Lucky Me

Chapter 044

I was supposed to go to school today, but I was only there half the day because I had to go to Dr. Cecilia's office in Salem Center. Afterward Mrs. Jean let me skip the last two hours (both with Bobby-Jerk, 6th period he was teaching, and 7th period, my free hour, was him re-teaching everything). The real doctor, as she called herself, wanted to examine me against the information collected from Mr. Warren and Dr. Hank.

She came up with the same conclusion.

Four to six weeks to heal. Sheesh, I could have quoted that from almost everyone who said they've 'been there' in the broken bone department.

But anyway, I stood in the doorway (okay, right next to the doorway) for about twenty minutes. It's not the bathroom before someone thinks I was waiting for that. The truth be told, I was scared. I was nervously scared, or scared nervous, whatever way it was said correctly.

Mrs. Jean told me Scott liked to work on the Blackbird himself as a stress reliever. Sort of like me and grumbling about things in the privacy of my room. Sometimes I talked to myself too loudly and I heard Mr. Logan give a comment back as he would walk past my room.

My room, to stay away from thinking about Scott, wasn't complete. I could see into Chris' room and Chris' room could see me. Chris wasn't allowed back into his room until the wall was completed, he was bunked in the study.

That room had never been such a mess!

Back to the thing I didn't really want to think about.

Scott.

I guess I should stop saying his name that way, but it's hard to break a habit. Besides, what else would I call him? Mr. Summers? Mr. I-have-your-last-name? Mr. Cookie-Snatcher-with-the-Carrot-rammed-up-your-behind-man?

…Dad…?

I couldn't believe it was true! Mrs. Jean said she was 'there' when I said it, although it was barely audible, Scott having the bat ears that he did, heard me. My reality and memories were mixed up at that point! I shouldn't be held accountable for things I didn't remember!

Now if that would only work when I wanted to beat the snot out of one of the guys on the hall and I got caught.

That's why I was there, standing outside the hanger door waiting for my feet to revert from lead to flesh so I could actually move again. The tricky part was I didn't want to move. Sure I brought myself down here with no one's prompting (for once) and then my back bone turned to jelly-maybe it was the pain killers I took numbed it beyond all resemblance of solid bone?

Oh great, excuses again. I was so incredibly lame.

And grateful to two men.

One I couldn't thank. One I couldn't talk to anymore. One who I wasn't even sure would have wanted me to be a mutant, but then again, he had defended me. He died for me.

And then there's the other one, the new one. He didn't want to take the first one's place. He's nothing like the first one. Zac was open and helpful, easy to make laugh and he's who I got the rolling eyes bit. Scott, Scott was like the perfect soldier. He knew what was going on all the time, had all the answers, and just seemed too perfect to be real.

But then he worried about me, went against his better judgment to make sure I was okay. Sacrificed his safety to secure mine—just like the first one.

I had to talk to Scott, maybe he was waiting for me to come to him? It didn't boost a girl's ego when the other person avoided them like a flesh-eating virus. Mrs. Jean also said something about him not being open and honest about his feelings.

Like I put mine on a friggin' neon sign.

I wasn't going to let my chance slip by again. It happened with my Dad when I let him take a stand and fall for me. Never have I thought about him this much since the funeral, since I lied and since then period. It just hurt too much, so I made it a hobby to forget about what he did for me.

I took a deep breath, gripped Stitch tighter (call me a three-year-old, but I didn't do this type of thing by myself!), I turned the corner, and listened to try to pinpoint exactly which part of the tattered plane was getting fixed.

It was coming from the left wing. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at that. My left wing was damaged, and Scott was working on the left wing. Oh, brother.

Slowly, I mean like one foot in front of the other and then wait a minute kind of slow, I got to where I saw the cherry picker thing elevated and brunette hair falling over one of the sides. Apparently he was laying down on the platform fixing on the things that needed to be fixed.

Good, he hadn't seen me. I could tell he was busy, so I didn't need to hang around. With that thought I started to turn to go, "Is there something you need, Kookie?"

Crap! I was starting to think he had eyes in the back of his head (and on the side and everywhere else). I found my feet the most interesting thing ever to be created when he turned to look at me, and started to lower the platform.

It was too late to run, and too early to cry.

Trust me; I felt both urges coming on strong.

"Is there something you wanted, Kerry?" My birth name had become like a 'private' thing since everyone at school knew my name as 'Kookie' even though some made snide remarks at it. I heard his feet hit the ground, and I felt the tears start to well up.

Oh great! Just what I wanted! To start balling like a baby in front of the guy I only wanted to say 'thanks' to! Great! Peachy! Argh! Sometimes I just really irritated myself (and everyone else around me).

Somehow my mouth decided it was good enough to be its own person and started to move, my voice apparently left my brain and joined my mouth when it rebelled because I started to talk. And what I said sounded as if it came from someone else. I spoke mostly into Stitch's head, and I started to back step when I felt the first tears start to fall.

I was turning into a cry baby, but it's warranted after all I had been through, right?

"I-I just wanted to thank you," I swallowed, "for e-every-"this was when the tears started to fall and the voice started to rethink its strength as it began to crack, "thing you've done." And then I felt more tears, and I just knew he was going to do the 'no prob, see you later!' thing.

My feet were heavy, and I wanted to run like before. Instead I stood there like a moron, not even able to pull my wings around my body to let me pretend I could hide.

"You're going to hear this a lot from this place, so let me be the first to say it, 'X-men take care of their own'. " Scott's words were nonchalant, but when I looked up at him, his eyes were off to the side, at least his head was. There's no telling where the man was looking, not unless you have X-ray vision, and with everyone wearing spandex, it's a useless power. That was going way off track.

Then my voice and mouth, again, decided to fill the silence, I was thinking about having them amputated. "I-I meant for the whole, uh, a-a-doption thing, too."

"Oh," not the response I initially wanted, but at least he didn't burst out laughing. "You should thank Warren for the finances that allowed it to be done so quickly." That was true, I was so easily a Summers' kid because of the amount of money Mr. Warren gave to all of those involved, I think it set him back like nothing cause the man was dripping dollar signs.

And sex appeal according to Stacey and Paige, but I digress.

"You didn't have to…"

"I lost my parents, too, when I was young." Scott chimed in, walking back to the platform, and patting the place next to him as if I was a dog who should follow his orders.

Well, woof because I followed his orders and sat down (with Stitch) next to him.

"H-how?"

"In a plane accident," Scott seemed to laugh sadly at this, "and there was only one parachute. They strapped it on me and I held my little brother, Alex, and jumped." They'd have to push me out of a plane. "And the 'chute didn't open, and my powers kicked in and saved us." So Mr. Summers and I had some things in common. "My Dad wasn't dead, but that's another very complicated story which I can't fully grasp when I think about it still."

"Oh," now it was my turn to be uneasy about what to say. "Uh-"

"How," Scott picked up a wrench, "how did you dad die?"

I felt my whole body go cold. He said the d word. The word I supposedly called him when I was out of it. Hugging Stitch closer to me, I had a brief question flitter through my mind, I thought Mrs. Jean said Scott was a closed story and here he was being all chatty.

"He-he was shot." I felt the tears come quicker. I couldn't look in the box Darcy left me because of the pictures in it. They were of us, the D'mon family, actually being happy. I gave an imitation of a sad, broken laugh, "and if you want the rest," I licked my lips, "it depends on what version you want."

"Version?" Scott, Mr. Brave-and-Bold, was actually speaking softly.

"Yeah," I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, "I-I was there when he—but I told my family something else."

"The real story."

I sniffled, "I've never told that before."


"Chris! You nerd!" Okay, so it wasn't the best or most creative name I'd ever called the moron, but I was too startled to even think of anything else to call the nerd!

Adrian said he needed help doing something and since the other half of his Home Ec. team was chatting about something, he didn't have anyone else to ask. My group's cookie recipe was almost done (in the oven), I didn't see any harm in it. I didn't, until I came back twenty minutes later and saw Chris made use of the extra dough, of course, I didn't know this until after it was baked!

"Yes, stick-up-her-butt Summers?" Okay, so that's a name that can be forgotten. He had such a smug smile on his face I was about to pull a Hanztel and Grettal on him and shove him in the oven.

"What is this?" I asked pointing accusingly at the cookie.

"A gingerbread man." He said like nothing was freaking wrong with the cookies!

"And this?" I said, pointing to another one on the pan.

"Oh come on, bird brain, I know you don't have much, but I thought you'd know what a real chick looks like." Okay, he was so going to go missing on the first mission we ever went on.

"Why the heck did you make them-" My face went beat red and my mind raced to think of the right word, "anatomically correct?!"

He only deepened that smug, obnoxious smirk as he crossed his arms, "Why not? Would hate to have to hear about how we unfairly represented the batch with just gingerbread men."

He was such a jerk!

"Looks like a gingerbread boy to me," the other girl in our group said, picked up the cookie and actually examined the added part, "Model it after yourself, Chris?" Alexis was her name, and she matched his smirk as he glared at her.

"Is there a prob—oh, my." Miss Reese just had to come over at that moment!


"This isn't good, Kookie, not on your first day back," Mrs. Jean sighed.

I wouldn't have been in the principal's office if it wasn't for Chris! Him and his perverted ways! Then after Chris and Alexis started to get into to it, the principal said he'd 'sadly' have to call our parents.

They must have had the mansion on speed dial.

Mrs. Jean came to pick me up, and for the sake of not being asked a million and one questions, Dr. Hank with Mr. Image-inducer picked up Chris.

"..as soon as you started preaching, I've been regretting it!" Chris came through the door, and like me, was herald into the Professor's office. "Oh man, it was just a joke, excuse me for wanting to be original."

Original, yeah, right.

"Blyt," Professor started, flickering his eyes over to me, "I am not the one to correct you, you're punishment has been left up to Scott and Jean."

Yes!


I got to say, that once the whole of the story was (thanks to telepathy, ick ick ick) relayed, I got off scot-free! No pun intended. They saw it was clearly not my fault and therefore I should not be held responsible for something as uncouth as 'sexing' a cookie.

"Who do I thank?" Came Bobby-Jerk's oh-so-happy-to-be-home voice. It was dripping with so much sarcasm I thought I'd need to get Chris a mop to clean it up (he got cleaning duty!).

"For what?" Miss Oreo asked.

I nearly choked on my milk when he held up one of the accursed cookies, the very female cookie.

"I got this in my box at the office," Meaning the mini-mail room system they had going on in the main office. "It had a note attached to it, from Miss Reese. And the moment I saw it, besides almost dropping it, I knew it had to be one of our kids."

Grumble from the Kookie gallery.

"Oh, yes, Christopher created, that very—detailed sugary sweet and was sent home for it."

"And you're innocent?"

Duh, "Yes." I told him flatly.

He sighed, flipped the cookie over a couple of times, smirked, and then left the room.

He was up to something again!

It would be a few hours before the Professor would find a very interesting snack on his desk.