Author's Note:
This chapter's a bit longer, but we're getting some X-Men in here. Next chapter will be in the Institute, but first I'd like some input:
Before I introduce Kitty, I'd like to hear your opinions on whether you'd like for this to be Kurty or Lancitty. Maybe I'll make a poll, but in case I don't, I'd like to hear =] (Oh, and if anyone thinks I'm separating Rogue and her Cajun, think again, this is Romy!)
This chapter's title is a song by James Otto; the song itself doesn't have much to do with the story, but the message it's giving does, in case you want to look it up.
Other than that, thanks a million to rogue-scholar 07 for reviewing, and sorry for the confusion, girl! The rest of you, please review and let me know if you liked it or not, I really appreciate it ;] On with the story!
The Ball
"Where the hell's Bayville, in Satan's ass or something?"
I sighed; Chino had never been known for his eloquent way with words, so after politely telling him exactly how big of an idiot he was being, I patiently explained. "No, Bayville is not in Satan's ass; it's close to New York and all of those other coastal places where chick flicks are filmed."
"You serious?" he muttered. "That sucks."
I shrugged for both of us. "Pues, ¿qué se puede hacer?"
(Well, what can you do?)
We were both seated on the biggest couch in his house, a bag of Ruffles opened between us along with a super-sized cup of soda that his mother had brought from McDonalds. My mother was in the kitchen talking to her sister about what had been going on as of late; she'd been pretending nothing was at all disturbing about yesterday, but had broken down to tears when she had seen her sister, hence the need for highly-fattening McSundaes, McFries and McSodas to drown and poison the problems.
In complete honesty, I didn't mind the complimentary junk food that came with my mom finding out that she gave birth to a mutant, but everything else was energy-draining. It had taken carrying me unconscious to the house covered in bruises and bleeding from the abused burns to convince my mother that I was no longer safe here, and for the past couple of hours since then, she and I had been coming to terms with moving away.
It was funny how, even to my cousin, he felt that would be the most traumatic part of the whole deal. The girl they'd been living with for years suddenly turning out to be an unstable psychic mutant meant nothing, but the fact that she'd only be visiting for the holidays changed everything. He elbowed me, and I elbowed him back.
"Yeah, yeah, I love you too."
"Oh right, how's your back doing?" he asked, suddenly remembering that Mom and Tia Magdalena had classified me as an injured person. Surprised that I'd forgotten to mention it to him, I bent forward and lifted up my shirt.
"It went away a couple of hours after I got back," I said, grinning at his wide-eyed expression. "What? You recovered from a bullet overnight, it's not like this is such a big deal." He shook his head, and cautiously touched the skin where I'd been burned the day before.
"That was a miracle, and I was scarred. You have nothing to show for it," he argued, lifting my shirt up a couple of inches higher to check the rest of my back. "If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have any idea what happened." I rolled my eyes as he continued the inspection.
"That was the only reason Mom didn't file a police report," I informed him. "The Professor doesn't know what it could've been, but apparently there's somebody at the Institute who's gonna try and help us pinpoint what my powers are and how to handle them."
"The Professor's that guy in the wheelchair, right?"
"Yeah. He's a telepath too."
"Oh, so you're a telepath? Don't go all fancy and shit on me," he teased, finally satisfied with his search and pulling my shirt back down. I shoved him to the side, but smiled nonetheless.
"I guess," I answered, shrugging. "So far, that's the only thing I can explain."
"So, tell me what I'm thinking," he challenged, closing his eyes and concentrating. I sighed.
"Knowing you, it's something perverted or stupid," I muttered. "And anyways, it doesn't work all the time, and not even like that. The Professor could hear exactly what you're thinking, but I only know your nature."
"Would I understand you better if I installed subtitles or something?"
"No. And don't worry, I don't have you mapped out like I have the people from the party anyways," I said reassuringly. He looked at me curiously.
"Mapped out? What the hell does that mean?"
Just like him to insert cussing whenever possible. "What I mean is that I know how a person feels and thinks, and so I get an idea of what they would do in a given situation. With that I can put pieces together and sometimes figure things out, like I did with those people yesterday," I explained.
He nodded, but I could tell he was still slightly confused, so I elaborated even more.
"I could tell by the degree of their fear and hatred that they'd been abused by a mutant; it wasn't a blind fear, it was like they'd faced at least one mutant and experienced helplessness unlike any other, most likely in childhood. It instilled hatred that couldn't be budged by anything else, and they needed an outlet for all that anger. When they saw me and my sparkly eyes, everything came pouring out at once." He raised an eyebrow and pressed a hand to my forehead.
"You sure you're not sick? You sound almost sympathetic," he said slowly. I crossed my arms and leaned against his chest so he wouldn't see my face.
"People do things they don't mean when they've been hurt," I whispered. My cousin wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head affectionately. Though I couldn't sense him like everybody else, we'd been partners in crime long enough that he didn't have to say anything. Just as I was dozing off he spoke up, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.
"I'm going to miss you, crazy kid," he admitted. "Then again, I have to admit that I'm kinda glad you can't read my mind." I smiled and lifted my head to kiss his cheek before snuggling back to place.
"Yeah... I'm gonna miss you too."
Families here had a tendency to stick together for a couple of years. We all lived close enough to our immediate family members that we could walk to each other's houses, and that was something we did often despite our ages. It always started with Mauricio walking to my house because he was bored, and from there the two of us went dragging all of the guys along the block with us, and sometimes a couple of the girls. We thought we owned the block, and at eleven years of age, nobody had proven us wrong yet other than our own mothers.
Andrea-Danielle had always been more of the quiet one, but when she moved in next door about eight years ago, we had no idea what we were in for. We'd stopped at her house just to get her younger brother, a chubby little goofball whose company we all enjoyed, and she'd tagged along with him, a basketball under her arm and a determined look on her face.
We'd been hoping to not have to deal with any whiny girls that day, but because she was our long-lost cousin, we had to bring her along at least once and had opted to simply ignore her until we reached the public park. Once we arrived, a fierce game of man-hunt ensued, boys-only and with teams. She hadn't been picked because it would make an uneven number (although we'd found ways to deal with that dilemma many times before). When she realized she wasn't welcome, she ran to the basketball court and started to shoot hoops.
The game quickly bored me and my attention started to wander over to where she was; even if she'd been the one to bring the ball, from what I saw, she couldn't get it to even touch the hoop or backboard. Without much thought I walked over, standing a couple of feet behind her to watch.
Her cheeks were red with exertion and her face was sweaty, an excuse most of the girls I knew had always used to not play. She was tall for her age of nine and her hair was long and frizzy from the humidity; most girls around here had learned ways to deal with that, but she had only gotten here a week ago, and didn't seem to even care.
Whether she was ignoring me or hadn't noticed me watching her pathetic attempts at shooting a hoop, I couldn't tell. When she missed this time, though, the ball rolled away to the playground and I ran after it.
When I came back she was just standing there, a cautious look on her face. Her brown eyes were rimmed with thick, hooded lashes that set shadows on her cheeks, something I'd failed to notice that we had in common. She was actually kind of pretty, in a willing-to-play-in-the-dirt kind of way. Masking my guilt with a scowl, I handed her the ball.
"No sabes nada," I stated coldly. "¿Porqué no te largas?"
(You don't know anything. Why don't you just leave?)
She blinked, and I saw a blush spread across her cheeks. For a moment she couldn't speak, simply looked down at her shoes, and I immediately regretted saying something so rude. Eventually she managed to get the words out.
"Yo... I don't speak Spanish," she mumbled. Simultaneously I felt a swell of relief that she'd spoken English; that meant she hadn't understood me. But then I realized something much more troubling.
I didn't understand her.
"Shit," I hissed, and she gaped at me, shocked at my foul language. Shaking my head and muttering a quick "sorry", I found I was reaching the end of my English vocabulary, and had only managed to scare her.
She took my hand and placed it on the basketball. "Ball," she said firmly. I rolled my eyes, of course I knew what that was called. When she looked at me questioningly, I realized that she was the one that didn't know what to call it.
"Bola," I said uncertainly, and she nodded, absorbing the word.
"Can you..." she pointed at me, "show me," she pointed at herself, "to shoot," she mimicked throwing the ball, "la bola?"
I blinked. As strange as it was, I understood what she was trying to say, and considered how embarrassing this must be for her. Pulling her by the arm, I dragged her in front of the hoop and got into position. Almost as easily as breathing, I got the ball straight through the hoop, and it bounced back to us. I handed it to her.
"Más duro," I commanded. She furrowed her eyebrows.
"Harder?" She stomped her foot, referring to the concrete, and I figured there must have been a confusion in context.
"No, no: con más fuerza," I clarified, and mimicked throwing the ball with exaggerated strength. Her mouth widened in an "o", and she threw the ball harder. It was an inch too low and I sighed, running after it.
"Más duro," I repeated, handing her back the ball. She nodded seriously.
"Okay."
"Andrea, Gianni, get your asses up!" came the indignant screech of my New Yorker Aunt as she shook us awake. "Your ride's gon' be here any minute!"
Sleep yanked away its heavy blanket and I groaned, lifting myself up stiffly as Tia Magda sashayed to the kitchen. As I'd been sleeping it seemed that I'd fallen to lay face-up on my cousin's lap, his hand still resting on my bare shoulder as he also slept. He woke up and groggily met my eyes, his widening at the glow coming from my irises.
"So that's what a mutant looks like," he murmured, his voice still heavy with drowsiness.
Almost on reflex I muttered, "Shut up, Gianni," knowing how much it bothered him that I call him by his first name. He pushed my face away with his wide hands, and that was when I realized something strange about my dream: it had all been from his perspective.
So much for not bonding with him. I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. "I never figured that you were throwing me out the day we first went to the park together," I said, and felt his quick shot of fear at my evil grin. "You were a real jerk back then!"
"You know I didn't mean it," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "And where's this coming from, anyway? You were what, eight?"
"Nine," I corrected, "and you were dreaming about it, weren't you?"
He stared at me, his face paling. After a tense minute he got to his feet, shaking his head. "Forget it, I can't go anywhere with you," he stated, but I could tell that he was just embarrassed, and not upset or afraid. "Next thing I know, you're gonna be tapping into dirty dreams and crap."
"Nah, I think it was just because I was so close," I reasoned, and he accepted it with a nod.
"Okay, then. No more sleepovers."
With a laugh, I jumped to my feet and quickly hugged him from behind. "Alright, no more sleepovers," I agreed, despite the fact that we'd never really had any. A cough from the doorway made me turn around, and there I saw Mr. Logan with a handful of teenagers behind him. I smiled.
"Hey,Mr. Logan. Rest well?" Apparently that wasn't something he wanted to think about much because he seemed to almost visibly flinch; I noticed he was wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing the day before, and sensed that rest wasn't something he'd become too acquainted with on this trip.
"We're here to pick you up," he informed, eyeing my cousin. I picked up the large duffel bag I'd thrown next to the couch, packed tightly with clothes.
"Where can I load this?" I asked, and he motioned over his shoulder to an army-sized black Jeep.
"Cannonball here will take it to the van," he said, and a lanky blonde about my age came up. With an apologetic look I handed it to him but he hardly looked at me, his shyness something that didn't require a telepath to detect. "You got anything else?"
"Just a box in the kitchen," I answered.
"I got it," a brown-haired, brown-eyed boy said, stepping forward with a smile. He seemed a little younger than me, but not by much, and confidently strode into the kitchen to collect said box. My mom and Tia Magda's conversation immediately hushed, but the boy said something and came back out with a cardboard box in his arms. The box was filled with books, art supplies and other keepsakes to the bursting point, but he handled it with ease, a cocky smile on his face.
His foot caught on a low table he hadn't seen and he tripped forward, reflexively shooting out a hand. Ice seemed to pour from his wrist and hit the floor, effectively stopping his fall along with my heartbeat.
Well. They had said that students at the Institute had unique gifts. Mr. Logan groaned, rubbing his forehead.
"Just get it to the car, Drake," he ordered, obviously exasperated. Only slightly abashed, he hurried out the door and was encouraged by a pat on the back from the only remaining person, a boy my age with blonde hair and spiky orange bangs. I was the first to recover, but Gianni was still staring stiffly at the ice mound that had begun to drip onto the floor. I cleared my throat.
"I'll... get the mop," he muttered, and stiffly marched to the kitchen.
"You say your goodbyes yet?" Mr. Logan asked, stepping forward once my cousin was gone. I shook my head.
"Mom will be out in a minute."
Sure enough my mother and aunt soon came into the living room, greeting him with polite smiles. We all walked out to the porch where the group of teenagers waited for us by the exaggeratingly huge van/Jeep, their expressions a mixture between bored and nervous.
"What's with the welcoming committee?"
"Andrea!" my mother hissed. didn't seem to notice.
"The Prof thought it'd be good if you got to know your teammates early on," he explained. I looked at the three boys somewhat apprehensively: these were some people I'd have to get to know pretty well from here on out, and I was more than a little excited that I was meeting people who were also mutants.
"There aren't any girls?" my mother nearly squeaked. I hadn't even noticed this fact, but now that she'd pointed it out, the only girl I'd met had been Jean, and she was an instructor at the Institute. There had to be more female mutants, right?
"The other girl in this team has... an aversion to flying, so we left her with and the others, but there are girls at the Institute. You'll meet them and everyone else once we get there," he said, and for some strange reason, I felt even more excited. "Okay X-Men, move out," he ordered, and they dutifully followed. Taking advantage of this moment of privacy, I turned to begin the goodbyes.
My aunt went first and held my face, kissing my cheek affectionately as tears swam in her eyes.
"You be good, you hear me?" she said, pursing her lips. I smiled weakly, and nodded.
"Okay, Tia."
I looked around for Chino, but he wasn't there. Worried that he'd be too late I felt my hands begin to shake, but before I could resign to it, he came running out of the house and skidded to a halt in front of me.
"Don't even think about leaving without saying goodbye," he warned, ruffling my hair.
"Chino!" I whined, batting his hands away. He grinned and pulled me into a hug, the love we mutually felt warming my whole being. I smiled and closed my eyes for a moment. "I love you, Gianni," I said quietly.
"Love you too, psycho Andrea-Danielle," he answered, and pulled away before we could get too emotional. My mother looked at me with pained eyes, and didn't move as I wrapped my arms around her tightly.
"I love you, Mom," I whispered, feeling her pain, but swallowing it all down. We were hardly ever apart, so this was exceptionally hard for her. She took in a shaky breath and nodded, lifting her arms to hug me back. "I'll see you in December, okay?"
"Okay," she whispered, keeping her words short to keep from crying. "See you soon, Chiquita." I squeezed her tighter, savored the vanilla scent of her hair, and pulled away. Before I could start crying too, I pulled open the back door to the van and climbed up, sitting myself next to the orange-haired boy. Striking my scary grin, I hung out the door for a minute.
"Take care of Gabriel and Luke for me, okay?" I called to my mom, and closed the door. She laughed weakly and nodded, waving with her sister and my cousin as we drove away. With a sigh, I sat back into my seat and closed my eyes for a moment.
No turning back anymore.
"Gabriel and Luke?"
The question had come from the ice-boy in the passenger seat. He got a scolding look fromMr. Logan but ignored it, leaning over the side of the chair to better look at me. "Mind your own business, Drake," he warned under his breath, but I could hear him.
"They're my younger brothers," I replied, taking a deep breath. Conversation would be good to keep my mind off of what was going on. "They're at a retreat on the other side of the island, so I didn't get to see them."
"You've lived here your whole life?" he asked. From the sound of his voice, he seemed to consider that a praiseworthy feat. Considering the nature of his powers and the heat of the island, it wouldn't be surprising for him to think so.
"Nah. I was born here, but lived between Miami and New York for a couple of years before moving back." It'd been a while since I'd told somebody this, and I couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious by the attention. "This is my favorite place out of all, though."
"You'll like the Institute," he said, so sure of the fact that I almost believed him. "Scott and Jean can be a bit stiff, but it's a pretty cool place. I'm Bobby by the way, codename Iceman and team leader. That's Ray, aka Berserker." He pointed to the funny-haired guy next to me, and I smiled cautiously. "Sam, aka Cannonball. You'll see why later." He grinned and Sam looked away, a hint of embarrassment showing on his cheeks. I could only begin to imagine why he'd have a codename like that, or why they had codenames at all, but I decided to let it rest until later on.
"So, what's your name gonna be?"
I looked at him for a moment until I caught on. "Oh." I hadn't really thought about giving myself another name, but now that they brought it up, I found I wasn't sure about what I'd want to be called. This was a new beginning, and if I wanted to start off with a new name...
"How about you call me... Danielle, or Danny for short," I suggested. He seemed disappointed that I hadn't come up with a codename per see, but I shook my head and laughed lightly.
"Let's take this one step at a time, Mr. Iceman. Name now, codename later."