They Called Me "Talented"

A/N We're about half way through. I'm a visual thinker, so I appreciate visuals. If I were able to draw worth beans, I'd draw Bonnie for you. I guess it'd be a pretty boring pic, though, since all it'd be is some random girl sitting in a jail cell. You can google that. Maybe I'd include the Alaska-smudge.

I apologize for the somewhat AU elements, namely the mansion losing its anonymity to a flock of teenage humans. Bonnie's awareness of these things is quite pivotal to the plot, and I'm afraid I am unaware of how to reconcile this.

In short, I am grateful to those who read and review.

I close my eyes, and rewind back to the dripping on that floor. I'm pretty sure that floor was worth more money than the mini-van I drove to get us the mansion.

I hadn't planned on staying. I felt out of place there, being the only human in a school full of mutants. I don't know if it was prejudice or not. Maybe it was, but it can't be helped. Wouldn't I be equally self conscious if I was the only European-American in a school full of African-Americans? Anywho, I didn't want to intrude on my friend's new residence and school.

Sure you don't want to stay? Someone had asked me.

I insisted I would be fine. A mug of coffee would be appreciated, and then I would head back home. In truth, I didn't feel fine. I was hours from home, and holding up my eyelids felt like trying to hoist up steel. I was calculating how much taxes amounted to, in order to pay for a night at what was probably a roach-infested motel.

Maybe the bags under my eyes were a clear enough indicator that no, I was not fine. I later learned that the head master was supposed to be a telepath. Either way, basically the guy I was talking to insisted that I should stay, there was an extra room anyway, blah blah blah and I can't remember what else he said. When Natalie started pestering me to stay the night, too, I caved again. Damn peer pressure.

I got lost trying to find the room, and ended up finding the kitchen instead. I guess I'm just not good with directions at o-dark hour. I accidentally snuck up on a guy when I sat down with a mug of brewing tea. Actually, I think he nearly fell off his stool, which would have made me laugh if I wasn't so tired.

He mentioned I appeared new. "Are you a stealth type mutant?" he inquired awkwardly. The late hour could not be improving his vocabulary.

"I'm not," I mumbled, as another person, I assume a student, swung in from the doorway, before rummaging through the various cupboards. The late hour wasn't doing much for me, either, because I couldn't keep myself from blurting out, "Check the one on the left."

He glanced at me, before checking the area I had indicated. Immediately, he found the soda he was apparently looking for.

The teen who was still sitting next to me ventured, "Okay, are you a telepath?"

I didn't know how I knew what I knew. If Natalie were there, she'd be able to explain these kinds of outburst were normal, still are normal, I should add. I stared into my mug, the transparent liquid slowly taking on a golden color under the influence of the tea bag. "I'm not."

Theatrically, the teen next to me through up his hands, and stated, "Okay, I give up. What is your mutation?"

"I'm not," I replied, refusing to make eye contact. I didn't have to look at him to know he was dubious. I gave a lazy shrug, and finished, "a mutant, I mean. I'm a human."

"If you don't mind me asking, what's a human doing in the X-mansion. I'm Pako, by the way," introduced the boy adjacent to me, sipping from the can of Coke.

I didn't offer a name, instead saying, "I drove my friend here from Virginia."

"Wait, wouldn't her parents drive her?" Pako asked.

Irritably, I replied, "Go ask her." Really, it was none of his business that Natalie's parents wouldn't drive her. It was none of their business that they took her change badly, and she called me in the middle of the night sobbing. It wasn't their business that I was missing school in order to drive my friend ten hours north. I would end up grounded for a week by the time I got back. I was lucky it wasn't longer; my parents saw my side of the story and said something along the lines of doing the wrong thing for the right reason.

"I'm Crater," introduced the guys sitting next to me. I determined they were code names, of sorts. "Look, you don't have to hide things here. This is a safe place for us."

From people like me. From people like the legislators and policeman who enact laws like the mutant registration act. From people like Natalie's parents, whose short-sightedness effectively alienated them from their daughter.

I managed to hold my tongue, and left. I my tea remained on the counter, untouched. What a waste of good tea.

My mom calls it our "talent." She can actually see ghosts and stuff. I just blurt out random things I shouldn't have a way of knowing. Oh, and I can sense energies, which is really handy in energy work. I'm glad I took the time to learn Reiki, because I have really been able to help people with that. If I remember correctly, aren't mutations supposed to come from the Dad? Well, I inherited certainly inherited one thing from my Dad: his gargantuan size. Even now, I have to curl up a little to keep my feet from hanging off the bed. Meghan actually ended up playing foot ball during junior high, since she was certainly as large as most of the boys, and about the only team mate who took anything seriously.

Going back to my Mom, I think intuition, if it is inherited, is a matrilineal thing, or at least it is for us. That might explain why women have a greater tendency to be spiritual. Of course, in that case, it would make Christianity a very backwards religion. After all, Christianity is traditionally male-dominated, instead of female-dominated.

Whatever. Whatever you call it: talent, mutation, curse, intuition, I'm still stuck with it, and look where it landed me.