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When Angela had got her learner’s license at the age of fifteen (just), she and her parents had come to an arrangements of sorts. They made a deal. If she wanted a car with which to drive around in, she would have to ask her parents to borrow one of theirs. Because for a time she would need one of them in the passenger’s seat, this made sense to all parties involved.
The important bit of the deal (to Angela)was thus: if her year twelve marks were good enough, she had kept out of trouble and she had her full license, they would buy her a cheap runabout to use for seventh form.
Of course, life has a way of intervening, and making things turn out not quite how you would have wanted them to. Angela still got her car... in Australia. As she had accepted the offered place at the Renard Institute, she was now living across the ditch. The move had come with its own pros and cons of course. Pro: learning more about mutants. Con: leaving all her friends behind.
One of the things that was not really pro nor con, but something that Angela found amusing was the fact that, as a New Zealander, she had a full license at an age where Australians were barely starting.
Okay, so maybe that was the pro. The con was that she was now resigned to ferrying students of SCI around. Because she had been there full-time since early December (save for a week where she went home for Christmas), all the workings of SCI had become old hat. And for Angela, one that was unique for her was to make a shout-out for anyone who wanted a lift out to wherever she was going. Usually town. Soon it would be school.
Of course, having a car meant having responsibilities. If it broke down, she had to get it fixed. She had to buy petrol.
And as she was about to demonstrate, she had to wash it.
As she set the bucket of warm water down beside her, she contemplated the fact that, when she was a little girl, she always wanted to help with the washing of the cars. But now that she was older, and had one of her own, it seemed like a chore.
Now, where was the hose?
Angela saw it, a few metres away, obviously out of reach. She would have to trudge over there and get it.
Or would she?
Taking a deep breath, she stretched out a hand so that through her eyes it looked like it was about to pick the hose up. Focussing, she willed the hose to leap into the air and fly towards her.
If she were a real telekinetic, or had any real power, that was what might have happened. Instead, it merely rolled over once, before stilling.
Breathing as if she had just gone for a very short run, Angela lowered her arm. “Little help?” she called, hoping one of the passers-by would take pity on her and bring it.
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 A Jedi shall not know F E A R
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