Jean woke up to the buzzing of her alarm. Morning again. She hated mornings. Mornings meant getting up and putting on the mask. Being who everyone thought she was. At times she wondered how much of it was her, and how much of it was psychic feedback of the impressions others had of her. She longed to be her own person, but she knew that couldn't happen.

Jean brushed her hair out, gathered her bathroom things, and headed for the door. she stalked out of the room. She hated mornings.

Even when she wasn't really using her telepathy, it was always "on," meaning that she could easily know Rogue was coming around the corner well before Rogue saw Jean. Jean straightened her posture, put on a cheerful face, and graciously greeted Rogue. The moment Rogue was out of sight she slumped back into her previous posture.

After a quick, hot shower and a chance to brush her teeth, Jean headed back to her room. She could fake it for short periods of time, but she really needed to put her costume on. If the Professor ever caught stray thoughts about that from her mind, he probably thought she was thinking about her uniform, but she wasn't.

Back in her room, Jean dried her hair, then used a combination of fingers, brushes, TK, and hairspray to bind her mane into it characteristic extravagance. Next came the make-up and the trendy clothes she so despised.

She loved some of the more romantic garments Rogue had, but she couldn't wear them. She was Jean Grey: captain of the soccer team, cheerleader, and the most popular girl in school. She had to wear the current styles. She knew Rogue despised her because Rogue thought Jean was just trying to be her friend because they had to live together, but that wasn't true. Rogue answered to nobody, made her own path. So often Jean had wanted to tell Rogue, "I want to be you!" but it would never happen, because Rogue would just disbelieve her and hate her all the more.

Jean checked her appearance in the mirror one last time. Perfect. Now for one more day in her most common role: Jean Grey, the Perfect Girl. She only had about fifteen hours before she could go back to being just pain old Jeannie in her own room, right before bed, for just a few minutes.

Jean remembered the last time she'd really been free to be just Jeannie, the day her powers manifested, the day her friend died. She shuddered, then focused on the facade once more. She was Jean Grey. She was the Perfect Girl. She was the one who never made mistakes. She was the one who would never let another friend die. She couldn't be Jeannie anymore. She couldn't let anyone else die.

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