Charles Xavier sits at the window in his study, elbows resting on his wheelchair, fingers pressed together as he concentrates on the problem at hand. He isn't simply a mind reader. By enhancing his ability with a machine called Cerebro, Xavier can connect with any mind on the planet, and is on constant lookout for potential students. From the moment their mutation manifests to the moment they walk through his doors, he is aware of their existence.
"I can't place her."
Jean looks curiously at him from the couch.
"Not even when she would have been latent." He weaves his fingers together in perplexity. "Her mind registers as functioning, but on closer inspection it's reminiscent of…a void."
Jean wonders how that can be learned. "Did you notice her psyche when she was in the room?"
Xavier shakes his head. "Did you?"
"There was a bit of the normal static." Jean looks toward the ceiling. "If I'd had my eyes closed I would've known there was the extra person, but her interference was substantially lower. When Bobby left her in my office it felt the way it does when someone's standing further away like her mind was displaced. You've really never seen her. What does that mean?"
"I'm not sure. It could be that that void has kept her hidden since birth, which would be extraordinary, but unlikely. I meant to look for her after Logan first mentioned her to me, but…"
Jean nods in quiet understanding. The incident at Alkali Lake nearly a year ago has left an indelible mark on all of them.
Xavier sighs hastily. "Well. I'm afraid I've scared her off."
"Same here," Jean concurs. "When she came to my office she looked ready for a fight."
He raises an eyebrow. "Seeing as who led her here."
Jean smiles quietly. "Hm, if only he were easier to handle."
"Logan is perfectly easy to handle, Jean." He turns his chair to face her, a teasing light in his eyes. "You're just looking at him from a particularly difficult angle."
Jean smirks. "Not likely."
At my request they assign me a small bedroom of my own on the third floor instead of a shared dorm. Logan leaves to get me some basic toiletries as I empty the contents of my satchel onto the bed- one bedraggled change of clothes I wouldn't dare wear to class.
With a month already gone out of the school year some maneuvering was required to get me into classes. They had me take some academic tests in which I understood most of what was being asked of me. I told them I'm fourteen, and according to that affidavit and the test results I'm apparently a 'sophomore.'
Logan returns with a toothbrush and other essentials. "Hey, back there, I wasn't trying to turn you over to the psychics, alright? They aren't trying to get in your head all the time."
From my understanding, they don't always have a choice.
"So, what were they having such a riot about?"
"I didn't anticipate-" I grimace.
Logan raises one brow.
"You didn't tell me there were psychics here. I would never have come had I known."
"Will you leave now that you do know?"
Leave, leave, leave. "No. Not if you want me to stay."
"I do." He leans back against the dresser and crosses his arms. "We both know you need this place."
I've quit being surprised by him knowing things. "Is it your healing ability that's kept you from aging?"
"Sure." He's about to ask the obvious, but apparently decides against it. "Dinner's starting. I'll walk you."
I tuck my hands between my knees. "Do you think I could skip it?"
"You're not skipping dinner, you hardly eat as it is,"
"That's not true, you've seen me eat. I'm just more tired than I am hungry right now."
He sighs through his nose, sizing me up. "Fine, but I'm bringing you a plate and you're going to eat it."
As soon as he's gone I shove all my old things into the bottom drawer of the dresser and collapse onto the bed. A whiff of detergent and dust floats upward. There's one window with a plain blue curtain, and a neat little desk with a lamp. The room is warm with sunlight, but still my eyelids flutter and the ceiling becomes blurry. I'm not sure what compelled me to come here, but I suppose I can stay. Just as long as they don't try to fix me.
...
Ancient computers sit stolidly in their rows, staring intently at the chair placed in front of them.
"We need to put you in the system before you can start," says Mr. Summers as he leads me to an unassigned set of monitors. "Here, Kitty will help you."
He waves over a smiling brunette in a bright T-shirt before going to help another student. Kitty holds her hand out. "Hi. You new to the school, or just the class?"
"Um, both," I shake her hand. "I'm Ace."
"Nice to meet you." She sits down. "That's your second name, right?"
"Sure."
"Awesome. So, what can you do?" Then rather hastily, "If you don't mind my asking."
It's disconcerting to have this many people interested in me. "Several things," I answer politely. Thinking I sound arrogant, I add, "But I only copied them."
"You're kidding? That's crazy, I don't know anybody- well, other than Rogue I guess- that can copy. Oh, finally it's loaded," she says grudgingly to the computer.
"Is your ability related to computers?" I ask carefully. Is that even possible?
"No, no," she laughs, absentmindedly tossing a brown lock over her shoulder. "We just get along."
I sense I'm going to be asked quite often what I can 'do' and I don't like the response so far from telling people I copy. "So, what can you do?"
"Oh! I phase through things. See?" She dips her fingers into the wooden desk and they disappear as though she were a hologram. "Not too freaky is it?"
I choke back my excitement. "No, it's brilliant. Could you do that with your whole body? What about metal, or stone? Could you go through those?"
Kitty just laughs again, delighted. "Yep. You're going to like it here."
...
Three days pass wherein Logan keeps trying to draw me out with subtle questions. "How old are you really?"
I sit straighter on the concrete bench. "I don't look fourteen to you?"
"You know what I mean. I've kept all that stuff quiet about you, you could at least clue me in."
When he speaks I think only about how much he doesn't like to and try to appreciate it. "I'm old, Logan."
He huffs. "You smell it."
"As old as you smell?"
"How old do I smell?"
Well-dressed kids shout as they play on the field. "Older than dirt."
The laugh he makes is like punching a bean bag; breathy and only half there. "Probably am."
I take a deep breath and enhance it with a yawn. Logan knows I don't sleep, and assumes it's the same reason I jump at sudden sounds and go tense when people enter a room.
"How old were you when I met you? Eight?"
I blink. "Nine?"
"Been at least twenty years, that doesn't explain why you still look-"
"I don't know, okay? I told you I don't know."
He's giving me a stern eye. "'I don't know,' that's the best you can give me? Ace-"
"You want to talk about the facility, but I barely remember any of that."
"You remember me though."
"Yeah, I remember you. Logan." I pull my knees up to my chest. "I don't want to talk about anything that happened before now, alright?"
"Wait, did something bad happen to you last spring?"
"Well, I ran into you again."
"No, after that, bub."
"Why last spring?"
"Nothing happened?"
"Should something have happened?"
He glares harshly. "Last spring something happened to everybody. If it didn't happen to you it must've happened to the people around you."
"I was walking, like when I met you, so I didn't really see anybody."
"Ace, you've gotta be kidding me. You didn't feel it, and you didn't see it happen to anyone, you didn't even hear it on the news?"
"Haven't been anywhere near a media outlet since we went to that diner-"
"Jesus-" He smears his hand over his mouth. Then he just shakes his head. "Just don't mention it, alright? How's school?"
I shrug.
"Make any friends?"
"No."
"Good, kids stink." He's fiddling with a cigar he won't smoke because there are stinking kids around.
I get up. "I'm going in now."
Logan raises an eyebrow then waves his hand.
It's a pleasant day, causing most of the students to stray outdoors. As I walk I watch them out of the corner of my eye, watch them playing and joking and enjoying their lives, and making sure they don't watch me phase the tips of my fingers through the different objects I pass.
