AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many, many thanks to theshiz for telling me Jones' proper name. Massively appreciated.

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"And then a prancing kung-fu pineapple chased a frozen mongoose through my living room!" Nisse Winters declared loudly.

Both Nisse and Dante glanced sideways at Rhiannon, who had not even batted an eye at her friend's blatantly ridiculous announcement; she continued to stare blankly at her dinner plate as though fascinated by her salad. The pair exchanged a Look, and then Dante said, "Alright. That's it." Leaning over, he poked Rhiannon sharply in the ribs.

The girl yelped, jumped, and glared at her friends, rubbing her side. "What the hell was that for?" she demanded.

"Have you heard a word we've said all afternoon?" Nisse retorted.

"Yes," Rhiannon said defensively.

Dante cocked an eyebrow at her. "Prove it," he challenged.

Rhiannon gulped. "You… you were talking… um… about…" she screwed up her face in deep concentration, "pineapples?"

Dante looked impressed. "Even when she's not listening, she manages to retain information," he said sarcastically. Rhiannon stuck out her tongue at him.

"So what on Earth are you thinking about that's got you so distracted?" Nisse asked her.

A small smile stole over Rhiannon's face. "Nothing," she said in an innocent tone that fooled no one. The other two just looked at her. "Oh, all right, I admit it. I am thinking about John Allerdyce."

"Pyro?" Nisse stared. "Why?"

Rhiannon looked a little offended. "Why not? What's wrong with him?"

"If you hadn't noticed, he's kind of an ass," Dante pointed out.

"He's not! How d'you know that? Have you ever even talked to him?"

"He IS in my computer tech class, dearest."

"He what?" Rhiannon gaped at her friend. "But you… you never mentioned him… and the other day when I met him you introduced yourselves like you didn't know each other…"

"We sit on opposite ends of the room in a class that doesn't involve much talking. I know who he is, but I don't know him."

"So? How d'you know he's an ass, then?"

Dante appeared to give this due consideration. "Well," he said reasonably, "mostly because he tried to set Kitty Pryde's skirt on fire as a joke. He missed and ended up taking out an entire row of computers before Bobby Drake iced the whole thing over."

Rhiannon found herself half horrified, half giggling. As dangerous and stupid a stunt as it might have been, she couldn't help finding it amusing. "Well," she chortled, "I don't think he's an ass. I think he just needs a little more attention than he gets."

"Yes, well," Nisse observed, her tone dripping with sweetness, "you seem more than inclined to give him that attention, so I think the boy's got his bases covered, hmm?"

Instead of the giggle Nisse had expected from her friend, Rhiannon's face turned red, and began to take on the closed look she got whenever she was about to cry.

"Rhi?" Nisse said tentatively, concerned. "What's wrong? What'd I say?"

"Nothing." Rhiannon shook her head, her expression clearing, but Nisse caught the vague glimmer in the air as she did so. "I'm fine," Rhiannon said.

Nisse and Dante exchanged another look, and Dante, taking the hint, got up from the table and left without a word. He could tell when it was time for girl talk. "Don't pretend with me, Optica," Nisse said quietly, using her friend's mutant name. "I know you better than that."

There was a sniffle, and again the slight flicker, and abruptly Rhiannon's face was beet red again, and there were tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Rhi!" Shocked, Nisse slid out of her chair to go sit beside the other girl. "What on Earth did I say? Whatever it was, I'm sorry!"

"It's—it's not your fault," Rhiannon hiccupped, her body shaking with sobs. "Just… bad choice of words for today, that's all." She gulped back a fresh hiccup, and added, "I think I need to go to bed."

Ordinarily, Nisse would have argued. It was only eight-thirty, after all, and Rhiannon was a natural night owl – she rarely went to sleep before three a.m. But Nisse had never seen her friend worked into such a state, and it worried her. So all she said was, "Alright. I'll come with you, get you tucked in, okay?"

Rhiannon nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm switching off now," she said. "I'd rather people not see me like this."

'Switching off' was their warning code phrase for when Rhiannon was about to hide behind one of her illusions. Nisse hated it when Rhiannon took on an appearance that was not her own – she firmly believed that Rhiannon should be proud of who she was, not to mention it was a pain in the ass not knowing where her friend was actually physically standing – but again, she didn't argue as she suddenly found herself standing next to a girl who was the absolute picture of mediocrity.

Average height; hair of average length of a common light brown color; average eyes, average mouth, average T-shirt of an average size in some nondescript shade. Jeans of average length that were neither baggy nor tight but were, well, average. Even the sneakers were completely un-noteworthy. Nisse shuddered; she much preferred Rhiannon's own tall, pudgy, bright-eyed form, with her bizarre clothes that were something between Renaissance romanti-goth and military prison escapee.

The optical illusion reached a hand out and took hold of Nisse's arm; it was unnerving to feel Rhiannon's familiar grip from someone who was so obviously not Rhiannon, but at the same time she felt much better knowing her friend was right there beneath the illusion.

Arm in arm, the two girls headed for the stairs and the senior girls' dormitory.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Click. Snap. Click. Snap.

It was two o'clock in the morning, and John still couldn't sleep. So here he was, sitting on the couch in the common room with Jones, flicking his lighter open and closed as the child beside him surfed the late-night TV shows.

He'd been very quiet since he'd returned from his morning practice session. He'd made small talk while he ate lunch with Bobby and Rogue – who had both seemed suspicious of his rapid turnaround of mood – but aside from that, John had barely said two words to anyone all afternoon. And for once, it wasn't because he was feeling antisocial.

He'd been thinking about the hours he'd spent with Rhiannon that morning, and that was unusual because he didn't spend a lot of time thinking about girls. Oh, sure, he thought about women – he wasn't gay, and he was a teenage male. It kind of went with the territory. But the women who usually occupied his fantasies were tall, big-breasted twenty-something blondes in string bikinis who fawned on him because he was such a powerful mutant (something everyone else seemed to completely fail to recognize.) Mousy girls his own age with large eyes who wore steel-toed combat boots with their long skirts and high-necked peasant blouses did not generally figure largely in his thoughts.

So his preoccupation with her might have puzzled him, if he wasn't still so busy trying to work out why she had seemed so preoccupied with him. Yeah, sure, there was her "thing" with fire – and he couldn't deny that her eyes had followed every flame he produced with hungry fascination. But every time he'd turned to say something to her, he'd found himself the subject of her full and undivided attention – and attention was not something he was used to getting from anyone these days. And not only that, but she'd actually listened to everything he'd had to say, so that he began to want to say more. He'd even told her about the time he'd set the family Christmas tree on fire, and THAT was something only Bobby, Rogue, and Professor Xavier had ever heard about.

"Hey, Pyro man, what're you doin' up so late?"

John and Jones looked around to see Bobby standing behind the couch. Jones paid him no attention whatsoever, simply turned right back to his channel surfing. John, on the other hand, looked up at his friend curiously. "I was gonna get some ice cream, you want some?" Bobby said.

Shrugging, John stood up. "Why not?" It wasn't like he had anything better to be doing.

The two boys trudged silently down the hall to the kitchen. John reached to shove the door open, but with a jerk Bobby's hand shot out and stopped him. John looked at him, startled, and saw that he was frowning. "Shhhh," Bobby said softly, putting a finger to his lips and reaching carefully down for the doorknob. Now that it was quiet, John could hear what Bobby had: the crash of metal on the bricked floor.

They glanced at each other and tensed; John clicked his lighter open so that he'd be ready as Bobby slowly turned the handle and opened the door. They peered cautiously around it.

"What the…?!"

Dante Williams and Nisse Winters looked around from where they had been making out next to the refrigerator. "Hi," Dante said casually, grinning like a maniac.

"What the hell are you two doing?!" John demanded.

Dante's grin widened. "What does it look like we're doing?" he replied easily.

"Well, yeah… but why the fuck are you doing it in the KITCHEN?!"

Dante's grin became positively evil, and he held up a canister of whipped cream.

"…I'm sorry I asked," John said disgustedly, his face screwed up.

Nisse burst out laughing, then, with a last sly look at John and Bobby, grabbed Dante by the hand and hauled him out of the kitchen, letting the door bang shut behind them.

"I hope she realizes I'm not going to be able to eat for a week," John said, flopping down in a chair while Bobby rummaged through the freezer for his ice cream.

"Don't be such a wuss," Bobby said, grinning. "You wouldn't believe half the stuff Rogue and I—"

"I DON'T NEED TO KNOW THIS!" John said loudly, talking over whatever it was Bobby had been about to say.

"Sure man. Whatever you say," Bobby said smugly. He finally found the carton of ice cream he'd been after, and proceeded to dole out two bowls of the stuff for himself and John. Sitting down across from his friend and digging into his ice cream, he asked, "So what is keeping you up at this hour?"

There was a long pause while John considered his answer. He wasn't quite sure what to tell Bobby – any attempt at describing Rhiannon failed miserably, and anyway he wasn't sure he wanted Bobby to know that it was Rhiannon he was thinking about. Finally he settled for, "Chicks."

Bobby smirked. "Who's keeping you up tonight? Miss June or Miss February?"

"Fuck you," John growled, glaring at the other boy. Under the table, he clicked his lighter open.

"Appreciate the offer, but I don't swing that way," Bobby shot back, his smirk widening.

He didn't hear the click and hiss as John lit the Zippo flame until it was too late. He found himself suddenly sitting on front of a bowl full of completely melted chocolate chip… well, it was just cream now. And was that his eyebrows smoking?!

"You little shit!" Iceman exclaimed, grinning. He reached out, intending to freeze Pyro's own ice cream into a solid lump of ice, and realized the other boy's bowl was already empty. Damn. The punk was getting wise to his tricks. He settled instead for leaving an icy hand whose middle finger was extended in Pyro's direction.

Pyro snickered and aimed a fireball at the hand, but a blast of red light hit it first, sending shards of ice all over the table. Both boys whipped around to find Scott "Cyclops" Summers standing in the kitchen doorway. Both gulped.