Brenda had come from a world where mornings were still, and quiet. She was in no way prepared for the chaos that went on in her new home.
"Where's my other sneaker?" Evan demanded, waving its twin in the air.
"Did you look behind the couch?" his aunt asked between sips of tea.
"Yes! It's not there!"
"How about the entry hall?"
"I looked!"
"I think I saw it on the front porch," Brenda said.
"What's it doing on the porch?"
"Like, maybe if you didn't kick them off as soon as you came in the house, you could, like, find them!" Kitty exclaimed. She was fixing her hair in the hall mirror, since both bathrooms were occupied.
"Found it!" came the triumphant cry from outside.
Brenda, who had been up and dressed since six o'clock, sat calmly waiting for the others to finish their preparations.
They were almost ready to go when Scott came downstairs.
"What are you doing up?" Jean asked him. He looked a little better than yesterday, but he was still running a temperature and coughing pretty hard.
"I need you to get the homework for me," he said.
"Okay, but—"
"And return my library books."
"Yes, but I think you should—"
"And make sure these guys get at least an hour's practice in the Danger Room—"
Jean reached out and put her hands over his. "Scott," she said, "go to bed. I'll handle it."
"What about—"
"Scott! I can handle it. Don't worry. The world won't fall apart if you're out sick for one day."
"I'll take care of him," Storm said. "You just get to school. Have a good day."
"We're still waiting for Kurt," Jean said.
"He's in the car already," Brenda told her.
Logan was driving them to school, which was almost unheard of. He claimed he had errands to do in town. Brenda had a feeling (she still couldn't read him—was he blocking her somehow?) that he really wanted to make sure she got off okay. He seemed so rough on the outside, but she could tell inside he was really a sweet person.
He'd never admit to it, of course . . .
"How's Rogue?" Brenda asked Kurt, when they were underway.
"Much better," he said. "Zat tea of yours is fantastic! I had some myself. She'll be up and around in no time."
"Let's hope so."
Brenda was thinking about the principal of the school, the
person she was supposed to see first thing, being her enemy. Does she know
we know?
I'm not sure, came the response from Jean. If she
does, she's never mentioned it. She has to, though.
That's a bit scary.
Just treat her with respect and it'll be all right.
Thanks.
Good luck.
"Hang on a second, Princess," Logan said to her as she started to get out of the car. "I want to talk to you."
Brenda looked at the others and shrugged. "I'll see you at lunchtime, if not sooner."
"Close the door."
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I just want you to watch out for those delinquents in the Brotherhood," he said. "I know Charlie already warned you, but trust me, you can't hear it enough. They're trouble. Stay far away from them."
She looked at him curiously. "Why are you so worried about me?"
"Maybe . . ." He found it hard to put into words. "Maybe cause you haven't even asked yet why you can't read my mind."
Her eyes went wide. How did he know? "I thought you must be . . . blocking me somehow."
"You didn't wonder why?"
"I thought you must have your reasons."
He grinned, and she felt she'd passed some kind of test. "You don't want to mess around in my head, Princess. It's not a nice neighborhood."
"I'll remember that."
"Have fun at school, now."
"I will. Goodbye, Logan." She waved to him as he drove off.
Actually, it had occurred to her to wonder what was so horrible in his mind that he had to keep it from her, but she tried to put her curiosity aside. There were some things that even telepaths were not meant to know.
"Excuse me?"
The head secretary, a plump, middle-aged woman with oddly bright red hair, looked up. "Can I help you, dearie?"
"I'm here to see Ms. Darkholme?"
"Your name?"
"Brenda. Brenda Ellis."
"Brenda . . . Brenda . . . oh yes, here it is. She'll be right with you, have a seat."
Brenda sat in one of the hard plastic chairs. No one was in the office this early in the morning, which was good. She didn't have her shield up yet, and stray thoughts filtered into her head like background noise in a restaurant . . .
. . . told him the roses would die if he
over-watered them, but does he . . .
. . . so hot! But he'd never go out with me . . .
. . . who does she think she is, little miss Goody-Goody?
The door to the inner office opened. A severe-looking woman in a charcoal-gray suit stepped out. "Brenda Ellis?" she called.
Brenda stood. "Yes, ma'am."
"I'm Ms. Darkholme, the principal. Welcome to Bayville High." She led the girl into her inner sanctum.
Said the spider to the fly, Brenda thought nervously. She clamped her shield down tightly, not wanting to read this woman's thoughts.
Does she know we know? She had asked Jean, and though the other girl hadn't known for sure, Brenda felt now that she did know, that she must know. She knew . . . and she hated her.
But her outward manner, like her appearance, was deceptively charming. She talked about the school's academic programs, the music department ("I understand you sing," she said, and Brenda felt that twinge of nervousness again), the various sports programs, and other things that Brenda didn't quite catch because she was too busy watching the woman's face and thinking: I can't believe that's an illusion. It looks so real!
"Do you have any questions?"
Brenda snapped back to attention. "No, ma'am."
"Very well." Ms. Darkholme stuck her head out the door.
"Myra, would you please call Todd Tolensky to the office for me?"
"Will do." The secretary picked up the mike as Ms. Darkholme closed the door.
"Since it's your first day, I've arranged for a fellow student to show you around. He's in most of your classes, which should make it easier for you." She sat back in her chair, pressed her palms together, and waited.
The fact that Todd was in school at all was surprising in itself, given that he'd been so sick yesterday. Mystique had expected to have him home at least another day, perhaps two.
Then, when he got up this morning and announced that he wanted to go to school . . .
She'd assumed he was delirious, or hallucinating. But no, he insisted, he was fine, and he wanted to get back to school. He'd even done his homework. He never did his homework, unless she was standing over him, and even then he only made half an effort.
"All right," she'd admitted finally. "But if you get sick in the middle of class, I'm not letting you go home."
"I won't. I promise."
Maybe she was hallucinating.
Now he burst through her office door in a frenzy. "I didn't do it!" he insisted. "Whatever Lance says, it wasn't me! It was like that when I found it!"
"Todd, sit down," Mystique ordered, her voice like ice.
"'Kay." He took the seat near the door, in case she started yelling and he had to make a quick exit.
"Todd, this is Brenda Ellis. She's just starting today. Since you two will be in the same classes, I thought you could show her around."
Todd's eyes met Brenda's, and the look of panic on his face was replaced by . . . something else.
Ah hah! Mystique thought. So this is why he had to
come to school today.
It was her!
The girl from Saturday night! The new girl at Xavier's!
Her name was Brenda? Didn't seem right. It was too common, was the problem. There was nothing common about her. She should have a name that was pretty and exotic, like Alexis or Cassandra.
"Uh . . ." he said. "Hi."
"Hi," she said. Was she smiling? She was! She was smiling—at him! Girls never smiled at him.
"Why don't you two get to class?" Mystique said, her voice somewhere between a suggestion and an order.
"Oh. Yeah. Sure. Class. C'mon, um . . ."
"Brenda."
"Brenda, right. C'mon." He took her by the hand, opened the door, and led her . . .
. . . into the closet.
"Whoops! Sorry! Door's this way."
Mystique buried her face in her hands and sighed.
It was him! Brenda thought. The one who had been watching her from the woods when she arrived Saturday night. I knew there was someone there!
Even with her shield down, the intensity of his thoughts was so strong that she couldn't miss it. She tried to concentrate on finding her way to her first class, hoping that they wouldn't end up in another closet.
"So. You're from England," he was prattling on. Even he wasn't sure what he was saying. "My mom was from England."
"Really? Where?"
"I dunno. Someplace with trees. She used to climb trees a lot."
"She must have been fun."
"Yeah. She was." The boy's voice took on a note of sadness. "She died when I was six."
"I'm sorry," Brenda said. "If it's any consolation, at least you knew her. My mother died when I was born."
"Really? Geez."
He seemed so shy, so awkward and sweet, that she found it hard to believe he was one of the "delinquents" she had been warned about.
They found their classroom on the first try. Ms. Darkholme hadn't lied; they did have six out of seven classes together.
Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing . . .
The day flew by, and before she knew it, it was lunchtime.
"I guess this is where we say goodbye," Todd said, carrying his tray close to him, as if someone might try to knock it out of his hands.
"Oh? Why?"
"Well, you know . . . you have your friends, I have mine, that kind of thing. We'll see each other in French class next period."
"You can come sit with us," Brenda offered.
Todd shook his head vigorously. "Nah, I couldn't. I . . . wouldn't be too welcome there, if you know what I mean."
Brenda didn't, not really, but she said, "All right, then. See you in French."
They headed off in opposite directions.
"Brenda! Over here!" Kitty was calling and waving.
Brenda sat down in the empty seat, looking back over her shoulder. He seemed like such a nice boy . . .
"So?" Kitty was saying.
"Huh? What?"
"I said, what did you think?"
"Of what?" Brenda finally saw Todd on the other side of the cafeteria, sitting with the three other boys from the photograph. None of them looked particularly threatening, but then she had yet to see their powers in action.
"What are you looking at?" Kitty followed her gaze. "Oh. Them."
"Those geeks giving you any trouble?" Evan asked. He had three empty milk cartons in front of him, and was working on a fourth.
"No . . ."
"Let me know if they do. I'll show them—"
"We're not," Jean said sternly, "supposed to use our powers in public."
"Who said anything about powers? I could kick their butts with my bare hands tied behind my . . . uh . . ."
Brenda laughed a little at the boy's bravado. Imagine someone wanting to protect her!
"Hey, Kurt," Evan said, "you gonna finish that moo juice?"
Kurt was just staring into space, a vacant look on his face.
"Kurt? Yoo hoo!"
"Vhat?"
"You want your milk?"
"No. Go ahead." He went back to staring off into the distance.
"You okay, man?"
"Hmm?"
"You're not getting sick, are you?"
"No."
"Then what's wrong?"
There was a long pause, then: "Nozing. It's not important."
Brenda considered probing him, then decided it wouldn't be wise just yet. She patted his hand. "We're here," she said, "when you're ready to talk."
No response.
Is this anywhere near normal? Brenda sent to Jean. I
mean, for him?
No, he's usually talking up a storm.
I wonder if he's worried about Rogue.
Could be. Could be something else. He'll talk when he's
ready.
At the Brotherhood's table, Todd was barely paying attention to his friends, or his lunch. He was watching Brenda at her table, wishing he could hear what she was saying.
Why couldn't she be with us? He thought to himself. Then
everything would be okay. We could be together. But no, she's an X-Geek.
They're probably telling her all kinds of horrible things about me—
Something bounced off the back of his head. "Ow!"
"I'm talking to you, Toad!" Pietro Maximoff threw another one of the cafeteria's inedible rolls at the other boy. "Try and pay attention!"
"I am! Sorta."
"I said, the big boss has called a meeting for tomorrow night."
Lance gave him a dubious look. "How do we even know there is a big boss?"
"Cause I've seen him."
"Yeah, well, nobody else has."
"What, you think I made him up?"
"Guys," Todd said weakly. The two had clashed over leadership of the group ever since Pietro had come aboard, and they weren't about to stop now.
"All I'm saying is, none of the rest of us have ever met this so-called Big Boss of yours . . ."
"You will."
"Oh, yeah? When?"
"When the time is right."
"In other words, never."
"Hey, I don't make the rules!"
"But he likes you! He likes you a little too much, I think!"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Todd tried to ignore them and watch Brenda again, but someone was blocking his view. He tried leaning around them, then jumping up to see over them.
Then the someone turned around. It was one of the football jerks.
"What are you looking at, Tolensky?" he demanded.
Lance broke away from his fight with Pietro to glare at the idiot. "You starting something, Matthews?"
"Tell your creepy friend to mind his own business!"
"Why don't you mind yours?"
There was some pushing and shoving, but by then Todd had crawled under the table and was heading for the door. He was so intent on getting away that he didn't notice where he was going, and he bumped into someone.
"Going somewhere?" asked Ms. Darkholme.
By the time they got it all sorted out, he was late for his next class. What will she think of me? He thought, too preoccupied to realize that for once he hadn't been beaten up, stuffed in a locker, or had his head stuck down a toilet.
"How nice of you to join us," Miss (excuse moi, Mademoiselle) Rimbeau snapped.
"I got a pass." He held it out. It was a bit uncommon for Ms. Darkholme to give him a hall pass, but since he hadn't actually started the fight, she'd cut him a break. She seemed to have something on her mind, anyway."
"Tres bien. Sit." Mmslle. Rimbeau waved a hand in the direction of his chair, and continued with the lesson.
As he took his seat, Todd glanced around. Brenda was two rows back, one row over, almost diagonally behind him. When she saw him, she gave a little wave.
"Page fifty-three," she whispered.
"What?"
"That's where we are. Page 53, top of the second column."
"Oh. Thanks." He opened his book, upside-down, realized his mistake and turned it around, and finally found the right page.
At the end of the day, Brenda gathered her books and packed them up. They were walking downtown, to the video store, she had been told. Someone would pick them up there later.
Her locker was at the far end of the hall. She checked the combination, written on a small slip of paper, and worked the lock deftly.
"First time anyone's ever got that on the first try," said a voice next to her.
Brenda looked up at a massive boy in overalls with a blonde Mohawk haircut. Her first thought was Oh my God, it's Earthquake Hannigan! He looked like he'd escaped from that wrestling program she'd been subjected to last night.
Then she recognized him: he was one of Todd's friends. The boys from the photograph, the ones she'd been told to avoid. The Brotherhood.
Well, there was no point in being rude, was there?
"I guess I'm just lucky," she said.
"I usually don't bother with the lock," the boy said.
"Don't your things get stolen?" she asked.
"Nah. They know better than to mess with my stuff." His eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists, as if daring anyone to come and test him.
"You must be one tough customer, um . . ." She looked up at him, her head cocked, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
"Huh? Oh. Fred. Fred Dukes." He extended a giant hand, which swallowed hers completely.
"Brenda Ellis." He didn't seem so bad either. Was this really the same person who ripped lockers off the walls and slammed trucks around?
"You're new here, huh?"
"Yes. This is my first day. So far, so good."
"Hey," Fred said. "Anyone hassles you, you let me know. I'll take care of 'em."
"Thanks," Brenda said hastily, "but I'm fine. No hassles at all."
She looked over and saw Jean standing there, waiting for her.
Fred, seeing her look past him, turned and saw Jean too, and his expression changed. "Oh," he said. "You're with them."
"I'm sorry, I have to go," Brenda said, suddenly feeling the need to get away before trouble started. "Nice meeting you, Fred. I'll see you around."
As they pushed open the double doors leading to the outside, Jean asked Brenda, "What were you doing talking to him?"
"Oh, just . . . talking."
She didn't get it. How could these boys be so dangerous, when they had shown her nothing but kindness? How could she treat them as enemies, when they had approached her as friends?
How could she trust the word of people she had just met over the evidence of her eyes and ears—and mind?