Chapter Text
Megan knew she was different from an early age.
It wasn't a special difference or a medically treated difference.
Just different.
While most kids would be learning their 1-2-3s, Megan started solving basic algebraic equations. When kids went out and played on the playground, Megan was learning her times tables to the hundreds.
Her teachers were astonished by the gifted girl. Most hadn't seen anything like it.
But there was one problem.
"C'mon, Meg, say 'Mama'."
"…"
Megan didn't talk.
The only thing other kids could do that she could not.
Her parents and teachers tried everything they could, but nothing seemed to work. Speech therapy wasn't helpful either.
Megan was mute. And to kids, that was strange.
"Why don't you talk?"
"Can you even say your own name?"
"Why are you so quiet all the time?"
"Why do you have a mouth if you can't talk?"
Megan was bombarded with a multitude of questions that, in adult eyes, were rude. But she was more fascinated by the idea that kids her age were so curious about her.
So fascinated in fact that she would be oblivious to the obvious bullying she would receive from her peers.
Megan never paid any mind to kids who would mock her or call her names. But the adults around her did, which caused many trips to the doctor's office when a kid would push her around or hit her mouth for not saying a simple,"Excuse me."
Fortunately for Megan, the Skiendiel's moved around the country so she didn't have to be tormented by the same kid for her entirety of primary school. This went around until Megan hit 6th grade and they had finally settled in Los Angeles, California.
The 2nd semester had just started and it was Megan's first day. It was hard to tell if she was nervous or excited as she wore a bland face all the way to school.
"Are you going to be okay hun?" Her mom asked as she drove up to the front. Megan looked ahead at all the kids crossing the street. They all laughed and ran around, having way too much energy for kids about to spend the next 6 ½ hours in a classroom.
Megan gave a little exhale before looking back at her mother and pressing her lipsin a thin line. Her mother smiled and unlocked the car door to let her daughter go.
Megan quickly made her way out and shut the car door without a wave goodbye.
She walked along with the bustling crowd of pre-teens. Though she was average height for a 12 year old, she was smaller than the rest of them. Their big energies had outshined her meek one and she was barely noticable in the crowd.
She passed the gates of her school and started looking around for her homeroom class. She had memorized her schedule like the back of her hand so it was no surprise she was able to make it in with ease.
When she walked in her teacher greeted her in an unexpected way.
"Hello, you must be Megan!" He signed to her. The Canto blinked before signing back a yes.
He smiled before showing her the assigned seat he had given her. Megan followed and sat down, not even noticing she was the only one in the classroom.
But that was soon changed as students began filing in. She watched as they went to their own desks or crowded their friends'.
Megan observed how they talked, how they acted when others were talking. She over heard conversations of a kid who went out of the country for their winter break or the story of how someone's sledding caused a broken arm.
They were just background noise, another thought in Megan's ongoing experience to understand the adolescents she's suppoosed to make "friends" with.
That's something that Megan always heard when entering a new school.
"You should make some friends."
Megan never listened. With the knowledge of moving around, friends would just be another obstacle in her way of understanding the world around her.
People became emotional attatched when they form bonds, and Megan didn't like emotional attatchment.
The closest thing she had to an "emotional attatchment" with something was dance.
When she was 8, her mother took her brother and her to a dance recital.
Megan fell in love with it.
She never told anyone about her "crush."
Except for her brother.
Her brother was the closest thing to a friend Megan would ever have. Any opportunity she could, she would stick by his side, no questions asked.
She wouldn't admit it to herself, but he was her safety blanket. Someone she would go to for those rare momnts of vulnerability.
Like dance.
If you asked their parents, they would say the dancer of the family was Tyler.
If you asked Tyler, he would say it was Megan.
The girl had such a skill for dancing. It was no question she was able to pick it up easily, Tyler almost got jealous by it.
But she was amazing, no doubt about it. Everytime Tyler would go to a dance rehearsal, Megan would follow. She stood by the side watching as the other dancers moved.
She observed.
And with those observations, she would nail each move perfectly, hitting each beat with precision.
Dance instuctors would see her and asked if she'd like to dance along with the group. But she would always nod her head no, ushering to whatever Kumon worksheet she had brought with her.
But when everyone left? It was like a whole new person had possesed her.
Dancing was her way of speaking, her way of communicating to the world.
But she didn't want the world to hear her speak. Not yet at least.
For the meantime, her brother was the only one who could know. And for the meantime, he was her whole world.
Those vulnerable moments would follow her around in her head. It was something she would think about when she had the moment to. Like at that very moment, sitting at her desk not paying any mind to those surrounding her.
"—Hellooooo? I'm talking to you."
Well maybe she should start now.
Megan looks up to the voice calling her.
Her eyes met with hazel ones. They stared her down like a lion.
But where most would be intimidated, she was enthralled.
Who was this predator that suddenly chose to pray in her terrain?