This is completely unfinished and rough. I just had a character description in my head, and I needed to put it down on paper. Or type it, as it were.

Enjoy,
Alice

((--))

I have been told before that I look a bit out of place. My features don't mix together stereotypically, and my parents look very little like me. Despite this, I am rather pleased with what I look like. My hair is a light chocolate colour, and it cascades in thick waves to my waist. My skin, due to the lack of sun I get, is the colour of café au lait, instead of darkly tanned.

My eyes are the only things that look out of place. They are what my brother calls 'Husky Eyes'. They have a light blue – almost white – iris, with a dark blue outer ring. My mother has green eyes, and my father has brown eyes. My brother also has green eyes, like our mother. So I get a lot of 'you were adopted' jokes that come from him.

I am rather tall, standing at 5'8". I am no supermodel. I am not stick thin, by any means. I'm not fat, either. I hate it when people tell me that I'm skinny, because I have body concerns like all 16-year-olds. But I hate it more when they call me fat. Does that make me a terrible person?

Whatever. The point is that I like to call it curvy. But not in a you're-fat-so-we're-calling-you-curvy-to-make-you-feel-better way. I am definitely slim.

And, being a vain teenage girl, all these thoughts were running through my head as I stared in the mirror on the morning of my first day at Sky High.

"As usual," I told myself, "this is as good as it's gonna get." My hair, that morning, was done in a soft plait down my back. I was wearing jeans and a light blue tank top, with a navy blue jacket on top. My feet donned a pair of black combat boots, which my brother tells me are for lesbians. My first argument, when I hear this, is- "And what's wrong with being lesbian?"

My second argument is, "THEY DO NOT!" Or maybe it's the other way around. But the first one is definitely more Politically Correct.

I heard my brother calling me from down stairs, so I grabbed my bag and headed into the kitchen.

"Lunette," he chided, "why does it always take you so long to get ready?" People always tell me that the name Lunette is beautiful. It's French, and it means 'Little Moon'. Only Travis calls me that. Most people call me Luna or Lulu. Lunette makes me sound like a prissy bitch.

I looked my brother up and down. His chocolate, shoulder-length hair was dead straight, but un-brushed. He was wearing a black T-Shirt with a green over shirt and his pants were baggy and denim. His feet wore the same old tattered sneakers that he had worn the whole summer, but his skin (the same café au lait colour as mine) was fresh and washed.

"Uh, because I care about my appearance," I told him, "unlike you, who slept in that shirt."

He shrugged, "It's comfortable. And I showered, so it's not as if I'm dirty."

I whacked him lightly with my bag as we headed out the door. I love my brother. He's always been my best friend. Where we used to live, we were the only kids for miles. We had to amuse ourselves, until we started school. Then I had friends, and he had friends. We always ended up coming back to each other, though.

Our parents, unless you hadn't already guessed, were French. Both Travis and I can speak French fluently, but we have regular American accents. Travis, although it sounds like a perfectly normal name (unlike Lunette. God I hate my mom...) actually means 'Crossroads'. Despite the fact that my name is utterly terrible, at least it bares some relevance. My power is control over water, like my dad, thus a name referring to the moon is pretty cool. Travis controls earth, like my mom, so 'Crossroads' doesn't really mean anything.

Travis had been in a sulky mood all week after hearing that he wouldn't be able to drive his new car to school, so I tried to cheer him up.

"So, you're a Junior now. That's cool," I reminded him.

"Sophomore year was a cake-walk. You're so lucky," he grumbled, as we stopped near the bus stop.

"Vous êtes très ennuyant!" (You are so annoying!) I yelled, before calming down, "Soyez juste heureux, si vou plais? Pour moi?" (Can't you just be happy? For me?)

Travis hates it when I speak to him in French. He thinks that we draw too much attention to ourselves when we speak it. But no one was around, so he answered with a sigh.

"Fine," he muttered. I hugged him tightly, just as the school bus rounded the corner.

I was slightly shocked to hear the first thing to come out of the driver's mouth.

"Name and power," he stated.

"Um… Lunette Dulaine. Hydrokinetic," I answered hesitantly.

"You?" the driver pointed a chubby finger at my brother.

"Travis Dulaine. Terrakinetic," he shot a smile at the driver, and I swear to god that all of the girls on the bus melted. It was so unfair. Why did Travis get all the good looks and charm? I was stuck with Husky Eyes and a prissy bitch name.

"Je pense que nous devrions parler en français. Pour effrayer le reste des étudiants," (I think we should speak in French. To scare the rest of the students.) Travis whispered in my ear.

"Menteur. Vous voulez seulement le faire pour obtenir les filles tout heureuses au-dessus de votre accent," (Liar. You only want to do it to get the girls all happy over your accent.) I let out a chuckle, taking a seat and listening to the girls on the bus sigh audibly with happiness. A real French guy, oh my!

"Ils sont tous si prévisibles,"(They're all so predictable.) he laughed with me, before shrugging, "Est-ce que mais pourquoi autrement je parlerais même français?" (But why else would I even speak French?)

The bus landed on Sky High's platform with a screeching rumble, all the tires stopping simultaneously. The air around our seat had gotten thicker, for some reason. I told him that I bet it was because of all the girls sighing. Too much carbon dioxide for one bus to handle.

There was a sign directing new students to the centre courtyard. Most of the 'New Students' were Freshman, so Travis and I felt a little bit out of place.

"Lulu," he whispered, "I'm going to faint."

"No you're not. Frenchman are just like cockroaches- they're more scared of you than you are of them," I joked.

Travis shook his head and pointed to the stairs, "I mean because of that."

Standing on the stairs was a pretty redhead with a flower in her hair. She looked to be about my age, and was smiling beatifically at the group of new students before her.

"Hi," she greeted us, "I am Layla Williams, and I'm Sophomore Class President. I've been assigned to show you guys around. There are a few simple rules that you guys have to obey. Firstly- no using powers outside of the gym. This is a "rule"," she warned, with a wink that made me think it wasn't a rule anyone followed, "Secondly…"

I let out a laugh and looked over to Travis to see if he had found it funny, too. He was staring open-mouthed at Layla Williams, and probably hadn't heard a thing.

"… I've made a lot of good friends at Sky High, and you will, too. Just try not to fall of the edge of the school." A soft laugh arose from the group at the joke, as Layla turned to escort us into the buidling.

We separated into year groups, so Travis and I were separated. He was also, as tragic as this sounds, separated from his Love-At-First-Sight. He whimpered to me as he was lead off by a blonde girl in a white sundress.

"This is Power Placement," Layla frowned, "It's pretty much archaic. Don't be disappointed if you're put as a sidekick. Hero Support Classes are so much more fun than Hero Classes. Take my word for it."

Every single Sophomore, even the one's who had already been sorted, had to be re-evaluated by Coach Boomer (who was wearing shorts. Which is disgusting.)

"Hippie Williams," Boomer called up, "you can demonstrate."

Layla sighed and went up. Summoning her powers, she pulled up vines from the floorboards. Boomer matched her sigh with one of his own and ticked the 'Hero' box on his clipboard.

Student after student was called up, with patronising names from the Coach. His finger pointed at me, and he paused, trying to think of a name for me.

"New Girl," was the name he finally settled on. My heart skipped a beat. Was I the only new Sophomore?

"Name and power," I was asked for the second time that morning.

"Lunette Dulaine. Hydrokinetic," I answered robotically.

"Show me," he ordered. I looked at the ground, where Layla's vines still rested, lifeless with a lack of direction from their master. I smiled.

My hands hovered over the vines, and in one swift motion I sucked their moisture out and shot a whip of water at Coach Boomer. He went flying off the stage and landed with a thump on the gym floor.

"Hero," he muttered, getting up. As I walked past him, I felt a rush of guilt sweep over me.

"Sorry," I said, waving my hand over his socked body. The water hovered up out of his clothing, leaving it dry. I tossed the water aside and walked back to my place in the group. Unfazed, Coach Boomer got back on stage and called the next person.