A/N: Sorry for update delays, had alot going on! Finals, moving, flying out to Iowa to be with fiance, holidays...I am still staying with Bryan so updates may not be frequent, but I have not forgotten! :-)
-4-
"Sofia, wait," Julian calls, following his date out into the parking lot. He can see her running in the darkness up ahead, her gown shimmering slightly, her heels clip-clopping as she runs. She's very upset.
"STOP!" he shouts, reaching out towards her, ten feet behind. He is alarmed to see green sparks at his fingertips, and for an instant Sofia freezes, as if held back by an invisible wall.
Incorrect. It wasn't invisible…it was green too.
"Let me go!" Sofia yells, the cords in her neck straining. She's a mess, make-up and hair running loosely down her face. She looks like a watered-down hooker.
"No!" Julian says. "What the hell's going on? Why'd you run out like that?"
Sofia struggles to answer. "You—you did that! You ruined my prom! I am so embarrassed, I am humiliated…after all that work I put into it!"
"Wha—me?" Julian plays dumb. He needs to find out if something appears during these events to connect him as the guilty party.
"The light was coming from your eyes," Sofia accuses. "You are one of those Godless, motherless freaks that I hear about." She pulls the corsage they selected together off of her dress and flings it on the ground,
then steps on it. "May God have mercy on your soul," she says, deeply offended.
Sofia is Roman Catholic to an extreme degree. Julian doesn't believe in God whatsoever; he is an atheist, and at times finds it hard not to comment. His philosophy lies more along the principles of karma—do to others
only what you expect to receive in return.
He's guessing that his years of high school snobbery and involvement in verbal bullying have finally caught up with him.
"Sof…what the heck are you talking about?" he asked, wincing, deciding to play the clueless role further. Maybe he could make her think she was crazy, like he had thought he was when this problem first became apparent.
In the back of his mind, he's thinking, This is sooo fucking cool. He is aware of an intense desire to learn more about it, to control it. It won't be a problem if he can dictate when and where he uses it.
"You know what I am saying. Just leave me alone." Sofia turns and storms off; he stands still. For some reason, he doesn't feel the need to make chase. He's indifferent, he's just discovered something new and exciting
about himself that he wants to explore.
"I bet you're thinking this is the worst night of your life," says a voice behind him. He turns; it is the redheaded girl. Janice—Janet—Jennifer?
Something about the way she smiles sympathetically at him tells a story: she knows what is going on, she's been there. A crazy idea, perhaps, but Julian feels he knows this like she has informed him directly.
"Actually, it's not that bad," Julian said confidently.
The girl pauses, cocks her head. "Interesting. My name is Jean, by the way, so you can stop trying to pull it out of your head."
"I was close," Julian points out.
"You get an A for effort," Jean says. She purses her lips. "Have you figured it out yet?"
"What? That I'm a mutant? Yeah, I'm working my way there," Julian says. "Slowly."
Jean smiles. "Let me help you. In fact, let me spell it out." As she speaks, a stream of pebbles rises from the parking lot and form letters—a word—several words.
"Xavier's school for gifted youngsters," Julian reads. "What the hell is that called? What you're doing?"
"Telekinesis," Jean says. "You can do it too. Come on, just think about lifting a few rocks in the air. It works—you'll feel a funny give when you try."
Julian shrugs, looks at a fist-sized rock and thinks about floating it to the air to join Jean's.
The rock begins to glow—green, bright green, neon green. It suddenly shoots straight ahead and smashes through the windows of three parked cars; alarms promptly go off.
Julian starts, pale; Jean laughs. "Oops!" She says. "Never you mind…come on." She grabs his hand and pulls him back into the party.
…
Julian stares. He is standing outside, in the brisk autumn breeze, his eyes trained on the monster mansion that looms above him. It looks forbidding in the dim light, haloed with the leafless
skeletons of trees. Somewhere a horror movie might take place in.
Jean Grey closes the car door behind him with a soft whumpf!
"You like?" she asks.
"Not bad." Julian hefts his duffle bag and follows her to the front door, watching her hips sway back and forth. The oak panels part at Jean's mental request; he is excited. Will he be able to do that too?
"Yes," Jean says. He's forgotten she can read his mind. She proved it to him, on the drive here, when she answered all his mental questions, including the background thought about whether she found him attractive or not.
"You've got a girlfriend," Jean had said, looking out the window and grinning.
"Yeah, well…" Julian had been embarrassed, but the telepath had changed the topic quickly, sensing this. Jean was very easy to be around, as she did a lot of the talking, and anticipated awkward situations.
If they happened, they were almost momentary, and necessary, it seemed. In a way, she almost reminds him of Sofia—full of tact and pleasantness—but there is an edge to Jean Grey that his girl friend does
not have. An edge of wicked fun, of clever wit that can make almost anything funny, probably partially due to the fact that Jean just reads his mind and can sense what he will laugh at.
Hell, maybe she literally goes into his mind and makes him laugh. Who gives a shit.
"So this is a school, huh?" he says, overwhelmed by the lavish interior of the school. He's never been poor, never struggled; his father had been a millionaire, but his mother had been wise and conservative with
the money. 'Nothing more than needed!' is her motto.
"Yes," Jean says, leading him down a series of hallways. They pass many doors—both closed and open—and Julian sees: an enormous coat room; a sitting room without anything but sofas, décor and windows; a
rec room; a cafeteria; a kitchen; a library full of books; a computer room; a room full of desks for studying; a surprisingly large room that looks like an auditorium; a door that seems to be an exit; and several
elevators. Jean leads him into one and presses a button; they are going up.
"Impressed?" she asks, smirking.
"Yeah," Julian says. "Seems like a private school. This professor guy we're going to meet…he knows my GPA sucks, right?" He hates to admit this, but with Jean, he doesn't mind. Also he'd feel pretty shitty if the
professor spent a thirty-thousand-dollar-a-year education on him, thinking he was some kind of certifiable genius. More like a certifiable failure.
"Yes," Jean says, grinning now. "It doesn't matter. What he's interested in…is why I approached you."
"My…tele…ka…nesisis," Julian attempts.
"Telekinesis," Jean corrects with a small laugh. "You can call it TK if you can't remember."
"Right," Julian says, embarrassed.
"Or 'I can do things with my brain' works, too. Trust me…me and the Professor have heard absolutely everything." The elevator opens and they walk out, down yet another hallway. At the end is a heavy oak door,
paneled and carved very intricately.
"Knock knock, sir," Jean says aloud. The doors swing open by their own accord.
Come in, a voice says. Julian starts—it is male and he's the only guy present in the hallway. And the voice was in his head.
"The professor likes to show off," Jean says with a grin as they enter the office. "Julian…this is Professor Charles Xavier, M.A., PhD, MD and a bunch of other things I can't remember. Professor, this is Julian Keller, GPA
of about 1.1, because he still doesn't trust that you don't care about his grades."
At a heavy oak desk sits a middle-aged man. The first thing Julian notices is his thick mop of golden curls; the second is his smile is very broad. He's wearing a tweed suit, with leather elbow patches, and has square,
black-rimmed glasses. "Hello, Julian," he says. He speaks with a heavy British accent.
"Hi," Julian says awkwardly. "Err…I like the school."
"I am pleased," Xavier says, his voice genuine. "I am also pleased to make your acquaintance."
He just looks at Julian for about a minute, his expression very vague and elsewhere. Then he smiles. "Ah, apologies. I was miles away. A student of mine was excitedly telling me that he believes he is on the path to
finding a cure of cancer. He was quite loud."
Julian swallows, again feeling intimidated. Cure for cancer? Hell, he is lucky he understands what cancer is. He'd failed the unit in school, because his Biology teacher had an impossibly heavy foreign accent, spoke fast,
and Julian couldn't read the text as the problems had been starting around then.
"You are dyslexic," Professor Xavier says suddenly, as if his curiosity is piqued. "Recently so. Fascinating." He purses his lips. "I'd be interested in seeing an MRI of your brain, Julian. I am quite certain this problem is
caused by your newly found telekinesis."
"I—huh?" Julian has been affronted; he's a little uncomfortable at the realization that all these other minds are invading his, slipping in and out like needles, siphoning out his thoughts and memories.
"Don't worry, Julian. I only read loudly projected thoughts—things I cannot help hearing, such as a cry for help—or things you want to say to me, in some form or another. I would never enter thoughts you didn't
want me to hear." He pauses and eyes the girl beside Julian. "Neither would Jean. She's very ethical."
Jean smiles, and Julian doesn't trust that. He starts to wonder if they know about the accident with the teacher, but quickly covers it up with another thought, realizing they were probably listening to him
right now. Given the circumstances, what better way to get him to reveal a secret than raising such trust issues?
"Anyways," the Professor says, smiling again. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I have a conference call to attend to in five minutes, and I am certain you'd like to explore the grounds more fully. We shall have a real
appointment tomorrow, and I will register you in our system. We can go over your plans for education and establish a schedule for your ability training then." He nods, dismissively. "Have fun."
"Oh—and Jean—make sure he does enjoy his stay here," the Professor says lightly. Jean nods.
…
"So, how do you like the Professor?" Jean asks as they walk, through the large rose garden she's described as the arboretum (a name he is never going to remember).
"He has a lot of hair," Julian says offhandedly. He's good at such comments.
"HAH!" Jean says, throwing back her head. "I know. It's so unrealistic. I can't believe he insists on projecting that…"
"What—it's not real?" Julian asks, stopping.
"Not one hair of it," Jean says with a big grin. "He's so vain about it. It was one of his personal prides, before he lost it all due to the accident, so he just 'tricks' your mind into seeing it. Except he kind of exaggerates
how thick it used to be. No body wants to say anything to him and hurt his feelings."
"Accident?" Julian asks.
"Yeah. The spine injury that put him in the wheelchair."
"…wheelchair?" Julian is bewildered at how much he'd failed to miss.
"It's compact. The desk hides it…that's why he's always sitting behind it when you walk in. It also makes him look very studious. He is 'the Professor', after all." She winks at him. "By the way, I should tell you that all
us X-kids have a meeting tomorrow, at nine o' clock, behind the school on the lawn. There will be a black outfit hanging in your closet; put it on and join us."
"I don't do clubs," Julian says, smirking slightly. "I play football, bully weaklings and date the cheerleading squad till I decide who's hottest." He's exaggerated slightly, but it's basically true.
"I see." Jean rolls her eyes. "Well, this one's mandatory. And I lead the club. Xavier calls us X-men, and we carry out school do-gooder assignments, which we receive marks for. It's a great way to boost a failing GPA,
you know." She's appealed to Julian in a way he finds difficult to argue.
"I'm not about to stand in a soup kitchen so I can pretend I'm smart," he says. "That sounds dorky."
"Who said anything about soup kitchens?" Jean asks. "We've got powers…let's use 'em."
Julian blinks. "Like super heroes?" he asks.
"Kind of. We find people who need help—suicide cases, terrorist threats, thefts, domestic violence—and break it up."
"Okay—but the outfits?" he asks.
"Mandatory too. If we get arrested, it's easier for Xavier to protect us legally. The material also has a DNA concealer, and shields us from scanning. There's a bunch of stuff out there that makes it unsafe to be a
mutant these days." She pauses. "They're designed by our resident fashion expert, Ro Munroe."
"I see," Julian says. "I'm still gonna give a maybe. I might show up tomorrow, but…"
"I'll be there to boss you around," Jean reminds him with a wink.
"Well…at least tomorrow," Julian acquiesces. "Xavier's sure is weird."
…
Julian sits on the bed, fiddling with the corner of a receipt, his cell phone pressed up against his ear. A few moments ago, he'd pressed speed dial 1, and it had dialed Sofia's number. He'd paused for
a moment before hitting 'Send'.
After about seven rings, it goes to voicemail. He knows she's heard it, though, and he's not about to give up. On the third call, she answers.
"Hi," he says.
Silence.
"Look, last night—"
"No. There is nothing you can say." Sofia sounds like she's been crying, hard. Her voice is tired and trembles slightly; she sniffles, every now and then.
"I really don't know what you were on about," Julian says. "You sounded crazy for a bit. It's okay…I know you were under a lot of stress recently. Why don't we just forget it, and go on?"
More silence. Then…"Yes, forget it. Move on." She pauses. "We're through."
"Over a stupid thing like that?" he asks. "I didn't even know what you were accusing me of, sweetheart."
"You know what you did," Sofia says, her voice full of venom. "Yes, Julian. No more. Find someone else."
"But I don't want anyone else," Julian says.
"I do. In fact, I've already had them. Last night…I went back to the party. I saw you leave with that other girl…and I thought, why should you be the only one having fun?"
Julian blinks. This is hard. "Look—Sof—I'm hurt you would think that. And, jeez, you just did that without asking me? Who—"
"It's none of your business." Pause. "Goodbye, Julian. It was nice knowing you."
Julian bristles. "Alright, then. Whatever. You had your chance."
Sofia hangs up on him; he throws his cell across the room and then lies on the bed, holding his face in his hands for a while. Then he gets up, crosses the room and opens the cupboard to look at the
outfit hanging inside, thinking.
…
Nine o clock the next day finds Julian descending the big, long staircase from his luxury suite, yawning and stretching in his new outfit. It is the weirdest garment he's ever worn; at first he'd been mortified by
the fact that it was latex and would outline every curve. He'd considered not going. Then he'd looked in the mirror and realized all his football had paid off; he'd probably be the best looking guy there.
Which was important, now that Sofia has declared war.
Whistling, he'd gelled his hair and slammed the door of the hard-wood floored, Persian carpeted, Louis XV furniture (including a four poster bed) lined room, then made his way outside.
He opens the exit door he'd seen the other day and blinks at the bright sunlight. A butterfly passes him as he walks out; on the lawn ahead, he can see there are several students in similar outfits
standing around, looking awkward.
Three girls, two guys, hell yeah, he thinks. One of them won't even be competition; he is possibly the ugliest guy that Julian's ever seen. He looks like a orangutan, except bald everywhere but his head, which
is covered by a thick black ponytail. He has glasses that look way too small on his nose.
The other guy is fairly good looking. He might be an obstacle, if one of the girls likes him (which they no doubt do). The first thing Julian notices about him is that he has two enormous white wings sprouting out
of his back. Wings. He looks somewhat like the angels that were depicted in Sofia's household.
And then the girls. One is Jean, of course; the second one has dark, dark skin and shockingly bright white hair (plus a perfect figure); the third is pretty, too, with chestnut hair that falls down her back in gentle
waves. When she turns around to eye him, he notes that she has a sour expression, and also that she is covered almost head-to-toe in the mandatory garment. Too bad, because from what he can see she's got curves to kill for.
"Julian," Jean smiles. She's holding a clipboard and a pen; her outfit is cut quite small. A sports bra and hot pants, basically; also opera gloves and knee-high yellow boots.
"I'm here," Julian states the obvious. "Can I go now?"
"Not just yet. I need you to sign a waiver…" Jean riffles through the pages on the clip board and pulls out a form he will later regret signing. "Put your John Hancock here." She points to the signature line, then the
paper floats over to him, along with the pen.
Julian signs it in the air, surprised that her thought alone is enough to support the paper like a desk.
"Great. That's a little ditty saying you won't sue us if we break you. " She smiles, distracting him from her words.
Julian thinks something dirty at her. I'd like to put it somewhere else. Jean keeps smiling, and he takes it that she is interested and probably aware that he's no longer tied to another girl.
"This is Julian Keller," Jean announces to everyone. "He's going to be training with us. On that note…let's begin with our official introductions, in alphabetical order. Ok…I'm first. So I'm Jean Grey…the Professor
suggested I be nicknamed 'Pscion'. Not sure I agree, but I'll give it a try. I'm a native New Yorker, I like video games, sports and movies. Also, I have a lot of mind powers—I can read them, and I can move things
with mine. The Professor says I'm a telepathic telekinetic. Next…Julian?" She smiles. "Just a few words, like I did."
"Er," Julian says, unprepared. He thinks for a second. "You know my name. I have no idea why the heck Xavier nicknames you guys, maybe he's helping the bullies out. Uh….I'm from New York. I like sports…and
apparently I'm a tele…I can move things with my brain," he finishes lamely.
"Good. Hank?"
"I'm Hank McCoy." He pauses, seeing Julian's look. The McCoys are billionaires, self-made. Geniuses. They own a pharmaceutical company chain that is spread all over the states. If so, Hank has probably already
attended Harvard, or whatever the expensive scientific equivalent of it is. "Yes, those McCoys. The Professor wants to name me Beast for obvious reasons, but I'm against this and am taking it up with him. I'm from
Seattle, and I have a passion for all things science. My abilities are DNA based, obviously physical; I have enhanced agility, strength and dexterity."
Julian considers him. He is probably right; with that structure he's got to be a million times stronger and more flexible than the other kids here, maybe even him.
"Great. Marian?"
"My name is Marian McDermott," says the sour-looking girl with the brown hair. Marian folds her latex-coated arms, her frown deepening. Her accent is unmistakably Irish. "Th' Professor been suggesting I go by
Rogue. I hail from Dublin, Ireland…an' I find your country very strange a' times. I like some music…and as for m' powers, dunna touch me, or you'll be sorry."
"Marian absorbs you on skin-to-skin contact, temporarily," Jean says. "It's a weird feeling. Ro?"
She's speaking to the other girl, the tall, obviously African one. Ro looks at him with venom, as if she will rip his head off if he attempts to talk to her.
Jeez, he thinks.
"My name eez Ororo Munroe," she says, and her accent is so thick Julian can barely understand her. "I comes from South Africa. I eez Zulu. I trying learn Eeenglish, not so good now. I…" she makes a gesture
at the sky; the clouds above her darken, and sparks of electricity crack over their heads.
"Good, Ro!" Jean says, uneasily looking at the storm cloud. Will it hit them? Has Ro learned to control her powers enough to prevent it? "Now for our resident redneck…Warren?"
"Shut up!" the angel-guy says playfully, his voice tapered in a heavy southern drawl. "Mah name's Warren, but you kin call me War. Ah come from Pleasureville, Kentuckeh…ah likes t' play guitar, an' fish in th' crick
when th' urge hits. Ah think what ah can do is obvious. Oh yeah, an' big surprise, th' Professah wants t' call meh Angel."
"Awesome! Now, I'll explain how things work at Xavier's…"