I'm the only girl, she thought to herself.
It wasn't strictly true. Raven Darkholme was the Professor's deputy, and there were women among the support staff, but among the handful of students at the Xavier School for the Gifted, there was Jean Grey, and she felt conspicuous because of her gender.
It was odd but while the Mutant genome was found on the X chromosome it had been so far more commonly expressed in the male, due the Professor explained to the role of testosterone both in the womb and at puberty.
The Professor wasn't sure this would always be case, but it was reality now.
"Dude, those shoes are just so last century." The familiar laugh brought her attention to this present she looked for Robert Drake.
They were in yard at the back of the Mansion. It was break time for want of a better description. Fresh cold January air meant her breath misted as she exhaled. She walked the short distance between her and the boys.
"These are American made work boots." Kent Logan replied matter of fact to Drake's bait.
Kent Logan had been at the school for six years. Unlike Hank McCoy and the boy they called Angel, Kent kept himself to himself. McCoy was only a few years older, and Kent was her age thereabouts, the wrong side of fourteen. She and Bobby had been students for about six months, since the last summer of the twentieth century. The last year had changed their lives forever, because each of their mutant powers had emerged alienating them from both their peers and their loved ones. The Xavier School for the Gifted was what neither society or close family were able to be, welcome and accepting of their difference.
Jean watched as the boys looked each other up and down. They were polar opposites; on the one hand there was Bobby, a lanky pale skinned youth, while Kent was broad shouldered, filling out already with lean muscle. Kent leant against the wall of the Xavier Mansion's rear elevation. Behind the main house's the utility wing, there was this large paved yard, bounded by high gated wall, with a range of two story outbuildings in a L shape making up the rectangle. Jean Grey was around Drake's age, but she was taller than Bobby, as tall as Kent, but Jean reckoned that this Logan kid had some growing up to do. With Bobby was Carter Warren Worthington-Hall, the third, to give him his full East Coast title, and nearly fifteen years old. The C.W was buttoned down in a long coat, giving him a bulky rounded appearance, a coat that hid the most obvious mutation among their group. Warren had adopted the name Angel Hawk for good reason, he carried a pair of wings folded tight against his back. Even here he liked to stay covered up. Jean sensed he was torn between the thrill of his abilities and the shame of being different. He was a latent telekinetic too, although his psychic ability was local, it allowed him to counteract the pull of gravity, that is to fly. The Professor had explained it with a chalk diagram of man with sufficient muscle mass to enabled powered flight, the required pectoral size was grossly inhuman. Angel's subconscious control over gravity meant his wings functioned more like the props on an airship, moving his psychically buoyant body. C.W could extend this effect to persons and objects he was in contact with, there were limits of course, but Angel was pushing these with Xavier's help.
He was deeply conflicted in another way. Carter Warren Worthington-Hall had been forced from the gilded cage of a elite society life, ostracised by the physical changes wrought by his mutation. Rescued by Xavier almost seven years ago and given a home, Angel Hawk had yet to define who he really was. That said C.W possessed the confidence that only an abundance of money brings.
"What do you think C.W?" Bobby asked.
"Thrift store for sure." Angel answered,his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his very expensive full length coat.
With an attitude and a mop of unruly blond air, ice blue eyes, skater pants and sneakers; Robert 'Bobby' Drake was more unthinking than unkind. So direct to be transparent, dressed in a loose fitting untucked shirt, the cold winter wind whipped it aflutter like a dark flag.
"These boots can stand up to hard use." Kent continued. "They have to." He added with a smile which said a great deal without saying anything at all.
"Great for dumpster diving I'm sure." Drake cracked a smile at his own joke.
"Bobby just shut up already." She told him. Drake was very much a newly minted teenager, conscious of C.W.'s wealth, aware that Angel was at home with this Mansion, an scion to a fortune equal to the Xavier's. He wanted to fit in. With her words all Bobby could do was stare at her like a deer caught in headlights.
Girl Power.
"Sorry Jean." Bobby mumbled.
Right now Kent was channelling Marlon Brando from On the Waterfront, an old leather jacket worn over a white T shirt, not so much a gesture to this the first month of the new millennium she thought but rather a style statement, because like shirt sleeved Bobby, Kent seemed impervious to the chill wind. She like Angel was bundled up against the cold, wearing a goose down jacket, gloves and a scarf. Kent's worn jeans were rolled into turn ups above worn but well cared for foot wear of contention.
"What's going on here?" A familiar voice demanded. "Are you okay Jean?"
"I'm fine Scott." She answered.
Scott Summers was a fraction shorter than her, he too had some growing to do, but he'd learned to take charge following the lead of his father – a Major in the USAF. He'd been with the school only a few months longer than her and Bobby, coming in the Spring of 1999. He wore his black hair short, dark glasses that had a deep red tinge covered his eyes, these weren't corrective in the traditional sense, but Summers needed them to function nonetheless. Unchecked his eyes acted as a conduit for some otherworldly energy with incredible destructive potential. Xavier had given them to him, who had made them and of what, wasn't clear. The Professor had only offered that it had been a doctor who was an expert in unexplained forces. With the glasses in place, for the first time since his powers manifested, Scott had been able to open his eyes. Without them he was functionally blind or a machine of wanton destruction. It made Summers in her estimation the closest thing to a living weapon among the School's first Class of Students. His optic blasts made him a living tank meets bulldozer. He was working on precision targeting. They were all works in progress, but Summers was dangerous.
She was telekinetic, useful for remotely moving things from here to there, and she also suspected that she was an empath, a sort of passive telepath. This gift wasn't in the same league as the Professor's incredible powers, she had decided; but Jean was certain she had a sense of what people were feeling, what was hidden behind the surface of another persons words and actions.
"Nothing to worry about here bub." Kent told Summers. Scott frowned and moved between them. "He's not bothering you is he Jean."
"No." She said, working it, she added a dismissive wave of her hand, followed by a toss of her auburn hair, she put her back to Scott, and faced the other way, pointing at both Angel and Drake, then Kent. "Bobby was just offering Kent some fashion advice."
"Because as you know I'm so cool." Bobby said with a grin, and the air around his hand went white and swirled in a tiny icy tornado. Drake's ability was thermodynamic, he could draw out the heat from material, or the air itself, creating ice and manipulating it into specific forms and shapes. Like each student here, including her, Bobby was still learning what he could do with his gifts.
Kent on the other hand was an enigma, he was very strong – when called upon to move a heavy object he did so without complaint or any sign of effort. The scuttlebutt was that he was really very tough too. Just how tough wasn't clear, but the Professor showed no concern about his hobby; riding a motorcycle very quickly around the Estate's several miles of private roads – and if the gossip was to believed further afield too, that would be of course breaking both the School rules, and the law.
He wasn't a regular team player. The excuse was that Kent had been through the exercises the other students used to hone their various abilities. While the other long-time boarder, Hank McCoy assisted Xavier and Darkholme, with the new intake, Kent wasn't to be seen during these lessons.
The implication was that Kent was in control of himself in ways they weren't. Even Hank admitted his condition was constantly evolving, that he was having to adjust to that. It was something Jean sensed troubled the young scientist. Of all of them she sensed that Hank was the least comfortable with his special condition, even though he'd never admit to that.
Some mutations were relatively stable. Scott for example had grown more powerful, but the nature of his mutation was constant, the optic blasts were what they were - red energy acting as force. Other's like Hank were ongoing, constantly evolving. Other mutant abilities were stable for periods of time, before changing explosively. That was her experience. Her telekinetic ability had gone from being able to move a pencil, to being able to move several hundred pounds overnight. The Professor had helped her telepathically, so she could control her vastly increased ability. She understood Hank's fear about the future, she felt it too. What if she experienced another relative power up? How powerful could she become – and what would that mean?
Scott interrupted her thoughts. He took her arm with gentle, albeit unwanted concern. "He isn't asking you to go ride his motorcycle – is he?" Summers asked looking at Kent as he spoke.
Kent had acquired the Harley – his hobby vehicle by surreptitious means. Word was he had built ground up from salvaged parts. Whatever the truth it was now garaged alongside Xavier's collection of exotic and expensive vehicles, and it shone as brightly as any of them.
"What if I was?" Kent asked stepping away from the wall.
"Bobby has a point." Scott replied. "This Rebel with a Clue thing you have going on, I don't know who you think it impresses, because take if from me it doesn't."
Kent reached into his pocket.
Scott tensed.
Kent pulled out a set of keys, tossing them to Summers without really looking at him. Instead Kent's azure eyes were fixed on hers. "Take her out yourself." Kent said. "I can tell you really want too."
As he spoke Scott caught the keys – more out of instinct than desire. He looked at them in his hand, and a pale read glow appeared behind his dark glasses.
Jean sighed. These strutting cocks were setting themselves up for a fight in the school yard, and worse she felt conflicted about the idea. She found herself wondering just how strong and tough Kent really was. If anyone could test that strength it was Scott.
"Which 'her' are you speaking about." Jean asked Kent. "Me or your motorcycle?"
Kent hadn't broken eye contact and it felt like he was looking right through her. Jean was embarrassed, and then aware she was blushing, she turned away, breaking from his stare, letting her hair fall across her face like a veil.
"I'll let Scott work that one out." Kent replied.
"What does that mean." Summers demanded.
"It means one of us has manners." Kent replied. "I was raised to be generous, to give a little, to give a guy a break."
Summers hand tightened around the keys. "There are rules." He stated. Repeating a mantra of his late father. "Ways things should be done. Especially here. You act like you are different from us, like those rules don't apply to you."
"I am different." Kent answered, turning his back, he made to leave.
A few steps later Summers called out after Kent. "What if I break it." Scott asked, his tone defiant and taunting.
"The bike I can fix." Kent replied, looking around, he added after a pregnant pause. "But if you break Jean, then I'll break you."
Scott grimaced, angry, and leant forward his fingers rose to his glasses, but Kent wasn't looking; he walked away.
"No, Scott." Jean said, taking hold of his arm. "Remember – like you said, the Professor's rules matter."
"Don't you turn your back on me?" Scott shouted out, but Kent Logan didn't look back a second time, he kept walking across the wide paved space and out of the gate and into the Estate's expansive gardens beyond.