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Twyla was still hastily picking leaves off of her pants when a boy came into view in her peripheral vision. She turned to get a better look at him the second before his foot was going to come down on the cover of Sense and Sensibility. Twyla let out a small squeak that was a cross between surprise and pain (this WAS the only book she currently owned) and the stranger stepped on it, jumped, kneeled down, and then looked up at Twyla, who was doing her best to look polite. A very mean feat for someone who had just spent the last few minutes freaking out about her situation, being angry at herself for tossing Jane Austen’s first novel into the dirt, and who just happened to be very shy and awkward during the opening moments of a conversation--despite any other outside variables.

Twyla managed to keep her face neutral as the boy– I don’t think he’s any older than me but I am terrible at guessing ages– apologized, wiped the dust off the front cover, and handed one of Twyla’s favorite books back to her. “It’s alright.” Twyla replied without making eye contact while clutching the book to her chest. “It’s a very nice day, I wouldn’t blame you for looking up at the clouds instead of where you plant your feet. Most people don’t expect the uncommon hazard of paperbacks littering the sidewalk.” Twyla tried to keep her tone conversational but the longer she spoke the quieter her voice got. She said her last phrase with a bit of a smile on her face but she doubted the boy could hear her very well. You’re so shy. You’d think that you’d grow out of it. People don’t know you here, it’d be a perfect time to start over, to show them your more interesting qualities. To grow a pair, like Nate would tell you to. Twyla’s older brother had always wanted his youngest sister to be more outgoing and his favorite phrases were that Twyla needed to ‘Man up.’ and ‘Grow a pair.’ .

Rubbing the front cover with her thumb, Twyla made the executive decision to keep this conversation going. “It doesn’t look any worse.” She said, bringing herself to look the stranger in the chin, which was a big improvement from looking down at her camouflage Chuck Taylors. “It’s pretty travel worn. I should probably get a new copy, or at least not fling this one out at unsuspecting passerby. I’m Twyla by the way.” I don’t know if he’s human or...like me. It was easy to be Wallflower with Meld because I was sure she was a mutant. It’s probably better to give him my regular name in case he’s normal. It’d be weird to go around to random people and telling them ‘Hi, I’m Wallflower, I’m a mutant.’ Twyla said her bit all in a rush in case halfway through she lost her nerve. She felt kind of silly, but she was also a bit proud of herself and her change in mood showed in her smile.

For the last few days Twyla had taken to leaving the Sanctuary early in the morning right after breakfast and wandering around New York City until it started to get dark. Usually her meanderings brought her either to the New York Public Library or to Central Park. Today Central Park seemed to be where her feet wanted to go. The park had become very familiar to her and Twyla had begun to feel more at home in the hustle of the city. Today Twyla carried her backpack with her and she was wearing a pair of her older brother’s old jeans and a plain green tee shirt. She didn't look like anything special and that's how she liked it.

Twyla was about to enter the park when the smell of something like coffee hit her. She wasn’t a big coffee drinker but it was still a little early and Twyla wanted something that would wake her up. Some caffeine could do me good AND it’s gonna be cheap. I think I ahve enough quarters to get a small cup. Twyla thought while suppressing a yawn. She hadn’t slept well the night before and was feeling the affects of that now. Her decision made, Twyla turned and walked down the street towards a cluster of coffee vendors.

Is that Meld? Twyla wondered when she saw a woman with unmistakable metal feet. This is the first time I’ve seen her since she brought me to the Sanctuary. Well, live that is. She’s been on the news plenty. Oh no, she looks like she’s about to- “Look–” Twyla started to yell before Meld turned around and ran into another woman. “...out.” Twyla finished under her breath. Wait...is that a police officer? That’s probably NOT a good thing. Twyla felt the color go out of her face as she took in the blue uniform, now stained with dark brown coffee. That is definitely a cop. Maybe she won’t notice. Maybe they’ll both just walk away and everything will be fine. Maybe she won’t notice al the metal. Twyla hoped as she began to walk more briskly down the street. She didn’t have a plan for what to do if the situation turned into a fight but she hoped that she cold be of use to the woman who had showed her kindness.

Twyla could round up some change if you'd like her to have coffee with you.

After a few days of resting and meekly exploring the Sanctuary Twyla was in need of some fresh air. So in hopes of finding a bit of green in the urban jungle she had wandered until she found the bit of green she was looking for. Central Park had been the highlight of her trip the first time she had come to New York City in the winter and now the green lawns and paved paths seemed almost familiar. She didn’t have her backpack or duffel bag with her and she hadn’t realized how much she had taken for granted a safe place to leave her belongings until she had walked out of Sanctuary’s golden doors with nothing in her hands but a book and a bottle of water.

The book in question was Twyla’s favorite book Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. It had been a last minute item that she had packed before getting the ride from her brother that had ultimately led to Twyla being in Central park at all. She had packed it for entertainment on the many trains she had anticipated taking. So far it had been a smart thing to pack, even if it took up space in her bag that could go to something more practical. Since she had first checked out Jane Austen’s classic from the library her freshman year of high school Twyla had read the book ten times. Four of them had been since she’d ran away from home the previous fall. Twyla was looking for a quiet spot where she could enjoy the warm weather and begin her eleventh read of Sense and Sensibility.

After searching for a bit, Twyla found the perfect spot to read. It was a patch of grass under a flowering tree that was close enough to people so that she didn’t feel isolated or exposed but far enough away that she could relax in peace. She opened the front cover and before she could even read the title page her mind began whirring with the worries she had been hoping to suppress with her excursion. I can’t stay at the Sanctuary forever--I can’t count on charity from strangers forever--I need a real plan--I need a purpose--I can’t just not DO anything...To be independent I need money--To get money I need a job--To get a job I need proof of previous employment and if I put down any of my information I’ll be caught as a runaway and be sent back to my parents...I CAN’T tell them yet. Maybe someday, but not now. Twyla bit her lip and began to get frustrated with herself. Freaking out doesn’t do anything for you. Twyla tried to reason with herself but her mind kept on churning. She suddenly stood up with the intent of leaving the park and going back to the Sanctuary, her relaxed mood ruined. In her haste to get up she had lost her grip on the paperback and it went flying out of her hands and onto a path. Great. Now look at what you’ve done. Twyla grumped at herself as she dusted off the bottoms of her jeans. “I’m so sorry Jane.” She murmured to herself.

There can be nothing in the world more amazing than instant macaroni and cheese. Twyla thought to herself as she scooped another mouthful of noodles into her mouth. Twyla was sitting on a counter in the, to use her word, ‘swank’ kitchen of the Sanctuary. It was a little past midnight and Twyla couldn’t sleep. She had spent her first day in the new and strange building finding a laundry room, getting herself clean, avoiding as many of the other residents as possible, and sleeping. She had done a lot of sleeping.

The sleeping earlier was what was keeping Twyla up now. Maybe a HUGE nap in the middle of the afternoon wasn’t such a good idea. Twyla decided as she looked at the digital clock blinking at her from the stove. Sleeping in a real bed was too tempting, besides it’s kinda nice to be the only one in here. Twyla had found her trek to a laundry very informational. This was definitely, like Meld had told her, a place for mutants. Twyla wasn’t uncomfortable with that; since she had discovered her own mutated genes she had crashed almost always with mutant only groups. It was the lack of mutants her own age that made Twyla uncomfortable. They had all looked like adults to her, at least all of the ones that were in the hallways Twyla had walked through. So Twyla had made the executive decision to avoid social situations while she was still new to this ‘ritzy’(another of her words) homeless shelter.

Twyla had left her room in search of food around eleven thirty after brushing her wavy brown hair that was still slightly damp from her earlier shower. She had crept quietly around the building barefoot, wearing a pair of Soffe shorts with the word “DANCE” written across the seat and a blue tee-shirt that proclaimed that her highschool’s dance team was State bound. Her outfit was reminiscent of a carefree highschool girl that Twyla wasn’t sure she was anymore. She had brushed that thought aside and found the kitchen after only getting lost once. Once she had seen the boxes of macaroni and cheese in the cupboard her stomach had growled and she had set herself to work preparing the orangey , noodley mess in front of her.

I haven’t had mac and cheese in...She paused to rack her brains for her most recent memory of eating her midnight meal. I don’t know how long. She finished her inner statement. I’m not going to be able to finish all of this. She noted after taking a few more bites and looking at the half-full pot still sitting on the stove top. No, I think eating meals this late is totally fine. I get this room to myself and it’s almost quiet. I can’t hear much past the appliance noises anyway...These cities are never really quiet though. A wave of homesickness suddenly washed over Twyla as she thought about the lack of noise at night on her family’s farm. She jumped down from the counter and noisily scrapped her plate off in a garbage can as if to drown her own thinking out. Keep yourself busy. She reminded herself. It was a technique she had perfected that first night away from home those months ago. If she kept herself busy for long enough she could suppress any unsettling thoughts or feelings, so Twyla started the water in the sink and set herself to the task of cleaning up the dishes she had dirtied in order to make the best food she had had in a long time.

Twyla watched with a mixture of confusion and fascination as Dead let himself fall from the top of the building into a trash can. I’d be way to scared to do that. Not to mention the fact that he just landed in a trash can in a big city, gross. If he landed wrong he could have seriously hurt himself–oh yeah, he doesn’t have to worry about that. I’m the most breakable person in this group, that’s comforting. Twyla realized after glancing at Meld's metal limbs.

"Nope, no problem its absolutely awesome, that was fun, can we do it again?" Dead said as he climbed out of the trash can and walked over to where Meld and Twyla were standing. You seem so qualified to answer that question, Mr. Indestructible. I've never done anything like that before. It was scary, but still really cool.Twyla thought as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I vote we don’t do that again, at least not under the same conditions.” Twyla strained her ears to attempt to detect any of the tell-tale signs of cops in the area. The coast sounded clear. That was kinda lucky.... Okay, so really lucky. But we’re not out of the woods yet. “So do you still know where we are, Meld?” Twyla asked as she rubbed her shoulder under her backpack strap. There’s gonna be a bruise there tomorrow. I might not be spending tomorrow on the streets. There’s no telling how many tomorrows I can spend at this Sanctuary place, but one night is way better than none.