Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! Sorry it took such a long time to update either! Anyhow, I just want to say that I was stupid for not noticing that Jean did have another sister all along whose name is Sara. However, since this is FanFiction territory I suppose you can all forgive me for being so ignorant and assume that I've taken liberties with the story? Thanks wahoo!

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone who's emerged from the Marvel Universe.

Chapter 2

Her head was aching terribly; as if a giant hand was squeezing it until the juices in her brain flowed out. Anne squeezed her eyes shut and willed the pain to go away. It lessened, for a while, and then, just a smile was about to form on her face, it returned; with a vengeance. A moan escaped her lips and she tightened her grip on her pencil, as if doing it could somehow transfer her pain onto it.

Her moan caught the attention of her math teacher. Miss Foster quickly set her books down and hurried over to her table. Oh God, if anything freakin' happens to these kids I'm as good as dead! Anne's head snapped up, alert, but she was very sure that her teacher's lips had not moved. She was about to ponder about it when Miss Foster gave her an assuring smile and asked gently, "Are you all right, Anne?"

But at the same time . . . She'd better be okay! I just had to clean up Darren's hideous puke and not this now! Please God! Not this now!

Anne willed her lips to move, but in the end, she shook her head slowly.

Miss Foster's face relaxed visibly, but the smile was retained. "Are you sure?"

Come on, girl! You're fine! You're thumpin', freakin' fine!

This was getting too weird for the little girl. No! Anne thought furiously, I can't be crazy. I can't – I can't! I'm not Jean. I'm not! I'M NOT CRAZY!

But then it suddenly made perfect sense. Miss Foster had never used that sort of language . . . at least not in class. Anne knew her, remembered her, for being very polite. She finally concluded that she must have heard her thoughts. She bit her lip and a tear threatened to slip away from her eyes, but she held it back.

Miss Foster approached her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "There, there, Anne . . . everything will be all right. Is there a question that you don't know? You should have known better didn't you: to study yesterday night?"

Anne struggled to form words with her lips; she wanted desperately for her teacher to go away… for her thoughts were deafening, exploding in her ears, filling her with a sense of fear that felt much older; way beyond her in fact; a new sensation but she hated it. The more her mind rejected it, the more it came back. And yet, she couldn't give in to those thoughts… somehow she knew that if she relented, lost her self-control, the woman would know, know that she was – was one of them.

Like Jean.

She didn't want to be like Jean. She didn't want to be hated, like Jean. Everyone in school had feared her; the teachers avoided talking about her; the other girls abandoned her during lunch; and the boys talked. And Miss Foster should know, she had taught her sister the same year Jean had become one of them.

"Anne, do you want to go home?"

Come on, girl! You wanna pee I take you to pee; you don't wanna sit for this test then fine! Don't force yourself!

But if she chose to go home . . . Mom and Dad would know, Miss Foster would call them, and they would interrogate her and tried to persuade her with sweets and lemonade to get her to tell the truth and then Anne, never having able to ever resist any of those temptations, will finally say yes, I heard things . . . in my head, all over the place, it's given me a headache, oh Mom, Dad: I'm them.

Anne sniffed and shook her head. It was barely a shake: her head felt so heavy and tired. Miss Foster, happily oblivious to the pain that Anne was trying to fight, smiled and patted her shoulder again. "That's my girl."

Her eyes could barely make out Miss Foster's retreating shape. They were blurred with hot tears as suddenly, a ton of bricks pounded onto her head. Anne bit her lip, trying not to cry out loud. It hit again – and again – and again – until Anne felt quite sure that her skull was quite numb and her nose had blocked up. The last time it hit – it shattered into a tiny million pieces of crumbs.

And all at once, voices – voices of her classmates began flooding into her brain; What was Miss Foster doing so long with that Grey girl? – Argh! I can't remember! What is 9x8? I just memorised it yesterday night! – Just a little bit more and I can see Davey's answer – I wonder what's for lunch? – Anne clapped her hands over her ears; stop the noise! Stop it! – I wanna play Frisbee with Rowland when he comes home, gosh it'll be plenty fun! – Uuuuh I'm starving – WHAT IS 9X8? Without her realizing it, the window pane was rattling; shaking and trembling with an increasing crescendo and frightening the children in the classroom – I wanna go home! – MOMMMY! – What's going on? – EARTHQUAKE! AAAAAAAA –

CALM DOWN! her thoughts bellowed at her . . . and strangely, although the shaking stopped and the tables stopped crawling forward on their own accord, the class did calm down. In fact, they were acting as if nothing had ever happened.