said, and you were glad he didn’t say anything more about the airport. “Then, we got to get you settled into a dorm, let you meet your roommates. And then—well, then you’re on your own.” He winked, like there was a private joke there, but you didn’t get it.

“What about you? Aren’t you coming?”

Train looked at you sidelong. “Me? No way,” he said, still smiling. “You think I got all week to show you around? I got things to do. I have to be back at college on Monday.”

You smiled, but inside you were a little afraid. Train was your first friend here, and he was already leaving. You weren’t sure what to do, how to even start to make new friends in a place like this. The school was big, and far away from everything you knew. You hadn’t even realized you had stopped walking. Train took a few more steps, then turned around and looked at you. He gave you a worried look and took a step back towards you.

Train offered you his hand, and this time you took it. You were twelve years old, and far to big to be holding hands, but it made you feel better all the same.

Welcome to Saint Joseph School.

I originally wrote this as a kind of introduction for new members of Saint Joseph School, to help them get an idea of what things were like.

It got a very positive response, and a few long-time SJS'ers thought maybe I should post it here.

So I am.

I hope you like it.