Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. Period.

A/N: This is just a short one-shot I wrote for my creative writing piece in English.


"You're lurking again," Bobby muttered as he passed the corner where his friend was leaning against the wall. Startled, John turned to face him.

"Yeah? So what?" he said defensively.

"This is stupid. Why don't you just talk to her sometime instead of standing here every day and waiting for her to walk by?"

"Because I don't want to."

"You're being stubborn again," Bobby said, sighing. John just grunted and flicked the old lighter he always carried open and closed.

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you when she starts to notice that you watch her all the time and wonders why you won't so much as say a word to her." With that, Bobby walked off.

Hmph. Some friend, John thought, even though he knew Bobby was right. Not even- His thoughts were interrupted by laughter from down the hall. Glancing up, he saw Katherine, or Kitty, Pryde walking toward him, accompanied by a few of her friends. He looked down and pretended not to notice them, but moved his head just enough so he could catch her out of the corner of his eye. As they passed, he thought he saw her look at him oddly, but then one of her friends said something that made her laugh again, and they were gone.

John sighed. What he wouldn't give to know her better, to be the one making her laugh, to see her eyes sparkling only at him. Suddenly, he felt angry with himself, and he had the urge to light something on fire. He eyed the blue curtains beside him, but decided that Professor Xavier probably wouldn't be too happy if he burned the drapery. With another sigh, he closed his eyes and let the familiar metallic sound of his lighter calm him down. He wished now, as he sometimes did, that his "gift" with fire, as the professor called it, didn't always tempt him to do something destructive. It would have been nice to have a power and personality like Bobby's, always calm and collected.

The grandfather clock struck six o'clock, abruptly bringing John out of his trance and reminding him that if he didn't hurry he'd be late for dinner. Quickly, he turned and went back the way he had come.

----

During dinner, he barely spoke. Bobby, who always knew what he was thinking about, urged him again to talk to Kitty. He was John's best friend, but he didn't understand. How could he? Everyone who knew John knew he was cocky and daring. He felt he was above everything, even pain. But with Kitty it was different. He just couldn't work up the courage.