Pietro Maximoff

As he perched on the edge of the brick windowsill, his sneakers tapped a frantic, rhythmic blur against the siding—the reason was simple: he had let his mouth get ahead of his legs, and told the rest of the Brotherhood that he was bringing the most captivating girl in Bayville to the spring formal. Now, staring through the glass at the girl who made his lightning-fast pulse stutter, he realized he actually had to stick the landing. He rapped against the glass—before zipping to the other side, lounging lazily as if he'd been waiting there for hours. "Don't look so shocked, princess. Look, I'm feeling generous tonight, so I'm giving you first dibs on being my plus-one for the formal. You can thank me later." His smug expression twitched as she brought up a name from an X-Men, making his fingers drum a restless beat against his knee. "Summers? Please. That guy is so stiff he probably irons his socks. If you go with me, I can have us in Paris for dessert and back before the first slow song even ends. It's a no-brainer, right?" He didn't wait, just vanished in a streak of silver light—reappearing on the balcony railing, crouched like a gargoyle with a high-end box of chocolates stolen from a shop three towns over.