this is one of my most favorite movies of all time!

Paper Lantern has never been her very favorite restaurant. That position of honor belongs to an excellent vegan café downtown where Layla and her mother are frequent customers. When she's looking for some intelligent conversation or a few extra hands to help with rally preparations, the Jasmine Dragon is her go-to spot. But when the world just gets a little too loud, Paper Lantern is her hideaway, where she can slip by unnoticed in the familiar, dark red ambiance for comfort.

So here she is, even though the company she's currently seeking is neither familiar nor comfortable.

It's been one week since Will agrees to go to Homecoming with Gwen Grayson — one week since Layla finds herself sitting alone on a two-person booth as minutes then hours tick by, in utter denial over where her best friend of so many years is — one week since she places a skinny slip of paper on her bedside table and runs meaningless numbers over in her head: four, sixteen, five, and forty-nine.

(And of course, she could put purpose into each digit and come to tissue-thin conclusions, but she doesn't bother.)

And it's been one week minus one day since Layla Williams sits down across from Warren Peace in the school cafeteria.

She notices him just moments after she walks into the restaurant, her palms suddenly icky, as fear pumps out of her heart and to her very fingertips. Although he gives them the slip towards the end of the week during lunch by simply not being in the cafeteria, she has now had no less than a handful of conversations with him.

The first part of her fear is at least a little more reasonable. Everybody loses control of their powers at some point, but if, say, Zack lost control of his thus-far unseen powers, nobody would notice. Probably.

(And she wants to believe him, and deep down, she knows that she does — it's just harder to defend him when she has no evidence against hallway whispers that say nothing but facts.)

But fire is so utterly wrought with symbolism and danger that...well, she thinks a bit of caution is reasonable, especially after the showdown in the cafeteria that still gives her actual shivers when she thinks about it. The yelling — Warren's yelling — is packed with emotion, bursting at the seams with it, and she's never witnessed anything like it.

The second part of her fear is ridiculous.

(And she knows that, and she feels totally guilty, but so far there is nothing to be done about it.)

Layla hasn't exactly had a very good experience interacting with Sky High, outside of the other Hero Support freshmen — even then, she has yet to garner much more than their scorn, after a couple challenges to what she's confident are accidental slips in Mr. Boy's societally ingrained beliefs. But upperclassmen are another field entirely. Save The Citizen scares her too, even in the dubious safety of the audience. Though he has yet to single her freshman-status out, Warren is a sophomore with two years and a foot of height on her. So.

(And yes, she knows that sophomores are technically still underclassmen, too, but she thinks the learning curve on a flying bus and English classes taught by someone who breathes underwater and has been to Atlantis is steep enough that there is a huge difference between the entering class and everyone else.)

But anyway.

Said sophomore finally comes by, wielding a full water pitcher that drips condensation down onto his wrist tattoos. Layla thinks that it's much easier to talk to him this way, with his hair drawn up so she can actually see the lines of his usually half-lidded eyes.

She smiles at him awkwardly.

He raises an eyebrow at her. Even the slightest motion is impossible to miss; the rest of his face remains immaculately stilled.

"Hi," she says quietly, under the clinking of fork tines.

"You're back," he observes.

"Yeah." They are both quiet for a moment, and then, harshly:

"Well?"

"Excuse me?" For another moment, this one much more laden, he blinks at her.

"May I take your order," he finally says, deadpan and drawling. She flushes.

"Oh. Um. Tea, please. And a number four."

"Jasmine or green."

"Jasmine. Thanks." When he disappears, Layla leans back in her chair and breathes out loudly, wishing she wouldn't feel so frazzled after their every conversation. She refocuses, eyes flicking to the plants scattered around the restaurant. There are a number of fake ones strung up between the lights, but the orchids dotting the tables react to her and straighten up with each passing breath.

On her way out, later, she has to squeeze by him with a bag of leftovers for her mom. So fast and so quiet that she almost misses it, he tosses a couple short words over his broad shoulders:

"Later, Hippy."

It makes her smile much more than it should, and she thinks that he catches it before she turns away.

winks at Avatar: The Last Airbender for use of its tea shop name!