Hey you guys, this story belongs to the great Melori. I'm just finishing it off for her. Once again, thank you Melori for giving me the chance to write this.
Buttercup hungrily shoved another spoonful of cereal into her mouth the morning of the first day of school. She looked across the oval,mahogany kitchen table at Butch, who was studying the daily newspaper. Since what happened in May, Butch visited the Utonium house hold frequently; breakfast was no exception. Today, his expression was very serious.
Buttercup quickly swallowed."What's wrong Butch?"
Butch's emerald eyes met Buttercups jade-green ones. He began to read an excerpt from the mini-article. "Last night, at exactly eleven o'clock p.m., Main Street, Market Street and Central Boulevard were plowed through by an almost invisible force.'" He paused, skimming through to find the part that had disturbed him so. "Here it is...'"Here it is...'Local authorities suspect that it may be superhuman activity.'"
"More supers?" Buttercup asked. Butch nodded. "And they're not exactly obeying the law...I thought we got rid of evil here for good when we destroyed Him back in May..." She reached across the table. "Can I see the paper?"
"Sure." Butch handed her the paper. Buttercup's eyes were immediately drawn to the full-color photo. Three streaks of light were tearing up the streets that had been listed. The lights were pink, blue, and green.
"Whoa." Buttercup's eyes widened. "I wonder what that means." There was more to the freakiness of the situation than the lights though. It had more to do with the fact that the streaks were the colors of her and her sisters and fellow Powerpuff Girls, Blossom and Bubbles.
"Me, too," Butch agreed. He glanced at the clock. "Hurry up and finish getting ready. We're going to be late for school."
The tardy bell rang just as Blossom and Brick sat at their desks in Calculus that morning. The teacher began calling role. Then he introduced himself as Mr. Morris.
When he was finished, Mr. Morris said, "Now class, we are going to have a new student this year. She's coming to us from..." He picked up a slip of paper from his desk. "...Los Angeles." Several people in the class whooped and whistled, excited to have a Hollywood girl as a classmate. "Settle down, please!" Mr. Morris ordered. Silence fell. "She should be here any minute," he continued.
Just then, the door opened and a girl entered the room. She was slightly taller than Blossom, who was only five-four. Her fiery red hair fell just past her shoulders and was cut in choppy layers, and her bangs fell unevenly to her wide eyes. Her hair was also loosely tied half-back and held in place by an old-looking, ragged, torn red ribbon. Her punk-rocker, all-pink-and-black ensemble accentuated her tanned complexion and hot-pink eyes. Blossom heard some boys wolf-whistle. "Hey," the girl said. "Sorry I'm late."
"That's all right," said Mr. Morris. He turned to the class and gestured to the new girl. "Class, this is the new student that I just told you about." He faced the new girl again. "Why don't you tell the class about yourself?"
The girl pursed her glossy lips. She obviously didn't like talking about herself, and Blossom found that to be suspicious. "My name is Rebecca Woodson," she said finally. "I'm a triplet. My sisters are Rachel and Rose. We just moved here from LA. We're seventeen years old." She turned to Mr. Morris. "Can I sit down now?"
"Yes, of course," said Mr. Morris. "There's an empty seat right over there." He pointed to the empty desk to Blossom's right. Rebecca sat down.
As Mr. Morris began his lecture, Blossom turned to Rebecca. "Hey," she said quietly. "I'm Blossom." She held out her hand for Rebecca to shake. Rebecca just stared at it. Blossom began to feel awkward, so she withdrew her hand. Then she noticed something-a long red scar that ran down the length of Rebecca's left cheek. "What happened to you?" Blossom whispered.
"It's none of your business," Rebecca snapped under her breath. Her eyes flashed with an angry, almost crazed, light and she turned to the front of the room.
Blossom frowned. Rebecca was definitely a questionable character, and she was going to find out what her problem was.
"Hello," said the kind-looking brown-haired woman after the bell had rung. "My name is Mrs. Wilson and I will be teaching AP Chemistry this year."
Bubbles smiled and exchanged relieved glances with Boomer. Unlike in most fictional works, the teacher, apparently, was not a total witch and would not try to ruin their lives.
"Now, we'll have a new student joining us shortly," said Mrs. Wilson, looking out the window in the door. "Oh-here she comes now!"
At that moment, Mrs. Wilson stepped away from the door and it opened. A girl stepped through the door. She was about an inch taller than Bubbles, and Bubbles was only five-three. Her hair was golden-blond and she wore it in two waist-length pigtails; they were fastened with blue barrets. Her outfit was very punk and the only colors were black and blue. She was tan and had blue eyes. Her eyes were lighter than Boomer's, but not quite as pale as Bubbles's. "Hey," she said.
Mrs. Wilson smiled. "Hello. Could you please tell the class your name and a little bit about yourself?"
"Sure," the girl shrugged. "My name's Rachel Woodson. I have two sisters named Rebecca and Rose. We just came here from Los Angeles. We're seventeen years old." Her gaze shifted from the class to some pictures on the back wall. Bubbles could tell she was a bit of an airhead.
"Alright, then," said Mrs. Wilson. "Now, Miss Woodson, there's an empty desk next to Miss Utonium there, see?"
Rachel nodded and took the seat to Bubbles's left. She waved at Bubbles and Bubbles waved back. Then Rachel peered around Bubbles to see Boomer, who was sitting to Bubbles's right. Rachel grinned and her eyes flashed, as if she were plotting something.
Bubbles could tell that she was not going to like this girl.
"Whassup?" the man at the front of the room said, smiling. Buttercup knew that she was going to like this guy. "My name's Mr. Torres, and I'll be teaching Literature-you know what? That's a mouthful. Let's just call it Lit in here. Now, let me call role..." He began listing the names.
"Okay," Mr. Torres said after he'd finished. "The principal told me that there was going to be a new kid in here, so I have to wait to start teaching class so that I can put her name on the roster."
The door opened abruptly and a girl stepped in. She was maybe an inch taller than Buttercup (who was a mere five-one). Her hair was coal-black and styled into untidy spikes on top of her head, and she wore two green diamond-shaped barrets in it. Her outfit screamed "punk." She wore a black leather, silver-studded choker, a black tank top with a green skull on it, a green-and-black plaid scooter, black fishnet stockings, and black combat boots. Buttercup could tell that she was not a person to be messed with. She was tan and her eyes were green. They were darker than Buttercups, but they weren't the same stunning emerald of Butch's eyes. "Yo," the girl said.
"Yo," Mr. Torres replied. "Now, be cool and tell the class your name and some facts about yourself."
"Whatever," the girl shrugged. "My name is Rose Woodson. My sisters are Rebecca and Rachel. We're triplets, if you couldn't tell by the alliteration in our names. We're from LA. We're seventeen." Throughout her whole little speech, Buttercup thought that the one word to describe her was "bored."
"Now, there's an empty seat next to Buttercup, is that right?" Buttercup nodded in affirmation.
Rose walked over to the seat and slumped in it. "Hey," Buttercup tried.
"Hi," Rose sighed. Her eyes wandered about the room until something caught her attention. She sat up and leaned forward to get a better look at whatever was to Buttercup's left. Buttercup followed her line of sight and scowled. Rose was staring at Butch. Her Butch.
Calm down, Buttercup told herself. She's probably not interested. But as she watched the almost evil smile stretch across Rose's face, Buttercup knew that she could not trust this girl.