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Pressure built in her gut. Anticipation. Her throat was raw. Bone dry. Stomach empty.
Nothing left to heave. Yuck. Sheile smacked her tongue and swallowed, sending fluids
from her mouth down the well of her parched body.
“Damn you!” Sheile yelled. She spat. His friend was indignant. Pissed.
Her classroom sponsor thought. It was his job to make sure Sheile got to
class, ate, did her exercises- all the regular stuff for the first month.
Every Super enrolled reacted to their new environment differently.
“Don't spit on the floor.” Peter snapped. Sheile glared at him.
“Why?” She growled. Peter took a deep breath. Calm down. He thought.
Rule number one:
Do not, for ANY reason, fuel a SUPER'S anger. BAD things happen.
Letting out a long breath, Peter smoothed his face and looked up at Sheile.
“Because,” Peter began, trying to keep his voice tender. Soft. A soft answer turns away
wrath...but speaking harshly only stirs the pot. The ancient quote came as a distant memory.
He improvised a little when it came to half forgotten childhood proverbs. The adults had
actually known what they were talking about! That made his mouth twitch. Sheile assumed
the worst instantly. Her eyes narrowed.
“What?” She clipped, jaw hard and thrust out in offense. Stubborn. Peter raised his hands,
signaling a peaceful truce. Or surrender. That made him chuckle. Sheile growled.
“Sorry, sorry.” Came his voice, light with amusement. “I think I was laughing at myself.”
“Humph!”
“Maybe a little tiny bit at you.” Sheile barred her teeth, but the edges curled up. She was
warming up to him. Perhaps cooling down too. Sheile shook her head.
“Thanks Peter.” He shrugged.
“No prob. That's what I'm here for!” There was a lithe to his voice. Ironic and light.
Peter was just that sort of person. He had his head on straight and a kind heart.
Always the peacemaker.
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