Now there's where I should be. Not that Bayville's the best team in the world, but at least they have guys that can throw a decent pass. Pietro's eyes roamed over the players, his eyes seeking out a familiar -- and missing -- blond head. Hm. Wonder where Daniels is. He's usually the first one on the court- He checked himself sharply, remembering that he was, in fact, trying to avoid the boy . . . chastising himself for noticing Evan's absence at all.

"All right, one more run. Maximoff's basket put the Blue team up by two." Coach Tarrif's phlegmy voice boomed across the gym. "Switch out." He nodded toward a group standing uncertainly against the wall. "First team, take a seat on the bleachers."

The players filed off the court as six more came to take their places. Pietro shuffled toward the sidelines as the agitated voice of junior Terry McBenes growled in his ear, "You fucking play dirty, Maximoff. You kicked my fucking ankle when I was down."

Pietro cast an indifferent glance at the scowling, beefy redheaded boy. "You were in my way . . . dude. What'd you expect me to do? Just stand and tiptoe around? That's more your game."

Terry glowered. "You fucking think you're such hot shit because you got a little speed . . . let's see you talk so tough after school. Today. Without your little bodyguard."

Pietro smirked, knowing well how Fred Dukes' very appearance struck fear in the hearts of, well, just about anyone with sense. "Little" bodyguard, huh? Oh, Freddy'll get a kick out that one.

"Take a seat, McBenes; you'll only hurt yourself some more." A dark eyebrow quirked upward. "You couldn't even move your slow ass fast enough to guard Young, and he's like mud running uphill. You think you can get close enough to do something to me? Keep dreaming."

"Sub!" Tarrif's strident tone was aimed straight at the two glowering teens. "McBenes! You're in!"

Terry glanced over his shoulder. "Coming, Coach!" Turning back to Pietro with a sneer, he said, "You're in for it, Maximoff." He cracked his knuckles audibly. "I'd watch my back if I were you."

"Thanks for the offer, but I've got better things to do. Now go on." Pietro made a shooing motion with his hand. "They're in desperate need of somebody to just stand there and dribble the ball off his foot. Your cue."

Terry took a step toward him, but stopped when the coach's whistle shrieked again. "McBenes! I said you're in! Let's go!"

"Coming!" Terry took a few steps backward. His face was as red as his hair, and turned even more crimson under Pietro's bland smile. "This ain't over, Maximoff. It ain't over." He lanced the white-haired boy with another fierce glare before trotting back out onto the court.

Idiotic bullies. Boring.

Pietro ran a hand over his hair. On one of the "slower" evenings at the Brotherhood home - the cable had been temporarily turned off - Todd been bored enough -- or brave enough -- to ask the million-dollar question -- namely, why school? The four of them had gone mainly because Mystique was their principal and could smooth things out for them when things got hairy at Bayville. But now that Mystique was gone and they were on their own, why bother going at all? As Pietro recalled, Lance's answer had not been all that satisfactory. Actually, it consisted mainly of "because I said so," and a tremor that knocked what remained of the paint off the wall. The matter had, wisely, been dropped, but Pietro couldn't help but ponder the point as he watched the still-Evanless varsity basketball team start its drills.

Education. Boring.

He didn't understand why Lance made such a big deal about staying in school. None of them really got anything out of it except aggravation. He'd gone on the record saying that he thought Mystique was gone for good, so that wasn't it. None of them were exactly exceptional students . . . and all of them had an enemy - or a few - eager to feed them their teeth - rectally. School was a dead end in so many ways, and so slow and dull  that Pietro felt ready to scream in frustration of having to exist for eight hours moving at a one-hundredth of his normal speed. He suspected that the others were equally fed up -- even Lance. But he wouldn't let them drop out, nor would he give them a satisfactory reason why they should keep going.

But they all had their reasons, Pietro knew, for putting up with Bayville High. There goes Lance's reason. He grinned slightly as he saw the brown- haired Kitty Pryde take a seat on the bleachers next to Kurt Wagner. And there's poor Fred's. His smile turned into a grimace when he saw the perfectly manicured Jean Grey perch next to Kurt. Great. If she's here, Goggle-boy can't be far behind. Time for this period to be over.

"That last basket you made was tight. You're finally learning to shake off the defender on your left side. I thought you'd never get that down, man."

Pietro started and whirled around, nearly colliding with Evan. The X-Man stood in his basketball uniform, a shiny, new ball tucked under his arm. "You didn't need to kick McBenes, though. You had him beat. That was just wrong, Maximoff."

And here's my reason. Pietro looked somber, willing himself not to notice how incredible Evan looked in the slightly too-large uniform. He failed miserably. Why does he have to be so . . . so . . . His eyes ranged the tawny arms and legs, and traveled upward, stopping briefly on full lips and dark eyes.  . . .Gorgeous. Why couldn't he look like McBenes or Coach T.? Stocky and red and just . . .gross. Why does he always have to look like something that stepped out of my dreams? 

"He was in my way," the silvery teen's voice was glacial, and he forced himself to focus on a point over Evan's shoulder. "Like you are. See ya." As if on cue, the bell rang, signaling the end of the period and the school day.

"You're not staying for the game?" Evan looked puzzled. "We're playing Worcester! Where's your school spirit, man?"

"Forget it, Daniels. This team's pitiful. If I wanted to see a loser-" I could look in the mirror. "--I'd stick around. Maybe. But I've got other plans," he finished lamely, biting his lip.

"Well you're so much the basketball authority," Evan said, eyes flashing, "why don't you join the team? Or do you like being the big fish on the corny-ass IM team? You afraid to kick it with the varsity squad?"

"I . . ." Pietro faltered, frowning. He'd thought about joining the team, but Magneto had expressly forbidden any of them to join any extracurricular activity that required travel. He needed them to be free at a moments' notice for his "important missions." "It . . . doesn't interest me. I mean, what would be in it for me?" Besides getting to see you in the showers . . .the hot, steamy showers . . . naked. Hmmm . . . He flushed visibly and squirmed, feeling a familiar and very inconvienient shifting in his gym shorts. "Uh . . . even without my powers, I'd run rings around everybody. No challenge. Not interested. Later." He rushed away as fast as he could without using his superspeed, leaving Evan to stare after him in surprise.

O . . .kay. That was weird. The blond bounced the ball, his expression thoughtful. Usually, he had to practically threaten to impale Pietro to get the speedster off his back, especially on game days. And I teased him about the IM team . . . and he didn't go off. It was like . . . he just wanted to go. And I gave him a compliment . . . and he didn't rub it in my face.

 Evan noted the angry expression and the antsy behavior that his rival had been exhibiting lately, and he wondered at it. Just that day, in fact, he'd crossed paths with him in the lunchroom, and far from making some inane crack, the white-haired boy crossed to the other side of the room, eyes cast down. It's almost like he's . . . avoiding me.


He glanced down at the ball in his hands, the surface of which felt uncomfortably rough on the flesh of his palms. Pietro's avoiding me. Good. That's a good thing, right?

Right. He rubbed his neck, scowling. It was a great thing. . . so why did he feel so let down?

~*~

Pietro fled to the quiet sanctity of locker room, which was empty, save for a stoned-looking junior sitting with his back pressed against a locker. Pietro stepped over the boy and yanked open his own locker, hastily stripping off his sweaty gym clothes.

Gah. That was close. He drew out his normal attire and began to change. What the hell were you thinking? he berated himself. You know that "Evan" and "shower" is a dangerous combination. If he had looked down . . .

Pietro leaned his forehead against the door of his locker. His head was pounding fitfully, as were other parts of him that he preferred not to think about at present. Great. Just perfect. Everything was fine, day was almost done, and then he comes in and fucks it all up.

"Afraid to play with the varsity team? Yeah right," he growled aloud. "Fuck you, Evan. Just . . fuck you."

Those words prompted a thoroughly improper image to take shape in Pietro's brain. He groaned. The throbbing got worse . . . everywhere.

This has got to stop. He quickly yanked up his jeans, having a little trouble with the zipper, and pulled on his sweater. It's just got to. Ever since the "letter incident," he'd gone out of his way to keep Evan off his radar. Seeing him just hurt too much. Every time he looked at him, Pietro saw Evan shoving him out of the way, crumpling up the note . . . telling him to get of his face.

He looked at Evan, and he saw rejection, rejection and more rejection. And it hurt. It hurt badly.

Dammit. Why'd he have to talk to me? Why couldn't he just go over and start taking practice shots and ignore me like he usually does? Pietro shut his locker with a resounding bang. The stoned-looking junior didn't move a muscle. Why's he have to look so hot in that uniform?

Why can't I just get a life?

Grabbing his bag, he exited the locker room, hearing the roar of the crowd and the boom of the band as the game prepared to get under way. He wavered a moment, sorely tempted to go in and watch the action. It wasn't as if there was anything better to do at home . . . and there was nothing like a nice sporting event to take a mind off one's troubles.

Except, of course, in this sporting event, his troubles would be on full display, running up and down the court, a maddening blur of blond and brown. Unstoppable. Untouchable.

Untouchable. Yeah. Tell me about it.

Pietro walked quickly toward the flashing, red exit sign and strode out of the school, the roar of the crowd at his back.

~*~

"You rule, mein freund! Twenty points is awesome!" Kurt pounded Evan's back as the two walked slowly across the school parking lot toward the X-Van. "You keep this up, Bayville will be in the championship for sure!"

"Thanks, man." Evan looked ahead at Jean, Kitty and Scott chattering away. "It'd be cool to win it all this year. Put this school on the map."

"That would be something," Kurt said, nodding. "Something good for this town for a change, instead of the usual unexplainable earthquakes, weird red beams, flying objects and other . . . odd stuff Bayville's known for," he said with a chuckle.

"You know?" Evan laughed along with his friend. "Making the paper over something normal would be a nice change of pace."

"Yeah. But not likely with them around." Kurt nodded toward the edge of the lot, where a lone green Jeep idled. Evan's eyes widened, then narrowed as he saw the occupants of the vehicle - Lance Alvers and Fred Dukes. Fred looked impatient, wriggling in the back. Lance was slumped in his seat on the driver's side, a hand pressed to his temple.

"Can you believe he went back to them?" Kurt shook his head slowly, eyes trained on the slouched figure of Lance. "I thought he vas doing good as an X-Men. And Kitty liked him well enough." There was a trace of bitterness in the last statement.

"I don't know man. It's weird." Evan saw Lance nod perfunctorily at Scott and the girls. The dark-haired mutant's eyes lingered on Kitty for a moment. Evan sighed. It had been a little strange to have "Avalanche" as a member of the X-Men, but Kurt was right -- the rock tumbler had done pretty well. But then he'd left . . . and Evan suspected that had more to do with his affection for the Brotherhood than with anything the X-Men had done to tick him off. And, as Kurt had said, Kitty did seem to be sort of sweet on him.  Scott and Jean climbed into the black van, and Evan watched Kitty pause a moment, her head turning in the direction of the Jeep before turning away and climbing in.

"You never know about the Brotherhood," Evan continued with a frown. "One second they're fighting us, next second they're trying to date some of the girls. And every third second they're trying to pull the wool over your eyes, like Maximoff and his little stunt."

"Huh? Was ist? What did Pietro do now?"

"Okay, check it: I got this note in my locker the other day." The two slowed their movements a bit, loitering near a dark-blue Camaro. "And it said -"

"A letter? You mean the letter from the secret admirer?" Kurt's eyes twinkled. "The hot love note? Kitty told me about it."

"There is no secret admirer, man," Evan said in exasperation. "It was Pietro!"

Kurt looked utterly confused. "Pietro . . . sent you a love note? Um . . . whoa. I mean I guess . . . um . . .whoa." He fiddled nervously with his holowatch.

"It was a joke, Kurt. The letter was just a joke. There's no person who likes me," Evan explained with a frown. "I don't know if he's the one who actually wrote it or if it one of the other Brotherhood weirdoes, but he was behind it. And I saw through it . . ."

"Wait, I don't get it." Kurt leaned against the car. "You get a note, and it says it's from a secret admirer . . . and it wasn't really? It vas Pietro the whole time?"

The blond nodded. "And now he's pissed, because his little joke bombed."

"What do you mean? Pissed how? Is he harassing you?"

"Nah. I mean he's just . . ." Not talking to me . . . crossing to the other side of the hall when he sees me . . . today in the gym . . . ignoring me. . . he's never ignored me before. Antagonize? Yes. Ignore? No.  Evan frowned thoughtfully, remembering Pietro's hasty retreat in the gym. ". . . Being weird. I dunno. It's hard to explain -''

The honk of a horn cut him off. He and Kurt looked up to see Scott frantically waving at them and the girls looking perplexed. The two walked on.

"But anyway, it looks like the Brotherhood's back to their old tricks," Evan said. "And for a minute there, it looked like they were starting to mellow out."

"I guess." Kurt still looked perplexed as they reached the van. "But it is weird, though. Why would Pietro act strange about one joke?"

Now it was Evan's turn to look puzzled. "Huh?"

"I mean, he is Quicksilver . . . he gets bored very easily, no? Goes from one thing to the next like that!" He snapped his fingers.

"Yeah . . ." Evan's voice was low, wary.

"Well . . . it doesn't seem like him to dwell on any one thing," Kurt said with a shrug. "So you catch his little joke . . . he just goes on to another, right? Why be mad about this one?"

"Well, I . . ." Evan began, and then stopped, his brow furrowed. "Um . . . maybe because . . . uh . . . I dunno, man. Like I said, the Brotherhood was mellowing out for a minute there. Maybe he's slowing down a little."

"Maybe." They reached the van and it slid gently open, helped along by Jean's telekinesis. "But I don't think so. It doesn't fit."

"But . . ." Evan watched Kurt disappear into the dark confines, his forehead still creased in concentration. "It doesn't make sense otherwise," he said into the darkness.

"Like, what doesn't make sense?" Kitty peered around Kurt, her eyes inquisitive. "Oh, and great game today, Evan. You, like, totally held it down out there."

"Uh, nothing. Thanks, Kitty." He scrambled into the van next to Kurt, and buckled up as the door clicked shut.

"Yeah. You were handling it," Scott said, shifting the van in gear. "Everything okay? You guys were kinda dragging back there." His ruby-quartz glasses glinted in the rear-view mirror.

"Uh, yeah." Evan glanced out of the tinted windows. The Jeep was still idling, and Lance and Fred sat there, alone. No Todd, which was strange. No Pietro, either, which was stranger.

Evan shook his head slowly as the X-van pulled out into the parking lot. Scott turned the radio on, and above the hip-hop music, the blond heard the speedster's voice in his head . . . flat, matter-of-fact . . . sad, almost.

I've got other plans.

And then he was gone.

Evan leaned back in the plush seat, closing his eyes.  It just didn't make any sense . . .

~*~

"Awright, we'll give him five more minutes, then we bail. Iron Chef's on in 15 minutes!" Fred Dukes groused, shifting in irritation. "It's not like he had detention. What the hell's taking him so long?" He looked expectantly at Lance, but the older boy remained silent, staring straight ahead. "Lance? Hey . . . you all right?"

Lance blinked. "What? Oh, uh . . . yeah. Yeah, I'm cool." He massaged his forehead, wincing. "Just got a headache, that's all."

"Uh . . . okay." Fred glanced sideways at the rangy teen. He'd noticed the look that had passed between the Brotherhood's nominal leader and a certain bone-thin sophomore X-girl. Fred understood. Even now, even after everything that had happened, his heart still thumped whenever Jean Grey flounced his way. But that had been different - the redhead had just teased him . . . she'd never been interested in him at all.

From what he could glean from Lance's tales of being in the X-Men - albeit for a limited time - and from his own observation, Fred could see that Kitty Pryde was into Lance. And it was common knowledge that he was into her. Yet he'd left the X-Men and came back to Brotherhood. Blood's thicker than Xavier, he'd said when he returned. Fred had understood that, too. Though none of the members of the Brotherhood were related, after all of the nonsense they'd gone through, they might as well be. The Brotherhood was Lance's family; the X-Men were not. It was that simple.

Still, Fred saw the way Kitty and Lance looked at each other . . . eyed him askance, noting how distant the older boy had been lately . . . and he had to wonder . . .

"Hey! Sorry I'm late, yo!" Todd came bounding up to the Jeep, out of breath. "I was, y'know, held up . . ."

"Whaddaya mean?" Fred glared at him as he bounced in beside Lance. "You been messing around with the sprinklers again?"

"Naw. Just doing stuff." Todd wriggled in his seat. "Stuff. Y'know? Let's be out, yo. It's WWF night."

"Yeah! That's what I'm talking about." Fred grinned as Lance put the Jeep in drive. "Hey . . . we waiting for Pietro?"

"No." Lance backed slowly out of the parking lot. "I saw him zip outta here after school. He's probably home by now."

"And he didn't wait for us?" Fred sounded almost outraged. "That little sneak. I bet he's at home eating all the food! I'll flatten his bony ass if he touched my pecan twirls."

"Relax, Fred. I think he learned his lesson from the last time. I don't think he wants to have to arm wrestle you again." Lance's grin was lopsided and half-hearted. Todd discerned it, but his mind was elsewhere -- namely on the conversation he managed to overhear while skulking around in the parking lot, looking to let the air out the tires of Duncan's Mercedes.

It was a joke, Kurt. The letter was a joke. And I saw through it . . .

He'd crouched behind the Camaro, holding his breath, straining to listen. It was all he could do to keep from popping up, grabbing Daniels by his scrawny neck, and screaming, "It's no joke, asshole! Pietro's sprung over you! Come over one night around two in the morning and listen outside his door, and you'll hear just how sprung he is when's he jacking off and calling out your fucking name!"

But he didn't say anything. He just squatted there, listening, growing more and more agitated with every word.

Daniels doesn't know this is for real. He thought it was a gag . . . and Pietro doesn't know it. But now I do.

"Dammit," Todd muttered under his breath. "He's not worth it, Speed. He's too clueless for you. You could do so much better."

"What'd you say?" Fred asked, leaning forward. Lance aimed a curious glance Todd's way, but quickly turned his eyes back to the road.

"Uh . . . nothing, yo. Just mumbling to myself."

Todd turned to stare out of one of the Jeep's open panels, his shaggy hair blowing in the breeze. The scenery passed in a shapeless haze, all melding together in one colorless, transient blend. This must sorta be what it's like for Pietro, when he runs. Kinda depressing, he mused. I wonder if he ever thinks about all the stuff he can't see . . . all the stuff he just passes by while he's rushing on the way to something else . . .

The younger boy doubted it. Pietro wasn't much of a noticer, really, unless it had something to with a mission, a challenge or Evan Daniels.

Evan thinks it's a joke. He thinks it's a joke. That's why he did what he did. Why he said what he said. . .

But, of course, Pietro had no way of knowing that. Evan sure as hell wasn't going to tell him, and neither would the fuzzball probably. So Pietro would never know what really went down with Evan and the letter. Unless . . .

Fuck! Todd jammed his hands in his pockets and tried to make himself as small as possible in the passenger seat. I hate it when it's all up to me . . .