Author's Note: Wow, I didn't really expect any reviews at all…thanks! Um, I forgot to mention a few things. At the beginning of every chapter that occurs during a week where Wisteria goes to counseling, I'll have part of her conversation with Professor Xavier in italics. Then in bold, I'll have what she wrote in her notebook, and then at the end with no font changes I'll have what is currently happening.

So basically: Italics: counseling conversation if in quotes or thought if not

Bold: Wisteria's notebook

Nothing: current happenings.

CelticHeiressFiona: Thanks! Here's the update.

StarStar16: I'll get on as soon as I have the chance, and no, Jamie isn't in this chapter, but Ben is.

Silvia Ammons: How did you know? I do have a case of writer's block at the moment, but I'm working to break it. Please review again, I really enjoyed your review, though I don't see what you saw in that chapter. It was crap. But anyways, there's a reason why Wisteria seems a lot older than she is. She was sort of forced to grow up too fast, but you'll find out about that. And, when you said I "cut it short", did you mean why did I start where I did? That was on purpose, because I'm using a sort of strange story line. Read on and find out. But if you meant "why was it short?"…well, I'm a strong believer in "when it's done, it's done". That, and the writer's block. Tres murdere.

"I used to play basketball."

"Really? You don't seem the type."

"I was never that good."

"When was your last game?"

"A little over a couple of years ago. It was the night I got my powers. If I hadn't lost my temper, I wouldn't be here now."

"You can't change time, Wisteria."

"No, I guess I can't."

The roar of noise was deafening inside the gymnasium, an announcer blaring random events as they happened on the court. Ten sweat-soaked girls ran across the swept wooden floor, all with the same target: an orange rubber ball. They tried to coordinate offenses and defensives while two coaches screamed on the sidelines, urging them to victory. To everyone, the scoreboard was most important: 22 to 20. It was the beginning of the tournament, and this was the first elimination…nobody wanted to go home.

The score mattered tremendously to everyone in the stands. Everyone but one girl with long brown hair pulled back, face twisted into a scornful expression as her eyes shot daggers.

That one girl didn't care that her team was down by only one shot, that the announcer was booming out passes and fouls, or that some little kid in the stands was screaming murder because he didn't get his hotdog. She only cared that out of all of her team mates stuck on that bench, she was the only one who hadn't had the opportunity to break a sweat.

Her coach had made her sit there the entire game, and the clock was ticking. They were already half-way through with the fourth quarter. Her coordination skills weren't legendary, but wasn't she allowed at least one shot at athletic glory?

The glare her coach had sent her every now and then plainly disagreed with her reason. Arianne sighed and turned her annoyed emerald eyes to her parents, sitting high up in the stands, supporting her even from her pointless position on the bench. Her Dad looked comically ridiculous, staring into space with a hot dog halfway to his mouth, obviously having just gotten an idea and forgotten about the world while his mind pondered it. Her Mom caught her eye and smiled, giving a tiny wave. She answered with a tiny twitch at the corners of her lips.

A time out buzzer jerked her to attention. She stood to allow the girls who were playing a place to sit. Lucky them. She didn't even really like this sport, it would only look good on her college application, but she had taken the time to come out here and given her all in practice. Where was the reward, the feedback?

A sudden idea gripped Arianne's mind. She smirked and slid toward the announcer booth, checking herself in for another one she knew was going out anyways.

As the warning whistle sounded, she took her position at a guard post, noticing her coach was too busy explaining a play to another player to even notice the mix-up. Waiting for the point guard's signal, she moved around in a darting position for a few moments, finally getting an open pass. As she turned to the goal to feel for a shot, a giant of a player blocked her path, knocking her down as the ball left her hands.

The fall was agonizingly slow. After moments of seeming to float through space she finally was able to feel pressure when her foot folded beneath her leg, twisting her ankle painfully. Biting her bottom lip to avoid crying out, Arianne noticed the eyes of her coach on her, scowling. A whistle sounded, and there was someone else, ready to take her place.

Even the lightest pressure on her ankle made her want to scream out in protest. She hobbled over to the sidelines, taking her coach's glare without the slightest turn of a hair. His tone was dangerous, but she never drank in the venomous words, too concerned with the shooting pains spreading up her leg.

"Have a seat." His ruddy face was inches away from hers. "You're out of the game."

"I was out of the game before. I've always been out of the game." She retorted, the look in her eye more dangerous than his.

"Then you're out for the season."

"I haven't been in a game since the season started!"

"Have a seat!"

She drew her face closer to his, her tone low. "Why won't you put me in?" Her words were slowly raising in volume as her one weakness, her temper, took hold. "I slave over pathetic practices, work just as hard as the others, do everything you say. Why won't you let me have a chance!"

Her coach opened his mouth to answer, but what would have been a reply gave way to a gasp of awe. The building was quaking beneath them, ivy tendrils creeping between the boards of the floor. All the occupants of the room stared as the floor continued to bulge, a geyser about to erupt. But not Arianne. The combination of indignity, injury, and insult had left her glaring heatedly at her coach, not noticing that he was now staring in horror at her, not noticing that she was changing. Her eyes were glowing an eerie green, hair turning from dark brown to black, skin gaining a green tint and inscribing vines upon itself. As a towering oak crashed through the bulging floor, branches splaying out and causing people to run in terror, Arianne turned and stood dumbfounded as the rest.

"What the—"

Something blunt and heavy was swung at the back of her head, the same object colliding again at her knees' breaking point. She collapsed to the floor involuntarily, feeling another hit from what revealed itself to be a baseball bat from the sport closet, the wood pummeling her again and again until the brink of unconsciousness. She could see her parents running toward her but being stopped by the crowd, hear sirens in the background muddled with terrified screams of "mutant". The blows stung harshly against her until finally she gave in to the gathering blackness.

Wisteria exited Xavier's office, withholding the sigh of relief. She had made their hour long conversation steer clear of any matter of true importance, directing comments toward school or current events if the Professor came too close to a foreclosed subject. IT was a bit unnerving, however, that she could never tell if those blue eyes were piercing her thoughts. Being forced to have a psychic for a psychiatrist wasn't exactly her favorite part of this activity lockdown.

Her eyes were following her feet, step almost militial, rhythmic. One..two…one…two…

"Ow!"

She jerked her head up at the sudden impact, seeing Ben rubbing his forehead with one hand.

"Sorry, Ben. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Obviously." Ben rolled his eyes, his features a lot more like Gambit since he had grown over the past few months. He was a lot different, mentally and physically, even since Jamie had disappeared.

His black eyes, hollowed by red pupils, bored into her. "Where are you going?"

"Not a clue." Somewhere where she wouldn't have to think.

"You know you're on restriction." Ben was looking at her as if he could tell she longed to get away from the Mansion. Wisteria frowned and sidestepped her friend.

"Thanks for the reminder, even if the restriction was unnecessary."

"You almost killed yourself in the Danger Room! All because you went in there alone and set the level to maximum…" He called after her as she walked away. She didn't even bother to turn and look back.

"Shit happens."