A note to readers: The internet here has been erratic lately, so I don't know the next time I'll be able to post the next chapter. But it will come! I'm working on it already.

The following day, a Saturday, was a quiet one. Iceman was released from Dr. Ray's care as soon as she would let him go. Silent Spirit came to visit me very early in the morning, and stayed until Dr. Ray shooed her out to have lunch. Most of the time she played her clarinet for me. I learned that I enjoyed her visit much better if I closed my eyes while she played, for when I looked at her she reminded me of my dilemma. By now I hated to say anything unkind to her, but I think she knew the struggle I had trying to be nice. SS was extremely devoted, which made me even more resentful because it increased my sense of guilt. Sometimes I mentally cursed her for being so darn hard to push away. Because of this, I felt some guilty relief when X-Ray sent Spirit away.

"And how are you feeling today, Ryan?" the doctor asked.

"No worse than usual." Actually, I noticed that my ribs felt better than they had before.

She warned, "I am going to have another look at your skeleton. I know you don't like it when I do this, but..."

'That's okay. I'm getting used to people doing stuff I find unnerving." To my surprise, I truly was getting used to being here.

Dr. Ray smiled dryly and did that x-ray-look-thing. "I have good news," she announced. "To my knowledge, your ribs are healed enough for you to be moved to a wheelchair."

I could have given her a hug then and there. "Really?"

"I think we should wait one more day, though, just to be on the safe side."

Disappointment was my first reaction. Through the window I had watched games, sports, and even lunches being done outside, in day after day of perfect summer weather, and cabin fever was driving me crazy. Then worry. "What about Spy's prediction?" I asked. "If something happens tonight and I'm still bed-ridden, I won't be able to get away."

X-Ray assured me, "Oh, don't worry about that. The hospital wing has never been invaded, except for once, nearly three years ago, and that was when all the teachers were gone but one. It's unlikely that anything will happen tonight in any case."

"But, but...oh, I give up. I can never argue with doctors."

She grinned. "One of the perks of the job."

"Since we are talking about me right now, can I ask something? What are you planning to do with me when I'm back to normal?"

"You make it sound like you're a hostage or something."

"Well," I admitted, "at first I thought that I might be. But you've been too kind, so I'm not quite sure what to think."

Now serious, she said, "How about that no decent person with an empty hospital and enough money would leave an injured boy on the road to die?"

I dodged her statement. "But what about my original question?"

"It's mainly up to you. If you wish to leave, someone here will send you to the bus station as soon as you can walk. If you wish to stay, I'm sure that Professor Xavier can find a way."

"I couldn't stay here. I've finished school already."

"I believe that he is thinking more about a teaching position. There are only four teachers here, you know. Five once Bobby graduates."

I shook my head. "All of you are very kind, but I don't really see it happening."

"And why not?"

"Um..." That was a hard one, and I had to think my answer over for a few minutes. "Because I ran away from home for a purpose. I wanted to be free of my foster parents and follow my dreams. Being a teacher isn't one of them. I want to see if I can succeed as a professional musician. I don't want to be tied down here and vanish from the world just when I want the world to find out about me."

"If that's want you want, dear," she said without a hint of disapproval. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go handle some paperwork. I double as secretary sometimes." X-Ray left. Somehow it felt like she had won, not me.

Spirit came back presently, now without the instrument. You okay? she wrote on her notepad.

"Yeah..." I began. But that felt dishonest, so I said, "Actually, not really."

Why?

I decided that this was a good time as any to lie the cards on the table. "I'm going to be honest with you, SS. No more secrecy. I never thought I would want to stay here, and I still don't think so. I'm going to leave as soon as my leg heals. Today the doctor told me that I would be able to get off this bed tomorrow and get onto a wheelchair. In a few weeks I'm getting on a bus to New York City."

Her shoulders drooped again, but she didn't cry or try to argue. I see... was all she wrote.

"The problem is, you're a nice kid. I hate to hurt you like this. I know that it makes you happy to be around me, or else you wouldn't keep coming back. I know that you are just as nice as anyone without a mutation because of the presents you've given me, and how fair you've been. I know that you really want your family again, because of how you treasure those two pictures of yours and what's written on the back. I know that your claim that you're my sister has very good evidence supporting it. I am willing to believe that you are my sister. But I don't want to be your brother." This wasn't going well at all. Her lip started to quiver.

"Look, Spirit," I explained, "it's not that I hate you. You've been kinder than I would ever expect someone in your circumstances to be. I'm very grateful for your visits. I've seen enough to know that everyone here loves you in spite of your differences. I have grown to admire and respect you a lot. In you I've gained a new understanding of mutants. But I'm not ready to be the brother of one. I don't feel a connection with you strong enough for me to give up my dreams. We were happier apart, Spirit. Maybe I shouldn't call you Spirit anymore. You've proven yourself to deserve a human name: Myra Sing."

I took a deep breath and summed it all up. "I see that, but I don't want to be Ryan Sing. I want to be Ryan Stevens."

She didn't respond or answer. Her face had become expressionless. I touched her arm, and she didn't move. "Hello?" I said. "Are you okay?" There was still no response for many minutes, enough to worry me severely. She had become a silver statue.

Then I saw her mouth move: "Mom, Dad, why?" was what I saw her lips shape, though I heard nothing. No tears came from under her black sunglasses' frame.

I begged her, "Please, tell me something."

The thin, silver-haired girl rose to her feet and walked away. But before she turned, she did a hand sign that hurt me more than any insult could have done. She put two fingers up, two down, and her thumb spread across the middle. I recognized it, because it is probably the most well known phrase in sign language:

"I love you."