3 Chapter 3: Skeletons In the Closet/Mutants On the Third Floor....

Tap.... tap tap..... tap..... tap tap.....

The day had gone by as Bronte thought it would. Slowly. And as each class passed, the sky cleared until the sun was beaming through the windows of his classroom as if it were the middle of summer.

But it wasn't summer. Not yet. And he was only in his fourth class of the day. Ethics. He liked ethics. He liked thinking and discussing matters involving morality and how they play on events within the world. But he often fell short due to one reason. He didn't go outside. He made music all day as an underground artist with a fear of storms. There were just certain subjects he had no frame of reference on.

Subjects such as the one the class was currently discussing. Heroes.

He'd long since drowned out the room and all it's steady flowing chatter over the subject and settled with tapping a pen and pencil on his desk. The rhythm of the beat helped calm his nerves-- erased the thoughts of bloody-knuckled hooded women and raging storms. But unfortunately, it didn't make the class go by any quicker.

So, he stayed as he was. Tapping, creating, flowing. Slowly his feet gained movement, bouncing along with the beat of his pens. His head followed suit.

"--Onte...." A voice from the head of the small, white-walled classroom called out.

Bronte's mind was elsewhere. Focused on the beat. Even as all discussion died down and dozens of eyes became glued to him.

He continued for another handful of seconds, his wooden desk becoming his personal beat pad for the time being.

"Bronte Connors--" As the teacher-- Mr. Smith, called out to him, the rumble of thunder faintly shook the classroom. A bit odd considering there were no thunder clouds.

The class was unaffected. Bronte was back in the classroom. Metaphorically speaking.

Mr. Smith collected himself by tightening his black tie, "Bronte, you've been rather quiet in this class discussion...." He said while looking at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

Bronte looked around the room and adjusted his black and blue hoodie before replying, "Yea... my bad, Mr. Smith."

Mr. Smith shrugged as he ran a hand over his thick mustache, "It's not a problem, Bronte. All I ask is for your opinion on today's discussion-- considering how dire it is for the present and the future."

Bronte gulped loudly as his eyes looked to the board at the front of the classroom. The white lettering stood out on the green chalkboard like a storm cloud under the sun.

"Earth's Mightiest Heroes..... Not on Earth. Moral Obligation or Playing god?"

"Which side do you find yourself on, Bronte? I often enjoy your contrarian and out of the box takes on matters in this class. So tell us, do you think the Avengers have a moral obligation to save beings beyond earth. Or are they playing a role they have no right to?"

Bronte shrugged, feeling the eyes of the class on him. "Man..... isn't one of them like an actual god? What are we even talking about right now?"

A couple of students giggled. Mr. Smith narrowed his brows at him.

"Alright-- Let me be real.... let me think." Bronte admitted before he began twisting his pens in his hands as he thought on the matter.

"Well. With a name like Earth's Mightiest-- you'd think they'd stay on earth, right?" He suddenly said. Some of the students more engaged on the matter nodded in agreement before looking away. He could only assume they had similar takes.

"But at the same time....." The students who previously nodded had been drawn back in by the sudden change.

Mr. Smith smiled to himself as if he knew where Bronte was going.

"They're Heroes. They're not cops. They're not soldiers. They don't even work at the bodega on thirty-fourth. If I'm being honest..... I think Heroes follow the beat of their own drum. Maybe-- maybe it's exactly because they're Heroes that, that beat leads them to Mars..... or Titan or Skrullix- however you say it. Wherever they went this time. I think its that same beat that also leads them to the alley by Denny Moe's in Harlem or the sewers in Queens. It's whatever, man."

Mr. Smith's smile had only widened as he nodded along, "So, you think the Avengers had an obligation to save lives beyond earth?"

Bronte shrugged again as he ran a hand through his braids, "One of them can literally control lightning-- like come on. If their potential doesn't take them to the stars..... what does that say about us. We in a classroom right now, talking about them and if they should leave..... and they left months ago."

"So do you think having an opinion is pointless? Doesn't that mean you think they're above judgement for future events?" A student asked from the front of the glass. Her platinum-blonde hair framed her face and made the black eyeliner she wore pop as she looked at him.

Bronte shook his head, "Nah. I just think the question answered itself the day they left."

A couple students chuckled.

Mr. Smith nodded along, "Good question, Gwen. It tells me you were really considering Bronte's words."

"Thank you, Mr. Smith." Gwen replied before she turned to face Bronte again along with most of the other class.

Mr. Smith clapped his hands, "Alright, Bronte. So, you don't find yourself on either side of the argument..... because you don't think there's a side any of us can reasonably participate on?"

Bronte nodded, "I mean... I don't know about y'all. But I can't fly..... I can't stick to walls. I can't even walk a mile before I start getting lightheaded. And I know for sure I've never seen a baby alien crying or being slain by some wild space tyrant. So, I can't speak on it. I just make beats sometimes...--"

"Yea! Hurry up and drop some new shit!" One of the less interested students jokingly yelled from the back of the class causing a number of students to laugh outloud.

Before any punishment could be dished out by Mr. Smith, the class bell rung and sprung everyone into motion, heading straight for the door out of the room.

The sound of the desks sliding on the white tile floor fell on his ears harshly. So much so that he found himself holding his ears. That happened sometimes. Sensory magnification..... or whatever his mother called it. It was what attributed to his astraphobia.... in theory.

Either way, he shrugged it off as best he could and rose to his feet. Standing idly by next to his seat as the students rushed out of the classroom. Sometimes being the middle seat sucked. Royally.

He put on his backpack and headed for the door finally when the room cleared a bit more.

As he approached the front of the classroom, Mr. Smith looked up from his desk and spoke, "Great work today, Bronte. Even if you weren't present for the discussion for ninety percent of the class. Either way, I enjoyed your ideas today. Always very refreshing and reasonable. If not a little brash and comedic. It's good, seems to lighten up the students.... as you can see."

"Ahh-- you know I'm just talking." Bronte jokingly said as he waved off Mr. Smith's compliments.

"Good stuff nonetheless." Mr. Smith said.

"Preciate it, Mr. Smith." Bronte replied on his way out of the classroom while saluting the teacher with one of his drumsticks.

And then he was out into the wild.

The school halls were filled with students of all shapes and sizes, moving in a chaotic wave that shifted and changed shape as they passed hallways and staircases that led different batches of students to different areas of the building.

The noise was too much more often than not. So, Bronte shrugged on his headphones and let the music filter out the chaos.

As he bobbed and weaved through the crowd, he tapped on the walls and slid his drumsticks against the metal lockers to the beat of the sample playing in his ears.

"Tayyyyyy how's it going!" One of his classmates yelled out to him on their way to class.

"Chillin." Bronte replied as they bumped knuckles, all the while his head continued to bounce to the beat.

He had a few similar interactions along the way with various students until the steady high number of students faded and the sights of yellow caution tape, property damage, spiderwebs and flowers rose.....

The third floor.

As he walked down the impossibly long seeming hallway, no more than fifteen other students occupied the space in silence. Yellow caution tape blocked off the doors into a few classrooms. A number of lockers were dented violently, lined with slash marks or completely ripped from the walls, showing the stained and dirtied remains. There was even a giant hole in the ceiling in a few places.

He stood unmoving underneath one, struggling to imagine a student that once attended the high school could actually endure such a battle.

The Summer Midtown High Attack, it was named. It happened two years ago, back when Bronte was a freshman and not even near the third floor. A student was attacked by what they called a rogue Mutant. Some people gossiped that it was because the student and Mutant were family-- others thought the student himself was a Mutant. Bronte didn't know for sure. Much like anyone who wasn't involved.

But one thing he did know was many people speculated and even possibly figured out who the Rogue Mutant was based on discussions in online forums and social circles. They tried to hide it in the papers and teachers banned discussions. But, as Bronte walked down the halls and witnessed the damage, he couldn't help but think the name fit.

Sabertooth.

He wondered what such a normal and innocent looking kid could do to draw the attention of a giant locker-destroyer with a name like Sabertooth.

As he did so, he found himself reaching the end of the long hallway which stopped at a crossroads leading downstairs or upstairs. He needed to head downstairs to gym class. But sometimes, he'd stop and view the memorial.

It loomed overhead. A giant picture placed on the wall, bordered by white and yellow roses along with letters and smaller pictures. The student in the picture looked happy. He was on the football team-- a star player. And with his thick blonde hair, blue eyes and stylishly growing sideburns, he looked like something straight out of the movies. That only made the mystery stronger..... and sadder. At the bottom of the image all it said was his name and the years he attended.

"Jimmy Hudson, 2010-2013"