Prom Night Blues
Chapter 7: They Can Shoot More Than Daggers
Chapter 7: They Can Shoot More Than Daggers
No one commented when Lance stumbled in late to the class and slumped into his seat at the back. Only Todd and Pietro even noticed the bruises starting to form. They exchanged confused looks but decided to question and heckle him after school. The whole getting detention every afternoon deal was getting a little old.
Lance stubbornly refused to answer them all the way back to the Brotherhood house. He grabbed a can of soda and plopped down on the couch.
“C’mon man, spill already! What the hell happened to ya?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I was about to leave the bathroom and something started hitting me. I couldn’t see a damn thing.”
Pietro raised a brow. “Not even who it was?”
Lance scowled. “Believe me, if I knew who it was, they’d be hurting already. But it was like whoever it was stayed behind me no matter which way I turned. Couldn’t get a break.”
Todd looked puzzled. “It’s not really the X-dorks’ style, jumpin’ somebody like that. And nobody else could do it. You don’t think the school’s… haunted?”
Pietro rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Lance closed his eyes. “Just leave me the hell alone. My head is killing me.”
Todd couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Yeah, well mine would be too, if it looked like that!”
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School passed uneventfully the next day for Lance, though he was stiff. He’d discovered in the shower that the bruises covered him from collarbone to ankles. He was able to hide them under his clothes, but it was a warm day, so he wasn’t too comfortable. And though he was paranoid about a repeat performance, nothing happened. At least until the walk home.
He was walking along with Todd and Fred (Pietro being long gone) when a beam of red suddenly materialized to slam him against the wall of the school. He heard Todd yelling as he struggled to stand up, dazed. “Hey, what the hell, Summers?”
When Lance’s vision cleared, he could see Scott Summers driving past in his shiny red convertible. Cyclops waved, slowing down. “Must’ve hit a speed bump and jostled my glasses. Sorry, Lance!” He drove off before any of the Brotherhood could respond, heading to pick up dinner for himself and Jean, then swing back to get her from soccer practice.