Poster Children (Brooke)

[Wren O'Hara]

History was Wren’s favorite class by far, although it might not have been immediately obvious since he spent most of his history classes staring out the window. For him, it was much easier to remember historical events by picturing them in his head like a movie. It was a trick that his mom – a film actress – had taught him in grade school.

The autumn semester had just started, so this was only the second week that he’d been taking US History. Unfortunately, he already knew most of what the teacher was saying – everything he was imagining he had imagined before, and his mind was starting to wander. From his place by the second floor window, he could see a group of freshmen playing by the pond, and he sighed inwardly.

Man, he would much rather be in the pool right now. Unfortunately, the class was sure to drag on for at least another hour; in a showing of supreme willpower, he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the scene outside and face the whiteboard.

The teacher was explaining, in painstaking detail, the unsung role of meta-humans in World War II. She went on to give them an assignment: a group assignment, to be precise. They were to pair up and grab a piece of poster board, then work together to make a poster honoring one of several known meta-human war heroes.

The room immediately erupted with the susurrus of conversation typical of a classroom that had just been given permission to run their mouths. Wren, who didn’t really have any friends in the class, per se, looked around at the unfamiliar-but-still-familiar faces.

Figuring that the path of least resistance was the way to go, he turned around and met the gaze of the girl sitting behind him. She was very small, and her eyes were very large and blue. There was a beat of silence.

“Hey,” he said in his quiet voice. “Wanna team up?”

[Deleted]

Brooke liked history too. Out of all the subjects that existed out there, history had to be her number......well, the number wasn't important right now, but what was important was trees, because oxygen and green. And that's what Brooke was looking at as she sat at her desk, not particularly paying attention to the instructor, and merely staring at the tree just outside the window. There was a bird's nest. It didn't have any chicks in it. That made her mad.

She was going to have to go to the store later and pick up some eggs to put in there.

That way, she'll have the perfect scene to gaze upon when she couldn't gaze upon the zit on the teacher's nose anymore which threatened a song and dance every time he sneezed.

But I digress.

Upon the conclusion of the lecture, Brooke's eyes met with those of the sir seated in front of her, who had turned himself to face the beauty that was Brooke's eyes. She stared long and deep into them, a knowing smile slowly creeping upon her lips as he posed his question.

"Potatoes," she replied. "Because I like potatoes more than beans, no matter how cool they are."

[Wren O'Hara]

Wren blinked at the girl’s reply, wondering for a moment if he’d heard her correctly. He tilted his head very slightly before nodding.

Potatoes. Well, potatoes were okay. Also, she was smiling at him.

“Yeah, me too,” he said agreeably, although he was still a little dazed. Was this real life? But then, it was Hammel, he reminded himself silently. There were all sorts of people at Hammel, and some of them were totally weird, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Everyone had a little something.

“I’ll go get us some stuff,” he added, after a pause. He slid his chair back with a short scrape against the off-white tile floor and made his way to the back of the room, where several of his classmates were also gathering poster-making supplies. Wren grabbed a large sheet of poster board, one set of markers, a tube of gold glitter, a handful of fuzzy straw cleaners, a glue stick, and two pairs of scissors.

Whatever. It was probably fine.

He returned to his desk, where his partner was still sitting, and laid the supplies in front of her with deliberate care. Then, without hesitating, he scooted his chair around and sat down facing her.

“Any preference for which hero we pick?” he asked kindly, fiddling with the cardboard flap on the box of markers before dumping them carefully out onto the table.

[Deleted]

"Yup. Taters. Po-ta-toes. Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew." They were delicious and so full of love. Brooke should give Astley one for her next birthday…or maybe Christmas?

"Ok!" she nodded at the person who sat in front of her whom she was pretty sure was named Wern, or Ren, or David or something like that. "Just make sure you get the good stuff," she continued in a hushed voice. "Cuz, you know, they like to dilute it with flour. Veerrry bad for business."

Brooke returned her attention to the bird's nest. It really needed eggs in it.

Her reverie was rudely interrupted by Bob returning and dumping a bunch of stuff on her desk. Brooke rolled her eyes. How could he forget the macaroni pasta!? Really, amateurs! Oh,well, she supposed she couldn't fault him for that, and forgave George instantly.

"Rob Zombie!" That guy had to be a meta, right?

[Wren O'Hara]

Wren wasn’t sure how to respond to the girl’s loving soliloquy about potatoes, and he decided he probably didn’t want to know what anyone was diluting with flour that was bad for business, so he quickly and quietly scooted to the back of the room and returned with some air of solemnity.

At her reply to his question, Wren had the urge to pinch himself, but resisted.

“Erm,” Wren began, uncertainly. The girl didn’t seem particularly fragile, but he wasn’t sure how she would react to resistance, and decided to proceed with caution. “I don’t think he was alive then,” he finished, somewhat lamely. He searched her eyes for any hint of acknowledgement.

It was only for a brief moment that he wondered if he should have approached someone else, but he immediately scolded himself for thinking that. There was nothing wrong with her, was there? She just said some kind of weird things, that was all. She seemed nice enough, and she kept smiling, and Wren decided that he shouldn’t be judging her.

It wasn’t any of his business.

“This guy is kind of like Rob Zombie,” he said, after a moment’s pause. He pointed to a name in their textbook. “He was a musician, too. He used his power of sound amplification to make sure that everyone could hear him drumming on the front lines, which was considered very good for morale.”

He studied her quietly.

“Does that sound good to you?” he pressed, gingerly.

[Deleted]

"Bzzzt! Wrong!" Brooke said with a pointed finger on her nose and squished eyes. Then she leaned over the book and pointed to the dates, "This guy wasn't even in WWII so there's no way he could have drummed on the front lines." Oh how silly her new partner was!

She then flipped the pages of the textbook with barely even looking at it to a page with a picture of a blonde woman and she pointed fiercely down at the page. "This dude was of the "listening ears" bloodline, of the sweetings who sat in the holes way off over yonder deep in the forests of Japan doing nothing but listening for the song of American bombers coming to boom-boom-boom all over the country!" Brooke made explosions with her hands to illustrate.

"They say they could hear things outside the normal audible range of the norms, making them super-duper special and super valuable to the empire." Brooke was pretty invested in this story, even though there wasn't any proof that these kids were actually metas, but it was fun to suppose and prepose. "What say you, my studious friend?" Brooke asked of her partner, eagerly grinning at him with her chin placed so daintily in her palms.

[Wren O'Hara]

Wren looked up at the loud noise, which might have startled a jumpier individual. Several of their classmates looked back at the pair of them.

Wren didn’t really care. Instead, he squinted at the text she was pointing at in their book. He was pretty good at reading, although he did have some trouble reading small print upside down.

In the end, he figured he’d just take her word for it. The more he listened to her, the more she started to make sense; her speech was a little cluttered, and Wren’s comprehension was slower than average, but he felt like they were making worthwhile progress.

“Sorry,” he said, a little reservedly. Then, he smiled, because she was smiling. Her eyes were almost completely round, which Wren thought made her look like a very attentive cat. He could almost picture the tail swishing back and forth. “Yeah, that sounds good to me. Markers or colored pencils?” he asked, picking up the markers himself and holding them out for her to choose one or the other.

“If you want to draw the poster title, I can write the facts out underneath,” he proposed. “Or we can switch. I don’t mind either way.”