Her alarm clock went off, but she didn't notice for an hour. She finally heard a faint ringing and slapped the snooze button. Not thinking clearly, she simply rolled over and went back to sleep. Around 6:35 she heard the kids getting up, taking showers, chatting in their rooms, giggling, open doors, slamming doors, and running down the halls. In her sleep, she forgot she was no longer in Washington, D.C.- where she only had to get up at 7. At first she didn't understand why there was all of this commotion- the other tenants in her apartments had never been this noisy. As she sat up though, yawned and stretched, she remembered and groaned. She hated sleeping in when she wasn't supposed to- started her days off bad, leaving her to rush through everything- and she would be tired for most of the day.

Still in a daze, she wandered down the stairs, rubbing her eyes and yawning, into the kitchen. Lying on the island counter were a few pieces of cold, buttered toast and an untouched bowl of cereal. She stood at the island a few moments, trying to wake up and then realized that she needed a spoon. When she returned to the island, spoon and glass of water in hand, she couldn't find a stool. Wolverine wandered in and saw her sleepy, confused gaze, and pulled up a stool.

"Sleepy are we?"

"Oh, … ya. Oh thanks." She down and started eating. She thought of the other morning, and how there had been omelets; she wanted an omelet this morning. As her thoughts rummaged over the previous morning, and trying to pull herself awake, she remembered about Lizie. "Do you know how Lizie's doing?"

"She was down here for breakfast this morning, running around chasing the guys because they stole her toast. So, I'd say she's doing better."

Ange nodded in approval. She munched away at her breakfast, and Wolverine poured himself a cup of coffee and left.

……..

The kids came clamoring into her second hour class. She threw their bags down and rushed to get there still lifes out. As they sat down, one by one, to continue working on their sketches, they noticed Ange's sleek sketch standing by her desk. Like most little kids, they were mesmerized. They all began to sketch and chat, giggle and laugh, all except one little boy. It took Ange a little while to notice that he was sitting in a corner all by himself, without his sketchbook open, or his still life on his desk.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he sniffled. He wouldn't look up at her.

"Come on now, I know that frown. What's wrong?"

"They're making fun of my tiger."

"Who?" He pointed to a few boys who were pushing each other and trying to grab the other's sketch. Ange stood up behind them.

"Do I need to separate you boys?" They stopped laughing a little, and of course said no. "There will be no rough housing in my classroom. You will keep your hands, brushes, pencils- everything to yourself and you will not disturb the other children. If I have to, I'll separate you all by putting you in the other class." They stopped laughing, but nothing could wipe the grins off of their faces. Ange knelt down beside Tommy again.

"Let me see your tiger."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I hate it."

"Ohhh, why do you hate it?"

"It doesn't look like a tiger."

"Let me see it."

"No."

"Please?" The boy reluctantly put his sketchbook out on the desk and Ange flipped to the first page. "Now why do you hate this! I think this is a great tiger!"

"Is not! It's black- tiger's aren't black," one of the other boys volunteered.

"Not everything has to look like what it is, you know. Several famous artists used abstract art, like Picasso."

"Who's he and what's abstract?"

"Picasso was a famous Spanish artist who helped develop a technique called cubism- a form of abstract art. Abstract art is simply taking something, like a tiger, and making it NOT look like a tiger."

"But I want it to look like a tiger!"

"Well, I think you're off to a great start. But something that might help you is if you look at an actual picture of whatever it is that you want to draw. Here ..." Ange wondered off into the library and came back with an encyclopedia. "T, Te, Ti, Tiger. Here, here's a good picture. All you have to do is look at this and draw the tiger. The more you practice, the better you'll get."

"I'll never be as good as you."

Ange chuckled. "You're already better than I was when I was your age. I didn't really start drawing until I was much older. If you start drawing now and you keep practicing, you'll be much better than me!"

"Really?" For the first time he lifted his face up to her, with a question of hope.

"I wouldn't lie to you Tommy."

Tommy worked on his tiger for the rest of the class period while the rest of the class worked on their still lifes.

"It's time to clean up," she called out. "Everyone pass forward your sketchbooks. I'll have them graded by the end of the day, if you want to come by and grab it." The bell rang and Ange moved to stand at the door to collect the sketchbooks. They put away their still lifes and grabbed their bags, heading out the door.

She spent activity period grabbing something more to eat and a trip to her room for some of her folders and pens. She then spent third hour grading the sketchbooks. If they drew or wrote anything and she could tell they had put effort into, she gave them 10/10 points. Tommy's sketchbook was among the last she graded, which also meant that fourth hour was about to start.

She gazed delightfully over Tommy's several sketches of his tiger. One was running- almost jumping. That was the first picture. Another was of a tiger at a water pool- little kids art work is just the cutest thing. She smiled brightly at his perspective of the water and it's reflection. And the last sketch was of a tiger simply standing, his right paw still in the air and his face red with blood. She rolled her eyes and laughed- little boys will be little boys. You certainly wouldn't find a six year old girl drawing a cute, cuddly tiger with blood all over his face!

'I love these Tommy! They're great! See how much looking at a picture can help! Keep up the good work. 10/10.' She scribbled down on a sticky note and attached it to the page.

She was finishing up grading the last two sketchbooks when the fourth hour bell rang.

"Please quiet down a bit. I don't mind if you talk, but we need to keep it down so that the other classes don't hear us. But I am taking suggestions on radio stations..."

"Hey 98.9."

"No no. 102.9"

"No, 93.4"

"All right. I suppose I should ask what KIND of music you'd like to listen to?"

"Rock."

"Metal."

"Rock."

"Pop."

"Oldies."

"Rock."

"Hmmm, seems like Rock wins. What's a good rock station?"

"That would be 103.5."

"Ok, 103.5 it is." The kids kept asking to turn it up a little bit louder, a little louder, and a little bit louder. She turned it up some, but refused to comply after that. The kids laughed and joked the whole class period. Ange, over hearing a few, couldn't help but laugh as well. She'd join in here and there. Colossus noticed that she was over hearing some of their jokes. He finished his still life the other day- he came in after school to work on it. So, he doodled in sketch book- "Miss Ange trying to hide her laughter while trying to paint a master piece."

Periodically she would wander through the room, looking over their sketches and giving advice here and there. She turned the music down a bit, still trying to stop laughing- she was one of those "types" that if you got her laughing, it would be a while before she could stop. "Don't forget that your sketch books are due at the end of the period and your still life's are due Monday."

Ange put off grading the sketch books until after fourth hour. She had finally hit some inspiration and she was quickly sketching ideas and color schemes for this "emotional war". She filled up a few pages, making comments about what she wanted to convey, what images she wanted to use, what colors- what themes. She crossed a few out, put question marks next to some, and circled the ones she really wanted to do. After an hour- her idea was complete: a sorrowful girl standing alone on a windy, dark, hill- her clothes changed colors and patterns in the wind- fading from one emotion to the other- flowing into the other. She was really happy with the idea. And at the bottom of this piece, she would write in a light grey, a small free verse poem. She smiled; now she could go and eat some lunch.

Ange is very peculiar in several ways- one, which seems to be a genetic trait- if she is really involved in something, she forget to eat. She could end up going without eating for hours because of this. And sometimes, being very stubborn, she would simply refuse to eat until she was at a point that she felt she could stop.

……..

Just as school was over, the Professor called a mandatory meeting with the X-men team.

"Please close the door Cyclops. Thank you." The Professor immediately started into the point of the meeting. "I believe I have discovered one of Magneto's plans, though I don't know if he has already carried it out or not- which is why I have been holding off on this meeting for a few days now. I believe that Magneto is planning, or may already have, kidnapped the President and replaced him with Mystique. And he's not working alone this time. I have located a place that I believe they are already holding the President. I am under the impression that they already have kidnapped the President, but I am not completely sure of this.

Tomorrow night Storm, Cyclops and I will locate this place. We will find out if the President has been captured, and perhaps attempt a rescue. Wolverine and Nightcrawler, you will be going to a laboratory on Long Island."

"Should I inform the Nanny?" Wolverine questioned dryly.

"No, I will inform her later tonight. Now Wolverine and Nightcrawler, you will need to get into the laboratory as quietly as possible. You cannot set off the alarm, and if you encounter anyone, you cannot use your mutant powers against them. It is imperative that they don't know who you are."

Wolverine chuckled. "Ya, they won't notice the difference in Nightcrawler's skin color, tattoos, or his tail." Cyclops chuckled too, as well as Nightcrawler himself.

"I understand that. I suppose I am telling you, Logan, not to use your powers. I have reason to believe that they are also kidnapping unique mutants. For what purposes, I don't know. But if they saw you, they would try everything to keep you from leaving. And if Magneto is involved, they will immediately know that we've been sneaking around in this mess."

The X-men were excused and Ange was summoned to the Professor's office. The X-Men went to the TV room to set up their Friday game night, which was going to be a game of poker tonight.

"The team will be leaving tomorrow night. After dinner though, so you won't have to worry about dinner. I'll leave you our coordinates and a number to reach us at. Again, if you need any help, you can always ask Rogue, Iceman, and Colossus."

"Ok. Say, do you guys do anything on Saturdays?"

"What do you mean? Often we organize games outside and sometimes we take a few kids to the mall- if they've been really good." The Professor smiled.

"Well, I was wondering if I could tell the little kids ghost stories tomorrow night, and then once they were in bed, rent a scary movie for the older kids to watch."

"Hmmmm. It would be a nice treat. They really don't get to see too many movies, especially scary movies- the older kids. We always watch movies as a group. Yes, I suppose there's no harm in it. Just use good judgment in selecting the film."

"Oh definitely! Oh, this gonna be fun!" She stood up and turned to the door with an extra bounce in her step. She gripped the knob and turned to the Professor, "Thanks!"