Chapter Ten: Coordination
The babel of laughing, talking, eating students already filled the dining hall by the time Kurt, Scott, and the Professor entered.
Kurt clacked awkwardly to the serving table in his new - or, rather, Scott's old - shoes, his shoulders hunched and his eyes cast down. He felt like an imposter, a child again, lost inside his older brother's oversized hand-me-downs.
"Hey, Kurt, you OK?" Scott asked.
"Ja, fine, danke," Kurt assured him, and the Professor behind them. "It's just...these socks and shoes will take some getting used to, I think. Please, allow me..."
He reached over to the stacks of trays and plates at the edge of the table and politely handed one of each to Scott and to the Professor before gingerly collecting his own and taking a place at the end of the line. Both men noted the way Kurt lifted and handled the plates, with his slender fingers paired in twos, but neither made a comment.
Kurt set his jaw and glared at the floor. He was used to glances and stares, of course, but that had been for his physical looks, for his talents and unusual abilities. Now, his awkwardness made him stand out, and he did not like earning glances like that for doing things 'wrong'.
As the line moved slowly forward, Kurt placed his tray on the counter and fingered the rosary in his pocket, praying no one else would notice or approach him until he had at least reached the teachers' table. He had never felt more exposed, and he was in no mood to deal with questions from the curious, no matter how well meaning.
The prepared food was self-serve, which meant if Kurt wanted his dinner, he would have to force his clumsy new fingers to use serving utensils...in front of the Professor, Scott, and the entire student body.
He watched closely as Scott ladled seasoned peas onto his plate, trying to figure out exactly how he used his fingers to clutch the large serving spoon. Carefully mimicking Scott's movements, he awkwardly took the handle in his own, pale hand. When he was sure he had a good grip on it, he dipped the spoon into the peas and wobbled them slowly to his plate, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Sighing with a mixture of frustration and relief - he hadn't dropped a single pea, but he was sure he'd looked like an idiot - Kurt plopped the spoon back into the peas and slid his plate over to the next tray. Carrots. Well, since he didn't have night-vision anymore he supposed his eyes could use all the help they could get. Carrots, on the plate. Mashed potatoes? He was getting pretty good at using the serving spoons by this time, so why not?
Next - the main dish. The kitchen team had prepared sirloin steak with blue-cheese sauce, with optional veggie-burgers for those like Kitty and Ororo, who didn't eat meat. Yet, to earn his steak, Kurt would have to conquer a new challenge: serving tongs.
Scott and the Professor had already been and gone, so there was no model to emulate this time. He would just have to teach himself.
Kurt straightened. No problem for the Incredible Nightcrawler!
He reached for the tongs, but pulled back when he saw his fingers had paired themselves of their own accord into a tridactyl shape.
NO!
He thought back to the man in the mirror. He would do this the right way, or he wouldn't do it at all.
Kurt splayed his fingers out as far as they would go, then relaxed his hand and reached for the tongs again. This time, his hand cooperated, the fingers wrapping around the tongs as naturally as they always had.
Kurt chose a steak and squeezed the tongs. He nearly squished all the juice from the meat with the force of his grip, but he got it to his plate without spilling a single sloppy drip on the white tablecloth. By the time he got to the buttered rolls, Kurt was nearly grinning. Some utensils, a napkin or three, a shiny, red apple for his teeth, and Kurt was ready to perform one of the most difficult balancing acts of his entire career: walking all the way to the teachers' table without fumbling his dinner plate.
Could anything be more ridiculous?
Keeping his eyes averted from the seated crowd, Kurt carefully began his trek across the dining hall.
*...heel, toe, heel, toe, heel, toe...*
As he moved, he could swear he felt his tail swishing along behind him. Unconsciously, he shifted his stiffly-upright posture into something more 'natural', only realizing what he'd done when his uncertain balance nearly made him stagger into a stack of extra chairs by the wall. Several peas rolled off his plate to bounce and splatter on the immaculate floor.
Kurt ground his teeth and concentrated on walking, fighting to ignore his burning face and ears.
Several of the students he passed gave him curious looks, but no one waved or smiled or called out to him as usual. True, he hadn't wanted attention, but even so the way they seemed to be ignoring him stung him more deeply than he would have expected. By the time he finally reached the teachers' table, he felt surly and churlish, and he had lost most of his appetite. Not that he'd had much of one to begin with. Hank had told him that without his mutant gift of teleportation, his metabolism was no longer nearly as high as it had been. Perhaps that, too, had something to do with his present mood.
Kurt slid into his usual seat at the corner - next to Ororo and across from Logan - without looking at any of his friends. Instead, he busied himself by carefully arranging his napkins and utensils beside his plate. He knew his manner was unforgivably rude, not to mention childish, but he didn't care. He felt miserably exposed, shunned, and painfully embarrassed, and all he really wanted was to teleport to his room and hang by his tail from the chandelier with a good book. Of course, even that simple escape was denied to him now. With his uncertain balance, he could barely stick to the floor anymore, let alone climb to the ceiling...
Ororo and Logan shared one of those 'looks' he'd been seeing too often, so Kurt hunched over his tray and fixed his attention on his knife and fork, grumbling and muttering under his breath in German as he battled to coordinate his unsure fingers.
"Kurt," Ororo offered gently, "would you like me to show you—"
"I can do it!" Kurt snapped.
Ororo straightened, startled by the vehemence of his tone.
Kurt's surly expression crumbled, and he dropped his utensils to his plate.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to—"
He sighed.
"I didn't mean it like that, meine Freundin. Thank you for your offer."
Ororo shook her snowy head and scooted her chair closer to his, reaching out to gently turn his head to face her.
"Kurt," she said, once she held his blue gaze. "You have nothing to apologize for. You have every right to feel angry."
Kurt swallowed, breaking their locked gaze and turning back to his plate.
"Tomorrow is Tuesday, am I right?" he asked, again ignoring his burning face.
Logan nodded.
"All day."
"That is my long day. All my classes meet," Kurt said.
"Are you sure you feel up to facing the students, Kurt?" Ororo asked. "I'm sure everyone would understand if you wished to take a few days off to—"
"Nein!" Kurt firmly shook his head. "What kind of an example would that be for the children?"
Ororo furrowed her brow, but Kurt gestured to the crowd of chatting, laughing, eating students, saying, "All of them are dealing with traumatic transformations of one kind or another. My present situation is not much different. I have been physically changed, yes, but I am not ill. I am perfectly capable of carrying out my duties as a teacher."
"No one is doubting that, Kurt," Xavier said. "In fact, I agree with you entirely."
Hank sighed slightly, crossing his knife and fork over his plate.
"But you know how kids are, especially teenagers," he said, looking straight at Kurt. "Are you prepared to deal with their..." The doctor trailed off, circling his hand at the wrist as he tried to come up with a politic way of expressing his thoughts, "...curiosity?" he finished.
"Hank," Kurt told him, "I have been dealing with such 'curiosity', as you put it, all my life. To tell you the truth, I'm more worried about writing on the board than I am about my students' reactions to my...erm...new look."
"Writing on the board?"
Kurt smirked, wiggling his fingers at Hank.
"Too many fingers!" he exclaimed. "I can barely use a knife and fork! I would hate to see how my already atrocious handwriting has suffered. I do not wish to appear...clumsy..."
He shook his head, then slammed his clenched fists down into his lap.
"How can anyone function with such an unruly crowd of digits at the ends of their hands!" he cried.
"Perhaps you might consider sitting in on a typing class," the Professor suggested. "The exercises would help you develop better coordination, and you would gain a valuable skill - one that was all but closed to you previously."
Kurt frowned, more subdued as he brought his hands back to the table.
"I had not thought of that," he said, vainly attempting to find the most practical way to hold his knife and fork. "Though it would probably be a good idea," he observed with a sheepish smile.
Ororo returned his smile, lifting up her own utensils in demonstration.
"Here," she said, "try holding them like this."
As he had with Scott and the serving spoon, Kurt emulated Ororo's grip. He still felt horribly on-the-spot awkward as he cut his steak, but after a few slices he began to get the hang of it.
"See," Ororo told him, her eyes gentle. "All it takes is a little practice."
Kurt shrugged, but didn't say anything. Every move he made, the flat, dimensionless feel to everything he saw, the odd tingle where his tail should be, the strange, sympathetic way Ororo was looking at him...all these and more were constant reminders of his transformation and he didn't like it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't just grin and joke and pretend nothing had changed. 'Everything' had changed. And, though he hated to admit it, even to himself, he was terrified of how his students would react when he stepped up in front of the classroom in the morning. The children had been told what had happened, of course, but that didn't mean they would recognize him...
"Hey, Kurt," Logan's voice broke into his musings. "Where'd you go, Elf?"
Kurt blinked and looked up at his friend.
"Huh?" he asked. "Was?"
"I asked if you want to get in some extra Danger Room practice," Logan said. "'Cause I've got this new sim—"
"I think it would be better to give Kurt some time to adjust to his new body before you start throwing it around the Danger Room, Logan," Hank scolded, his eyes narrowed.
Kurt shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired.
Ororo noticed the change in his posture.
"Kurt, are you all right?" she asked.
Kurt's spine prickled with angry frustration, and he pulled away from her hand.
"Yes," he snapped. "I am fine. I'm just a bit tired, that's all."
He stood up to address everyone at the table.
"If you will all excuse me, bitte," he said, "I think I will head up to my room. It has been a very long day, and I have a lot of sewing to do."
There were several confused looks at that last remark, but Kurt didn't expand on it.
"Would you like me to come with you?" Ororo offered, the concern in her eyes only sharpening his frustration.
"No, danke," he said stiffly. "I think I would rather be alone. I will see you all tomorrow."
He walked slowly and deliberately from the crowded room, his friends' worried looks boring into his back even after he turned a corner and vanished from their view.
To Be Continued...