Linger

X-men: Evolution

*Written by Gale*

Disclaimer - Same rules apply.

Chapter #2:

By looking at him, I never would have guessed his name was Newton. With relation to the famous Isaac Newton (and how cliché was that for a Physics class?), it sounded rather nerdy. The boy sitting to my left, by the window and furthest back from everyone else, looked like anything but a nerd. At first sight, he was literally a huge glob of black -- and sadly mismatched despite color coordination. Until that day, I'd never met a person who thought it was okay to wear a pair of slacks and an oversized turtleneck together. Judging from his stance (or lack of one -- he was hunched over his desk), the choice was purposeful, but not in a "this looks cool" way. He would have been sitting closer to the rest of the class, unlike me, if he were looking for attention. No, his attire was being shown off more in a "I did this to piss my parents off" sort of way.

He didn't quite appear to realize that I was sitting next to him until sometime after the minute-bell rang. Really, that was his own fault, too, because I sat down first. It was easy to tell when it dawned on him, though, because he suddenly wasn't hunching over the desk quite so much anymore. That, and he looked at me. Okay, it was largely because he was looking at me. If my presence there bothered him, he wasn't keen on saying so, as something in him was trying to scare me off with his eyes. I won't lie and say it wasn't a good try, because he did look pretty frightening. Vampire-like, in fact, which made me pipe into conversation first.

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Nathaniel Essex, would you?" (Ohhh the irony.)

Really, it was supposed to sound like a joke, and judging from his response, first a signature evil-glare of DEATH! Then what he said after, that was the wrong route to take.

"He likes to tell people that he's my father."

"Oh," was all I could say for the longest time. "Oh!"

"I've never seen you in this classroom before."

Well, he was irritated with me, but still talking back, so it wasn't a total loss. "No, I'm new here. Just moved here a couple weeks ago. Name's Molly Carver." I extended a hand reflexively.

He glanced at it with all the expression of a cobblestone, then proceeded to ignore it.

I winced and pulled it back, feeling sure, now, that I was wasting my time, and I shouldn't bother him anymore. It's things like this that taught me not to introduce myself to people. So the guy liked his privacy. I could just switch desks tomorrow and give him some room….

"Newton Essex."

"Huh?"

"That's my name. I guess."

"Well I'm glad one of us is sure," I said without thinking, then instantly regretted it. A strange quirk for this little quiet kid that I'm sure you'll grow accustomed to: I tend to blurt out the first thing that's on my mind if it's of the sarcastic and sour quality.

The sound of his desk creaking made me look again, and for the longest time, Newton did what he did best, which is stare, of course. Then, miraculously, the corners of his mouth began to tug of their own accord. I think he was attempting to smile, but the act in itself looked like an uncomfortable one for him. To assume that anyone had so little reason to smile is quite beyond anything I'm willing to comprehend, though. But really -- he did look like he was a stranger to the whole concept, but it was there just the same.

By then, the tardy bell had rung, and we were both smart enough to let things go as was for the time being, until, that is, the instructor ceased lecturing and handed out bookwork. Since I'm the type to finish homework in class, whether it's rushed and crappy or not, I jumped right into it, unlike many of the other students, who put their books away and began speaking amongst themselves. If I hadn't gotten stuck, I might not have acknowledged Newton again at all. But as it was, smart or not, I'm still lazy, and I needed help.

"Have you gotten to number 12 yet?"

"I'm finished."

I almost slammed my book on my own hand when I heard that. Now, not only am I one lucky procrastinator, but I'm usually quick about working -- quicker than most. It'd only been about seven minutes since the end of the lecture, and there were forty questions. So you can imagine my disbelief.

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"How?"

"Do you want to know that or the answer to number 12?"

I nodded toward his book. "Show me."

And sure enough, a paper-full of answers. All in ink, no mistakes.

"Did you copy it out of the back of the book?"

Newton wrinkled his nose at me, but rather than snap at me in the negative, which is what I expected, he came out a somewhat less-petty: "It's a chapter review. The answers aren't in the back of the book."

I checked the top of his desk for any signs of a graphic calculator, or anything else that might have aided in the speedy accomplishment, but none were present. "You did all that mentally?"

"Of course."

"Okay, fine." I scoot my desk over and showed him my paper. "Show me how you worked out number 12."

He sounded like a machine when he explained it, in the sense that he drawled in monotone like all this was common knowledge and therefore a waste of his time to explain. Machine or no, he was effective enough, and that one act of tutorship helped me with every other question I might have had a problem with afterward. But listening to him and, through my wandering mind, connecting what I could see of him to his father, something clicked.

"Newton, you said your father was Nathaniel Essex."

He quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Well," I went on, forcing my eyes onto my now closed assignment book, "you don't have an English accent."

"No, I suppose I don't."

His rather flat way of responding only told me that I shouldn't press the subject, so to make a long story short, I didn't. Instead, I found solace in the face of the clock above the teacher's desk, which told me I could go home in a few minutes. That might have been all the more comforting if it weren't for the fact that I would have to walk.

"Do you live nearby, Newton?" I asked boredly.

He bristled. "My father picks me up. And could you stop calling me that?"

"What, Newton?"

"Yes. I don't find it very appealing."

Well, my first thought was that he should have given me another name if he didn't want me calling him by it. Thankfully, my mouth didn't catch up in time to chase that notion past my lips, so I had something a bit more savory to shoot back with. "What do you want me to call you?"

He turned quiet, then, and that didn't sit well in my stomach. Was he trying to think of something for me to call him, or was he trying to say he didn't want me to call him anything at all?

"Okay," I murmured, deciding I wouldn't give myself the chance to find out, "I get it. I'll leave you alone if you --"

"Nur."

"What?"

"Call me Nur."

Feeling relieved, I settled down better in my seat with a smile. "Is that your nickname?"

"You could say that."

TO BE CONTINUED….