Chapter Three
If there was one thing Carol was certain of, it was that Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters wasn't your average high school. For one thing Carol never remembered her days in school fondly; high school had been something of a necessary evil. These kids loved their school.
There wasn't a 'clique' set. No 'popular' people. Sure there was a bit of an elitist thing going on with some of the older students, especially those who planned on joining the X-Men, but it wasn't mean spirited. The older students took their perceived responsibility towards the younger ones very seriously.
It was less of a school and more like one big extended family. Sure there were squabbles over who 'borrowed' this movie, or who was tops in the foosball and pool lists, but there was, on the part of everyone a real dedication to the school and to the others.
Point in fact; Carol had a rude awakening on her first full day of being a teacher. Bobby Drake, the young gun, had waltzed into her room, while she was sound asleep and in her nightgown, mind, woke her up none to gently and said she better hurry up if she didn't want to miss PT.
If she hadn't been so whacked at it being six in the morning, she would have thrown a fit. Who did he think he was just walking in like that? She had dressed and got to the field just in time to get barked at by Logan.
Her day seemingly taking a turn for the sour, she didn't even make it to class before the bell rang. Instead of finding the usual milling about she remembered from her own high school experience, or worse, roughhousing and pandemonium, the kids had settled into reading. There was an attendance chart lettered on the chalkboard, everyone who was there had scrawled their name, and if someone was absent they'd listed them.
"Sorry about that," she breathlessly apologised, somewhat taken aback at the class taking over themselves.
"S'ok" one of the younger kids chirruped, "Happens all the time."
"Mr. Summers mentioned that you needed some stuff from last term," one of the older students, John Proudstar, jerked his head in the direction of two sheets of paper that were circulating. "We're listing what we read and our grades from last term."
"Thanks" she said, somewhat flabbergasted. These were children right? There were no body snatchers or pod people? But when she looked around there were nothing but kids, ensconced in the various chairs in the library, where classes were held.
When she went to the teacher's desk and looked out on the assembled class she was again struck with the remarkable self-sufficiency of these 'kids'. The older ones sat with the younger, occasionally helping when asked. True, they were all laying about in a somewhat haphazard fashion, but in the absence of a teacher they'd done remarkably.
"Here you go Ms. Danvers" one of the young kids handed her the sheets of paper. There was 'Grade Level' listed and the books that fit the level, going all the way down to fifth and up to unidentified 'college'. The other one was a list of names and numbers. Not all of them were entirely accurate, Sam Guthrie listed his as "80-ish???" but it was a start.
"Excuse me?" every head in the room swivelled to stare at her. "First of all, I'd like to congratulate you for getting this" she tapped the papers on the desk, "done for me, it was very helpful. Now I'd like to get started on your current assignment…Yes?"
"Um…" a pale faced young girl, no more than twelve, raised her hand, "Well you see, we, all of us, are working on stuff. Miss. Munroe asked me to read and record my observations on this" she held up a copy of Arabian nights, "I know John is doing something for Wolverine."
"Yeah, Sun Tzu, the Art of War," the husky Indian agreed, "We're all kinda doing our own stuff. Whenever we run out of assignment someone's usually there to give us a new thing."
"I see," Carol sighed, her carefully laid out lesson plan up in tatters, "How many of you are currently finished with your assignments?" Two hands raised, "Turn them in please."
They obediently handed in the papers. On was a research topic on the life and works of Euclid. The other was an anthology of self-authored poetry. "Do you have the original assignment sheet?"
They turned that in as well, one was a typed, single spaced sheet of paper with a full formal heading and a checklist of specifics about what must be in the paper and how he wanted it written. Predictably it was from Scott. The other was a heavy sheet torn out of a sketchbook, written in a flowing calligraphic hand in what looked like India ink by a fountain pen. The assignment was brazenly open ended and without any kind of judgement criteria. She didn't need to look at the graceful signature to know it was Rogue's handiwork.
The two kids who turned them in were Sam Guthrie and his sister, Paige. She had no clue what to do with them, but knew she couldn't leave them with nothing to do. "Do you know what a 'spin doctor' is?"
"A band?" Sam suggested.
"It's someone who tries to present information in a certain way to convince you that they're right." Paige answered confidently, smacking her brother.
"Yes," Carol latched on to her definition, "Newspapers and magazine often do this. They try and influence public opinion. I want you to read…at least eight periodicals, serious news journals, mind" she gave Sam a stern look, "and write up an explanation of their 'spin' and why you think it's that way, alright?"
"Sure," Paige grinned.
"How long does it have to be?" asked Sam suspiciously.
Carol immediately grasped the nature of his question, "Like a bikini, long enough to cover the subject and short enough to keep it interesting."
There was a collective chuckle, and Sam realized he'd been suckered. "Yes Ms. Danvers." He grumbled.
"Alright then," she grinned, back on firm ground, she addressed the rest of the class, "Is there a list of your assignments or are you just freelancing this?"
"Um," John shook his head, "You could probably check with the rest of them, although I can't see Cyclops, I mean Mr. Summers, not giving you his list already. If you wanna check it out that's no problem, we can keep a lid on ourselves."
"So I see," Carol thought about it for a second, her lesson plan was shot to hell and she'd just pulled the assignment for Sam and Paige out of thin air, it might well be worth it to get all of the information together before things got out of hand. "That sounds like a plan, John, can I hold you responsible for the class?"
"Sure thing," he acknowledged seriously, as if it were a life or death kind of matter, "Ain't nothing get gonna get past me."
"Good," She nodded briskly, suddenly wondering where she was going to start, she'd learned a lot about the mansion but she still wasn't exactly sure where everything was, like the class rooms.
"Rogue is the closest," a young woman with bright purple hair suggested, as if she knew Carol's predicament, "The studio is right down the hall and three doors down on the left."
"Thanks…."
"Betsy," the young girl supplied, she had a strong British accent, "No problems then."
The studio was a very large, well lit room in the front of the building. It was, at the moment, sheer pandemonium, there was a radio going in one corner tuned to a classic rock station. There had to be at least two dozen kids, each in the process of creating a priceless work of art. Some were drawing, Carol saw a darkroom near the back, and there were easels out all over the place. Watercolours, oils, pastels, ink and brush, just about everything was going on all at once.
"Rogue?" Carol asked helplessly, not seeing the distinctive white stripe anywhere. Then Carol saw the young woman, she was painting from the window seat, the back of her canvas pointing at the class and concealing her from obvious view. She walked over, dodging paint splatters and stray droplets of ink, and reached the easel.
"Uh, Rogue?" she reached out to tap her shoulder, when on of the children caught her arm. The girl, shook her head slightly and then called out in a clear voice.
"Miss Rogue?"
"Just a minute sugah," she said absently, adding a bit more red paint to whatever she was working on before dipping her brush in turpentine and wiping it off on a smudged cloth. "Yeesss?" she drawled finally looking up.
"Ms. Danvers is here to talk to you." The girl apparently satisfied her job was done, turned back to her painting.
"I was just going to check with you about the English class assignments," Carol felt almost fidgety under Rogue's unblinking, slightly flat gaze, "Paige Guthrie…the poetry …English class?"
"Oh," she frowned a bit, as if trying to recall, "Yeah, gimme a sec," Rogue snapped off a pair of surgical gloves, schmeared with multicoloured paint. From elbow to fingertip, her arms were now bare. From under the window seat, she pulled a pair of black leather, opera length gloves. She pulled them on to her hands, all the way up to the sleeve of her baby T, and took almost a full minute to button every single one of the tiny jet buttons along the inside elbow.
She pushed the easel back a slight bit, to allow her out of the seat, and then drew the curtain behind her with a wink, "Scott's birthday present" she explained. Then she grabbed a full length, hooded green jacket, which she threw carelessly on. She clapped her hands and the entire room fell silent, but for the radio in the corner. "Ok people, ah actually have to be teacher here, keep it to a dull roar."
Automatically they fell to a much quieter tempo. Rogue grinned again at Carol, a full, ready gesture, and trotted over to a full oak desk, currently used as a drafting board.
"Shoo! Off the teacher's desk" she slouched into the dusty chair and buried her head in the drawer.
"C'mon Miss Rogue, we're almost done!" one of the boys protested.
Rogue took the boy's face in her gentle, gloved hands and said, "Pies and cakes are done lovey, people are finished."
"Yeah, yeah I know," the boy said heavily, at her arched brow, he responded more quickly, "I mean, yes Miss Rogue."
"Remind me again what ya need" Rogue asked Carol, pulling out a good old fashioned ledger book out of one of the drawers.
"A list of assignments for the English classes you took over and some grades." Carol asked dubiously, not expecting Rogue to be able to produce anything.
"Groovy," she flipped a few pages and smiled, "Here we go. Wanna copy?"
To Carol's obvious surprise she had neatly listed the people and assignments for 'her' English classes. Everything was copied down into ht ledger, with small chalk marks for competed assignments. As Carol watched, Rogue pulled out an inkwell and quill and began to copy the page exactly, with a speed a rapidity that made her breathless.
"There ya are shugah," Rogue grinned, she had a neat even hand, as though it was the process of writing that was the fun, not the result, "Anything else while I'm actually being a teacher?"
"Not that I can think of…"
Suddenly the class was interrupted by a loud, deep siren. It was the alarm klaxon. The X-Men were being called to duty. The class fell silent. Rogue sprang into action.
"Alright y'all, ya know the drill." She stood up on the desk to better administrate her class. "Everyone clean up, head back to the dorms and common areas. Group leaders report to the Professor's study. Ah want this to be clean and quick, alright?"
The class moved as one to put away the art supplies in their pre-ordained location, stow away canvasses. And return the room to, what Carol recognised as a slightly rumpled but orderly room.
"C'mon Carol," Rogue said with a wink, "Time to save the world."