Lucky Me

Chapter 060


These people-I thought they were messed up before but nowI had undeniable proof!

I think this was revenge for turning them down with a just cause, but I could never be sure with these sometimes psychotic acting 'heroes'. And I say that with as much love as I could for people who wore spandex and made decisions, not only for me, but for the entire mutant race.

But let me get back on my previous soapbox.

It was April and I had convinced Miss Ororo to ride with me without the duel break or 'Student Driver' sticker on the car. Of course she kept asking who the heck 'Jack' was because Alexis kept asking and my only answer was to neatly sidestep the question every time by slamming on the breaks.

And everyone knew how much I had to beg Scott and Jean to let me take Driver's Education at the high school, so it was kind of an eye-bugging moment when I was having dinner with them and they pop off with another type of 'education'.

"You're kidding, right?" I asked, dropping the spoon with the snot balls (peas, man I hated those nasty little things).

"No," Scott's stiff who learned the tone of 'thou shall do whatever I say' from the Professor. It's a real fun voice, trust me. "Every trainee is required to learn how to maneuver-"

"But I had to pull teeth from you to learn to drive a car." I cut in. "And now you are telling me I have to learn to fly a plane?"

"Yes, both the Blackbird and the smaller X-Jets. You were supposed to be practicing in the simulator for months, somehow it always got-overlooked." Jean (not comforting) pointed out for me. Oh, joy. I got to learn to crash both the 'company' plane and the 'personal' planes. I wondered if they had a 'break it and buy it' policy?

I was going to be in debt.

"You people need to check your priorities," not to mention their soon to be depleted checkbook, "You have doubts about me driving a two to three ton car on the ground but make me drive something about four times heavier, in the air, and armed with missiles?"

Scott cracked a smile. "We'll disarm them before you get behind the 'wheel'."

Still didn't mean I couldn't, in some freaky far-fetched way, blow the dumb plane up. I could do the impossible, especially if it dealt with major property damage and me looking like a nitwit.

"It's a-" think, think, something that would get them to say 'okay, bad idea'. "-complete waste of time. I've got wings. I already fly. And, when my powers aren't whacked out, I can carry a passenger." And on my airlines I gave them the whole can of coke instead of just a drop.

Not that I had room in my uniform for a mini bar and refrigerator. There was barely room for me in that ridiculous thing.

Maybe they could add it to my utility belt?

"Nice try, Kookie, I respect that, but you are going to have to learn to use the planes properly if your team is ever expected to go out on the field by themselves."

Oh goody, just what I wanted to do. Take the cast of Dumb and Dumber on the 'field' without any seniors around. Could we say 'instant death'? Don't even have to add water! Just Kookie behind the wheel of an airplane.'

"Is this why you wanted me to come here tonight? So you could tell me that I'll be adding more to my schedule? Or did you just want me to help plan my own funeral?"

"Not completely." Scott began, but like those disgustingly sweet close married couples could do (and it helped if one in the said couple was a telepath) Jean finished for him; "We wanted you here to get to know you better."

Oh-kay. That was disturbing. Being a teenager didn't mean I spent time with my parents 'getting to know them'; it meant I acted strange and weird and they sat up at night wondering where they went wrong. Didn't they know how it worked? Of course nothing went as it should at this place. Everything went on its own little path with no respect for how the rest of the world did it or natural laws...like gravity or something.

"So, how has your life been going?" Jean (I was sure she thought it was harmless) questioned.

Well, besides almost being killed by a psycho cat on steroids, not being able to sleep in a dark room for a week afterward, and still not being able to sleep the whole night through—pretty good. Oh and let's talk about school-school, let's see, I was going to prom with someone I didn't really get along with in a civilized way, I was flunking an X-Man's class, oh and I had to write a corny letter to the two of you. What was I supposed to say in the letter? Thanks for the bruises?

But instead of all this, I smiled and said my favorite one-word answer that every reluctant teenager grasped on to.

"Fine."

Jean sighed, got up and began to clear several of the dishes. Scott and I watched her leave before he gave me the serious 'eye'.

"Why did you refuse to be team leader?"

"Scott!"

Guess he wasn't supposed to ask. He shouted back that it was a fair question and Jean sighed but didn't say anything more. Attention was back on me. I couldn't tell him it was because I wanted to see if they liked me for me or just because I was following in their footsteps. So I did my best with just a shrug.

He didn't buy it.

"Kerry, we both know you're intelligent and capable of thinking things through." Scott started to shove more food in his mouth as I was sitting there thinking about how dang clever he was. After a few minutes, and a swallow, he continued "So what were your reasons for turning the Professor down?"

The way he worded it was like I had turned the Professor down for dinner and a movie or something.

"I have my reasons." It was the typical response given by all have-been leaders that wore an X. He shoved it down my throat, why couldn't I return the favor?

And since when when did I ever show proof I had a brain?


Back in the Danger Room around ten in the morning all of the X-Citers stretched and yawned to no end. I didn't know why people who were self-employed felt the need to get up early on a week which was clearlylabeled as a 'break'. But here we were on Wednesday.

Some great Spring Break.

This was Julie's test run in the Danger Room. How did she get bumped up so quickly? She literally was worked day and night for the past two weeks to get her here. Technically she was a temp until they could prove she should be a real member of the team.

Only, there was one little problem.

She was a stubborn and thick headed as—well, I was not sure who was that stubborn. But everything anyone tried to tell her, she fought.

"Julie," Professor spoke over the intercom, "We have started the exercise, I would advise you to move."

I think it was really kinda obvious that the exercise had started though it was more like jumping in the middle of a war scene than anything.

"Why? What's my motivation?" Julie shot, arms crossed and a, let's say, stuff-eating grin on her face.

"Does living matter to you?" Adam screamed across the room, D-M rolled her eyes (she was next to me and Adrian was on the other side, we were currently running from the 'humans' who had the 'guns' and were supposed to be searching for us in the simulation).

"Wot are they goin' to do? Kill me?"

"No," Chris started, "but you'd be surprised what you can live through."

"Flex, your teammate is in trouble."

"What's he want me to do? Throw her over my shoulder and run?"

That caught her attention.

"You lay one bloody finger on me and I'll emasculate you!"

Needless to say, the mighty 'leader' didn't move.

"I mean really. How am I supposed to pretend that I'm scared of an-interactive info-mercial. What am I going to do? Sell mutant rights?"

Anyone else felt an ulcer developing?

Just then the Professor must have gotten a funny bone or something twisted since one of the human gun people came and raised his gun in Julie's face. She just looked at the guy.

"Oh, bugger off." She didn't say this to the hologram, nope; she was looking up at the 'god box'.

"If she gets hurt in the Danger Room, can we say it was just an accident and finish the job?" Daisy-Mae asked as Julie stormed past us and the made up war zone dissolved.

Boy did I feel sorry for the idiot who had to take care of that girl, Julie not Daisy.

I smirked as Adrian was called to the Professor's office, yet again.


I completely avoided the deserter when I could, I couldn't believe one of my team was buckling under pressure and hitting the road back home. The person completely ignored me when I insisted they talk to Professor Xavier about this, but they insisted not. They were set to do it and they knew the gift Professor had of talking (manipulating) people in and out of things he wanted to be done. If the Professor wantedyou here, you were going to stay.

Telling the others seemed a deadly idea (because I was sure I'd get blamed) and I didn't want to be the dead one. It wasn't like I had anything to do with the decision. Okay, so my refusing to be leader had a very small factor into it. What could I say? I couldn't be responsible for my teammate's ideas and rash actions.

Feel me smirk as I said happily, "I'm not the boss of them."

So in order to completely avoid everyone, I had actually volunteered to do the dishes. Jean was thrilled that she didn't have to do them (even though I think that if you do it telekinetically it shouldn't be considered doing the dishes) and I was happy when my team ran for the hills.

Good, I wouldn't be disturbed by them.

Not like the three were talking to me. Julie wasn't locked up again, but she was sedated after going nuts with her powers and having a serious 'lust' factor going off in the house. Nothing came of it, thank goodness, but the possibilities were frightening.

I was cheerfully (so I was lying, big deal) washing out the pot from whatever it was Mr. Remy had created when I heard a disturbing noise.

It was a 'cling'. A nice soft cling and as I rinsed off the pot my eyes became huge as I witnessed a small gold ring go down the drain.

Oh crap and a half!

Jean was the only one in here before me-oh man! That must have been her wedding-freaking ring!

Why me? I whimpered, did the half turn knee bend thing and shut off the water, threw the pot on the counter and looked down into the black abyss otherwise known as the garbage disposal.

There was sludge down there—Mr. Remy's 'food', Jean's cooking, and various decaying scraps. Oh crap. I was so dead. I could go and tell Jean, and maybe she could lift it out of the drain with her brain power with no problem.

I closed my eyes and began to reach in—scalding my hand (to rinse off whatever was going to get on it) would be a small price to pay to keep Jean from having my head on a platter.

It was herfault for leaving the dumb ring in the kitchen and by the sink, but it would be my fault. I was a teenager, therefore it was my fault. It's another teenager law or something.

As soon as I put my hand down in the nasty muck, of course someone walked in.

"Kookie-" Scott had impeccable timing. I needed to tie him up some time, just to see if it was just my misfortune or if he had some kind of 'Kookie-did-something' tingle. One eyebrow shot up as I snatched my hand out of the sink, slathered on a fake grin, and waited. "What are you up to?"

"I was-" think, think. I had to lie, and quickly he was waiting on me now, oh crap. Why me? "I-dropped a-f-fork down the drain."

"You're not done?" Done for, yes. "Too bad, Jean and I were going to run into town to pick up some film she developed or something. Is there anything you need?"

My big fake grin got bigger, "No." I forced myself to release the breath I hadn't even realized I'd been holding. "I-thanks for asking though."

He nodded and left. I rolled my eyes as I sighed. There was no telling what kind of junk they were going to put me through for this mess up.

Resolving it was do or face a fate worse than eating Miss Rogue's ice cream, I reached into the drain again. Groaning in realization that of course this disposal couldn't be a small one like all the others in America, oh no, this one was like the size of Denmark or something. It was deep enough that I had my arm past the elbow in this thing.

Ah hah! I could feel the dumb ring at my fingers-

"Summers," Mr. Logan. I tried to stand up-oh no. Nonononononono!

"Yes?" I asked with the sweetest voice I could accomplish as I realized my life was going to come to an embarrassing end.

"Have you seen, Cajun?"

"No, I haven't seen Mr. Remy since dinner." He nodded, gave me a funny look and before he could ask, "I dropped a fork down the drain."

Oh, great, he seemed interested, "And you're going to put your hand in hell knows what to get it back?"

Did I mention I sucked at lying on the spot?

"It's—my favorite fork." I gave a pathetic laugh, "I can't eat without it."

"Women." And that was all he said as he turned to leave.

While I- I realized that I was going to have to each for a knife and cut my arm off to get it unstuck from the drain! What kind of loser was I to get my arm stuck like this?

I was in the kitchen for about five minutes (all the time I was jerking and trying to get my arm free from the evil kitchen drain) when the door swung open again. To protect my pride as long as possible, I ducked close to the sink like I was purposely stuck or something.

Looking over my shoulder I saw Sam completely ignoring me and rummaging through the 'fridge. If anyone liked me up there, I hoped he would get whatever he was looking for and leave.

Well, Sam might have been doing that but when Bobby-Jerk walked in, I knew I was forever going to be the butt of his jokes. Bad and sorry jokes at that, but it was going to be okay, he could laugh all he wanted—someday I'd be free, and then, revenge!

"Hey, Kook."

I glared over my shoulder.

"Just shut-up!" I growled, and his eyebrows shot up. Guess I sort of did jump the gun.

"What's your problem? And—why is your arm in the drain? Do you have any idea of what probably lives down there?"

"The rest of your race?" I snapped and tried to get my arm out of the drain with a subtle jerk.

"You're stuck!" Sam spit out in a shocked tone.

Thanks for clearing that up and here I thought I was mutating into a kitchen sink.

"I'm not stuck!" Yes, this was my dwindling pride in Denialville, "I'm—bonding." Oh that was painful. That was lame. I even felt like making fun of me for that excuse.

I banged my head against the lip of the sink (just like old times). Oh, I wanted to curl up in the sink and die. Maybe the creature that lived down there would eat up the rest of me to save me from any future ridicule.

"Have you ever tried bonding with the toilet?"

I knew he was going to do this (totally missing the truth that I started this conversation on the wrong foot), "You know, I keep trying but every time I try, your head is stuck in it."

Sam laughed nervously. "Come on, y'all. Let's just work together and get her free."

Had to love those country manners.

Well, 'getting her free' by all of us 'working together' got us absolutely no where. I was still stuck, and the more they bumped the sink the more I felt the ring slip from my fingertips.

"What about butter?" Sam asked, wiping his forehead. It was not hot in here, must be because the evil garbage disposal was giving all three of us a workout.

"It might work." Joy now I was going to be a buttered Kookie. "Oh wait, we don't have any butter-butter, we only have that powered stuff." He looked at me with a wicked smile, "How about I just freeze her out? You do have two arms."

"And a good aim with either of them," I warned (it was a bluff, but he didn't know that-I think).

Sam shivered in disgust as he said, "Why not just let your skin be ripped off? Your black skin should be able to let you go."

Eeewwwww!

Bobby-Jerk made heaving noises (fake ones) when I closed my eyes and did what Sam suggested. I heard the rip and felt the familiar tingle as I slowly tugged my arm and hand free.

"Oh, awh, that's disgusting." Bobby-Jerk stuck out his tongue and twisted his head away. "Can you pick that up or something?"

Sam wanted to smile because his idea worked, but that meant he'd have to look at my dead skin lying in the sink. Completely disgusting, as said by the Iceboy of the X-Men.

"I have to," I said, picking up my skin 'glove' from the sink and throwing it in the garbage can (if the garbage men peeked, they might get scared) the ring was still down there. By the silence I knew I forgot to mention that little tidbit.

"Your ring?" Sam asked, looking down in the black pit. "Is it that what is so important?"

"I didn't even know you wore a ring." Bobby-Jerk commented innocently. I glared at him. How the heck would he know or not?

"It's, uh, not mine."

"Then whose is it?" I whipped my head around to see Mr. Logan standing in the doorway.

I blanched, "Uh, M-Mis-Jean's."

All of them went quiet. Looking over each of the men, they had surprise or terror (whatever) on their faces.

I was going to be so dead when Jean got back.


A day later, I was relaxing by the TV with a picture of the beach on the screen. Most everyone had gone into town or to their rooms for the day. Mr. Logan had taken off toward the nearest bar after his session with Julie, and Julie was draggedback into the Professor's office.

Apparently she was being more than stubborn in her 'training'.

I thought it was hilarious, because like Mary and her little lamb, it was Julie followed by the grumbling, glaring Adrian, since he was her team captain and all.

Flipping from the beach to the middle of the desert with some guy singing about finding an oasis or seeing a mirage or something, I wiggled further into the chair making myself comfortable.

And you know it always happened, as soon as you got comfortable? There was always a knock on the door, or someone screamed for you or something that made you lose that single comfortable position.

"Kookie, can you go and get the mail?" Oh, sure, I wasn't busy doing anything. I was just relaxing, and come on! How many times did I get to do that? Oh, right, never.

But I got to my feet and made my way to the front door and from there I took to the air (the drive way was more like a road it was so long) and did as I was told. There was a whole packet of mail and a few packages. Being nosey as to who was 'eligible to win 1,000,000!' I was shocked to see a small package for me.

Actually, it wasn't postmarked or anything. It just had my name on it. 'Kerry D'mon' was scratched out and 'Kookie Summers' was written in red permanent marker.

I shrugged, and decided it'd be better to open it at the house then standing almost on the side of the road in shorts and tank and with no image inducer.

Flying back, I dumped the mail off on the in table by the front door and went to Scott and Jean's. Since I was already playing mail bird, why not finish the job?

Jean was home and let me in no problem, she started to sigh as she flipped through the stack of mail (mostly credit card bills). I flopped down on the couch and stared at my little package.

Like most dumb people do, I shook the box and there was a small 'thudding' noise. Now, had I been smart, I might have thought something like: 'this might be a bomb' but I was not smart and instead I put the rest of the mail down and tore into the package.

There was a folded letter on top and a semi-familiar smell on the paper. Flipping it open, I was then thoroughly confused.

'Broken wings,' was what it read, 'Such beautiful things.'

Ever have every hair on your neck stand on end? Sort of like a pop quiz on Monday type freaky? Putting the letter down, I pushed the packaging paper to the side-

I said the first thing that came to mind, "Jeeeeaaaannnn!"


A word to the wise, when an adult says, "We have something we'd like to discuss with you" it meant that they made a decision for you and were just trying to find a way to break the news. I had only theorized about this but on Sunday, at dinner with Scott and Jean (again) it became a cold hard fact.

Another fact was that while the Professor was completely baffled as to why Wolverine would choose to claw the sink to an early death (the plumber was coming on Monday) it was more or less why the garbage men refusedto pick up the trash anymore.

Apparently they peeked into the bag and found my skin. That's my theory at least and nothing else was volunteered, though I was not going to tell anyone that wasn't involved with the fiasco about it.

And as for the package-well, that's why I was back at my parents' house. Inside the package was a skeleton of a black bird and another, smaller skeleton of a baby black bird.

They were trying to get the package traced. The mailman didn't know anything though and said he didn't see anyone and that he never touched that box. It wasn't labeled or anything.

Just the note and birds.

Back to the dinner, it was the Sunday before we went back to school (Spring Break just seemed to fly by) and I was back in the boathouse. I had no idea what brought this sudden Kookie affection on, but it seemed as though they couldn't get enough of me. I was even starting to think that Adrian had been completely wrong about Scott.

The conversation started off normal enough.

That should have been a dead giveaway they were stalling.

"I heard that you and Chris are going to Prom together," Jean commented with a smile that sent warning bells off in my head. It was an unspoken agreement not to mention the whole dead-bird thing. It freaked me out and ticked off the Professor to have something like that happen under his nose.

"Just as friends," I pointed out before she got any cute ideas. Then there was five minutes of silence, and suddenly Scott popped off with something that almost had me choking on my roast beef.

"Something's bothering you," Oh no, with an opening like that I just knew what was going to come next—"Want to talk about it?"

I rolled my eyes and calmly replied, "Why does every one ask me that? If I wanted to talk about it, I would call someone and say 'hey, I need to talk.' Sheesh."

"So you don't want to talk about it."

I started to pick on the corners of the table.

"Of course I want to talk about it! Did I actually ever say 'no'?"

Glancing up I saw both of them giving me a lost look before Scott recovered.

"You can be very confusing."

"I'm teenager and a female, two very good reasons why I would appear confusing to a guy who is old—er." Slippery recovery! "It's about a guy on the team."

"Uh-Maybe you should talk to Jean about this..." He said glancing over at the expressionless woman.

I was completely lost for all of ten seconds. "I don't mean it like that."

"Good. Team relationships are looked down on, especially since all of you are so young." It's not like you had false teeth yet, buddy! And I guessed Jean kept failing to mention my current little relationship. Either that or she didn't know that it was now official or something (I think). "So what did you mean?"

"Someone wants to quit."

"What? I haven't heard anything about that. Did they tell Xavier? When did you find this out?"

"Slow down, please. They told me, in confidence, about a week ago. They just don't think they are cut out for this lifestyle." Which I couldn't blame him for thinking that way.

Jean sighed, "Who is it?"

"Just one of the guys." Vague answers were always the best. "He wouldn't say why, just when. All he told me was that this isn't what he thought it would be and he'd be leaving after Chris' graduation. He wants to finish some things or something like that."

"Wow, learn something new every day," then there was the dreaded line, "Kookie, we have something we'd like to discuss with you."

And still I was dumb enough to go, "What?"

They were nice enough not to push a name out of me, tell me if that wasn't like, the biggest 'they're going to say something you don't like hint' or not?

"We'd like-that is— after all that's happened in the past year since you've come here-"

"And before," Scott added under his breath.

"We, Scott and I, think it would be best if you would start seeing a psychiatrist."

There was too much anger to ignore or just glare about.

"A shrink?" I screamed slamming down my silverware. "Why? Why should I?!"

"Because you're the only one with dead birds in the mail box."

My mouth dropped open, the first response I was ready to give them wasn't pretty. It was 'colorful' and I didn't need anyone seeing red but me.

"This sucks! Because some psycho out there sends me some dead birds you think I'm the one who needs to be committed?"

"Kerry, calm down."

"No! Have you gone to a psychiatrist?"

"No, not officially."

"Maybe you're the ones who should go to some nut case, pill popper," I grumbled, arms folded and wings so close to my back it hurt. "All this happened because of the –oh— so righteous X-Men and interfering with my life, like now for example."

"That's not fair," Jean started, stopping Scott from jumping to his feet.

"Oh and it is fair in your little 'higher' world to send a perfectly lucid girl to a-a-couch tester with letters after his name? That's not fair. That's one step away from being medicated or put in the loony bin." Too late, I was already in the mutant loony bin. "Don't I get a say so in my own life!"

"This is important," Jean stressed, still having a death grip on Scott's arm. "You've been through a lot for someone your age."

"And ninety-eight percent is because of you and the almighty X." I got to my feet, ready to run or slug it out, whichever way they preferred. "All my 'mental issues' are from this place! There is nothing you people don't stick your noses. I didn't ask for any of it!"

Scott, I guess, finally had enough and jumped to his feet, "You are going to the doctor on Wednesday, and that is final."

"Like hell it is, Summers." With that I took to the front door and flew back to the mansion.