You and your best friend have very potent regeneration, and spend many of your days trying to ‘kill’ each other in more and more ludicrous and unexpected ways for fun.
I almost don’t recognize her when I spot her across the hall amid the sizeable crowd of recent graduates during the Ability Ceremony. There’s hundreds of noisy eighteen to twenty year olds clustered in the heavily air conditioned building that still smells of sweat, and yet I somehow manage to pick her out.
She used to tower over me, and now I have a good inch on her. She’s cut her hair, too, I notice. The same dark brown now trimmed messily to her ears, parted to the side. It suits her.
I consider approaching her. We used to be close friends, but it’s been a few years since we last spoke. It still pains me to think about all that we missed out on when her family moved to the next town over at the start of eighth grade. Sure, we tried to keep in touch that first year or so, but anyone who’s been there knows that long distance doesn’t really cut it. Our friendship died a natural death. Sort of.
I’m still mulling over this, staring at her, when it’s my turn to enter the chamber that will analyze my genetic structure to see if my body is equipped for handling powers, and then unlock that ability containing gene. Seeing her had distracted me for a brief moment, but now my trepidation returns in full force. According to the Abilities Council, there’s about a one in ten chance of a person having favourable genetics. What if I’m not one of them? Or what if I am? I wonder what secrets hide in my DNA.
The tests pass in a blur, as I tremble all over, my heart beating rapidly in my chest. Needles poke me and lasers scan me, and a tiny robotic arm scrapes me with a q-tip as I stand in the human-sized tin can. I step out when the door slides open, trying to calm my breathing as I force myself to look at the results screen.
It is blank for several seconds before a green check mark appears. My eyebrows shoot upwards, and my heart speeds up even more. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I’m one of them. I keep staring at the screen, holding my breath in anticipation. The check mark disappears from the screen, replaced by the text: Regeneration, 7.
Regeneration powers. Ranked 7 out of a possible 10 in potency. I shut my eyes, running a hand through my hair. No freaking way. The screen changes once more, with instructions on which unlocking chamber to head to.
It hits me that these are my last few powerless moments, the final seconds before I change from normal to superhuman.
Not really, though. There’s nothing “super” about it. These abilities have always been in humans, we’ve only just discovered how to unlock them.
I let out a dry, nervous laugh. Here I am, in what is quite possibly the biggest moment of my life, discussing semantics with myself. Yay for weird coping mechanisms. Whatever works, right?
My legs feel like jelly as I approach the machines at the far side of the large, high ceilinged room.
—
My phone rings immediately after the ceremony concludes. It’s my parents, obviously anxiously stalking the Ability Council site for the moment they release the testing results. Which means they already know. I endure an earful of excited screams and shouted congratulations before I excuse myself, saying we’ll talk more when I get back home. I’m eager to check the results myself, to see who else is a Powerful.
I still can’t believe I actually have powers. There’s something electric flowing through my veins, an energy, a confidence. Then again, it could just be anxiety.
I maneuver through the mass of people to get a better view of the giant screen hanging by the doors. There looks to be close to a hundred names listed, and I scan it for people I know. A guy from my friend group at school made it on with a 3 in speed, and my frequent art partner scored a whopping 5 in strength. A good majority of the scores don’t go past a 4.
Then I see her name. Lucy Lin – Regeneration, 8.
I seek her out in the crowd.
We stare at each other in a sort of awed silence. My muscles feel tense, my limbs awkward. I have no idea how to act with this person who could very well be a stranger by now, but I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. That seems to break the ice, and we go in for a tight hug. It feels right.
“Hey, Luce,” I say when we pull apart.
She tilts her head, flashing her lopsided smile at me. “Raven. Look at you. You’ve gotten hot.”
My face heats up, and I look down quickly. “So have you,” I mutter, because it’s undeniable. I get the weirdest feeling if I stare at her chocolate eyes for too long. So I mostly just look to a point somewhere above her shoulder. “Uh, how long are you in town for? Did you just come for the ceremony?”
“I’m actually going to be studying here, at Kirk U. So a few years, give or take,” she says with a sparkle in her eye.
“Oh.” My phone starts ringing again, but I ignore it. Lucy glances behind her at the giant clock on the wall.
“I should get going-”
“You wanna meet up for coffee or something soon?” I blurt. We’ve got some catching up to do, and this whole thing feels too much like fate for me to let it pass by.
She grins.
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Marshmellowmilktea 