Disclaimer: I own no characters except the obvious (Audrey and her famille). And I apologize in advance if my French isn't up to par. 2 years of French will only take you so far, but I've tried my hardest to be accurate. A mini request: you don't need to tell me what I got wrong. Honestly, I'll learn sometime, and if it completely and totally takes over your mind and the only thing you can think of is how I spelled one thing wrong or structured one sentence incorrectly, then you're missing the point of this story.
Chapter One ~ My New Beginning
It was a shiny day in August. Yes, I mean shiny. The sun was glaring and heat radiated from the pavement like oil separating from water. It was a heat wave spanning five days, and absolutely unbearable. Who knew New York could get so hot? My step-father, ever the miser, insisted on using ceiling fans and open windows, claiming the days were much hotter when he was growing up in Southern France. I doubt it, though. Everything's exaggerated when you're a kid; even if you grow up to be an influential businessman. In fact, it was his business that brought us here in the first place. Westchester, New York, United States of America. I wasn't sad about leaving Bordeaux: there was nothing left for me there. You'd be amazed at how many people don't pay attention to you when you won't speak, but I guess that's the way I wanted it. Anyway, it was August, my second month in the states, and my savior came to the door. At the time I would've never even thought of him as that. People were people and it was best not to associate with them: you can't get hurt that way.
I was in my room, listening to my headphones, stripped down to my undergarments because it was so damn hot, when I saw the glare of a car's windshield pull into my driveway. Interested, I turned off my French punk and pulled on a t-shirt and jean shorts. I went down and sat on the steps; it was best to stay unnoticed and just listen. The doorbell rang and my stepfather called out "Attendez, je viens, je viens!" He got up (much to his chagrin; any work was too much work) and answered the door. From my seat on the steps I could see two people: a very pretty redheaded girl and a bald man in a wheelchair. "Can I 'elp you?" my stepfather asked.
"Yes. Is this the Saint-Grégoire residence?" the bald man asked.
"Ouais?" My stepfather's tone was almost impudent in his informality.
"We are here to speak to you about your daughter. Is there someplace we can talk?" the girl-well, she was in her twenties-said.
"What do you want wit' 'er?" the jackass (my stepfather) said.
"My name is Charles Xavier, and I run a school for the gifted. We believe your daughter is a special person and we would like to invite her to our school. This is Dr. Jean Grey, she is on the teaching staff." They moved out onto the porch, after my stepfather called my mother.
"Hélène!" He called her like a child. "Nous avons quelque visiteurs!" She came out and the visitors made their introductions. I went to lie on the couch just out of view but under the window. After everyone was settled, the redhead, Jean, started talking.
"You see, your daughter has a gift and our school with help her develop and use her skills."
"And what exactly are zese 'skills'?" The professor took the response.
"Well, every child's gift is different from the next. We're not exactly sure what her skills are, and she probably doesn't know either."
"So, you want her at your school, but you have no idea what she can do?" Ever the skeptic.
"The purpose our school is to help the child develop her skills. She'll grow and learn about herself and the world through our prestigious lessons. She'll be living with children her own age who have similar gifts."
"So, zis is a boarding school?"
"Yes. We can set up an appointment to see the facilities…"
"T'at won't be nécessaire. How much will it cost me?" That bastard. Of course he's concerned with the money. For a moment I actually thought he cared where I was going.
"Actually, we privately fund the school, so there is no required monetary deposit, though donations never go overlooked."
"C'est vrai? Elle est gratuit?" I thought he was going to burst with happiness: getting rid of me for free. He never thought it could be so good.
"Oui, elle est gratuit" Xavier replied in almost perfect French. "But surely you'll want to see the facilities first."
"Non. I said t'at won't be necessary, and it won't. 'ow soon can you take 'er?" Looking back, that was the second worst thing he said.
"But, sir, surely you'll want some time for her to get ready and say goodbye," Jean tried. There's no getting through to my jackassed stepfather, though.
"'Ow soon?"
"As soon as you would like, I guess."
"Parfait. Audrey!" I cringed, got up and stood at the door. "Get your stuff together, you're moving out." I nodded, and noticed Jean give Charles a furtive glance. I went upstairs and pulled out my suitcase. It was already packed. I had been planning on running away next time my mom and my step-dad got into a fight, but never got enough nerve. I knew no one, had very little money, and didn't speak. Not exactly prime resources for running away. I grabbed my essentials and personal items, both of which numbered very few, and returned downstairs, ready to go and leave this shit-hole behind. Don't get me wrong, the house was nice, but almost anything would have been better than living with my stepfather.
I went out to the porch and I think Jean and Charles were surprised at my hasty return. Charles tried one more time with my father.
"Are you sure you don't want to…"
"What more do you want from me?! Prennez-la! Nous ne la voulons pas!" And with that, he slammed the door, leaving a very surprised redheaded woman, a very contemplative bald man, and a very lost girl.