Michael McBride sat on the bench across the High School he had heard so much about. Maybe somewhere to stay, to help him out with his, er, abilities. He took a drag on the cigarette he was smoking, blowing the smoke out of his nose as he looked around for any passing civilians. No one was out this early, apparently.<br/><br/>Good.<br/><br/>Michael checked his watch, seeing that classes had apparently already started. He shrugged, since he was supposed to visit the office first for his schedule and his dorm room. He put out his cigarette and gulped down the rest of his coffee, throwing the cup into the nearby waste bin. Might as well get this over with.<br/><br/>Michael did one final sweep for normal citizens before he concentrated on the other side of the street, disappearing from the sidewalk he was on and reappearing on the school steps. He walked up to the doors, heading through them to see the front desk.<br/><br/>But the best laid plans never survived first contact.<br/><br/>Michael looked around and sighed. "Dammit," he said to himself. Where was the office? He looked around, and shrugged, deciding to head into a random classroom until the bell rang for the next class. Or he could just ask a teacher.<br/><br/>Michael walked to a nearby door, opening it to stick his head inside.<br/><br/>A math class. Damn.<br/><br/>He opened the door the rest of the way, making his way to a seat. The teacher didn't seem to mind that much. He sat down next to a girl, a rather pretty one at that.<br/><br/>But something seemed off about her.<br/><br/>It wasn't her appearance, but her mannerisms, her posture, even her style of writing. They weren't really inline with a teenage girl's habits.<br/><br/>So, either two things were possible. A, she was a tomboy, perfectly reasonable. Or two, she was a dude. Maybe a shapeshifter. With his powers, it wouldn't be so far fetched.<br/><br/>A piece of paper on his desk, Michael did what he always did in a math class; he doodled. He drew several small, poorly detailed characters talking about events with a short wooden pencil. He always thought math would be beneath him; if his teacher could hack into a computer with a eight megabyte firewall base and a twenty-one terabyte encryption program within eleven minutes, then he would listen.<br/><br/>He looked over at the girl who wasn't a girl, and went back to doodling. He would talk to her after class. Or not.