Rich Boy: Growing Pains - 19. Chapter 19

Worthington jerked awake with a muffled yell and sat up in his bed, breathing heavily, trying to calm his rapid breathing. His new room in Jamie's house, next door to the one Jamie had grown up in was still dark, and the lights of Phoenix twinkled in the early morning darkness outside the large bay windows. With a sigh, Worthington threw off the light covers and got out of the large, king-size bed and stretched, doing his best to push aside the memories of the nightmare that had woken him once again.

He was not lying on the burned ground where the demons had attempted to create a doorway to their plane of existence. That had been just over two weeks ago, and unlike his nightmare, Jamie had arrived in time, before the wounds he'd taken in the fight had killed him. His brother had rented a helicopter and flown up to the Northern Arizona valley with every Healer he could get his hands on, and unlike the dream had made it in time to save Worthington's life from the wounds, and infections caused by the claws of the Demon Lord.

Zaroc was dead, gone forever, and his poison had been leeched from Worthington's body by a team of powerful, competent healers. They had done their best, saving the lives of not only Worthington but also all the mercenary soldiers that had been wounded in that fight. Yes, most of the remaining demon summoning mages had escaped, but that battle was still a victory, even if it had left its permanent mark on Worthington's body, and his mind.

Worthington padded across the soft, luxurious carpet of his new room, which really looked a lot like the room he'd had in Stacy and Elizabeth's house, except it was slightly larger, and pulled a pair of dark blue Speedos out of the drawer. His legs were still a little weak after the ordeal he'd been through, and after donning the swimwear while carefully not looking at his body, he left his room and walked out of the quiet house, down the trail that connected it to the back patio of his Aunt's home, and slid into the silky warm waters of the swimming pool.

It was still warm outside, with summer keeping its last grip on the Phoenix area before fall and winter moderated the temperatures. Lisa, the physical therapist and healer that was working with him on his recovery had recommended swimming for a half-hour every morning and evening to help him regain his strength, and he did just that in the pre-dawn stillness. By the time he finished his half-hour of swimming laps, his muscles were tired, but in a good way, and his mind was much calmer now.

He got out of the pool and laid out on one of the reclining pool chairs that were spread around the patio deck. In the last week, he'd come to enjoy this hour of the day, watching the stillness of the pre-dawn morning shift into the new day, watching the twinkling lights of the city being replaced by the light of the sun as it rose above the mountains to the east. There was something refreshing, a renewal of sorts to the process that gave him the strength to meet each new day despite the nightmares that always seemed to wake him.

"How was your swim?" Stacy's voice pulled him out his light trance and Worthington smiled up at his Aunt's partner who was wearing a one-piece bathing suit of her own. He had been interested to discover that she enjoyed an early morning swim almost every day. That was something he'd not known before.

"Good," Worthington said with a sigh as he turned back to watch the morning bustle of the city below him. It was like he could feel the people waking, going about their morning routines and starting their new day. "The water's perfect."

"I love it around this time of the year," Stacy said gently as she moved to stand beside Worthington and examined him. "They'll never completely fade, but they're less noticeable now."

"Yes," Worthington agreed while resisting the urge to frown. He did close his eyes and admit that the scars were much paler. She was right, they would never completely go away, but they were no longer the angry red, or even the pasty white color that they had been three days ago.

The biggest scar was nearly an inch wide and ran from just below his neck to the top of his pubic hair. That was where Zaroc's claw had torn open the dwarven armor he had been wearing. Two more scars ran from the top of his shoulders down the outside of his arms to his wrists, and two more scars ran down the front of his legs, from his upper thighs to his ankles. Those cuts had been massively infected by the time Jamie had arrived with the healers, and it was a near-miracle that he'd lived at all.

Only eight of the eighteen mercenary soldiers had walked away from the battle alive, and two of them were so severely injured that they were now considered permanently disabled despite the best work of the healers. Of the other mages that had gone into the fight, only Michael Lowenthal and Brandon Meyers had survived. Brandon had suffered nearly as much as Worthington in the days that followed the fight, but was recovering faster now, mostly because the majority of his problems had related to pure physical and magical exhaustion.

Brandon had achieved near-miracles with how much power he'd provided to Worthington during that fight. He'd been able to leech, and clean, power from the damaged countryside in a way that mages who understood how Channels worked thought to be impossible. Matt Wilson had flat out said it should have been impossible, and wanted to work with Brandon to see if they could duplicate what he'd done.

"Are you still having the dreams?" Stacy asked.

"Yes," Worthington frowned as his Aunt's partner interrupted his thoughts.

"You still don't want to take the pills Barrett prescribed?" She asked. He'd seen the Mind Healer/Psychotherapist twice now after his battle with the demons.

"No," Worthington said flatly. The idea of taking pills wasn't one he liked at all, especially not when dealing with problems of the mind. "I need to work through them, not pretend they don't exist."

"Okay," Stacy said calmly. "Well, I'm going to get my laps done. You have a good morning, Worthington."

"Thanks, you too," Worthington sighed as she moved away. While she was swimming he stood up, having mostly dried off in the warm morning air, and walked back up the pathway towards the house he now lived in during the week. It wasn't Clairville Keep, but he did like living there better than he'd liked the room in Stacy and Elizabeth's home.

That was because this was his home as much as it was Jamie's, and he felt like he belonged there as he walked inside and went back to his room for his morning shower. After washing off the chlorine from his body, and applying the skin moisturizers he used to minimize the damage of the sun, brushed his teeth, shaved yet again, and put on his deodorant, he went out into his bedroom and looked in his closet.

Given a choice, he would wear the clothing made by the dwarves that also served as armor. It was light, flexible, cool to wear, and most importantly it protected him. The only thing was, today was the first day of school and he would look distinctly out of place in long-sleeve skin-tight shirt and leather riding pants. Well, actually he could get away with the pants since they were all riding their bikes into school today. With a sigh he selected the light green short-sleeved dwarven-made shirt of the material they called ‘woven metal'.

Jamie had ordered, and paid for several sets for himself, and for Worthington. They were all in brighter colors than the normal shirts Worthington wore, and were short-sleeved, meaning they would not look nearly so out of place at school. Granted, they were skin tight, and showed off his body, but they failed to hide the scars on his arms, and that made him slightly uncomfortable. You could also see the top of the scar on his chest just above the neckline of the shirt, and he spent several minutes in front of a mirror trying to adjust the shirt to make it less noticeable.

He gave up and decided to head upstairs. The house was furnished in a very modern style, with comfortable, low furniture, and just about every electronic toy imaginable. In the large stainless steel refrigerator he found the platter of food their full-time cook and housemaid had left for breakfast. She didn't come in until around ten in the morning, but usually left food they could warm up easily for breakfast.

Martina was a gem of a woman he thought as he heated up some of the potato pancakes and began to eat them heartily. She was from an old Light family in the Czech Republic and had immigrated to the country thirty years ago. Not only was she a good cook, and kept the house in good condition, but she was full of stories of the old world. Like many other mages from around the country, word of the demon attacks had scared her, and she had moved to the Phoenix area hoping to find some form of safety here.

That was another problem brewing on the front burner lately, but it was also a problem that he wasn't directly involved with solving anymore. After the battle in Northern Arizona, Jamie had flat out told him not to worry about the Mage's Council for the Valley of the Sun. They were supposed to trade off from year to year in leading it, but Jamie had declared that he was assuming Worthington's place as head of the council, and no one had objected. Frankly, Worthington knew he had enough on his plate with recovering, and dealing with the other ramifications to the demon battle. Jamie was more than welcome to the headaches of dealing with the arrival of at least one new mage family per day, on average, and the ever-increasing role that the Mage's Council was performing.

Three full-time staff people now worked in the council's downtown office, handling everything from briefing new arrivals to helping them find living accommodations, jobs, introducing them to other members of the community, and in several cases helping them find counseling after several close calls with demons. Most of the people were Light path mages, but a healthy percentage was proving to be Dark path as well. Even more surprising was the effect on people who did not know they were mages before they passed through Phoenix.

Now that was an amusing side effect that no one had thought to consider happening.

Along all the freeways in and out of the greater Phoenix area, and in all the airports in the area, the Mage's Council had placed warning wards that notified newly arriving mages of the Mage's Council, giving them the phone number and warning them that anyone staying longer than two cycles of the moon was expected to call that number. The main purpose was to notify and track all people who stayed longer than that in the area, and was part of their integrated defensive strategy. While they had gotten several complaints, mostly from Dark mages passing through, the system had proved to be surprisingly popular and had spread the word about what they were doing. It was part of the reason why their community was growing bigger everyday, and it was even reaching people who didn't know they were mages, or that there was even a mage community.

For centuries, the mage community had always stayed hidden for its own protection, and only mages born to mage families had the benefit of knowing their history. Tradition forbade writing anything down about magic, and so every year there were mages born who did not know about magic. Most never consciously worked magic, attributing their occasional flashes of insight into the thoughts of others as fanciful thinking, or narrow scrapes with death or serious injury as ‘miraculous luck'. Five people had thought they were going insane when they heard the messages as they arrived in Phoenix (Three, all in one family, had driven past a ward, while two more had flown into the airport on vacation, or just passing through on layovers).

The family of three, who had been on their way to a vacation in Los Angeles had ended up staying the entire time in Phoenix, learning about magic, and were now planning to move there. Their nine-year-old son was showing quite a bit of potential, even at an early age, and neither of the parents was exactly weak as mages. The other two mages, one of whom was an airline pilot in his fifties and only of marginal capabilities, were spending as much time in the area as they could, learning more about magic and their magical heritage.

The pilot was bringing his wife and kids on a ‘vacation' to see if they could hear the wards as well, and if they could he was planning to have them move into the area. That was leading to an issue that Worthington had to admit Jamie was better at handling than he could have been. In just the last six weeks, the mage population of the Valley of the Sun, which included Phoenix and all its suburbs, had now tripled. If current trends kept up, that number would double again before the end of the year.

The New Demon War.

That was what people were calling it, and in the shitstorm that had been kicked up after Worthington's battle, the fallout was still not clear. Some things were clear. Many Dark families were fleeing the country, packing up their homes, and their children, and taking off for Europe and points beyond. Those that couldn't afford to do this were looking for ways to band together, and the Valley of the Sun was a popular destination despite what many saw as its drawbacks.

First was the fact that for the first time in centuries there was a form of self-government established by mages. The Mage's Council had been formed for protection, but it was quickly becoming more than that in the needs of the moment, with what were in effect refugees flooding into the area. With its preponderance of Light mages, and with Jamie taking over the leadership, people trusted in it a lot more than any of them had expected despite the second fact that it was becoming much more widely known.

For the first time in even longer than the last mage government, a mundane government not only knew about magic, but also had made some attempt at regulating magic and mages. In the last few months that program had been severely damaged by battles with demons, but the mundane leaders still knew about magic, and still feared what mages could do without some type of monitoring. They feared demons more than magic though, and for now that was providing Worthington and other leaders of the mage community with a powerful bargaining chip.

The government knew, and more importantly believed, that demons posed a great threat to the current order of life for their people, and wanted the threat from demons eliminated. They also knew, thanks to testimony from the surviving mercenary soldiers, and the sole surviving government mage from the last battle, that without mages and the help of magical beings like Dwarves, they could not hope to fight demons even with all their armies.

That gave the mage community some bargaining power, and by unspoken consensus Worthington was picked as the lead spokesman for mages despite his young age. His actions in the Northern Arizona battle, and before, had earned some respect from those assigned to deal with mages, and while they did not trust him as much as the now-dead mages that had led their research and regulatory efforts, they did trust him more than most other ‘wild' mages. For now they were listening to him, and that was going to have to be enough in the long run.

"You're up early." Brandon's voice was soft as he came into the kitchen and smiled at Worthington who was finishing up the last of his breakfast before taking a sip of orange juice. "Did you have the nightmare again?"

"What do you think?" Worthington asked more sharply than he intended, and Brandon shrugged at him as he took down a small plate from the cabinets and heaped several of the potato pancakes on them before placing it into the microwave. Then he turned around, leaned back against the counter and gave Worthington a glare.

"Don't blame me you're having nightmares, and I'm not," Brandon said crisply.

"Why aren't you?" Worthington asked with a sigh.

"It's because demons are your thing to worry about," Brandon said with a sigh of his own and smiled ever so slightly. "All I have to worry about is getting in better shape, so I don't hold you back next time, getting better at providing you with power, and how to keep Tom's eyes from wandering to one of those skanky hoes that will be chasing him when he's wearing his football uniform."

"You got him to fuck you while he's wearing it yet?" Worthington asked, seizing the opportunity to change the subject.

"Just in his practice uniform," Brandon smiled dreamily. "His game uniform hasn't been issued yet, but he's promised and I'll hold him to that. He looks fucking hot in that thing."

"Doesn't it… scratch?" Worthington asked. "I mean, all that gear, the shoulders pads and stuff, doesn't it get in the way?"

"No." Brandon laughed as the microwave chimed and he pulled out his own food while going to the coffee machine and turning it on. Worthington sighed at the thought of coffee, but the Healers banned him from caffeine for another week. "We get around that, and it feels kind of sexy when his uniform grinds against my bare skin, and he gets really aggressive. It's kind of fun. He's finally realized I want him to fuck me like a real man, and none of that other sappy bullshit he was trying to do earlier, and he's happier without having to pretend to be mushy and all that crap. That's how I'll keep those girls away from him. They always want flowers, chocolates, the guy remembering their birthday and their two-and-a-half-week anniversary. I want his dick in me, pounding me, and maybe a little fun and games. That's it, and he's at his best when he's doing just that."

"Hopefully that's all he wants." Worthington laughed.

"Oh god no, I spoil him with everything else." Brandon chuckled around a bite of food as well. "Just last week was his parents' anniversary, so I made sure he had a card and a gift for them, even though he doesn't really like them all that much. All he had to do was give the stuff to them and they were so happy he had no problem coming over and spending all night with me. That's when he wore his uniform for me."

"Ah, glad you're having so much fun." Worthington smiled, and he really meant those words.

"I really do appreciate this, you know," Brandon said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "When I agreed to be soul-bound to you, I knew what I was getting into, but what you've made it this last year, well I never expected to be so happy."

"How can you say that?" Worthington frowned. "You almost died two weeks ago. We know that wasn't the end of this fight. There's at least one more Demon Lord out there, if not more, and there's still all those demon summoning mages that got away. We won a battle, not the war. You do understand we'll have to fight again, and next time we may not win?"

"That's a chance." Brandon shrugged as he sipped his coffee. "Still, you're damn good at this war stuff, and well, we did win, didn't we? We're still here, and I'm still at your side, having fun. I know you'll do what you can to protect me, and well that's enough for me."

"What if I can't?" Worthington asked and let the self-doubt bubble up to the front. He wasn't used to feeling this, and it just made him all the more scared. Brandon's laugh didn't help matters much.

"Then we're all screwed." Brandon shrugged it off as if it was nothing. "I'm not worried about that, and neither is anyone else I know. You're a natural at this Worthington, and we couldn't hope for a better leader in a situation like this. If it can be done, you'll win and send the demons packing."

"And you wonder why I have nightmares," Worthington muttered and there was a sympathetic look on Brandon's face.

"You're not a god or anything like that." Brandon said softly. "I know that, and so does everyone else. The thing is, we're as scared as anyone else, but we have to have faith in something and you're a pretty safe place to put that faith. It's even easier for me, because my soul is bound to you. You will always be there for me, even after death. Look at Randall and how well you take care of him. He was bound to your father, who is gone, but still belongs with his soul-binder's family. I'll mourn if you die tomorrow, just like he mourned your father, but I know Jamie will make sure I'm taken care of and that's enough for me."

"Fine," Worthington said sourly, but he was feeling a little more relaxed instead of all worked up. This was the longest conversation he'd had with Brandon in a long time, and the dark-haired young man smiled at him gently.

"You're welcome." Brandon said before taking a rather big bite of the food. Worthington waved to him one more time as he went back downstairs to his bedroom. He had far more e-mails on his computer than he had expected, mostly because he hadn't checked for the last day and a half, and began to make his way through them while he waited for the morning hours to pass until it was time to go to school.

The first email he replied to came from Allan Weatherby, the former Marine officer who had led the government's mercenary troops in the battle. It was good news, for a change, and Worthington smiled as he typed out a brief reply to the man. Next up came several emails from members of Mike's Riders, forwarding him the latest bit of gossip that was hitting the various email lists of students at their high school. Those left him feeling sour again, and so he moved on to the joke emails that Jamie had forwarded him. Now those left him with a smile on his face, as did the two pictures of cute guys Jamie had seen while riding his bike yesterday.

His brother was bound and determined to make him get over his obsession with the government mage, Michael Lowenthal.

Thinking of Lowenthal made him frown again, and he moved on to the emails that he was dreading. The Huntington woman's official email address meant more questions from the government, and he hated seeing anything about magic put into writing, much less in a government email that was supposedly saved and archived, even if it was considered ‘classified' information. Mage society was changing, and he knew that better than most mages. That still didn't mean that all of it had to change, or that traditions were still not valid or important. The tradition of not putting magic into writing was one he still felt strongly about, and wanted to continue.

"Hey bro." Jamie's voice interrupted him an hour later after he'd finished typing out long replies to Huntington's email, couched in the vaguest terms possible, or sounding like a theoretical discussion of demon-worshipping cultists. Jamie was dressed like him, but in a dark yellow skin-tight dwarven short-sleeve shirt, and brown leather pants. Naturally he didn't have any of Worthington's scars, or people would have a difficult time telling them apart still.

"Yo, what's up?" Worthington smiled at him, partaking in some ‘low-brow' style speech that Jamie teased him about from time to time.

"Everyone should be here in about ten minutes." Jamie smiled. "You going to warm up your bike before they get here?"

"I might as well." Worthington sighed as he grabbed his backpack, put it on and grabbed his keys on the way out the door. Jamie had his backpack by the door, and put it on as they walked up the stairs.

"You sure you're up to the ride?" Jamie asked with concern when Worthington paused to let the wave of dizziness pass at the top of the stairs.

"Yes," Worthington said firmly, and Jamie sighed.

"You don't have to do this," Jamie suggested firmly.

"I know." Worthington tried to sound strong and reassuring.

"Damn it Worthington, don't kill yourself now over something this stupid," Jamie growled as he touched his brother.

"I'll be fine." Worthington insisted as he drew a deep breath. "It's just the after-effects of draining myself as badly as I did, not the physical things."

"You nearly died." Jamie growled softly with a look of concern. "If you die because you get back on your bike too soon you'll do none of us any good."

"I won't." Worthington promised him as he set off with determination for the garage. This garage was as big as the one at the other house, but held a section just for the four bikes that were parked there. Rob and Brandon already had the door open and were wheeling their bikes out. The other spots in the garage held Worthington's seldom-used BMW sports coupe, Jamie's Prius, and Rob's Cadillac. Brandon's Ninja was all he needed to get around.

"I do love these paint jobs." Jamie murmured as he and Worthington wheeled their identical, custom-made Ducati bikes out of the garage. The dwarf assigned to ‘care' for their ‘metal beasts' had taken it into his head to repaint all of their bikes, including all members of the MR. Worthington had to admit that the new paint job, a dark gray with sparkles of light in it, matched with an almost metallic orange was strangely appealing, along with the MR logo that the gang itself had chosen several months ago. They'd no more than wheeled their bikes out and started them when Colin came running outside, his light red hair now cut in a crew cut style along with everyone else's and frowning.

"Did you guys forget me?" He demanded with a frown as Carl came out behind him.

"If they forgot you, they forgot me too," Carl said with a slight smirk on his face. His blond hair was much longer than anyone else's and he'd flat out refused the crew cut at Saturday's party for the MR gang.

"Colin you're riding with Rob." Worthington said with a nod towards the large blond with a square face. Rob nodded for his part but remained quiet like he had been doing a lot lately. He wasn't exactly excited about going back to school for his senior year, or about transferring to the same school as Worthington, but accepted it nonetheless. Given an option, he'd spend all his time up at Clairville with his half-elven lover.

"As for you, you little pest, you're with me." Jamie mock-growled at Carl who laughed as he grabbed his helmet off the shelf and bounced outside, his backpack already in place. The sounds of more motorcycles approaching came up the street and Worthington took another deep breath as twenty sports bikes of various types and sizes came into view.

The MR had grown with its acceptance party two days ago and now numbered an even twenty, not including the riders that lived with Jamie. All of the twenty were mundanes, not gifted with magical abilities. Most of that twenty were juniors in high school this year, and there were now several Alumni members who were attending college or had moved elsewhere towards the end of summer.

The leader pulled up on his brand new Ducati, a gift from Worthington and painted like all the bikes with the same dark gray and metallic orange colors that struck such a contrast. Most oranges were either too garish or too dull, but this one was just right, warm and yet lively against the darker gray color. As Josh pulled off his helmet and ran a hand across his crew-cut dark red hair, he smiled at Worthington.

Despite the system for selecting this year's leader that Worthington and Barry had developed, it was the riders of MR that decided they wanted something more. The ‘compromise' had proven to be popular. Worthington and Barry suggested three people for the job of leader, and those three raced. At the end of the race, the winner was acclaimed leader, and the MR partied as they celebrated, and welcomed their newest members.

The final test for new riders to join the MR was their acceptance of magic, and the need for the controls that Worthington would place on them. A member of MR was normally a mundane, but they knew about magic and were well paid for their roles in the defense of the Valley from outside intrusion. Every night five or six riders would ride their bikes in pre-designated patrol routes until midnight. They had to be free to remember magic to make effective patrollers, but they also had to accept some controls. This year, the first for the official MR as a group, two candidates had not passed, and been sent on their way with their memory wiped and a reasonable explanation of personality clashes on why they had chosen to not join the MR (it having been decided that by thinking it was their choice the event would create less harsh feelings).

"Looking good there, Mike." Josh said with a smile as Worthington went to bump gloved fists with him. The redhead was tall, with massive shoulders and played on the school's football team. He'd won the race, and was the leader of the MR for this year. After hearing the suggestion, and seeing the result, Worthington had known it was a better way of selecting the MR leader.

"So are you, Josh," Worthington replied without blinking an eye. Michael was his middle name, and most of the MR, and people at the high school had first met him while he was still using that name. It had stuck with him, and he didn't mind that these people still used it almost exclusively. "I see you recovered from yesterday's hangover."

"Yeah, it was a bitch," Josh laughed, along with some of the other riders. Several riders were revving their bikes now. "You ready to ride?"

"Yup, let's get to school," Worthington replied, putting his helmet on and snapping the buckle closed as he reached for his bike. It was a little tough with his gloves already on, but they were thin racing gloves so it wasn't too bad.

MR wanted to make a grand entrance to the school this year, and they did manage just that as twenty-four bikes rolled into the school's student parking lot as a group. Worthington parked his bike in the middle of the section they'd chosen, and let out a small sigh. It was good to be back on his bike after two weeks. Feeling the rush of freedom, the power between his legs from the 1,200cc engine, all had reminded him of how much he enjoyed riding motorcycles.

They walked into the halls of the relatively new school in a loud, boisterous group, all with fresh crew cuts, all wearing leather pants although nearly half of them looked brand new and still fairly stiff, and all wearing short sleeve shirts of different colors. Worthington blessed whatever had made him wear the same sort of outfit, and wondered if maybe Jamie had planned this all along. Only a third of the existing members of MR had worn leather riding pants, with their distinctive knee pads (for protecting knee caps from the asphalt during tight, fast turns) to the party on Saturday. Certainly, Josh and Tom had worn them, along with their dwarf-made tight-knit shirts that were also partial armor.

The material the dwarves used for those shirts, and the similar shirts and under pants worn by the mercenary soldiers during the battle were slightly different than the ‘woven metal' gear Worthington wore. His gear was only allowed to be worn by people considered to have ‘royal blood', which the dwarves considered him as possessing. These other shirts and gear were some type of reinforced material, not actual metal woven together like cloth and layered with dwarven magic.

"I'll see you guys later," Worthington said to Josh as they neared the offices where the guidance counselors were. Elizabeth had said his guidance counselor wanted to talk with him before school. Josh nodded, and several of the senior members of the group called out acknowledgements as he left the group. He was surprised at the way Tom was walking with his arm possessively around Brandon's shoulders. None of the group seemed upset or uncomfortable with the display of affection. In fact, as Worthington watched the group head further down the hall, he saw two other ‘couples' either holding hands, or walking with their arms around each other's waists.

"Now that's something you don't see every day," Mrs. Warren, Worthington's guidance counselor, said from behind him, and he turned quickly to look at her with wide eyes.

"What's that?" He said nervously.

"I'm not sure what the Principal is going to do." She said with a rueful tone and a shake of her head as she switched her briefcase to her left hand and opened the door to the guidance offices. Worthington followed her past the reception counter into the small room that was her office.

"What he's going to do about what?" Worthington asked.

"Oh, about this gang I've been hearing about." She said with a smile and a shake of her head. "People tell me they're lead by this really bad kid that's killed his parents, and supposedly a bunch of other people, who the police say was involved somehow with the government and the terrorist incident earlier in the year, and some of the kids in school, and faculty for that matter are actually afraid of him now."

"You've got to be joking," Worthington said with wide eyes. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Don't bother." She laughed lightly. "You have the bad luck of having your family killed in a freak accident a year ago, coming to public school after being in private schools all your life, and then having someone start spreading malicious rumors based on the flimsiest of coincidences. Add to that you're a very attractive young man, a very rich one too, and you are going to be a natural magnet for rumors. Those young men you associate with don't help matters much. I don't think there's an ugly one in the bunch."

"No, there's not," Worthington admitted with a slight smile.

"I just wanted let you know the rumors have reached the faculty, although most of them have the intelligence to pay them little attention." She continued. "Also, your guardian told me about your decision regarding wrestling. I talked with Coach Vanderbilt, and he urged me to not change your schedule just yet. He seems to believe that you will be on the wrestling team after all."

"No," Worthington said sharply, trying and failing not to see Jeremy's bloody face after the car accident that had killed him.

"You and Jeremy were good friends, weren't you?" She said sympathetically.

"Yes," Worthington admitted sadly.

"I think you'll need to talk to the Coach yourself, but Michael, don't give up wrestling just because it reminds you of him," She advised softly, with a concerned expression on her face. "Instead, you should let it remind you of him in a good way."

"That's similar to what Elizabeth said," Worthington admitted sourly. It was also what his counselor, Barrett de Long had advised.

"You should listen to her." Mrs. Warren advised. "That was all I wanted to talk to you about, but I think it would be good to remind you I'm always here if you need someone to talk to at anytime."

"Thank you," Worthington said as he stood up.

"Oh, and Michael, one more thing," She said. "It's your senior year, you really should try to enjoy it as much as possible. It'll never come again."

"I will, and thank you," Worthington said with a smile.