Lucky Me
Chapter 003
"I have made my decision."
When I say those words, they don't sound so final. More like, I've made my decision, but I'm still willing to change. Whenever Professor uttered these words, they meant business. I think the man could utter "poop" in his sleep and it would be a command. I know one of the people in that place who would probably fulfill the command without batting his eye.
I had nothing against being told what to do as long as I got to throw a fit at some point in time.
I also didn't have anything against Mr. Summers (at least not much). He's a nice, kind of starchy guy with a supermodel for a wife— at least I think they're married. I was still learning names, faces, and codenames though I wasn't allowed into the sub-basement areas.
What I did have something against was being told what to do and Mr. Summers together. They clicked too well and therefore clashed with me. It didn't irritate him that I didn't know everyone's name or know where the forks went in the kitchen, but what did get to him was that I didn't have a clue about physical activities. Weren't they in the gym when I was playing basketball? Except a few times, I mostly ran away from the ball.
Since I didn't feel exactly comfortable at the place, I had only been there a week; I didn't mouth off or complain. Heck, I rarely talked and except for fear of starving to death I made myself venture to the kitchen at the weirdest hours possible to grab something to eat.
One would think at a school type place that at 3:46 in the morning no one would be in the kitchen, wrong! They were playing card games, two of the group didn't even know who I was, but that was okay because I didn't know who they were either.
"This is the new recruit, Kerry," Mr. Funny Man(er, Bobby?) said as I muttered a 'hi' and attacked the oranges on the counter. "As you can tell, she is a regular motor mouth."
Did this guy have something personal against me or what? If I hadn't felt like such a stranger (but I was, duh) I would have death glared him. The other guys, one who looked really nice in his button-down shirt and the other with blonde hair and a western type shirt, smiled at me. It was almost a 'poor new kid' type smile which was not very comforting to say the least.
I didn't get introduced to the two guys because after I secured two oranges in my hands, I headed out. I heard another smart aleck comment given by Funny Man. It was something about stuffing my bra or close to that. I would rather have played target practice with the oranges and his head the target.
Boy, did I get off track. First off, let me go back to Mr. Summers. Like I said I had no coordinated physical ability whatsoever. Never took gymnastics, I tried dance but I side-stepped on another girl's foot once and broke her little toe—I was that klutzy. I guess he wasn't too thrilled with starting with yellow and blue to get me to the point of being green. That's pretty pathetic, but it's very Kerry.
Back to Professor Xavior, which I was told by almost everyone to call him Prof, Professor X, Charles, or whatever didn't make him flinch (meaning Chuck like the hairy guy did). I didn't say it out loud but I had a serious block against calling any adult twenty-five or older by their first names.
After my daily medical exam to tell me that, yes, my skin was still rotting off, I sat in his office. He was seated, in all his glory, in a yellow chair that seemed to hum Skip to My Lou if one was bored enough to notice. While shuffling papers and such, he just nonchalantly popped off (okay, so he was in the middle of why the X-Men exist and stuff, but my attention span is real short on that subject) that, oh yeah, I was going to start school in two weeks.
What!
At least I wanted to say that out loud but my jaw was too busy hitting the ground to form words.
"This facility was created for higher education in specific areas. I believe having a normal high school experience will allow you healthy interaction with others your age."
"B-but!" was all I could stutter. This was me, the genius that had a way with words. I could have slapped myself, and did later, about my lousy one-worded defense.
"And if you are worried about your appearance, there is a device the other—physically changed students use called image inducers. It will allow you to move about places outside the school grounds without worry of persecution."
Then the Professor went on about my school I'd be attending, and how, later, if there was anything I needed most likely a few of the female residents would go shopping by next week. To this he sighed, shaking his head.
When I finally did get my voice back, I said really didn't want to go to a public school again, especially since I didn't know anyone around here. He looked at me, interlaced his fingers, and simply replied, "I have made my decision."
A day later, my brain was functioning again; it was the only muscle that could function without pain after the workout Mr. Summers made me go through (evil man). I was so glad I didn't get a say so in my life. I was so glad my blood just said, "Hey! I think I'm going to mutate to turn myself into genetic freak". Then, they say, "Hey! You're coming with us, the genetic freaks with spandex" (I had yet to see them in uniform on the upper floors, or maybe I should leave my room more?)! And now, "You're going to a public school because I said so!"
When did control over my life switch to other people's control? Weren't they busy with their lives to mess with mine? Dumb question I know, 70 percent of a person's lifetime was spent telling others how to live theirs. I think the other 30 percent was breathing, maybe eating and sleeping, too.
"Well, the good thing is," the doctor sighed, adjusting his glasses, "Is that you have an under skin. Your top layer of skin is peeling like as if recovering from a deep sunburn." He again sighed and then looked at me over the top of his arms which were crossed over the back of his chair he straddled.
"And?" I asked, kind of hopeful he'd say something along the lines that it was normal flesh underneath.
"And," he clicked his tongue, "Your spine seems to have some—bulges."
Why was a man (who looked like a big blue teddy bear and scared me out of my wits the first time I saw him) who had three letters after his name talking simply? Easy, first time in his little underground clinic, I was doped up on painkillers and wheeling from the fresh knowledge about what I was and simply said, "I'm an idiot, please use dummy terms."
"Bulges? That sounds bad," my voice was getting shaky. I could have said it sounded painful but I already knew it was that. I didn't tell anyone. I was already a burden and having them know how many times I woke up feeling like I was being stabbed in the back wasn't so important.
"Your body seems to be taking the changes all in stride. Adjusting the correct number of red blood cells, and the internal organs are producing enough-" the blue doctor studied me; I had a look of pure panic on my face I was sure. I just knew he was going to spit out a twenty-dollar word with wings, because it would fly right over my head. "-Well, you're doing well."
"But what are the bulges? I mean, what are they going to turn into?" Please not something freaky like tendrils, I begged anyone who might have decided to ease drop into my brain.
"It's a surprise." That is not a very comforting statement from a doctor. "I'm not one hundred percent positive, there is another person I need to consult on a theory I have, but until then I'm not too sure."
"What's your theory?"
"Well, considering how far apart the bulges are and the fact your shoulder blades are spacing-" dramatic pause here, which I did not need, "-wings."
The world slammed on its breaks again. Well, truthfully, the world started to spin and got blurry, but it just didn't have the same effect.
