A/N: Here's chapter two. It's from my original character's point of view. I know that a lot of people hate original characters, and sometimes with good reasons. I myself like them -- I like to invent someone totally new to interact with already-established characters. And I make it a point to try and avoid writing Mary Sues. I prefer characters who are relatable and real.

And my OCs are not an excuse to like... write out my own personal fantasies or anything like that (like many Mary-Sue OCs are). If that was the plan, I'd tell you right now that this story would be short, sweet, and rated XXX. ;) But it's not. haha.

And that being said, anyone who's read my writing knows that I spend a lot of time setting things up. So, have a little patience while I get the backbone of the story up and running. :) They will have much more interaction in the future, I promise -- and it won't all be school-related (not by far). I'm actually thinking now (having worked out more of the plot in my head) that some of the other X-Men will probably show up more than I originally intended. Which is not to say a lot, but more than just cameos, I think.

Anyway... I think the whole point of this was for me to say to have some patience, and give this story a chance, even if you're kind of turned off by the idea of an OC. If you read awhile and then decide you don't like her, okay. :) I'll not be offended.

But thank you for reading, and for everyone who left reviews! Seeing those alerts in my inbox brightens my day. :)

Chapter 2: Starting Over

August 16, 2006
Sera

I can't believe I'm actually doing this.

"Slone? Sera Slone?" I looked up as my named was called.

"Here," I said, with a small half-wave. A few students glanced back at me and I felt a little conspicuous. The boy sitting diagonally from my desk turned slowly, met my eyes, and smiled. I smiled back, making a mental note: cute guy in next row appears to be affable. Should attempt to make friends later in case I ever need to borrow notes some day.

I leaned back in my chair, tracing my fingers around a crudely designed Omega symbol etched into the desktop surface. I would never understand why kids felt the need to deface public property. In elementary school, it was always names and simple geometric figures. At the high school I'd taught at, the boys were fond of carving creative curses into the wood along with the phone numbers of ex-girlfriends and promises of a "good time". And in college, the artwork almost reverted back to elementary school, only this time the geometric figures were actually just Greek letters; some misguided attempt at fraternity or sorority pride. I would have thought that by the time you reached the age of eighteen, you'd have outgrown that sort of behavior, but I guess not. When you got right down to it, there were certain things about schools that would always be universal, whether it was elementary school or college; privately owned or state-funded.

I bet I'm the oldest person in here.

I turned my head, appraising each classmate in an orderly fashion. It had been nine years since I'd first set foot on any campus and five years since the last time I'd been on one. Looking around at all the young, jittery freshman, I realized that most of them would have been nine years old at the time when I was originally in their position. Nine years old. Sweet Jehovah.

I slouched in the seat as the instructor continued down the roster, reading off the names one by one. I wonder if he found it as amusing as I did that half of those names would no longer be on the roster come midterm. "Thomas… Lucinda Thomas? Tripp… Martin Tripp?"

What time does that next class start? I wonder if I can make it over there on time…

I reached into my backpack – how silly it felt, to walk around carrying that after a few short years of using a briefcase – and pulled out my DayPlanner. This class, Financial Accounting I, was immediately followed by another prerequisite finance class, Intro to Ethics. Then I was supposed to meet up with Dylan and Randi in the food court for lunch. Beyond that, the rest of my day was open. I smiled. I'd nearly forgotten, in my nervousness about starting over, just how great college life could be.

"Worthington? Warren Worthington?"

I snapped back to attention.

"Here." The reaction was simultaneous and in unison, as if it'd been choreographed. Twenty-two heads swiveled to see who'd spoken that one word. And, I predicted, twenty-two heads were also wondering if that boy, the uncomfortable-looking kid in the very back wearing the sloppy t-shirt and jeans, was that Warren Worthington. Son of Worthington Jr., CEO of the multi-billion dollar Worthington Industries. The guy who was on the cover of Fortune magazine no less than twice a year.

He stared straight ahead, stonefaced, ignoring the idle looks of our classmates. He probably got that a lot, I figured. Stares and whispers. Came with the territory of being a billionaire, I could only assume.

Good-looking kid, I noted. Blonde curls. Slight tan. Sharp, delicate features. Not really my type, but then again it would be a sad day if I had designs on an eighteen-year old.

"Okay, I'm going to pass out the syllabus now," our professor announced, and one by one the class turned forward. I grabbed a copy of the syllabus and silently followed along as Dr. Frank read through the class rules and list of upcoming projects. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I couldn't help but sneak a glance behind me. He was following along the syllabus, as well, with his elbows on the desk and head in his hands.

Warren Worthington the third, joining the ranks of the college masses, I mused silently. Interesting. Sitting up straight, I returned my attention to the front of the room.

xxxxx

When I'd graduated college the first time, I thought I'd been set for life. My mother had been an algebra teacher, and since numbers were in my blood, I followed suit, earning a degree in math. I'd gotten a job teaching high school geometry and pre-calculus at a school in the suburbs of Charleston. I'd gotten engaged, finally, to the man I'd dated since I was sixteen, and we moved into a tiny, but beautiful little house that we'd paid a little too much for. But overall, it was the American dream, really. Almost sickening. I'd followed the script my parents set out for me: stayed out of trouble, gotten good grades, dated the 'good' guy. At my five-year high school reunion, my friends all commented that I seemed to have it made. Not too shabby for a country girl from the mountains of West Virginia.

I should have been happy. I had no right not to be happy, not with everything I'd been given. But try as I might, I could never quite shake the feeling that my so-called perfect life was just a cage. I'd never stepped outside the perimeter. Never done anything truly spontaneous. For the most part, I'd always done what I'd been told was best for me. And eventually, I had the damning realization that what was best for me might just be another life entirely.

And here I am, living that new life…

I absentmindedly smoothed back the hair of my ponytail, lost in thought. In retrospect, I'd gotten out of my sticky situation somewhat easily. The wedding was cancelled, and shortly after, my fiancé Nick and I ended things altogether. He kept the house, the four-year-old Toyota Camry, and the German Shepherd. I took the washer and dryer, the 32-inch TV, and the queen-sized pillow top bed. I'd moved to New York on a whim, surviving by bartending at a pub down on Broadway while I figured out what I wanted to do. In recent months, I'd finally decided: go back to school and get a new career. I was good with numbers, that much I'd already proven, so it was time to get a job where I could really get paid for that talent – thus, finance. But in making that choice, I'd gone from secure, safe, and predictable to uncertainty and a steady diet of Ramen noodles.

And truthfully? Despite my anxieties, I'd never been happier.

I glanced around at my second group of classmates rejoining the real world. I recognized a few familiar faces from the previous class (including, interestingly enough, Warren Worthington), but for the most part, it was a new group. The professor for Ethics, a man named Leon Marcus, was late – on the first day, no less. Everyone was getting antsy, unsure whether they should adhere to the mythical '5-10-15 minute' rule. The way I'd always heard (and abided by), you waited five minutes for a graduate assistant, ten minutes for a professor, and fifteen minutes for a doctor before giving up and bolting for the door. It hadn't been quite ten minutes yet, but we were almost there.

The cute guy who had smiled at me in the previous class was in this one, as well, a fact that made me happier than it should have. I wasn't exactly ready to get into another relationship yet, but having never truly been single before, I kind of liked the open option of 'What if?'. Plus, having some friendly eye candy to enjoy was never a bad thing.

He was sitting in front of me, so I leaned forward to speak. "Well," I said. "This Marcus guy hasn't exactly made a stellar first impression on me."

He turned sideways in his seat, giving me another killer smile. My eyes went to his hair, a rich, dark brunette cut in an attractively mussed shag. "I've had friends who've had him," he said, his voice a deep baritone. "They said he was always late, scatterbrained. He lost their midterms, and everybody had to take the tests again."

"Fantastic," I said with fake cheer. "It's good to see that incompetence crosses all geographic and intellectual boundaries. I'd thought maybe it was just delegated to West Virginia."

"West Virginia? I should have known by the accent. Home of the Mountaineers?" He nodded. "Good football team."

"So I hear. I didn't go to a single game while I was at WVU, though." He had an interesting nose, I decided. It appeared to have been broken before, with a slight crook in it. A nose with character.

"WVU?" he asked. "Did you transfer from there?"

I blushed, realizing I was about to give up my age to this guy and probably scare him off. "No. I got a degree from there… a few years ago. Math. I just turned twenty-seven," I added, when I saw that he was about to ask. "An old lady amongst children."

"Really," he said. "You have a young face. But… you're back in school again… why?"

"Career change," I said. No need for details just yet. "Just decided I needed something different."

He nodded his approval. "I can certainly relate. I'm actually on my third major switch now. Indecision's my middle name." His eyes crinkled with laughter. "And I'm twenty-four, by the way. So you're not quite that old to me."

Twenty-four, you say? Interesting…

"Thank you," I said dryly. "I appreciate the semi-compliment."

"You're very welcome." He shifted in his seat, and extended one hand out to me. "By the way, I'm Jonathan."

"I'm Sera," I said. "With an 'e'."

"An 'e'?" he repeated.

"S-E-R-A," I spelled out for him. "What can I say? My parents were hippies. Maybe disregarding government-sanctioned spelling standards was their way of fighting back against 'the man'."

He laughed, nodding. "Maybe so. I-"

"Oh! So sorry, everyone…" Jonathan was interrupted by the arrival of our professor – a youngish guy with long, sandy hair… who, by my watch, was a full fourteen minutes late. "There was an accident down on 5th and we were all detoured around the block…" He muttered to himself a few minutes more, collecting and organizing his desk space. His tie was half-undone, the top button of his shirt open. He was also sweating, I noticed. He must have run all the way to the building.

"But enough about that," he continued after a moment. "Let's get started." He yanked out his paperwork and began calling roll, so I settled back in my seat.

Once class was over, I walked slowly out the door, chatting with Jonathan. It was a relief, actually, to see how easy it could be to make new friends. One of my biggest fears in moving this far away from home had been that I wouldn't be able to adjust and meet new people – but so far, so good.

This was definitely the right decision… I can do this…

We stood together in the hallway, still talking, when someone brushed past me, knocking the DayPlanner I held under my arm right into the floor. I bent to pick it up, giving a curious look to the guy who'd bumped me.

"Sorry," Warren Worthington said flatly, giving me only a quick cursory glance before turning around and walking away. I raised an eyebrow. Jonathan did the same.

So much for chivalry. He could have at least made an attempt to bend and pick up what he knocked down…

"He seems… pleasant," I murmured.

"Most rich kids are," Jonathan agreed. Our eyes met, and I couldn't help but chuckle a little.

"Well, Jonathan, I'm off to lunch with friends," I said. "But hey, I'll see you later."

"Well, Sera with an 'e'," he said, winking, "you most certainly will."

xxxxx

One of the more encouraging things about moving to New York had been the opportunity to reunite with some friends who had long since flown the coop of Wheeling, West Virginia. Dylan and Randi Cox were brother and sister, fraternal twins, and an adventuresome, comic duo. I'd spent many weekends in high school at their place when their parents went out of town, drinking bottles of Boones Farm and poorly mixed, sugary margaritas. At the time, we thought ourselves to be incredibly bad-ass, but the fact that we never attended any real parties thrown by classmates back then spoke volumes.

The two of them made the leap to New York immediately after high school, both interested in pursuing a career in acting. Randi wanted to be the movie star, a glamour girl, an awards-show whore. Dylan's fantasy was to be on Broadway, playing the lead in Sweeney Todd.

Naturally, Randi was currently waitressing at Le Deauville, a classy French restaurant with a stereotypically temperamental French chef, and Dylan was a props manager for the Elwood Theatre Company. Both poor, both waiting for their big break, but both having the time of their lives in the process.

They met me for lunch in the food court on campus, a large buffet-style set-up with pretty glass skylights and lots of foliage inside. I had gone for uber-cheap McDonald's cuisine, while the two of them had headed to some Italian eatery I'd never heard of for pizza and breadsticks. We'd chosen a table closest to the window that overlooked the quad, and I'd been dominating the conversation thus far, giving them all the sordid details of my day. Well, dominating the conversation until the topic of a certain billionaire came up, anyway.

"What? Did you say Warren Worthington?" Randi's eyes lit up hungrily. Figures. She had often said her 'true' goal in life was to marry rich, sit at home, and produce an assembly line of heirs. It was a joke – I think – but any mention of well-to-do young men in her presence was always met with that mischievous gleam.

"Yep," I said, taking a long sip of my Coke. It had long since watered down; we'd been sitting in the food court for awhile. "He was in both of my classes today."

"I bet he's going for a Finance major, too," Randi mused. "I saw his picture in the paper a few months back, he was at some charity dinner with his dad… he's incredibly hot, Sera…" Her brow furrowed in concentration, a long-time, familiar habit I remembered from our Central Catholic High School days. "…and you might be seeing him a lot…" Her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh! Just think, if you play your cards right, you could get in good with him and be an analyst for Worthington Industries!" She gave me a toothy grin. "And then casually introduce us along the way…"

Dylan just rolled his eyes, tossing back his dark, disheveled hair. He was a prime example of God's sick sense of humor towards femalekind – incredibly smart, talented, sweet, funny, goodlooking, and, of course… gay. "Jesus, I think you're actually salivating," he said, pointing his plastic fork at his five-minute-younger sister. "Next thing we know you'll be hanging around the Business College, staking him out like a groupie."

I shrugged, turning back to Randi, addressing her original point. "There's no telling what he's doing. All the majors in the college of business have the same basic requirements, so I don't know what his focus is going to be in. Besides," I added. "I don't think I'd want to work for him, anyway. I suspect he's a jerk."

"Why?" Randi asked.

"He has billions of dollars, Ran," Dylan said. "Of course he's going to be a jerk."

"He bumped into me and knocked my book in the floor… didn't even bother to try and pick it up." I rattled my nearly-empty cup around, wondering if they offered free refills here. Scholarship and grant money had taken care of most of my tuition, but living expenses were insanely high in New York. Thank God for student loans. "Well… he did apologize, if you could call it that. Though I don't think a hateful 'Sorry' spoken while halfway down the hall really counts."

Randi chomped down on the remainder of her Hawaiian pizza, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe he was just in a hurry," she said, mouth full. Dylan chastised her lack of manners, but she ignored him. "You know. Important meeting, or something."

Dylan snorted. "Yeah, I'm so sure. What I can't figure out is why he's taking classes in the first place. He could just go work for daddy until it's time to inherit the business. He's set. What good is a college major compared with real work experience?"

"That shows he has ambition," Randi said dreamily. "He wants to earn the family business…"

Dylan and I exchanged a look. It amazed me that twins could be so different – one grounded and stable, one flighty and reckless. The two of them might have only been a year younger than me, but there were times when I suspected Randi had the mental capacity of a fourteen-year-old. It was a good thing she was so lovable.

I crumpled up my napkins and burger wrapper. "Whatever," I said. "I'm tired of talking about him. Let me tell you about this incredibly cute, nice guy named Jonathan who was also in both of my classes today…"

Dylan nodded in approval. "Incredibly cute? Continue."

xxxxx

I live in a cracker box. Well, a studio apartment, which is essentially the same thing (the dimensions are not that different, I promise). But at least it's a nice cracker box, pest-free and in a relatively good part of town. And I have my own bathroom. I'd heard horror stories from friends who'd lived in apartments with community bathrooms, and I'd had plenty of that nonsense in the dorms at WVU. Gross clumps of strange dark hair in the drain and used razors lying around? No, thanks. Living on my own was considerably more expensive, but I figured it would be worth it. Again – thank God for student loans.

One day down… another three years to go.

I sauntered inside and threw my backpack down on the bed. I wasn't used to having empty days. Teaching school had lasted until three o'clock, and since I'd been elected to be the sponsor of the Pep Club (new teachers always got shafted when it came to those things), many of my afternoons were spent chaperoning meetings. After that, it was usually home for dinner, followed by a quick workout, followed by a marathon of grading tests and papers until about midnight.

This new lifestyle was making me look downright lazy. A couple of classes each morning, leisurely workouts in the afternoon, and some hours shilling beers at the bar a few times a week. I knew that things would get considerably more hectic once school was in full swing, but for the time being, I was enjoying the loose structure of my days.

I sat down at my desk – a hand-me-down from my father, an old roll-top style that had a few splintered spots here and there in the wood – and pulled out my class schedule, poring over it. I was taking sixteen hours this semester, a full load, but not overwhelming by any means. I had learned that because of my previous tenure at college, all the generic general ed requirements were already taken care of, which had immediately shaved one year off of getting a degree. That was excellent news. I took solace in the fact that at least I'd be getting my new degree before I turned thirty. Barely.

The first four classes were pretty standard. In addition to basic Accounting and Ethics, I was enrolled in Business Writing and Statistical Method, more requirements. And then a physical fitness course in Ultimate Frisbee, which I thought was hysterical. There hadn't been any other required classes available at a time I could take them this semester, so I'd decided to do something fun and pointless. It was part of my new outlook on life – no regrets. Once I'd made the decision to leave West Virginia, I'd become determined to go with my gut and see where it led me. For better or worse.

After refreshing my memory, I tossed the schedule down and grabbed the newspaper from my backpack. Nothing too interesting today – YANKS BEAT SOX, 5-3; PRESIDENT HUGHES SIGNS NEW VOTING ACT, MUTANT ARRESTED AFTER BANK-ROBBING SPREE. Yawning, I threw the paper in the trash and stood up. Hours to kill before going into work… Smiling at the luxury, I decided it would be a good time for a nap.

xxxxx

August 30, 2006

"You realize that there's a group project for this class."

I looked up from my book. It was a dreary Wednesday, Dr. Marcus was late again, and I'd been passing the time with my most recent purchase, a secondhand copy of Animal Dreams from the used bookstore two blocks from campus. Jonathan had turned around in his chair, and was giving me an expectant look.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And it's gonna start soon, according to the syllabus." He paused, grinning and propping his elbow on my desk, and resting his square chin on one hand. My, but he was a charmer. "I'm just gonna go ahead and claim you right now, if that's all right."

"Claim me? What are you, a Neanderthal?" Nevertheless, I smiled. Jonathan just had one of those easy, impish personalities that made him impossible not to like. "What makes you think we'll get to pick our own groups, anyway? You know, I was a teacher for almost four years… part of our job description included making kids as miserable as possible by pairing them up with the people they loathed most."

He chuckled. "True. People like you made my high school years a painful experience." I smirked, feigning pride in that statement. "But, seriously," he continued, "if that's not the case – can I work with you? I'd like to be in a group where I can be the slacker for once."

He gave me a wink to let me know he was joking. We'd discussed the flakiness of younger college students on several occasions already. Both of us being older, we'd long since lost our tolerance for cheap excuses and last-minute work. I snorted, dog-earring page eighty-three in my book when I noticed Dr. Marcus breezing into the door. I tossed the book back in my back and pulled out a pen and notebook.

"Funny, I was about to say the same thing," I said sweetly. Jonathan turned around, grabbing his own notebook and pencil. I leaned forward, whispering. "But yeah, sure. That would be great, actually." Without turning around, he gave me the thumbs-up.

Dr. Marcus tossed down his briefcase and strolled to the front of the room. He was the type to start talking as soon as he walked in, without so much as a preface. No intro, no roll-call, he just stormed through the discussions. And he always seemed to have a perpetually unkempt look about him, which went along well with the rumors of being scatterbrained. Maybe that was what a philosophy degree did to people.

"So," he intoned, catching the class's attention. "Does everyone here know what a whistleblower is?"

"A chick with a kinky oral sex fetish!" called out one guy in the back, which was met with muffled snorts of laughter. I rolled my eyes.

Dr. Marcus, for his part, barely blinked. "No, Adam. Anyone else?" He made eye contact with me, and I knew I was next. I'd learned he was the type to just call on someone if he didn't get an immediate answer. "Sera?"

"Someone who reports wrongdoing, like for a corporation, or the government," I said, suddenly feeling young and inferior. I wondered how long it would take before I got used to being the student instead of the teacher. "Like… Sherron Watkins from Enron."

"Correct. Now… in the wake of Enron and other similar scandals, there's been some interesting views brought to light about the morality of whistleblowing itself. Is it always right to bring a company's misconduct to the forefront of public consciousness? Are whistleblowers selfless martyrs, or are they glory-seeking publicity hounds?" He paused, scanning the room again. "Marissa?"

"Yeah…" answered a red-haired girl three rows over. "Why wouldn't you tell? I mean, if someone's breaking the law, they're breaking the law, and they should be punished."

He nodded. "Okay. Who else? James?"

"I think that's obvious," replied a deep, laconic voice behind me. "Like she said, this whole country is built on a set of rules and standards… if you can't follow them, then you gotta pay somehow. Let those rich fuckers rot in jail."

The professor raised an eyebrow. "Gotcha. Okay…" Dr. Marcus looked to the back of the room, and I somehow knew who he was about to call on. "Warren? Do you agree?"

There was a long pause before he answered. I struggled not to look back at him out of curiosity. "It depends," Warren finally said.

"What do you mean?"

"Enron employed twenty-one thousand people," Warren said, his voice bored and dry. "And when Sherron Watkins started its unraveling, twenty-one thousand people lost their jobs. Thousands lost their pensions and life savings. Whereas if Enron hadn't been exposed, then they would still be employed and financially stable."

Funny, I hadn't really thought about it that way before. Was it better to keep people in ignorant bliss? Or to be honest and ruin lives?

Marissa, the redhead who'd been called on first, gave an aggravated snort. "So, what, it's okay to keep money fraud covered up and let the guys in charge rip everyone off, so long as all the 'little people' get to keep their jobs? Are you saying that's fair?"

I had to turn and look this time. Warren didn't even look at her as he responded – he kept his gaze on the professor. "I'm not saying anything," he said. "It is what it is. There's no right answer."

I nodded slowly, thinking that statement over. That was the tricky thing about ethics – the fact that commonly held beliefs weren't always right… and yet they weren't always wrong, either. Interesting. At least the Worthington kid seemed to have some smarts. Or maybe just good debating skills.

"Figures he'd say that," Jonathan muttered. "That'll be him one of these days."

I was a little put-off by his tone, but I could see where he was coming from. "Maybe, maybe not," I murmured.

Dr. Marcus walked back to his desk, picking up a stack of papers, and smiled. "And that's the key to this class, and to much of life in general, as you'll find out," he said, passing the sheets down each row. "Sometimes, there is no right answer."