Professor Xavier found the three of us sleeping like babies at the kitchen table the next morning, even though it was my day to cook breakfast. The last thing I had remembered from the night before was getting really sleepy from my drink, then hearing the far- off thud sound of all three of our heads hitting the table out of weariness.

Sara, can I speak with you, alone? the Professor asked me, as soon as he knew the three of us were all awake.

I said, as I rubbed my sore neck.

What religion is your family, exactly? he asked, as soon as we were away from the rest of the residents, who were all groaning over having to eat cereal that morning. I wondered what kind of question he was really trying to ask me, but then I realized he knew exactly what happened. He was trying not to pry information from me and would rather have me tell him as much as possible.

We are Jewish, but one of my aunts and her entire family is Wikka. She taught me how to use certain kinds of tree bark in recipes meant to calm nerves and act as a healthier sweetener. A certain part of the cork cambium found in the sakura tree's trunk was in the chocolate syrup in the drink. But it doesn't knock out a person that hard. Or at all, for that matter. Except...

Except what? Professor Xavier actually looked surprised from my response.

One of my friends would always fall asleep like that just after using it. And I started to, too, after the gymnastics incident which revealed my powers to me. It never occurred to me until now.

Certain substances have an alternate effect to the mutant population, Sara. If you're going to continue to make that syrup, either leave the, the...

Sakura cork cambium

...er, yes, sakura cork cambium out of your recipes or use it with permission from your peers. But can you make more for me? I'd like to have Mr. McCoy run some tests on it. It seems as if this syrup of yours can detect a mutant.

Wouldn't this friend of mine have shown up on your Cerebro? Would my stuff be all that useful?

You are the only one from that area that has shown up. That's what I find so interesting. I'm going to scan your friend by name, maybe it might come up. Could you tell me who it is?

Jen... Jennifer Aerith Maklo.



Even though Professor Xavier wasn't mad, which I did expect from a compassionate person like him, he would let me continue to make the syrup with no alterations in the recipe. I would have thought my aunt's herb books and everything else of the sort would be banned from the mansion. He'd ask politely but he still would ban them, with reason. Maybe... maybe he knows about all of us up in the middle of the night! Or maybe Wolverine spies for him... or he reads everyone's minds and he's already found out my desire to get on Iron Chef someday, even though, to my knowledge, there's never been a girl cooking on the real Japanese version of that show... Heck, for all I know, he could be asking the CIA to do research on me to see if I'm not a spy. My imagination is just too much, even for me. Heh.

I went back to my room, ripped the little sheet off my calendar, to reveal a Wednesday, July 2, 2003 staring me back in the face, then I smelled sulfur. Kurt, Kitty, and Ju stood in the doorway to the room.

They told me what happened last night, Ju said quietly. I was the one to find the three of you at the table this morning.

Yeah. Seems as if my famous drink can detect mutants, I replied, a little sarcastically. It'll calm down a human, but put any mutant to sleep.

Vell, that solves my insomnia, Kurt replied. Everyone laughed.

Yeah, now we just need to get Jean to shut up. I have an idea- Friday night at the July 4th party, you distract, I sneak in and grab her diary. Maybe there's something in there.

Jean, like, keeps a diary? Kitty was shocked.

Eh, I've been practicing my invisibility. Maybe... I should shut up now?

Momentary, awkward silence.

Vy don't ve hit the mall today? That neu game Death Vaurs XXVII is out.

Ok, Crawler, start up the car. I gotta get my purse.

Like, ditto!

And in a split second, Kurt went poof and Kitty phased out, leaving Ju and me in our room.

I said, trying to be nice, you have it made. It's like a Utopia here and you don't even know it. When the worst thing you have to worry about a roommate is their snoring, and a classmate keeping a friend up, it seems too unreal.

Ju turned to me, shocked. What do you mean? You live here too.

But I've been on the outside looking in. There's just something here that's been bothering me. Horribly.



It's a man by the name of Mr. Clampe. Mr. Robert Aven Clampe- my parent's main benifactary for their organization. I made those drinks for my family once when he was over. He fell asleep faster than a jackrabbit with tobasco sauce. And Jen... a while ago she stopped drinking anything in public; we had to push her even just among us just to take water, she tried my stuff once too, at a sleep over party. I thought nothing of the fact that she conked out moments later. She stopped swimming, and had notes in school excusing her from anything that touched liquid of any kind. That was just about the time that... that... I started having weird dreams. Stuff that actually came true. I thought that when I came here, the place would be a haven. So far, I've gotten my curse. I don't know what's going on. I can't think what would happen if I really am playing God.

A burning sensation flooded my body, right from where my bumps were. I was no illusionist. I made stuff real. I was the world. The universe. Dropping down to my knees, I wished that time would stand still, my pain would go away. I cried, and a flood of rain ran down both my cheeks and the windowpanes revealing the outside.

Give me freedom! i yelled, but time stood still and my words were hollow, reaching nothing.

Shut up. You already have it. What else do you need?'

You- you're doing this!

No, you are. It is not your dreams that have created your reality. Nor your illusionism. Time stands still because you made it so! You are no illusionist, you are an artist! The world is your palette!'

I don't need this. I'm not going to pull strings. The would cannot be sugary- I have fallen into the hedge. I don't need a Utopia. I need to know mortality!

Go ahead.'

Ille materialized. A towering witch of her own accord. But she was no my own doing. She handed me a dagger and the smile of Malificent.

It is your choice.'

Time frozen, the world spun, and with the strike of a million pupated souls, I struck naught my heart, but my side, slicing off several layers of skin where my horrible disease reigned. The sound of shrieking was heard throughout the halls, but it was not mine. It was Ille, the master puppeteer.

I laughed as the pain of losing several layers of skin began to sink in. I watched the small mass of stuff creep out of the crack in our window as time unfroze. Jubilee ran to my side and just before my eyes decided to shut themselves, I mumbled to the Hitler of mutants...

The best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley.

Then I passed out, scarred with a numbered tattoo- the remains of the skin left behind- in the arms of a friend.

--Poe Note--
I just looked over my old work (aka chapters 1-9) which I wrote over a year ago, and I realized something- my ideas of where I wanted the story to go were much different then than now. To respond, I am going to rewrite those first few chapters where I see fit. Risty will still be in this saga, but not in this story (I'm planning a sequel with Jen in it when the mutants go back to school for another year. That means- yep- Scott's off to college, too.). So I suggest you guys wait a week or two then start my story over- I may alter some of my later chapters too. I actually have a plot laid out this time around (and over a year of English classes under my belt), and the bumps were a mutant latched onto Sara, to end any confusion.

Oh, and The best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft a-gley is a line from the poem which the book Of Mice and Men got it's title from. I don't remember the author or title of the poem, but as soon as I scrape it out of my English 1 binder I'll let you know. Gang aft a-gley means to not go as planned.