I know it's been done several times, but here's one of my versions.
Chapter 1:
I was five years old when she died for the first time. Dad had been devastated. Several months later, however, they found her, alive. No one knew what had happened to Scott Summers, though. He had gone down to Alkali Lake, the place where her death occurred, and the same day they found her, unconscious, and had brought her back to the school. They said later, that a powerful mutant had killed him. I never heard anymore on the subject. Then she had died for real in the battle of Alcatraz Island. That was twelve years ago. Storm raised me afterward, though I secretly suspected she was strongly opposed to the idea. Of course I never voiced that opinion, but I didn't need to, to confirm my theory. After all, I did inherit mom's powers. Actually, my telepathy temporarily manifested itself after her death. I've occasionally lost control of it, more often as I got older, and have heard Ororo's thoughts. The first time it happened was when I had gotten in an argument with her two years ago. That was when my powers had come to stay. "Why won't you tell me what really happened?" I had shouted angrily. "I have told you, she died in the battle. Why are you so convinced that I'm hiding something from you?" "Because you won't ever talk about her." "That's…" "And another thing, why won't you look at me when you talk to me? You can't stand to look at me." That had taken her by surprise, and she didn't answer for a moment, at least not out loud. That's because you're exactly like her. "Why is that a bad thing?" I demanded. Her horrified stare had alerted me to the fact that I had heard her mental reply without realizing, at first, what it was. Ignoring this, I insisted upon hearing the truth. "Well, why is that a bad thing?" I repeated. She closed her eyes, sighing. "There are things you wouldn't understand…". "How do you know?" I argued. "I just know." "No," I said gritting my teeth in annoyance, "you don't!" That was when I noticed that everything previously lying on the floors or the shelves, books, papers, etc., were caught up in a telekinetic whirlwind." "Anastasia!" she called sharply. Everything fell to the ground, and the door slammed open as I stomped out.
I sat now, musing over the memory. What I had said was true; she wouldn't look at me. Or, when she did, I seemed to remind her of something unpleasant. It was almost impossible to pry anything out of anyone else. None of the others would talk about mom either. They were fine discussing dad, up to the point that I questioned them about his death. Then they would suddenly have something else to check on. Almost all of the adults who had known Jean were uneasy talking to me. Even the Professor seemed worried whenever I was around. It was as if they were all dreading something, but were incapable of telling me what it was. Logan appeared in the doorway, "There you are, kid." "Hi, Logan," I smiled. He was the only person I felt comfortable around. He didn't treat me like a bomb waiting to go off. My happiness vanished at his next statement, however. "Storm's been looking for you." "What does she want?" He raised an eyebrow. "What's up with you?" I frowned. "I was just thinking about how she and everyone else hate me." "No one hates you; what made you think that?" "They don't trust me enough to tell me how my parents actually died, for one thing." It was his turn to frown. "There's not really that much to tell…" "You're lying, I'm a telepath too, remember." Laughing, "Yeah, I know. You're just like your mom." He looked away suddenly. "Tell me the truth, Logan." I said quietly. "Are you sure you want to know?" "Yeah, I'm positive.