TRENDSETTER.

"First day! First day! First day of schoooool! I'm a junior! You wish you were me! Won't it be so cooool!"

Jubilee's singing probably woke up the entire house. I turned around and leaned against my dresser, watching her pull clothes from her closet and throw them over her shoulder…onto her unkempt bed. Piles of sunny yellows, shimmery golds, and ruby reds flattered her ruffled pillowed and tangled sheets.

"I wanted to wear a warm color today…something bold. I want to make an impression, ya know?" she confided in me.

Friendship…wow.

"Yeah, I know," I replied smoothly, grinning at her enthusiastic movements.

You would think once you became a junior in high school, you'd stop giving a damn about the way you looked. I had. Well, to be honest, I stopped caring about the way I looked the second day of high school. When you were a mutant, what you wore was the least of your problems, and back then, a lot of the kids were seen as so physically grotesque that they didn't even bother getting dressed up. And I didn't want to seem like that one mutant that was like, "Hey! Look at me! I'm normal and adorable and don't look like a freak and can wear whatever I want." And, looking back on it, no one really cared what you wore at that time. I didn't have any friends to compliment me on my style; I had no boys to impress. Crushes? Maybe. But would they look at me? Never. I wore jeans and t-shirts like that was the only thing I ever saw when I went to the mall. And then Jubilee came along, a total street rat, and prophesized to me the gospel of Macy's and JC Penny's….and now I do a little better.

Jubilee's voice shook me from my memories. "How's this?" she demanded from me. I studied her outfit: bright red skinny jeans, a burgundy crewneck, gold flats, matching hoop earrings (and an assortment of studs in her multiple other piercings), and about five necklaces.

She looked like she did every year…original.

…and ready to kick anyone's ass who tried to give a smart remark about it.

Even Wolverine, who had once called her outfits "repulsive", had gotten the most brutal verbal attack on fashion choice I had ever witnessed. Jubilee had named him "Fashion blunder of the year" and insisted his "tacky plaids" and "dastardly tunics" were just among the list of reasons why no one could bear to be around him. I could've even sworn that the next day, Wolverine had come out of his room looking slightly tidier with his hair just a bit more combed. I find it outrageously hilarious. Jubilee, who could dress so ridiculous at times, still could make an ex-mercenary walk around like a dog with his tail between his legs. But people still looked at her like she was a trendsetter.

And she was.

"I think you look absolutely brilliant," my lips quirked into a grin.

"Great!" she nodded resolutely, triumph lightening her features. "Now it's time for you"

My mouth turns dry. My legs a little numb. "I'd rather not."

"You never let me dress you!" she whined. She pouted her lips jokingly, looking just like the little ten-year-old we had found on the streets so long ago.

"That's because…" I searched for words, not wanting to hurt her feelings. As unfashionable as I could be sometimes, Jubilee always spared me her diatribes on personal style and never failed to lay down the law if anyone talked about me behind my back. To some degree, I think she sort of looked up to me to tell her when she was too over the top…even her top…which seemed endlessly high. "…we don't have the same idea of style"

Yes, that's it. Those are the right words. No harm done.

She pouted even the more so. "You said that last year. I'm never going to get to dress you. It's senior year for you, and you still won't let me give you a makeover…I guess my best friend just doesn't trust me," she crosses her arms and fakes a sniffle.

Ever the drama queen.

"Look," I sighed, running my fingers through my long bangs, "I…I'll let you style me up sometime this year. But just not the first day of school, alright? Plus, I need to dress for comfort. It's the first year since…well, Professor…dying…and everyone's gonna need some extra help around here. At least for the first week."

Her eyes, a lime green, burned holes into the floor as she nodded her head. When she came back up, her face looked decided. "You're right."

I smiled.

"Let me know if any of the teachers need some help, okay?"

"I will"

We beamed at each other. I don't need to be fashionable for Jubilee…

And that's what I like the most about her.

NO EXCUSES.

"Good morning" a deep voice greeted from the front of the room. "My name is Lucas Bishop and I'll be teaching you sociology this year."

The class responded silently, some sitting up, finding his thick tone authoritative and interesting…others were slouching in their desks, too tired to pay any attention to the hefty man in front of them. Kitty looked around to see who her classmates were. She only noticed a couple: Amara Aquilla, a girl in her advanced physics class with the ability to manipulate lava; Theresa Cassidy, a shy girl with the ability to emit a sonic scream; and, lastly, Jonothan Starsmore, a moody guy who had transferred here over the summer and became Kitty's fellow gaming partner in Super Mario 3. The guy could really play.

The rest were all students Kitty didn't know very well, or hadn't paid much attention to. She chastised herself a little for not knowing everyone in the classroom, she had been there for long enough, certainly. But the mansion was always changing, she noted. People came and went…some runaways, not knowing how to keep off their feet…some getting murdered or dying because of their mutation. There was always a big list of reasons why she could never keep up with the faces that sprang up around here.

"I see a couple of new faces," Bishop tossed over his shoulder, while writing his name on the board. Lucas Bishop went in and out of service, spending a couple months as a substitute teacher or medic, and then quickly returning back to his job as police officer in the heart of Manhattan. Though many of the kids here had had him as a substitute many times and preached of his refreshingly easygoing attitude, Kitty had only had him about twice since being here and that was mainly because she was always in advanced classes or electives that were generally "the road less traveled."

The burly man wore a black collared t-shirt with match pants and dress shoes. His biceps bulged tauntingly from his short sleeves and Kitty already noticed one girl in the corner gawking at him like she wanted to jump him. He was a good looking guy, Kitty admitted, but she could never think of Bishop as anything more than a friend and occasional confidante. He had been her best and only friend freshmen year and she had spent many lunches sitting with him in his classroom discussing forensic science.

Bishop leaned against his desk coolly, folding his arms and glaring at the classroom. "Does anybody wanna say something? Anybody?"

Silence.

"Come on, guys…I'm not that scary." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "If someone doesn't at least cough, I'm gonna do this the kindergarten way and make every one of you state your name, your gift, and what your hobbies are…I might even throw in a three paragraph essay on what you did this summer vacation…"

Hundreds of coughs littered the room.

Bishop chuckled to himself, "Okay, there we go…some responses. I know…first thing in the morning, right? Well, my name is Lucas Bishop. I have a job with the NYPD, but I used to go to school here. "

Silence.

"I have to admit, I didn't think very many of you would be interested in sociology…but seventeen students is a pretty good number, especially considering…" he looked at Kitty. Kitty shrugged helplessly. "the circumstances…"

Bishop hopped up from the desk and took an apple from his desk; he strolled across the front of the room tossing it up and down as if it were a baseball. "You'll find I'm not a very complicated teacher. I'm not super difficult…I'm not an ogre. I don't want you to fail. In fact, believe it or not, I want you all to succeed. And what else?"

He stopped and slammed his hands against the desk of a student who Kitty could only assume had fallen asleep. He jolted up and looked at Bishop's smirking features fearfully.

"I push you." Bishop announced to the class, eyeing the kid like he was on the breakfast menu. "Hard. I push you because I want you to succeed. And you're not gonna get anywhere in life taking naps. I know you'd like to think that because you're a mutant maybe you have a predisposition to fail…or you think everybody has it in for you? But you know what, people are here for you. They're here and they're everywhere you go, because I can assure you, no matter what, wherever you are…there is at least one human being, and yes that includes mutants, there is at least one human being who likes you and thinks you're a cool person and will want to 'hang out' with you. That's a fact. There are surveys to back it up."

He stops in front of his desk and gives Kitty a small grin from the corner of his eye. "You can do whatever you set your mind to…so as of today?"

Silence.

"No excuses."

THE AMBASSADOR.

"Well, this day has been absolutely tiring. Nothing incredible about it really…"

Hank bit his tongue, watching the interaction between Emma and Ororo, the most polar any opposites could get. Emma had spent the past fifteen minutes complaining about a couple of boys who had made lewd remarks about her cleavage and how her lunch break was full of "bumbling brats" who insisted on asking her where their next class was. Now, this was supposed to be her planning period, seeing as she was something of vice principal, but Emma was spending it in here, Ororo's office, doing the very best to drive the headmistress to drink.

To Hank's pleasure though, Ororo was too caught up in reviewing some paperwork to really focus on what Emma was saying. She would occasionally throw out a "Mhm, I see what you're saying," and "It'll get better, Emma," but not because she actually knew what the hell Emma was blathering on about, but rather she recognized the White Queen's frosty and unhappy tone.

"Ororo, what has you so engrossed? I mean, here I am, telling you precisely what needs to be fixed in your little academy, and you're over hear reading, what? A Harry Potter novel?"

"Ethics lesson plans…Charles classes…the one class I paid no attention to…"

"Honestly? That's a surprise," Emma barked out, but Hank noticed there was absolutely no sarcasm to her tone.

"Mhm…it's….intriguing….but….extremely complex" Ororo murmured, fumbling around, flipping four or five pages every now and again, skimming over something, and then turning back to the original page.

"But pray tell, Emma…what needs to be fixed in my 'little academy'"

Hank stiffened. As calm as Ororo could be, he could almost hear the icy resolve to kick Emma's ass if she crossed that invisible line Ororo had set up. He would have excused himself, left the two to their ever-childish bickering. But he knew that they both had quite the tongue and amount of pride and would likely rip each other limb from limb with their bare hands rather than yield once the right words had come about. And he had to stick around to play referee. He always did. Even back in high school, he sighed.

"You need better control on these rascals. They can't just come around saying whatever they want to me…or anyone else for that matter. They need discipline."

"That's what Logan is for," Ororo murmured, looking up at her, raising her eyebrow just the slightest bit.

"Oh, him? Him!" she judged, obviously unimpressed, "Bah! And what happens when he leaves again? Rides off on his little toy car and is never to be seen until seven or eight months later? And then what do we do in the meantime, Munroe? Twiddle our thumbs and let the hooligans run wild with their crude misconduct and tom-foolery?"

Hank sipped on his coffee, trying to lock eyes with Ororo and calm her down before the fire was lit. She knew his methods full well too…and would have none of it.

"Emma, I've asked you to come here and teach a couple of classes because, if I remember correctly, your own 'little academy' up in Massachusetts wasn't doing so hot and you were in need of a stable job. However, if you do not_"

The phone blared suddenly, interrupting Ororo in the process. Hank watched as Ororo eyed the defiant Emma for some good long seconds before picking up the phone.

"Xavier's School for the Gifted. This is Ororo Munroe speaking…."

"….."

"Oh yes, I-I heard about that. It's really…"

"…."

"No…yes, I….yes, I see what you mean and_"

"….."

"Yes, I actually have the paperwork right in front of me," Ororo slid the Ethics lesson plans aside and two folders, one blue and one red, lay on the desk. Ororo grimaced uncomfortably while listening to what Hank could only identify as rapid babbling.

Of course. Yes. Yes. Mhm"

"….."

"No, um…" she looked up at Hank, "there's plenty of room?" Hank nodded, answering her question.

"….."

"Well, we can have it ready as soon as possible,"

"….."

"I would advise against delaying, seeing as classes have already started. We don't want them to be behind."

"….."

"Okay, yes. We can pick them up from_"

"….."

"Oh, that's…convenient."

"….."

"Well, thank you. No, thank you, really." A fake chuckle on Ororo's part.

"….."

"Good bye, Ambassador."

"Who was that?" Emma demanded as soon as Ororo put the phone down. Ororo glared at Hank, eyes describing frustration, lips in a tight, unsatisfied line.

"What is it?" Hank asked, standing up from his leaning positing up against the nearby wall.

"It's Ambassador St. Croix."

"Oh God…"

"That's what I said." she sighed, setting her hands on the desk and shaking her head.

"Who's this man?" Emma asked again, getting noticeably perturbed at the fact that Hank and Ororo seemingly already knew this impending doom that was among them.

"He's an ambassador," Hank muttered unenthusiastically, "who is also extremely pompous and hard to be around."

"Hm," Emma grunted and inspected her nail beds, writing her boss and coworkers off as overreacting. "Aren't they all?"

"This one is especially unbearable, and no, they aren't all," Hank straightened defiantly, adjusting his jacket and doing a sniffle Ororo knew he only did when he felt offended. This time it was Hank's turn to ignore Ororo's calming stare. "I would expect you to know him, Emma, you being an unbearable entrepreneur yourself…or maybe you wouldn't know seeing as_"

"Oh, please, McCoy. You know I don't get involved with your overrated politics. I make business deals. I back up influential people. I make contracts with those who only promise to succeed in their line of work for the next couple of centuries. I do not play referee to you bombastic, hypocritical less-than-problemsolvers with your ridiculous monkey suits. I do no such thing."

"You're one to talk about overrated, with your latest_"

"HE IS," Ororo began, cutting off their squabbling authoritatively, "the Ambassador of Monaco. Cartier St. Croix."

"…" Emma rambled, twirling her eyes up in thought and leaning up against the edge of Ororo's desk. "Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Monet…?"

A flash of realization washed over Emma's face. "Oh, you've got to be kidding!"

"Oh, good, you recognize this feign." Hank replied, rolling his eyes at his coffee.

"Him? God, I can only imagine him…I'm thinking of the feign that is his daughter. I had her second period and who does that bitch think she is?"

"Emma, please…language…"

"Language? Ororo, admit it. You must've had that girl at some point in your career. She's the devil in disguise! There's nothing or nobody in this world that I can picture more as evil incarnate"

"I don't know about that, sweet cheeks. I generally think of you when I think of evil."

The three turned to find Betsy Braddock in her sleek pencil skirt and mile high pumps, standing in the doorway, "Am I late?"

"Just a little," Emma said dryly.

"Who are we talking about?" Betsy inquired, setting a white folder on Ororo's desk before plopping into the loveseat next to where Hank was standing and kicking off her shoes. Betsy pointed her toes admiringly and studied the red nail polish that was already beginning to peel. "Now who, in Emma's humble opinion, is evil incarnate?"

Ororo opened her mouth to speak, but Emma sliced through her unsaid words, "Monet St. Croix."

"Oh…" Betsy tsked, "Yeah, Cruella DeVil over here has a point…she isn't exactly my favorite either."

"I admit, she isn't the most…respectful…of students. But_"

"But nothing. That little girl is Evil Caneeval."

"Well, then you'll all be delighted to hear the news: her sisters Claudette and Nicole will be attending the school as of Thursday."

"What!" Betsy's outburst only emphasized the look that had crossed the others' faces.

"There's more! God, there's more than just Monet…" Emma shook her head and her features preached of evident distaste, "Well, then I resign…I resign, I resign, I resign."

Ororo scoffed and picked at the two folders in front of her absent-mindedly "Emma, you know they're not that bad."

"Not that bad? By what you and Hank have told me about their father and what I've experienced from his daughter, everyone in that family is just itching for a good bitchslap."

Betsy nodded and eyed her longtime friend, "Ororo, it's true."

"It's not my fault." Ororo shrugged, running her hand through snowy locks, "What am I supposed to say? Oh, yes, we do specialize in educating and training mutant children, but no, we can't accept your daughters because you've already sent one to us and the staff profusely hates her guts?"

"That's exactly what you were supposed to say," Betsy's rich accent demanded. "Now we're all going to have to pay."

"I really don't think they're too bad. They just need…discipline. Logan can handle that. And Emma, I'm sure you would put Monet in her place should the occasion ever rise."

Emma grunted.

"So why are they coming all of a sudden anyways? Don't they have the brochure? Don't they know registration ended a while ago?" Betsy leaned back in the loveseat and folded her arms beneath her chest.

"Yes, well…originally, Mister St. Croix and I were discussing a transfer next year. But, then…"

"Then what? The sky fell?" Betsy rolled her eyes bitterly.

"Tony Stark."

Emma grunted, "Ah. The world class jackass. That little stunt he pulled is all over youtube"

"What Stunt?" Betsy sat up a little in her seat, rejuvenated by this talk of America's "Iron Man".

Ororo shook her head and thumbed through the paperwork in the St. Croix files in front of her, pretendinto read whatever they said, "He caused that scene at the racetrack we were reviewing last week. I think you left before they released who it was, Betsy. Anyways, with the new threat to Homeland Security as well as the frenzy of the citizens, Monaco in a bad position. St. Croix is trying to settle the issues with the citizens and keep his little girls safe…" Ororo sounded exasperated. "He moved the date up. A year. He figured they'd be safer here."

Emma folded her arms and tapped her fingertips against her forearms. "So we just make room for them?"

"Like every other student we've ever done," Ororo consolidated, giving them all a look that clearly said 'Its settled'.

"I don't like this," Betsy announced in a sing song tone as glanced at the clock. She strapped her feet back into her designer shoes once more and pulled herself out of the cushiony depths of the couch.

Emma looked equally displeased.

Ororo noticed Hank was too kind to make any more of a discussion out of it.

The bell rang and the hallways were full of mutant children, slamming their locker doors and bustling to their next class. The sounds reverberated in her ears and reminded her that everything was bigger than the St. Croix kids. Everything was bigger now…

Now that Charles was gone.

…Today was going to be a long day.