Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men Evolution. I wish I did. Hell, I wish I knew when they're gonna show the new episodes.
Author's Notes: Hm. Mental note: don't update at 3 a.m., as it means your story is pushed back early on, meaning you get fewer reviews. That, or the last chapter was blehy. But I still appreciate the reviews you did leave. Without them (or money), I'd not write. Anyway, sorry about the long update time. I've been busy with work and the like.
Oh, and a WARNING: I don't sugar-coat anything in this story. I'm not pulling any punches, holding back anything. Some of the stuff in here will be very blunt and to the point, and some might find it offensive, or a bit disturbing. Consider this your warning. This might not even be necessary, as I'm sure you're all strong people, but this is so no one can cry to FF.net that this made their heads explode and get me banned, y'know? Thanks.
-----------------------------
Teetering
Chapter Four
Everyone who knows me knows one universal thing: I love my car.
It's probably the only naturally red thing I don't hate.
That...and maybe Jean's hair.
It's another of my pet peeves, another thing that others would find petty - I don't much care for the color red. I think it's safe to say the reason why is plainly obvious.
But not the car.
I like the car.
I love the car.
How can I not? She (I find myself sometimes referring to the car as a 'she', as if it were a boat or something) is every teenage guy's fantasy.
Smooth and sleek and fast...oh, is she ever fast.
The day the Professor gave it to me, about a week after I turned sixteen, I was...I don't think there's a word in the English language-- hell, any language that can describe how I felt. With that car, I felt like I had been given the keys to the candy store.
For that first month, I probably would have slept in that car if the Professor had allowed it.
I take better care of that car than probably anything else, save a person or two. The slightest nick, scratch, chip, dent, anything; I'm on it like bees to honey.
Especially now, since it was my only material possession to survive Mystique's incineration of the Institute.
Of course, that seems rather superficial and pointless after everything that's happened since then.
But still, it's more than just a flashy sports car. It's almost a way of escaping life and into a world all my own.
Cruising down the open road, top down, and the wind blowing through my hair is something that I really enjoy. It's even better than flying the Blackbird.
Sure, it sounds clichè, like something out of a James Dean movie, but I've never been renowned for my originality.
I think I should take offense to that. Everyone has a very generalized opinion of me - rigid, uptight - that sort of thing.
And I'll admit - I'm very much those things. Maybe it's from growing up in a military family. Maybe it's from being orphaned, from being forced to grow up so early in life. But I am those things.
But those sort of comments don't bother me much anymore, especially not as much as they used to. In some strange, stubborn way, I'm a little proud of them.
My father used to tell me that I was a born leader. The Professor's said it too, and still does.
I didn't put much stock into it before, especially when my father said it. But then again, I was only eight years old at the time. And when the Professor would say it to me, I'd just grow silent or change the subject, shy of the attention.
I didn't really realize what he--what they both meant when they said it. Not until much later, that is.
But again, I'm straying from the subject at hand.
Trees on one side, the cold ocean on the other, the two melding into long blurs of their respective colors as my car and I make our way along the winding coastal roads of the aptly named Bayville.
Monday morning, heading for school. The only time that my car isn't my godsend. Kurt was my sole passenger - Kitty was riding with Jean in her new car, Evan is gone, and Rogue is still recuperating.
And, as usual, Kurt was complaining about school.
"Man, I don't know vhy ve even go to school, anymore. Ve can just get tutored like ze Brotherhood."
I agreed with him. School seemed pointless and futile, not to mention dangerous. There's too much anti-mutant sentiment floating around, especially at school, where the bulk of Bayville's mutant population unknowingly frequented before the whole deal with the Sentinel.
I'm still the same person I was before. The exact same person. But people won't or don't understand that. My eyes emitted beams of optic energy long before anyone knew. And I guess that's why there's so much hostility towards me and the others - we kept our abilities hidden while trying to live our lives as normal as possible.
And I suppose our fights with the Brotherhood, the ones that caused so much property damage, don't help things.
Irregardless of all that, I'm still sick and tired of the stares and whispers and comments and remarks. You can only ignore them for so long...
I agree with Kurt. Why waste my time at a place I'm not wanted?
But that goes against the Professor's dream, his vision. And so, I go to school.
"Man, vhy won't you speed up? You're driving soooooooo sloooooow!" Kurt made a stupid face and attempted to imitate me driving.
"You're more than welcome to 'port the rest of the way there, Kurt. No one's making you stay with me."
"Ja, I know." He lightly hit my arm and laughed. "But somebody's got to keep you from being so serious."
It was hard to keep a bad mood around Kurt, that's for sure.
"I'd drive faster," I said, "But this old girl isn't exactly the most inconspicuous of vehicles in Bayville. I'm sure the police know that I drive it, and know full well who I am. I doubt they'd need much excuse to give a mutant a hard time."
Kurt's face darkened, and his playful smile disappeared. He nodded grimly, and the rest of the trip to school was done in silence.
As I brought the car to a halt in the looming parking lot of Bayville High, I suddenly wished I had a less noticeable vehicle. Red convertibles were high on the 'Top Most Stolen Cars' list...having it stolen was always a worry of mine. But now...I should start walking. Or get a busted up Oldsmobile like normal teenagers drive.
I part ways with Kurt, with a little thumbs-up exchanged for good luck, and I set out for class. And try to ignore the stares. And scowls. And the comments made.
Upon entering my first period class, the room grows silent. I sigh wearily, wondering why I'm not used to that already.
I take my new seat in the back of the classroom, stepping over a foot 'accidently' placed in the middle of the aisle on my way there. The stares and scowls and hushes whispers bounce off my back, and I slump into my chair.
At the front of the class, the teacher watches me suspiciously, trying to casually play if off as he tidies up his desk.
A month ago, everything was different. And in one day, it all changed. Everything changed.
I've been thinking alot lately to when we were studying things in History class, like the Civil Rights movement, or to any time in recorded human history that a group of people were persecuted for some reason or another.
Maybe I'm just being melodramatic about it. Maybe I'm pretty high on myself, comparing events of the past to what's going on now. Maybe I'm throwing the whole situation out of proportion, making it out to be more than it really is. Maybe.
But when I turn on the nightly news and see coverage of anti-mutant protests and rallies, or politicians arguing over things like the Mutant Registration Act or worse, I know that alot of people would like to see all the mutants locked up, even killed.
And why? Why go to so much trouble over a tiny portion of the population?
Because of fear.
It's human nature to initially fear what you don't understand. And sadly, it's also human nature to try and destroy what you don't understand.
Because of fear.
Of course, not everyone feels like that. Which is sort of a doubled-edged sword.
There are those who feel that humans and mutants can live side-by-side in harmony and peace; that's the Professor's goal, and indirectly, my goal, and the purpose of the X-Men.
Unfortunately, those people are few and far between, and not very vocal of their opinions.
Logan and Kurt are prime examples of the dark side of humans embracing mutants. Their curiosity and need to understand them obviously leads to the studying of mutants, but also sadly to experimentation on mutants.
If it isn't obvious by now, I've listened to the Professor and Magneto give their views on the situation far too many times. As much as it pains me to say, both bring up good, valid points, and it's hard for me to be optimistic when Magneto's pitch sounds so...right. But when I get to thinking about that, I dust it aside, remembering full well what happened last time I listened to the Master of Magnetism.
The commotion picks back up after I sit, starting back up as quickly as it died off. I guess I didn't pose an immediate threat to require their full attention.
Then the bell rings, crying it's shrilly song. I used to live and die by that bell, back when everyone thought I was normal. Now...it doesn't seem nearly so important.
My teacher steps into the middle of the classroom, a stack of papers in hand, and addresses the class, like he always does.
"Good morning, class. I trust everyone's weekends went well." He pauses to let the grunts and groans and laughs and comments subside, and continues. "Alright, I've graded your tests from last Friday, as I'm sure you're all dying to know how you did." Again, a pause for the chuckles from his joke. Again, he continues. "I must say, you all did quite well."
Tests. I remember when those were the worst I had to worry about. I also remember that the test we took on Friday was a piece of cake.
The teacher hands out the papers, passing them down the rows to their respective owners.
Mine reaches me, just slightly crumpled. It wouldn't surprise me if it was caused by the same person who tried to trip me only minutes before. And, of course, the paper looks as though it were the scene of a massacre.
Even though EVERYTHING is bathed in red to me, I could still tell that the teacher put his grading pen to good use on my test.
I sat dumbfounded, and my hand clenched down on the paper, causing further crinkling. I was pretty damn sure I passed that test...I could have passed it asleep.
'54' was scrawled across the top, and underneath it read, 'Please see me after class.'
I groaned softly, knowing full well what that meant. I had been breezing through my English class before everything went to hell. There was only one reason why I made a horrible grade, and it wasn't because I didn't know the material.
This wasn't my only teacher with a grudge against mutants. I knew of at least one other. And I knew that nothing I could do would stop them from prejudicing me. I've been doubting as to whether or not I'll end up graduating high school...
Like it'd matter in the end anyway...
The class passed in a blur, like the trees and ocean less than an hour before. And how I wished I was back in my car, where I could get away from everything...
I was the last to leave when the bell rang again, and slowly approached the teacher's desk. He glanced up at me and for the briefest of moments, I thought I saw him sneer.
"You uh...wanted to see me, sir?" I held up my battered test paper for him to see.
This time, his expression stayed. A knowing, confident smirk.
"There's nothing to say, Mr. Summers. You may leave now."
He waved his hand to the door and went back to work on the papers on his desk.
I stood there, shock and confusion fusing into one inside of me. I tried to speak, but no words came to me. Again, my grip tightened on the paper.
He looked up at me again and said, "You're still here? I thought I told you to leave already."
I sighed dejectedly, and left the room, hanging my head in defeat.
I should have done something back there, I told myself. I could have done something.
But that's what he would have wanted. An excuse to get me expelled. So I had to simply leave with my tail between my legs.
It was a lose-lose fight for sure, but one I still had to fight. I just prayed the rest of my day went a little better.
********
[Footnote] - I don't know if they have the whole Mutant Registration Act in the Evolution universe, like in the movie (and probably comic), but for this story, they do.
Boy, that was a roller coaster of a chapter, huh? Confusing I bet. I didn't bother to proof-read it. I probably should have, huh? Well...it helps emphasize the story title.
Author's Notes: Hm. Mental note: don't update at 3 a.m., as it means your story is pushed back early on, meaning you get fewer reviews. That, or the last chapter was blehy. But I still appreciate the reviews you did leave. Without them (or money), I'd not write. Anyway, sorry about the long update time. I've been busy with work and the like.
Oh, and a WARNING: I don't sugar-coat anything in this story. I'm not pulling any punches, holding back anything. Some of the stuff in here will be very blunt and to the point, and some might find it offensive, or a bit disturbing. Consider this your warning. This might not even be necessary, as I'm sure you're all strong people, but this is so no one can cry to FF.net that this made their heads explode and get me banned, y'know? Thanks.
-----------------------------
Teetering
Chapter Four
Everyone who knows me knows one universal thing: I love my car.
It's probably the only naturally red thing I don't hate.
That...and maybe Jean's hair.
It's another of my pet peeves, another thing that others would find petty - I don't much care for the color red. I think it's safe to say the reason why is plainly obvious.
But not the car.
I like the car.
I love the car.
How can I not? She (I find myself sometimes referring to the car as a 'she', as if it were a boat or something) is every teenage guy's fantasy.
Smooth and sleek and fast...oh, is she ever fast.
The day the Professor gave it to me, about a week after I turned sixteen, I was...I don't think there's a word in the English language-- hell, any language that can describe how I felt. With that car, I felt like I had been given the keys to the candy store.
For that first month, I probably would have slept in that car if the Professor had allowed it.
I take better care of that car than probably anything else, save a person or two. The slightest nick, scratch, chip, dent, anything; I'm on it like bees to honey.
Especially now, since it was my only material possession to survive Mystique's incineration of the Institute.
Of course, that seems rather superficial and pointless after everything that's happened since then.
But still, it's more than just a flashy sports car. It's almost a way of escaping life and into a world all my own.
Cruising down the open road, top down, and the wind blowing through my hair is something that I really enjoy. It's even better than flying the Blackbird.
Sure, it sounds clichè, like something out of a James Dean movie, but I've never been renowned for my originality.
I think I should take offense to that. Everyone has a very generalized opinion of me - rigid, uptight - that sort of thing.
And I'll admit - I'm very much those things. Maybe it's from growing up in a military family. Maybe it's from being orphaned, from being forced to grow up so early in life. But I am those things.
But those sort of comments don't bother me much anymore, especially not as much as they used to. In some strange, stubborn way, I'm a little proud of them.
My father used to tell me that I was a born leader. The Professor's said it too, and still does.
I didn't put much stock into it before, especially when my father said it. But then again, I was only eight years old at the time. And when the Professor would say it to me, I'd just grow silent or change the subject, shy of the attention.
I didn't really realize what he--what they both meant when they said it. Not until much later, that is.
But again, I'm straying from the subject at hand.
Trees on one side, the cold ocean on the other, the two melding into long blurs of their respective colors as my car and I make our way along the winding coastal roads of the aptly named Bayville.
Monday morning, heading for school. The only time that my car isn't my godsend. Kurt was my sole passenger - Kitty was riding with Jean in her new car, Evan is gone, and Rogue is still recuperating.
And, as usual, Kurt was complaining about school.
"Man, I don't know vhy ve even go to school, anymore. Ve can just get tutored like ze Brotherhood."
I agreed with him. School seemed pointless and futile, not to mention dangerous. There's too much anti-mutant sentiment floating around, especially at school, where the bulk of Bayville's mutant population unknowingly frequented before the whole deal with the Sentinel.
I'm still the same person I was before. The exact same person. But people won't or don't understand that. My eyes emitted beams of optic energy long before anyone knew. And I guess that's why there's so much hostility towards me and the others - we kept our abilities hidden while trying to live our lives as normal as possible.
And I suppose our fights with the Brotherhood, the ones that caused so much property damage, don't help things.
Irregardless of all that, I'm still sick and tired of the stares and whispers and comments and remarks. You can only ignore them for so long...
I agree with Kurt. Why waste my time at a place I'm not wanted?
But that goes against the Professor's dream, his vision. And so, I go to school.
"Man, vhy won't you speed up? You're driving soooooooo sloooooow!" Kurt made a stupid face and attempted to imitate me driving.
"You're more than welcome to 'port the rest of the way there, Kurt. No one's making you stay with me."
"Ja, I know." He lightly hit my arm and laughed. "But somebody's got to keep you from being so serious."
It was hard to keep a bad mood around Kurt, that's for sure.
"I'd drive faster," I said, "But this old girl isn't exactly the most inconspicuous of vehicles in Bayville. I'm sure the police know that I drive it, and know full well who I am. I doubt they'd need much excuse to give a mutant a hard time."
Kurt's face darkened, and his playful smile disappeared. He nodded grimly, and the rest of the trip to school was done in silence.
As I brought the car to a halt in the looming parking lot of Bayville High, I suddenly wished I had a less noticeable vehicle. Red convertibles were high on the 'Top Most Stolen Cars' list...having it stolen was always a worry of mine. But now...I should start walking. Or get a busted up Oldsmobile like normal teenagers drive.
I part ways with Kurt, with a little thumbs-up exchanged for good luck, and I set out for class. And try to ignore the stares. And scowls. And the comments made.
Upon entering my first period class, the room grows silent. I sigh wearily, wondering why I'm not used to that already.
I take my new seat in the back of the classroom, stepping over a foot 'accidently' placed in the middle of the aisle on my way there. The stares and scowls and hushes whispers bounce off my back, and I slump into my chair.
At the front of the class, the teacher watches me suspiciously, trying to casually play if off as he tidies up his desk.
A month ago, everything was different. And in one day, it all changed. Everything changed.
I've been thinking alot lately to when we were studying things in History class, like the Civil Rights movement, or to any time in recorded human history that a group of people were persecuted for some reason or another.
Maybe I'm just being melodramatic about it. Maybe I'm pretty high on myself, comparing events of the past to what's going on now. Maybe I'm throwing the whole situation out of proportion, making it out to be more than it really is. Maybe.
But when I turn on the nightly news and see coverage of anti-mutant protests and rallies, or politicians arguing over things like the Mutant Registration Act or worse, I know that alot of people would like to see all the mutants locked up, even killed.
And why? Why go to so much trouble over a tiny portion of the population?
Because of fear.
It's human nature to initially fear what you don't understand. And sadly, it's also human nature to try and destroy what you don't understand.
Because of fear.
Of course, not everyone feels like that. Which is sort of a doubled-edged sword.
There are those who feel that humans and mutants can live side-by-side in harmony and peace; that's the Professor's goal, and indirectly, my goal, and the purpose of the X-Men.
Unfortunately, those people are few and far between, and not very vocal of their opinions.
Logan and Kurt are prime examples of the dark side of humans embracing mutants. Their curiosity and need to understand them obviously leads to the studying of mutants, but also sadly to experimentation on mutants.
If it isn't obvious by now, I've listened to the Professor and Magneto give their views on the situation far too many times. As much as it pains me to say, both bring up good, valid points, and it's hard for me to be optimistic when Magneto's pitch sounds so...right. But when I get to thinking about that, I dust it aside, remembering full well what happened last time I listened to the Master of Magnetism.
The commotion picks back up after I sit, starting back up as quickly as it died off. I guess I didn't pose an immediate threat to require their full attention.
Then the bell rings, crying it's shrilly song. I used to live and die by that bell, back when everyone thought I was normal. Now...it doesn't seem nearly so important.
My teacher steps into the middle of the classroom, a stack of papers in hand, and addresses the class, like he always does.
"Good morning, class. I trust everyone's weekends went well." He pauses to let the grunts and groans and laughs and comments subside, and continues. "Alright, I've graded your tests from last Friday, as I'm sure you're all dying to know how you did." Again, a pause for the chuckles from his joke. Again, he continues. "I must say, you all did quite well."
Tests. I remember when those were the worst I had to worry about. I also remember that the test we took on Friday was a piece of cake.
The teacher hands out the papers, passing them down the rows to their respective owners.
Mine reaches me, just slightly crumpled. It wouldn't surprise me if it was caused by the same person who tried to trip me only minutes before. And, of course, the paper looks as though it were the scene of a massacre.
Even though EVERYTHING is bathed in red to me, I could still tell that the teacher put his grading pen to good use on my test.
I sat dumbfounded, and my hand clenched down on the paper, causing further crinkling. I was pretty damn sure I passed that test...I could have passed it asleep.
'54' was scrawled across the top, and underneath it read, 'Please see me after class.'
I groaned softly, knowing full well what that meant. I had been breezing through my English class before everything went to hell. There was only one reason why I made a horrible grade, and it wasn't because I didn't know the material.
This wasn't my only teacher with a grudge against mutants. I knew of at least one other. And I knew that nothing I could do would stop them from prejudicing me. I've been doubting as to whether or not I'll end up graduating high school...
Like it'd matter in the end anyway...
The class passed in a blur, like the trees and ocean less than an hour before. And how I wished I was back in my car, where I could get away from everything...
I was the last to leave when the bell rang again, and slowly approached the teacher's desk. He glanced up at me and for the briefest of moments, I thought I saw him sneer.
"You uh...wanted to see me, sir?" I held up my battered test paper for him to see.
This time, his expression stayed. A knowing, confident smirk.
"There's nothing to say, Mr. Summers. You may leave now."
He waved his hand to the door and went back to work on the papers on his desk.
I stood there, shock and confusion fusing into one inside of me. I tried to speak, but no words came to me. Again, my grip tightened on the paper.
He looked up at me again and said, "You're still here? I thought I told you to leave already."
I sighed dejectedly, and left the room, hanging my head in defeat.
I should have done something back there, I told myself. I could have done something.
But that's what he would have wanted. An excuse to get me expelled. So I had to simply leave with my tail between my legs.
It was a lose-lose fight for sure, but one I still had to fight. I just prayed the rest of my day went a little better.
********
[Footnote] - I don't know if they have the whole Mutant Registration Act in the Evolution universe, like in the movie (and probably comic), but for this story, they do.
Boy, that was a roller coaster of a chapter, huh? Confusing I bet. I didn't bother to proof-read it. I probably should have, huh? Well...it helps emphasize the story title.