It would be a bit cliché, and mostly untrue, to start this out saying I was an ordinary person before adventure struck. As far as I know, there are no ordinary people. Or maybe there's just one, just one ordinary person out there. That one completely socially ignorable person that we all have striven to be. And no, it was never me. My hair's too short, my body too chubby, my voice too loud. I laugh too much and my teeth are yellow. I look younger than my age and I'm a mutant.

OK, that was rude. I flung it on you. I'm a mutant.

Telling people that is kind of how I imagine being a traitor must feel. There's a chance of disgust, of hatred. And there's a chance of acceptance. There's also a chance of ignorance and of fear. Of jealousy and of inequality. Well, maybe the last two are only for mutants, but I wouldn't know so I'm not going to make assumptions.

I may never have been ordinary, but I was content. I had three cats and a dog. I was an only child. My parents were still together. I lived in a suburb. To a lot of people, I should have no reason to be unhappy. "She has all the things I wish I had," you must be saying, "How could she possibly be any less than overjoyed?"

Or maybe that's not what you're saying, but that's not the point. The point is people think that I don't have problems just because I don't have the same problems they have. I was homeschooled in high school. My parents were afraid because they heard that the school had begun accepting mutants.

My dad kissed me on the forehead. "I'd rather you be safe here with us than go to the school I went to," he told me, "Mutants are like live wires. I'm sure they're useful when they're under control, but it's not safe to touch them."

I didn't, at the time, know about my power.

I have mixed feelings about the proceedings that led up to my label. Sometimes I believe the pros outweigh the cons, and I'm achingly, blissfully, happy. Sometimes I believe the cons outweigh the pros, and that causes me to make the kind of mistakes that lead to this sort of situation. The sort of situation where I'm being told to write down my life story before I die.

I was with a friend when I figured out something was different. We ate sushi, watched a movie, and chatted until our brains ran out our ears at a busy little late night ice cream place. Typical evening for us. Then the subject turned to mutants. With my being nurtured by the parents I was, I had an unfounded distrust of the mutant community. My friend, on the other hand, went to school with one. She was more open, albeit very little.

"I don't know," I was saying, "I'm not sure I want to trust mutants. If I stay out of their way they have no reason to bother me. That sounds like a deal, in my opinion."

She started to reply, when someone at a nearby picnic table stood and turned to us.

"You may think that's a deal, but it's not a deal we've agreed to have with you," the woman said. She was taller than my friend and I. I suddenly grew very afraid. Shockingly afraid. Too afraid to stand pf speak. Everyone nearby seemed to be in the same position as I, much to afraid to stay and even more afraid to leave. It must have been her causing the fear. She leaned down, inches from my face. "Humans are old news," she spit, "So if I were you, I'd be careful when I assume there's some kind of pact between-"

Suddenly it was like a balloon had popped. The woman froze and I couldn't feel the contagious fear anymore. I turned to my friend in disbelief. She stared at the woman, unmoving. I tested with my hands her lack of attention. She didn't even register when I touched her face.

Things stayed frozen for three days before I realized I should cultivate the power to change it back. I scooped myself a fresh ice cream and sat back in my seat. I closed my eyes and pictured the woman yelling, then sitting back down. I pictured, also, my friend and I scurrying to her car, huddled together. When I opened my eyes, the woman finished her sentence, starting out slow, but finishing full speed. "-humans and mutants. Coming to conclusions like that can get you killed."

It was, word for word, what I envisioned her saying. My friend and I scurried. "You have to be careful," she whispered, "It's not safe to have those kinds of views anymore." Then she blinked and looked at me. "Where did you get a chocolate ice cream?"

"I've had chocolate the whole time."

I have never once hated the professor for showing up at my door. I heard him knock at the side door because the front door had steps. The way my mother answered the door set me on edge, "Then come in! I suppose..."

His wheelchair barely fit through the kitchen. Then he was there in the living room with me. My mother introduced him, "Mallory, this is Professor Charles Xavier," before going to my father's office to have him join us.

I was curled on the couch with a school book and a cup of tea. I pulled my legs in tighter subconsciously. "Hi," I said.

There's no reason to feel uncomfortable, Mallory.

I thought it was my own thoughts. They often badger me this way.

But this isn't your voice, is it?

I jumped up, blanket and book falling to the floor. "What the hell are you doing in my head?" I hissed.

It's all right, Mallory. Yes, I am a mutant, but I'm not going to hurt you any more than you could see yourself hurting someone.

I hadn't yet come to terms with being a mutant, but this still hit home. I had been telling myself that they couldn't possibly all be bad, just like humans couldn't.

"Alex, this is Professor Charles Xavier," my mother told my father.

"I've come to offer an opportunity to your daughter," he told my parents, looking at me. Then he began the half true spiel about the school of the gifted. My parents seemed proud of me, and in awe of the school. I'm sure it's happened a hundred times over for Professor X.

There was no question for my parents. Their daughter was invited to an exclusive school for the last two years of high school. They were sending me.

Then there was a brief moment of reconsideration. "Are you accepting," my father quickly cleared his throat, "mutants into your school?"

The professor didn't, for a second, look surprised.

This is your decision, Mallory. What would you like me to tell them?

I thought for only a second. Lie, I thought, hopefully loud and clear.

Professor X sat up straight. "My school is very exclusive, Mr. Reight. If you're suggesting that-"

"No, no, forgive me," my father interrupted, "I only want my daughter t be safe. Of course she's going."