I'm back. *g* SO sorry this was so long in coming, and it's not a great
chapter anyway. RL got in the way, a lot. At least I'm not that happy with
it. I think I might be straying too far in to the teen angst thing, or
even, god forbid, the mary-sue trap. Let me know what you think! Thanks to
Doublekidz, Toto, Leap of Fate for reviewing! Special thanks to
Dingotheque, Neva and Katherine for reviewing again. Mega huge thanks to
Frost who betaed the first part for me.
Please review.
"I won't tell. I'll never tell." I promised, looking him straight in the eye. His secrets were something I'd cherish till the day I died, and Scott needed to know that. "They're not my stories to tell." He hadn't told me everything, anyway; I desperately wanted to ask questions that I knew he wouldn't answer. He'd glossed over the death of his parents and the seven foster homes as if he were reading a shopping list, and he wouldn't tell me how he survived on the streets for six months until Xavier found him.
"There are some things no one needs to know. I don't want to be the one to break your innocence." He'd said, "Bad people don't deserve to be remembered."
"So they're dead?" I'd asked, wishing I had his telepathy so I could delve into his mind and be satisfied. Morbid curiosity.
"Some." But he wouldn't say who, or how they died.
We were in the staff kitchen. The sun had just risen spectacularly over the horizon, colouring the sky in coral pinks and indigo blues. The sunlight streamed in through the window, through the pale yellow blinds that covered half the glass, dancing off the glasses and bowls that lined the counter on which I sat. I played with Scott's hand absently, kneading his fingers and running my thumbs over his palm. He searched my face, still not trusting me. His eyes were gray now, like cloudy skies and Mondays. I leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "I've got hair on my upper lip and I've never been kissed."
"What?!" Scott choked, bemused, pulling away so were we face to face again.
"Two of my deepest, darkest secrets. We're even now." I said. True, his past was something deeper and darker than anything I'd ever experienced-- than anything I'd probably ever experience. But my mustache and lack of love life were something I'd hidden from all my friends, and shared only with my mother up till now. It was proportional, if not equal. I ran fingers along the lines of his palm, love line, life line, down over the veins in his wrist. Over the scars. "Do you do that anymore?"
"No." He watched my fingers trail along the raised lines that were light against his tanned skin. They criss-crossed like a road map over his forearm to the tender skin on the inside of his elbow.
"Good."
"Why have you never been kissed?"
I laughed; all he had to do was look at me to know why. "Never had a boyfriend. Never known a guy to even like me like that."
"What, a beautiful girl like you? I thought you'd be fighting them off with sticks." He grinned, pulling his wrist out of my hand and bracing himself on the counter, hands either side of my thighs.
"Yeah, right." Standard reply all adults had to give. "I think they're the ones fighting me off with sticks." I tried to make light of it, but it hurt. I couldn't refuse to talk about it though, after what he'd shared.
He grabbed a banana and peeled it, dragging down the rubbery yellow and brown skin. He took a bite, holding it in one side of his mouth while he spoke. "You're crazy. If you were a few years older, I'd be all over you."
I pushed his cheek over the bulge of the banana before he could stop me. The fruit exploded. It splattered out of his mouth, all over his chin and mouth, gooey and gross; like a pimple. He grinned and shook his head at me, chewing loudly with his mouth open on purpose so I got a full view of his food. I didn't see him peeling another one behind his back until the last second, when he mashed it into my face.
"Oh! You bloody cow!" I screamed indignantly. This was war. I jumped off the counter straight onto his foot and wrestled him out of the way so I could get to the fridge. We were almost equally matched height-wise, though I wondered why he didn't just use his telekinesis. Bars of chocolate, cans of coke, salads, and yogurts sat happily on the shelves and I grabbed an unsuspecting pot of strawberry fromage to use as ammunition. I ripped off the foil lid and smacked it onto Scott's t-shirt; it stuck like a badge, turning his white shirt goopy shades of pink.
"Haven't you ruined enough shirts of mine already?" He grimaced, peeling it off and flicking it in my direction.
"Nope." I replied simply, lobbing a pot of yogurt at his head. It hit the mark and splattered all over his face and the kitchen cupboards behind him.
He had a bottle of chocolate sauce. The top came flying at my head and I dodged it easily. He moved like a cat, and had me in a headlock before I could dart away. "Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, choco choco, chocolate!" He sang as he squirted it all over my hair and neck. I screamed, laughing for him to stop. He didn't until the bottle was empty. He let me go, giggling like a schoolboy, covered to the elbows with the brown syrup himself.
"I hate you so much right now," I said, but I couldn't stop laughing. The stuff ran down my face, dripping off my nose onto my breasts.
"But you look so gorgeous," He said, coming over to pile my hair on my head, playing hairdresser, making it stick up at odd angles. I gathered a load of the sticky brown sauce in my hands, and slapped it on his head, rubbing it like shampoo into his hair.
"Oh, thanks." He said.
"Sure, no problem." I grinned. Then he bent down slightly and kissed a trickle of the syrup off my cheek. And I melted. He'd kissed me. He'd kissed chocolate syrup off my cheek. In my own little teenage world, it was romantic. for a few seconds, at least.
"I'll buy you some wax when I go to the store." He said, destroying the moment completely. I elbowed him in the stomach and went to the sink to try and clean myself up a little. He joined me and acted like a three year old playing with the soapsuds and making himself a beard out of the foamy bubbles.
"Mature. Real mature."
He responded by patting my nose with a foam-covered hand. "Do you like pancakes?" he asked me.
"What kind?"
"What do you mean 'what kind'? How many kinds are there?"
"Well," I said, patronizing him, "There are crepes, the really thin ones, or there are the little fat ones. I don't like the little fat ones."
"The little fat ones are pancakes, the others are crepes, smart ass." He retorted, flicking water at me. "I'll make crepes, then."
"You do that." I'd cleaned my arms and face, but my hair was still matted with the stuff, and it covered my shirt. He was in much the same state, but his hair was shorter. It just looked like he'd used some especially bad hair gel that day.
He whisked a mixture of flour and egg and milk, and he had a lump of butter melting in a pan on the stove. Forearms and shoulders must be the sexiest part on a man. And Scott had great arms. Tanned and muscled in just the right places, I was very grateful for his short-sleeved t-shirt. His upper arms didn't even wobble and he whipped the fork around the bowl, letting air into the batter. If only I were a few years older. I could live through Jean vicariously though: time for Angi to play matchmaker, methinks.
He hummed quietly, a light tenor wavered with vibrato, and poured a ladle full of the crepe batter into a searing hot pan, already covered with butter. I knew the song he hummed and sang a line quietly, "Oh, think twice, its just another day for you and me in paradise -"
He grinned, "Phil Collins."
"My mum has all his albums, and everything from Genesis. It's the stuff I grew up on." He nodded and sang softly along with me, flipping a crepe high into the air. It landed perfectly back in the pan.
"Real, or telekinetically?" I asked.
"Little of both." He replied, flipping it onto a plate. "Without the TK it wouldn't land in the pan. What do you want on it?"
"Lemon and sugar, please."
He cut a lemon from the fruit bowl in half and squeezed it with one hand while he threw a handful of sugar under the spray. I thanked him and took a seat, with my pancake at the table while he started making himself one.
"Have you and Logan ever recorded anything? That song last night was really good."
"Thanks, and no we haven't. We're amateurs, it's just for fun. Why?"
"Because I took Music Technology last year. We had a whole recording studio at my old school, if you wanted to record anything, I could help." The crepe was good; I loved the contrast between the lemon and the sugar. I wondered if Scott could cook anything else, that'd be a sure fire way to Jean's heart. Romantic dinner for two.
"I'll let you know then, we could build our very own little studio down in the basement. We'd just need a mixing desks, we've got mics and an amp already."
"You'd need a patch bay and a computer with some kind of mixer program on it, too, if you wanted to do it properly. They do have Porte - studios though. It's like a mini mixing desk that just records onto a cassette. The sound quality's not great though." I said, showing off.
"Better start saving our cash, then." He grinned, "Or go shoot Xavier with the puppy dog eyes."
"Yeah. Do you play any instruments, or just sing?" I asked.
"I started on guitar, and piano when I was a kid. I mainly play the bass now, though. You?"
"Piano. Since I was six or something." I answered. Scott could serenade Jean, and I'd play the piano accompaniment, and Logan could play the guitar. Yes, Jean would fall for him instantly.
Speak of the devil.
"Are those pancakes I smell?" Jean walked in, Scott perked up instantly.
"Would you like some? There's plenty of batter left." He offered immediately. Jean walked over, clad in black and white boxer shorts and a long pink-checkered sleeping shirt, and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.
"I'd love you forever if you made me a couple." She said, squeezing his shoulders and then taking a seat next to me. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her milky white complexion glowed in the sunlight, but he hair was a mess with no visible parting, hanging over her shoulders and in her face as if it had a life of it's own. Scott already had a pan hot on the oven and was covering its bottom with a layer of batter.
"Hey darling, good night?" Jean greeted me, leaning over for a hug.
"Yeah, good enough thanks, you?"
"Strange in that big old bed. I need someone to keep me warm." She said, wrinkling her nose at me and indicating towards Scott with a nod of her head. Scott's shoulders had tensed up and his ears were going pink. Bless.
"I'm sure you'll be able to find someone," I said, joining her in tormenting my Math teacher.
"Maybe Logan -"
"First one's ready." Scott interrupted loudly. I cracked up, resting my head on the table and stuffing a fist in my mouth. He was like a schoolboy with a crush.
'Shut up!' Scott's telepathic voice hissed in my head.
'You want to ho-ld her, you want to stro-ke her, you want to ki-ss her, you want to lo-ve her' I sang back, in true Miss Congeniality style.
"Mmm, you're a very good cook, Scott." Jean complimented, biting into her crepe. Scott positively beamed and started making her another one.
Logan came in then. "Careful children, I'm not putting a shirt on." He said, wearing blue jeans and a silver dog tag around his neck. The sight caught Jean's eye and Scott scowled, almost getting his crepe stuck to the ceiling.
"You need to cover up before the kids come down. I don't want any accidents." Scott warned.
"What, young girls walking headlong into walls because they're staring?" I asked. How could there be any accidents from Logan walking around with no shirt on? I mean, he did have a very nice body, bulky and muscular, with what my mother would think was the perfect amount of body hair - I didn't like hairy chests - but I didn't see how he could be a safety hazard.
"Hardly." Scott snorted, "Sponge bob over there has the power to absorb people's life-forces."
Snickt.
"And these, too. Much more impressive, you should mention these first, Scooter." Three metal, shining claws protruded from the knuckles on both Logan's hands. He grinned proudly, making them glint in the sunlight. He tickled Scott lightly on the temple, making his chocolate covered hair stick on end. Scott swatted him away and flipped Jean's pancake onto a plate.
~~
I liked the Professor the second I walked into his office, which served as proof to me that first impressions weren't always reliable. He was wearing a suit, again, dark blue, pressed to perfection, with a soft cream shirt and silk tie. But he radiated warmth and compassion, and he was smiling faintly.
"Angela, come in my dear." He greeted me. I shut the door behind me and sat in front of his desk on one of the antique wooden chairs there. "I apologize for not being here to greet you when you arrived. I trust you've settled in alright?"
"Yes, thank you."
"And your classes aren't too painful?"
"No, they're fine, thank you."
He flipped through some papers on his desk, "You're seventeen now, correct?"
"Yeah."
"What are you plans after you leave school?" He stacked the papers neatly, and leant on his desk to watch me intently. As if he actually cared about what I was going to say.
"I don't know really. University I guess."
"Any thoughts on what you'd like to major in?"
"English, maybe? Or Art? Media, maybe, I took Media Studies at my old school."
"You're interested in that, then?" He asked, prodding me to keep going.
"I think so. I wouldn't want to act, as a profession, too unstable, but I guess I could like, produce TV shows or design sets or costumes or something. I don't really know."
"You've never thought about teaching?"
Ah. I laughed, "What, teaching during the day and saving the world at night? No, my Mum would freak."
He smiled, "Just so you know it's an option." His phone rang. He looked at me apologetically, "I'm sorry, I have to take this. We'll speak again."
I nodded and got up, smiling goodbye, and left his office. An arm wrapped itself around my shoulders, pulling me to its owner.
"How did you do, old chap? Was the old todger a bloody great wanker or a top bird?"
It was Bobby, Bobby and his excruciatingly bad English accent. "A 'top bird' is a girl, you Pratt. He's a nice guy."
"He's a nice old bloke, then, eh?"
"Yeah, whatever." I grinned, still being dragged along under his arm.
" So, what do you think of John?" He said, back in his normal voice.
"Huh?"
"John, old chap, what do you think of him?" Back to British again.
"He's.fine.why?" I wriggled out from under his arm and turned to face him head on.
"Just wondering." He said, grinning.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to know what you thought of him."
"He's a nice enough guy, I barely know him though."
"And if you got to know him?"
"I don't know." This was getting embarrassing. "Why?"
" 'Cause he thinks you're a top bird."
I could feel my face getting red, and I couldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. Right. Sure. I'm going to go . away from you, now." And I left, down the hall, up the stairs, into my room. John liked me? John liked me? John liked me?
~~
A knock came at my door just as I'd finished getting showered and dressed for my first class. Still brushing my wet hair, I opened the door to reveal Rogue, dressed still in her unusual way, wearing a black beret and knee- high boots.
"Hey, what's up?" She greeted, walking right by me and jumping backwards onto my bed.
"Nothing. You?"
"I'm good. How are you liking it here so far?"
"It's cool. It's different, you know? But I'll get used to it." I said, pulling my hair back into a low ponytail. I felt self conscious in front of Rogue, she was small, stylish, gorgeous, and I...wasn't.
"And the guys?"
"What about the guys?"
"Well, who do you like?" She asked, looking up at me and raising her eyebrows.
"I barely know any of them!" I exclaimed, laughing.
"You've seen them though! Who are you attracted to?"
I felt like a big, fat pedophile or something. "I don't know."
"'Cause I know someone who thinks you invented sliced bread and peanut butter."
"John?"
She laughed, "How do you know that? And I thought I was revealing some huge secret. You just ruined all my fun."
"Sorry." I giggled, sitting beside her on the bed.
"Who told you?"
"Bobby."
"What a retard, I said I'd do it!"
"You're all in on this together?" I started blushing again. Just the thought of them all talking about my love life and me was too much to handle.
"He told us he liked you. It's our duty, as his friend, to see if you feel the same."
"I guess he's okay looking. But I barely know him. Seriously. And I have very little experience with men. Like, very very little." Very little, as in, none at all.
"Don't worry about it! He doesn't either. With women, I mean. I mean he doesn't have any experience with men either! Just."
"I know what you mean." I laughed.
"So if you got to know him better, you might consider."
"Consider what?"
"I don't know, going out with him or something?"
"I might consider it."
"Great! Thanks!" She screamed, jumping off my bed and leaving my room. Leaving me to panic on my own. What were they going to do?
"I won't tell. I'll never tell." I promised, looking him straight in the eye. His secrets were something I'd cherish till the day I died, and Scott needed to know that. "They're not my stories to tell." He hadn't told me everything, anyway; I desperately wanted to ask questions that I knew he wouldn't answer. He'd glossed over the death of his parents and the seven foster homes as if he were reading a shopping list, and he wouldn't tell me how he survived on the streets for six months until Xavier found him.
"There are some things no one needs to know. I don't want to be the one to break your innocence." He'd said, "Bad people don't deserve to be remembered."
"So they're dead?" I'd asked, wishing I had his telepathy so I could delve into his mind and be satisfied. Morbid curiosity.
"Some." But he wouldn't say who, or how they died.
We were in the staff kitchen. The sun had just risen spectacularly over the horizon, colouring the sky in coral pinks and indigo blues. The sunlight streamed in through the window, through the pale yellow blinds that covered half the glass, dancing off the glasses and bowls that lined the counter on which I sat. I played with Scott's hand absently, kneading his fingers and running my thumbs over his palm. He searched my face, still not trusting me. His eyes were gray now, like cloudy skies and Mondays. I leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "I've got hair on my upper lip and I've never been kissed."
"What?!" Scott choked, bemused, pulling away so were we face to face again.
"Two of my deepest, darkest secrets. We're even now." I said. True, his past was something deeper and darker than anything I'd ever experienced-- than anything I'd probably ever experience. But my mustache and lack of love life were something I'd hidden from all my friends, and shared only with my mother up till now. It was proportional, if not equal. I ran fingers along the lines of his palm, love line, life line, down over the veins in his wrist. Over the scars. "Do you do that anymore?"
"No." He watched my fingers trail along the raised lines that were light against his tanned skin. They criss-crossed like a road map over his forearm to the tender skin on the inside of his elbow.
"Good."
"Why have you never been kissed?"
I laughed; all he had to do was look at me to know why. "Never had a boyfriend. Never known a guy to even like me like that."
"What, a beautiful girl like you? I thought you'd be fighting them off with sticks." He grinned, pulling his wrist out of my hand and bracing himself on the counter, hands either side of my thighs.
"Yeah, right." Standard reply all adults had to give. "I think they're the ones fighting me off with sticks." I tried to make light of it, but it hurt. I couldn't refuse to talk about it though, after what he'd shared.
He grabbed a banana and peeled it, dragging down the rubbery yellow and brown skin. He took a bite, holding it in one side of his mouth while he spoke. "You're crazy. If you were a few years older, I'd be all over you."
I pushed his cheek over the bulge of the banana before he could stop me. The fruit exploded. It splattered out of his mouth, all over his chin and mouth, gooey and gross; like a pimple. He grinned and shook his head at me, chewing loudly with his mouth open on purpose so I got a full view of his food. I didn't see him peeling another one behind his back until the last second, when he mashed it into my face.
"Oh! You bloody cow!" I screamed indignantly. This was war. I jumped off the counter straight onto his foot and wrestled him out of the way so I could get to the fridge. We were almost equally matched height-wise, though I wondered why he didn't just use his telekinesis. Bars of chocolate, cans of coke, salads, and yogurts sat happily on the shelves and I grabbed an unsuspecting pot of strawberry fromage to use as ammunition. I ripped off the foil lid and smacked it onto Scott's t-shirt; it stuck like a badge, turning his white shirt goopy shades of pink.
"Haven't you ruined enough shirts of mine already?" He grimaced, peeling it off and flicking it in my direction.
"Nope." I replied simply, lobbing a pot of yogurt at his head. It hit the mark and splattered all over his face and the kitchen cupboards behind him.
He had a bottle of chocolate sauce. The top came flying at my head and I dodged it easily. He moved like a cat, and had me in a headlock before I could dart away. "Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate, choco choco, chocolate!" He sang as he squirted it all over my hair and neck. I screamed, laughing for him to stop. He didn't until the bottle was empty. He let me go, giggling like a schoolboy, covered to the elbows with the brown syrup himself.
"I hate you so much right now," I said, but I couldn't stop laughing. The stuff ran down my face, dripping off my nose onto my breasts.
"But you look so gorgeous," He said, coming over to pile my hair on my head, playing hairdresser, making it stick up at odd angles. I gathered a load of the sticky brown sauce in my hands, and slapped it on his head, rubbing it like shampoo into his hair.
"Oh, thanks." He said.
"Sure, no problem." I grinned. Then he bent down slightly and kissed a trickle of the syrup off my cheek. And I melted. He'd kissed me. He'd kissed chocolate syrup off my cheek. In my own little teenage world, it was romantic. for a few seconds, at least.
"I'll buy you some wax when I go to the store." He said, destroying the moment completely. I elbowed him in the stomach and went to the sink to try and clean myself up a little. He joined me and acted like a three year old playing with the soapsuds and making himself a beard out of the foamy bubbles.
"Mature. Real mature."
He responded by patting my nose with a foam-covered hand. "Do you like pancakes?" he asked me.
"What kind?"
"What do you mean 'what kind'? How many kinds are there?"
"Well," I said, patronizing him, "There are crepes, the really thin ones, or there are the little fat ones. I don't like the little fat ones."
"The little fat ones are pancakes, the others are crepes, smart ass." He retorted, flicking water at me. "I'll make crepes, then."
"You do that." I'd cleaned my arms and face, but my hair was still matted with the stuff, and it covered my shirt. He was in much the same state, but his hair was shorter. It just looked like he'd used some especially bad hair gel that day.
He whisked a mixture of flour and egg and milk, and he had a lump of butter melting in a pan on the stove. Forearms and shoulders must be the sexiest part on a man. And Scott had great arms. Tanned and muscled in just the right places, I was very grateful for his short-sleeved t-shirt. His upper arms didn't even wobble and he whipped the fork around the bowl, letting air into the batter. If only I were a few years older. I could live through Jean vicariously though: time for Angi to play matchmaker, methinks.
He hummed quietly, a light tenor wavered with vibrato, and poured a ladle full of the crepe batter into a searing hot pan, already covered with butter. I knew the song he hummed and sang a line quietly, "Oh, think twice, its just another day for you and me in paradise -"
He grinned, "Phil Collins."
"My mum has all his albums, and everything from Genesis. It's the stuff I grew up on." He nodded and sang softly along with me, flipping a crepe high into the air. It landed perfectly back in the pan.
"Real, or telekinetically?" I asked.
"Little of both." He replied, flipping it onto a plate. "Without the TK it wouldn't land in the pan. What do you want on it?"
"Lemon and sugar, please."
He cut a lemon from the fruit bowl in half and squeezed it with one hand while he threw a handful of sugar under the spray. I thanked him and took a seat, with my pancake at the table while he started making himself one.
"Have you and Logan ever recorded anything? That song last night was really good."
"Thanks, and no we haven't. We're amateurs, it's just for fun. Why?"
"Because I took Music Technology last year. We had a whole recording studio at my old school, if you wanted to record anything, I could help." The crepe was good; I loved the contrast between the lemon and the sugar. I wondered if Scott could cook anything else, that'd be a sure fire way to Jean's heart. Romantic dinner for two.
"I'll let you know then, we could build our very own little studio down in the basement. We'd just need a mixing desks, we've got mics and an amp already."
"You'd need a patch bay and a computer with some kind of mixer program on it, too, if you wanted to do it properly. They do have Porte - studios though. It's like a mini mixing desk that just records onto a cassette. The sound quality's not great though." I said, showing off.
"Better start saving our cash, then." He grinned, "Or go shoot Xavier with the puppy dog eyes."
"Yeah. Do you play any instruments, or just sing?" I asked.
"I started on guitar, and piano when I was a kid. I mainly play the bass now, though. You?"
"Piano. Since I was six or something." I answered. Scott could serenade Jean, and I'd play the piano accompaniment, and Logan could play the guitar. Yes, Jean would fall for him instantly.
Speak of the devil.
"Are those pancakes I smell?" Jean walked in, Scott perked up instantly.
"Would you like some? There's plenty of batter left." He offered immediately. Jean walked over, clad in black and white boxer shorts and a long pink-checkered sleeping shirt, and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.
"I'd love you forever if you made me a couple." She said, squeezing his shoulders and then taking a seat next to me. Her face was freshly scrubbed, her milky white complexion glowed in the sunlight, but he hair was a mess with no visible parting, hanging over her shoulders and in her face as if it had a life of it's own. Scott already had a pan hot on the oven and was covering its bottom with a layer of batter.
"Hey darling, good night?" Jean greeted me, leaning over for a hug.
"Yeah, good enough thanks, you?"
"Strange in that big old bed. I need someone to keep me warm." She said, wrinkling her nose at me and indicating towards Scott with a nod of her head. Scott's shoulders had tensed up and his ears were going pink. Bless.
"I'm sure you'll be able to find someone," I said, joining her in tormenting my Math teacher.
"Maybe Logan -"
"First one's ready." Scott interrupted loudly. I cracked up, resting my head on the table and stuffing a fist in my mouth. He was like a schoolboy with a crush.
'Shut up!' Scott's telepathic voice hissed in my head.
'You want to ho-ld her, you want to stro-ke her, you want to ki-ss her, you want to lo-ve her' I sang back, in true Miss Congeniality style.
"Mmm, you're a very good cook, Scott." Jean complimented, biting into her crepe. Scott positively beamed and started making her another one.
Logan came in then. "Careful children, I'm not putting a shirt on." He said, wearing blue jeans and a silver dog tag around his neck. The sight caught Jean's eye and Scott scowled, almost getting his crepe stuck to the ceiling.
"You need to cover up before the kids come down. I don't want any accidents." Scott warned.
"What, young girls walking headlong into walls because they're staring?" I asked. How could there be any accidents from Logan walking around with no shirt on? I mean, he did have a very nice body, bulky and muscular, with what my mother would think was the perfect amount of body hair - I didn't like hairy chests - but I didn't see how he could be a safety hazard.
"Hardly." Scott snorted, "Sponge bob over there has the power to absorb people's life-forces."
Snickt.
"And these, too. Much more impressive, you should mention these first, Scooter." Three metal, shining claws protruded from the knuckles on both Logan's hands. He grinned proudly, making them glint in the sunlight. He tickled Scott lightly on the temple, making his chocolate covered hair stick on end. Scott swatted him away and flipped Jean's pancake onto a plate.
~~
I liked the Professor the second I walked into his office, which served as proof to me that first impressions weren't always reliable. He was wearing a suit, again, dark blue, pressed to perfection, with a soft cream shirt and silk tie. But he radiated warmth and compassion, and he was smiling faintly.
"Angela, come in my dear." He greeted me. I shut the door behind me and sat in front of his desk on one of the antique wooden chairs there. "I apologize for not being here to greet you when you arrived. I trust you've settled in alright?"
"Yes, thank you."
"And your classes aren't too painful?"
"No, they're fine, thank you."
He flipped through some papers on his desk, "You're seventeen now, correct?"
"Yeah."
"What are you plans after you leave school?" He stacked the papers neatly, and leant on his desk to watch me intently. As if he actually cared about what I was going to say.
"I don't know really. University I guess."
"Any thoughts on what you'd like to major in?"
"English, maybe? Or Art? Media, maybe, I took Media Studies at my old school."
"You're interested in that, then?" He asked, prodding me to keep going.
"I think so. I wouldn't want to act, as a profession, too unstable, but I guess I could like, produce TV shows or design sets or costumes or something. I don't really know."
"You've never thought about teaching?"
Ah. I laughed, "What, teaching during the day and saving the world at night? No, my Mum would freak."
He smiled, "Just so you know it's an option." His phone rang. He looked at me apologetically, "I'm sorry, I have to take this. We'll speak again."
I nodded and got up, smiling goodbye, and left his office. An arm wrapped itself around my shoulders, pulling me to its owner.
"How did you do, old chap? Was the old todger a bloody great wanker or a top bird?"
It was Bobby, Bobby and his excruciatingly bad English accent. "A 'top bird' is a girl, you Pratt. He's a nice guy."
"He's a nice old bloke, then, eh?"
"Yeah, whatever." I grinned, still being dragged along under his arm.
" So, what do you think of John?" He said, back in his normal voice.
"Huh?"
"John, old chap, what do you think of him?" Back to British again.
"He's.fine.why?" I wriggled out from under his arm and turned to face him head on.
"Just wondering." He said, grinning.
"What?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to know what you thought of him."
"He's a nice enough guy, I barely know him though."
"And if you got to know him?"
"I don't know." This was getting embarrassing. "Why?"
" 'Cause he thinks you're a top bird."
I could feel my face getting red, and I couldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah. Right. Sure. I'm going to go . away from you, now." And I left, down the hall, up the stairs, into my room. John liked me? John liked me? John liked me?
~~
A knock came at my door just as I'd finished getting showered and dressed for my first class. Still brushing my wet hair, I opened the door to reveal Rogue, dressed still in her unusual way, wearing a black beret and knee- high boots.
"Hey, what's up?" She greeted, walking right by me and jumping backwards onto my bed.
"Nothing. You?"
"I'm good. How are you liking it here so far?"
"It's cool. It's different, you know? But I'll get used to it." I said, pulling my hair back into a low ponytail. I felt self conscious in front of Rogue, she was small, stylish, gorgeous, and I...wasn't.
"And the guys?"
"What about the guys?"
"Well, who do you like?" She asked, looking up at me and raising her eyebrows.
"I barely know any of them!" I exclaimed, laughing.
"You've seen them though! Who are you attracted to?"
I felt like a big, fat pedophile or something. "I don't know."
"'Cause I know someone who thinks you invented sliced bread and peanut butter."
"John?"
She laughed, "How do you know that? And I thought I was revealing some huge secret. You just ruined all my fun."
"Sorry." I giggled, sitting beside her on the bed.
"Who told you?"
"Bobby."
"What a retard, I said I'd do it!"
"You're all in on this together?" I started blushing again. Just the thought of them all talking about my love life and me was too much to handle.
"He told us he liked you. It's our duty, as his friend, to see if you feel the same."
"I guess he's okay looking. But I barely know him. Seriously. And I have very little experience with men. Like, very very little." Very little, as in, none at all.
"Don't worry about it! He doesn't either. With women, I mean. I mean he doesn't have any experience with men either! Just."
"I know what you mean." I laughed.
"So if you got to know him better, you might consider."
"Consider what?"
"I don't know, going out with him or something?"
"I might consider it."
"Great! Thanks!" She screamed, jumping off my bed and leaving my room. Leaving me to panic on my own. What were they going to do?