Chapter 2: Orphanage
She got up the next morning, still tired, and dragged herself wearily to the bathrooms to wash and brush her teeth, being careful to spit out the foul-tasting water. She pulled her long hair into two tight braids, hating the way they made her look so juvenile but knowing it was the easiest way to keep her hair out of her face while she was working.
They had breakfast, which, as the kitchen crew hadn't made as much headway as everyone was hoping the day before, was oatmeal. It was cold, thick, gluey stuff, and she couldn't eat much of it. The water from the faucets tasted fusty and metallic, and the teachers had bought bottled water to drink. The orphans, however, drank what came out of the tap. Amy couldn't, though.
Her stomach was still growling as she went off to her first class. This was English, taught my Mr. Fry. She loved this class usually, despite the fact that she was sure the teacher hated her. Mr. Fry was always going on about the latest mutant atrocity, looking at her and the boys as though they were to blame for everything that went wrong where mutants were concerned.
Today he was off on his favorite tangent; the mutant group known as the X-Men. Amy cheered silently in her head when he told the class in irritated tones that they had stopped the Sentinels from capturing another mutant. As he droned on, she lost herself in her favorite daydream; being one of them. Oh, to be able to fight the unjust things that happened to mutants every day, to be one of those beautiful women. Her favorite was the tall red-haired woman named Phoenix. For a brief moment, she thought that the woman she'd met at Xavier's the day before was Phoenix, but she shook off the idea. Jean was so…normal looking. Beautiful, but normal looking.
Mr. Fry's ruler came slamming down on her desk with a bang, and she actually jumped. She looked guiltily up into his enraged face. "Young lady, are you or are you not paying attention? What did I just say?"
She swallowed hard. She hadn't heard what he was saying.
"I thought not. Stand up," he said, his voice oozing satisfaction. She stood up. "Hold out your hands."
Oh, why couldn't there be an earthquake or something to happen, right now…but there wasn't, and she really hadn't been paying attention. She slowly held out her hands, palms up, and screwed her eyes shut as the ruler descended on her hands. Once. Twice. Three times. She put her hands down and opened her eyes.
"I didn't say I was done!" Mr. Fry's face was almost purple now. Amy bit her lip. Three was all he ever gave any of the others; there were some, like Dave, who could throw spitballs at the elderly man and not be disciplined at all. This isn't fair! she raged inside her head as she held out her hands again, the palms already reddened by the three hard smacks she'd already received.
Four, five, six. She yelped aloud, tears springing to her eyes. The metal ruler had cut into her hand, and a line of blood welled across the heel of her hand where her thumb joined her hand. Mr. Fry smiled, a cruel smile that none of the other students could see, and very deliberately slammed the ruler down on the wound again. It cut deeper.
Tears of pain were trickling down her face when he stepped back after dealing the tenth blow. Her hand was bleeding now, really bleeding, the bright red stain on her blouse cuff getting larger by the minute. She winced. She was going to have to scrub the stain out of the cuff later when she washed her clothes. She sat down in her seat, biting her lip, and tugged her handkerchief from her pocket, surreptitiously wrapping it around her hand. She struggled to complete the writing assignments he handed out, feeling his glare boring into her as she sat there in pain.
Math was next, and this was a godsend, because math was something that came easily to her. She didn't have to think about it. She also didn't have much writing to do in this class. Mr. Garber, the math teacher, liked her. As she came up and handed him her paper at the end of class, he slipped her a Band-aid and winked. She was grateful. If the other members of the staff knew that he helped her, he'd be in trouble.
History came next, and then she would have that free hour before lunch. She could slip up to the mansion and reclaim her book before Mr. Xavier came to return it to her personally. She worked with a will through History, despite the throbbing in her hand. When she came up to his desk and handed it in, she was so eager to leave she was almost out the door before Mr. Dare called her back. "McCarly," he snapped. "I can't read any of this chicken scratch. And you've gone and left blood all over the paper. Sit back down and copy it over before you go to recess."
She nearly groaned, but sat back down. Four times she tried, and four times she dropped blood on the paper and had to start over. She slowed down, tried to take her time on he fifth copy, pulled her hand back whenever it threatened to smear the paper, and got it done, finally. She handed it in to the teacher and tried not to jump up and down impatiently as he inspected it. "Looks okay," he said finally. "You can go."
She took off at a run, desperate to get outside and get her book, but as she got out the back door to the newly-mowed green lawn, she was met by the sight of the others lining up to go inside. She fell into line behind them, wishing she could scream in frustration.
Lunch was a peanut butter sandwich and an apple. She stared at it hungrily, waiting for Headmaster Gilmore to finish saying grace before she could eat. She was starving. As soon as he said the last word, she seized her sandwich.
It was snatched out of her grasp.
She turned, and met the eyes of Dave the bully. He was holding her sandwich.
"Give it back," she said.
"Oh, I thought you didn't want it," he said snidely. "You didn't want your dinner last night, and breakfast this morning, I thought maybe you didn't want this, either." He took a big bite.
"That's mine! Give it back!" She lunged for his arm.
"What's going on here?" Came a loud voice, and she froze, looking up at Headmaster Gilmore.
Dave spoke first. "I finished mine first, and she didn't seem to want hers, so I just took it! You're always telling us not to waste food." Amy wanted to scratch his eyes out.
"You'll stay in an extra half hour," Headmaster Gilmore said to her. "During your free hour this evening, you'll stay in and do some extra work on the floors."
Amy dropped back into her seat, defeated. She went through the rest of her classes in Science, Geography, Chemistry, and French numbly, then reported to the front hall for cleaning at four o'clock. She grimly donned the black denim apron handed to her—well, they didn't want her uniform ruined and have to pay for another one, now, did they?—and took the hammer they handed to her.
Mark, the oldest boy there, silently showed her how to catch the head of the nail holding the floorboard down in the fork of the hammer claw and yank it out. It looked easy, especially with a seventeen-year old doing it, but for a fourteen year old girl it was backbreaking work. She found herself tugging at some nails, her back aching from the crouched position, weeping at the hopelessness of her effort before one of the other guys, Ward, came over and pulled it out. "The Headmaster's really got it in for you," Ward said. "He hasn't assigned any other girls to front hall duty, not even as punishment. Even Vanessa…she spilled a whole bucket of cleaning fluid all over the floor yesterday when she saw a roach…all he did was tell her she had to go to the library and help unpack books on her free hour last night."
When the Headmaster came down at five o'clock and Amy stood up wearily, the front hall was stripped of its boards and the bare flooring lay exposed. He smiled. "Good job, boys, go on and run outside. Take a load off. McCarly, start nailing down the new boards. They're right there behind you. Nails are over there." He pointed to the bucket. "I'll be back at five-thirty. Don't leave any gaps between the boards, make sure the nail heads are flush with the boards so no one trips on a protruding nail, and don't waste the nails! If one bends, you straighten it."
Amy fell to her knees and cried once the Headmaster and the boys were gone. She was hungry, she was tired, she ached all over, and her hands had what felt like millions of splinters in them. But the Headmaster's word wasn't to be gainsaid, and she laid the first brand new board on the floor and grimly went about pounding the nails in.
Absorbed in what she was doing, and trying to do the best she could so she wouldn't have to stay longer, Amy was startled by the sound of the doorbell ringing. She looked up in disbelief. Oh, please, not Mr. Xavier…
Jean pushed Charles down to the lake, and they waited until almost five-fifteen. Finally determined she wasn't going to come, they went back to the house. "Scott," he said, rolling into the kitchen where he was warming a quick dinner, "Do you think you could drive me over to the orphanage next door? Amy left her book with me the other day when she left in such a hurry, and I'd like to return it."
"Certainly," Scott said, turning the stove off and drying his hands on a towel.
The lawns were neatly mowed and edged, the bushes were trimmed, but the house still looked as dilapidated as Xavier remembered it. He had been here with a realtor six months ago, considering buying the house and the land, and tearing the house down, but had eventually decided against it.
Scott rang the doorbell, and they waited. He raised his hand again to ring, but the door swung open. A man stood at the door. He was a tall, hulking, burly man, dressed impeccably in a black suit, and he was scowling. The scowl disappeared abruptly, replaced with a falsely pleasant smile. "Yes? What can I do for you?" he said.
Xavier struggled to keep his tone light. There was something he didn't like about this man, a sort of sliminess to his psychic signature that made Xavier want to wipe his mental 'fingers.' "I'm the Headmaster of the school next door," he said. "I'm sure you saw it on your way up here, the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, I saw it! Please come in! I didn't think we were going to have visitors so soon…" and still babbling, he stepped aside to allow the three to enter.
Xavier blinked. There was no flooring down the hall, just bare building structure. And, halfway down the hall, Amy knelt, holding a hammer, a nail, and kneeling on a board. Xavier didn't need to be a telepath to read what he saw in her eyes; terror. Sheer, unbridled terror. He slipped into the top layer of her mind as he stood, looking at the ceiling chandelier and trying to find something nice to say about the immense ugliness of it.
Fear. Don't look at me. He flicked his eyes away. Don't try to give me the book if they find out I was off grounds they'll punish me. Oh, so that was it. Well, he could hang onto the book a little longer. He could use as an excuse the other reason he'd come here. The Headmaster led the way off to the small sitting room beside the front door. "Amy," he snapped. "Don't stand there ogling the visitors. Get out of here." She dropped her hammer, put the nail she was holding back in the bucket of them, and fled.
Jean was appalled at the tone he used to the young girl. The mere fact that she was trying to do repair work on a house appalled her. Children shouldn't be doing that kind of thing. What kind of place was this, that they would do that to their charges?
Scott's keen eyes were roving around the building. He saw peeling paint, chipped wood, all things that should be taken care of by building experts, not children. Amy, out in the hall, was a little too thin to be healthy. The old boards must have left splinters in her hands, and he hadn't seen any gloves. She had had a handkerchief tied around her hand, but it wasn't a bandage, and he was sure he'd seen blood on the bandage. He kept his face carefully impassive as he thought, Am I the only one who sees a lot of things wrong with this picture?
No, Jean's mindvoice was equally grim, though her face was set in a friendly, pleasant expression. Amy shouldn't be doing stuff like that. She's only, what, fourteen, for goodness sake! And I thought she looked a bit unhealthy when I saw her last night, but I wasn't sure because it was dark. She's too thin. Looks like she's not eating enough. Or they're not giving her enough to eat.
The next time I see her, I'm going to have a little talk with her about what they're doing to her here, Xavier said.
He continued to speak, pleasantly. "I was wondering if you have any mutant children in your care. If you do, perhaps you'll consider allowing them to attend school with me, next door. The Institute teaches a wide variety of subjects, all the basics, as well as a variety of related subjects that will assist them in understanding how their powers work and fine-tuning their control. Mrs. Summers, here," he indicated Jean, who nodded slightly, "teaches Psychology, and Mr. Summers instructs the students in Physics."
"Oh, well, that's a very generous offer, oh, yes it is," the man said, and Jean had to fight the urge to throttle him. He was too smooth, too unctuous, and he irritated her. From the bunching of muscles in her husband's jaw, he too wanted to wipe the oily smirk off the man's face. "But I'm afraid our humble establishment hasn't got the required funds to have our 'special' children pursue their 'interests' in such a manner."
"It would not require payment," Xavier said. "I would be glad to tutor them free."
The man stood, evidently unwilling to pursue the conversation further. 'A generous offer, yes, and it is one I will have to bring up at the next staff meeting. It is a good offer, and I thank you very much for making it, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. It's almost dinner time, and I have to be there, see…" and with such drivel trailing from his lips he escorted Xavier and the Summers' out to the front step. Xavier stared with a great deal of dislike at the front door, having to suppress an urge to open it and go back in. Jean's hand on his arm stopped him. "Charles, she's waiting for us just at the end of the drive."
She was indeed. Xavier rolled down the window as they pulled up. She still had the same handkerchief tied around her hand. "Amy," he tried to say. She interrupted him with a torrent of words. "I'm sorry, I'll explain on my free hour tomorrow, down by the lake, at six." They heard the whistle again, and she started. "I have to go, please," she held out her hand. Xavier put her book in it, and she turned and ran back through the twilight toward the house.
Scott sat back in the driver's seat as they went back down the road to the mansion. "I don't like him," he said grimly. "I know my experiences with orphanages haven't been pleasant, and that might make me biased, but I don't like what I felt back there."
Jean made a face. "I didn't like him either. Charles, I'd really like to be there...or at least listen in when you talk to her tomorrow."
"I was going to ask you that," Charles said.
Headmaster Gilmore sat back in his chair. In stark contrast to the children's own unfinished quarters, theirs were completely refinished. Warm gold wallpaper, expensive crimson easy chairs, recliners, and futons littered the staff room. His own bedroom was done in the same colors.
"I am not happy about this," he growled. "Not happy at all. How are we to pull off the robbery now? The busybodies next door will notice if we disappear suddenly."
Mr. Fry mumbled, "Who cares what they think? We don't have to give anyone explanations once we're millionaires. But I told you I thought this location was a little too remote to get at the Manhattan Savings Bank."
Gilmore sat down. "Our 'insider' suggested this as the ideal location, and it is. With all the work we're having our 'special' children do, and the scant food we're giving them, they should be thin enough to pull off the robbery. And since we've got that vault built in the basement, they can practice on that. We'll do it just like we planned; Greg will read the minds of the people inside the bank, and tell us when the coast is clear; Drew, Stefan, and Lucas will get in and take the gold. Drew will levitate the stuff while Lucas lightens the mass of the gold. Stefan will walk the gold through the walls. Matthew will go in and put up an illusion of the gold still being there until we're well away, and then Greg, who will be loafing in the alley behind the bank, will wipe Matthew's mind so no one can trace the heist back to us. Chris will run Greg back to us, and we'll make a clean getaway. Then we'll have our little pyromaniac Amy set fire to the bank so that any evidence of our little heist will be erased."
"But boss, our 'insider'...he's still going to be in the bank, won't he?"
Gilmore smiled. "That's the beauty of it, guys, all that gold, and we're not going to have to share it with anyone. It's all ours! I didn't tell the 'insider' about Amy. He'll never know what hit him!"