Continued from yesterday:
“Ah. Jean."
Jean Grey froze when she heard the Professor’s voice. She could sense that he wanted something from her - a useless intuition, given the tone of his voice - but his shields wouldn’t permit further prying. At times like this, she really missed the Norms. They rarely had any kind of shielding. She turned and put on her best smile. "Yes, Professor?"
"We need to have a talk about your night exercises."
_Crud…_ "It’s not as if I need them,” she argued. “I’m fine."
He sighed, entering her room and gently closing the door. "Jean… I have very good reasons for insisting you continue with them."
"But I don’t *need* them,” she said. “I can sleep fine, now."
"As long as you’re alone, or in the same room as someone you’re familliar with,” he said.
“But they’re *bo*ring,” she whimpered, striking at the heart of the real reason. “They keep me awake more than they actually help me sleep anyhow."
"They wouldn’t do that if you kept practicing,” Xavier insisted. “And these comfortable circumstances,” he waved a hand at her room, “are not going to last forever. You *will* find yourself in a situation where you *wish* you had not ignored my counsel, Jean."
"I’m not ignoring, I’m debating,” she said. “And I can’t think of a single situation that I couldn’t teek myself out of, anyhow. The point’s *moot*, Professor."
"If you truly think it is,” he said. “I shall have to leave you with the consequences of your inactions."
_What. Ever._ Jean thought.
_Your day shields need work, too,_ his thoughts entered her mind without so much as a twitch. _You’re better than bare minimum, Jean._
+
They’d come to rest in the window seat, watching the sky turn colours with the evening. The companionable silence between them was warm.
Todd personally felt that he could spend forever in this one, perfect moment. It was just right. Sara was calm, happy, and wrapped lovingly around him. She wasn’t twitchy, itchy, or otherwise uncomfortable… just enjoying the moment with him.
A soft whir heralded Xavier.
"Good afternoon, Professor,” said Sara, only turning her head to look. “I do hope you don’t mind us being comfortable."
"Not at all.” He smiled amiably. “Have you come to any decisions?"
"Your facilities are remarkable,” she said. “Some testing methods - unnerving…” Sara looked over to the harp. Weighing it in the balance, perhaps. “No doubt, if I attempted to strike out on my own, I’d make some kind of botch out of it."
Todd gripped her hand and kissed it, holding it against his cheek. His thoughts were a circle. _Don’t think like that. It hurts both of us. Please don’t think like that…_
"I’m afraid I’m largely unhinged by - of all things - an IQ test. One hundred and eighty… My weltenschaung[1] is thoroughly shattered… not stupid. Just - inopportuned.” The colours of her scales shifted. “I’ll need *some* method of concealment. This…” she examined her hand, “…will not *do*. And short of a truckload of expensive makeup material, I… quite fail to see how else I could blend.” Sara sighed. “Remaining here… is a logical choice."
And how little she considered herself in that choice. Todd tried not to wince.
"I do hope it’s a *correct* choice,” said Xavier. “I will do everything I can to help."
"Todd?"
He half-turned in his place. "If nuttin’ else, yo’ get away from yo’ mom fo’ a while."
"Yes. Change equals holiday. And I feel in sore need of a vacation."
Todd hugged her arm, feeling a profound sense of loss. He’d see her, but she’d be leaving his orbit by slow degrees. He knew. X-geeks and the ‘hood didn’t mix.
"Will Todd be allowed to visit?” asked Sara. “Or any of my friends?"
_Not Janine,_ thought Todd. _Not Janine. Yo’ don’ need *her*…_
"Of course,” he breezed. “Anyone comfortable with coming here, can. We - just prefer advance notice."
"Quite understood,” said Sara. “Professor?"
"Yes?"
"What happens now?"
[1] World view.
~~
Well, at least she’d mastered the art of asking perplexing questions. "Therein lies a problem,” said Charles. “Your mother… didn’t exactly give me much of a chance to inform her of the opportunity you’ve been given."
"Why th’ hell we need her fo’?” said Todd. “Sara’s sixteen, yo. She can run off an’ go somewhere new any chance she likes. All legal-like.” A brief vision of a white picket fence keeping a small horde of lizard-frog children safe flitted through his mind.
…and echoed in Sara’s. “You know… that might just work. I can call Ray. He and the staff have always been - helpful.” _And why not?_ “You and Jean can run interference and explain the van away whilst we move all my junk. It’s perfect. Would you like to come along, dear?"
Todd practically glowed under the influence of the invitation. "He'p you outta th’ lion’s den? Fo’ *sure*, yo."
"And while we’re occupied,” said Charles, a firm lesson forming in his head, “Logan and Hank can prepare your room."
+
Sara had thrown a hoodie on, and fiddled with a pair of work gloves. "On or off?” she wondered aloud.
“On, yo,” advised Todd. “Stops anyone seein’ what they shouldn’t oughta. Don’ want no nosy neighbours spreadin’ sh– stories."
"This can’t be right,” Jean was murmuring. “We’re heading into Snobby Slopes."
Sara snorted at the nickname. "Yes. I guess we are.” She grinned like the cat that had found a canary in the cream.
Todd peeked out a window and whistled. “Yo, these places are *huge*."
"Most of it’s empty space,” dismissed Sara. “The how and why of flaunting one’s heating bill. Amongst other things."
"You *been* in some o’ these?"
"Dear… as you would say - this mah hood, yo."
"Yo, that’s just scary."
Sara giggled. At least until she spotted a small convention of matching pink SUVs clustered in a curved driveway. "Oh *no*…” she moaned. “Mom’s called a *pow-wow*…"
”*Pardon*?“ said Jean.
"Whenever she’s in crisis mode, Mom calls in all her relatives for unnecessary counselling. And since it’s now after school… there’s a high risk of *cousins*."
Todd felt his stomach sink. "Somethin’ tells me they ain’t like you."
"No,” said Sara. “They’re not. Have you seen _Village of the Damned_ and _The Stepford Wives_?"
”*Oh*.“ Todd shuddered. "Ick."
"Could you park at the side? That way, Todd and I can nip 'round to the back without a fuss, and you won’t get boxed in by Soccer Moms."
"Interesting,” said the Professor. “Not many people in this area have had ramps installed."
"And not many people spot *ours*,” said Sara. “Good luck with the gorgons, and try not to let them pinhole you about fashion versus style.” She opened up the back doors and bailed out.
Todd followed, keeping up with her eager steps at a light jog. “Yo, I knew yo’ were loaded, but… *day-umn*, yo."
"Didn’t you know? The Adriens are Old Money from Boston. Dad only built here 'cause Mom wanted to be close to her family.” She waved at a distant figure on a ride-on lawnmower, who startled, and then waved back. “That was Henry Basilton. He and Mom have had a low-grade war about the gardens since day one… sometimes, I think he only stays on to stop her from taking over."
"He does excellent work,” said Todd.
Sara braked at a door and rapped on it. {tap tap tatap tap}
“Two bits,” murmured Todd.
Sara grinned.
“Sara! Hola!” The slightly rounded Mexican-American opened her arms wide.
“Consuela!” Sara did the same. They embraced. “Todd, this is Consuela StMartinez. Consuela, Todd Tolenksy… my boyfriend."
Todd’s heart exploded in happy fireworks. He didn’t even know what he was babbling until he realised he’d slid into Spanish.
”[You’ve found a good one, to be so polite in *here*.]“
”[I’m as surprised as you are,]“ said Sara, also speaking Spanish. ”[Todd, you didn’t tell me you were bilingual.]“
"Never came up,” he blushed. “Gotta be good at *somethin’*, yo."
”[Ah, we make him *shy*.]“ Consuela embraced him and kissed his forehead. "You will be good for her. I approve."
And somehow, this was a better blessing than anything from her biological mother. Todd floated along as they wound through a maze of back passages and corridors.
"Hetty started packing your books the minute Ray told us,” said Consuela. “We’ll be sad to see you go, miss Adrien."
"I’m not exactly sorry *to* go… I mean, away from *Mom*. I’ll miss all of you."
Consuela looked around for errant spies. "Ray mentioned something else,” she whispered. “A big change for you?"
"Yeah,” Sara eased her hood back a little. “I’m a mutant… and I’m growing scales. Well… sort-of scales."
Consuela hissed in sympathy. "Ouch… Mi niña pobre(1)… You need all the rest you can get. Which means we get you out of here.”
“Bless you, Consuela.”
Hetty turned out to be none other than the British exchange student, a senior who looked startled to be sharing the same room with Todd Tolensky.
Sara pulled her hood as far forward as it could go and thanked the girl profusely for her help.
“Go downstairs,” said Consuela, catching the vibe. “They’ll be wanting the finger-food and drinks, soon.”
“Yes’m,” Hetty bolted.
Sara stepped over a few boxes to greet what looked like a ginger tribble in a plastic tube. “Hel-lo Chuckie,” she cooed. “Did 'oo miss mommy?” The apparent tribble unfurled into a hamster and scurried through the tubing to a little hatch. “Aw, yes 'oo did…” She fed him an apple chip and smiled at Todd. “This is Chuckie the Wonder Hamster. Sort of a science project leftover, if you will.” She told the story, how her previous year’s class had had a female hamster, who then gave birth to a small crowd of baby hamsters, and subsequently abandoned them. How the entire class banded together - for a change - to save the tiny lives, naming them after characters from Rugrats in the process of nurturing them. And how she discovered that the otherwise intelligent creature was agorophobic.
Todd had never seen a healthier rodent. Chuckie practically gleamed. And Sara had invested a great deal of money into making him comfortable, as he could see from the wide assortment of rodent tubing, toys, and the hand-crafted cardboard 'kennel’ in his fishtank home.
“But enough jibber-jabber. We need to get moving before Mom twigs.”
(1) My poor little girl.
~
Meanwhile, Jean and Professor Xavier were discovering that Sara rarely joked when talking in shorthand.
The assembled group of women were caught in the middle of a makeover party. Some were curling their hair while others were straightening it. Most wore some kind of facial pack. All glared at the interlopers as if, at any instant, their eyes would start glowing red.
“Terribly sorry to intrude,” soothed Xavier. “But we weren’t able to conduct a proper conversation on the telephone. I thought, perhaps, if I bought a student representative of my school, it might allay some of your–” _bitching_ “–concerns."
"Hi Mrs Adrien,” Jean was uncertain which of these gargoyles was which, so she pitched to the assembly. “I’m Jean Grey, one of the Seniors at Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, and–"
"Jean *Grey*,” sang a brunette in a pink power suit. “I read *so* much about you in the local news.” She stood and took her hand. “You must make your parents *so* proud."
_Actually, I scare the living crap out of them,_ Jean thought behind her polite rictus. _But that’s not a point I’m going to bring up in *here*._ Instead of verbalising a lie, however, she just laughed. Party Laugh number five, which meant, "I’m laughing politely because I haven’t got anything nice to say.” She rallied admirably, though, and continued from where she left off. “And we’d like to have your Sara join us. Along with her skill with the harp, we’ve discovered she has a very high IQ–"
"Unless that stands for *idiot* quotient,” iced Mrs Adrien, “I find that very hard to believe."
Hetty Smith, replete with a maid’s outfit, toured the room with petit fours. "Excuse me, m’m,” she said, pretending Jean wasn’t there. “M'seur Marchants is very upset. Apparently, someone has ordered *pizzas*, m’m."
"Just take them down to the game room and tell M'seur that boys will be boys[1], and I will compensate him adequately for any distress he’s experienced."
"Yes’m.” Hetty bobbed and withdrew from the room.
If Jean knew Hetty, the news about Jean Grey visiting Sara’s house would be all over the school before the hour was out. Well, Jean had even better ammunition if she *did* blab, and that was *how* Hetty found *out*. “Mrs Adrien, it’s very easy for a genius to be misidentified as a trouble-maker. I, myself, had a similar problem,” _Although *my* problem wasn’t helped by hearing what other people thought…_ “When I was much younger, of course. Professor Xavier now has trained staff who can spot a -er- troubled youth and recommend testing.” _Is it me, or am I talking *really* fast?_
_It’s excusable,_ 'said’ the Professor. _I had trouble getting a word in edgewise, too._
Mrs Adrien, however, was somewhat rocked by the news that Jean had had 'trouble’ in her early life. “*You*… were misidentified?"
Jean laughed. Party Laugh number three, "It’s funny now, but it sure as hell wasn’t funny *then*.” “Oh yes,” she said. “I was very withdrawn and moody, a situation not helped by the death of a close friend. I was bored with schoolwork and because of my depression, I began to ignore it. My grades slipped startlingly."
"Fortunately,” Xavier smoothly entered into the conversation, “I was performing a study on intelligent youths and why their grades were sometimes - erratic. I was able to help Jean overcome her difficulties and put her on the best path for her learning."
_I suddenly feel like I’m on a platter with parsely in my ears,_ 'said’ Jean. _"Here’s one we prepared earlier…” Thanks a bunch, Prof._ “Everybody’s been very pleased,” she said with Party Laugh number eight, “Little miss humble."
"Tell me, Professor,” said Mrs Adrien. “Could you work a similar miracle with my *daughter*?” Interesting, how she used that word as an epithet.
More tiny morsels were passed about by an older maid, thus distracting the room from three people carrying boxes down an adjacent hallway. Sara, Todd, and Ray, in that order.
“I have no doubt that Sara will shine,” he said, “once given a fair chance."
"And -ah- how *foolproof* are your testing methods?” asked a co-gorgon.
“One hundred percent,” chirped Jean. “The IQ test is just one of many that we use in order to ascertain if a student is gifted.” _And one of them is called the X-gene. If you don’t have it, you don’t get in._ “We’re very exclusive."
Another gorgon spoke. "Still, one can’t help but hear things about some of your - alumnus… That Wagner boy, for instance. Always acting up.” She pronounced it incorrectly as 'WAG-ner’.
Therefore, Xavier stressed the correct pronunciation when he spoke. “Kurt *Wagner* is battling a relatively high number of concurrent stresses. He’s coping with a new culture, a new language, a new routine *and* a lot of new faces, all at the same time.” He tented his fingers. “I challenge any of you to move to a different country and continue in a similar vein without - some kind of trouble. And yet Mr Wagner is adapting marvellously well."
There were general murmurings along the lines of, "What do you expect - he’s *foreign*,” amongst the gorgons.
“How much does this exclusive school of yours cost?” said Mrs Adrien. “And more importantly, can I sign some contract that guarantees her stay will last for two and a half more years?"
"Is it a boarding school?” said a fellow gorgon.
“We prefer our students to live on the premises, so yes, it is a boarding school. As for the cost… whatever you feel comfortable with donating is *fine*.” He smiled benevolently and 'pushed’ a thought into Mrs Adrien’s mind. _Give the man some money,_ went the meme. _He’s taking that girl off your hands._
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt to cut a cheque,” she mused. “Just to defray a few costs."
"Anything you donate is fully tax-deductable,” Jean added. _God, how could someone so rich be so tight-fisted?_
_One of the mysteries of life, alas._
[1] The official policy on any male wrongdoing in Sara’s mother’s side of the family.
~
“And the books are *done*,” crowed Sara. “Now for my clothes, computer, tchotchkes, hamham, and sundry other bits and pieces. And Eileen."
"Yo’ takin’ *everythin’*, ain’t'cha?"
"Well, I’m not moving my makeup-slash-film lab. That’d take three trucks and I’m *sure* the Professor wouldn’t approve."
"Yo’ *amazin’*,” he said appreciatively. “C'mon, let’s book.” He turned, only to find his way blocked by what could only be described as a bubbly blonde.
“Sara Louise, I knew it was you,” squeaked the girl. She held her arms stiff, but bounced about in such a way as to make Todd search her shoulders for signs of a wind-up key. “My mom said your mom’s been feeling *poorly*."
Sara’s shoulders drooped. "Hello, Cricket,” she said. “What are you doing outside after dark[1]?"
"Oh, I came by to see why you were sneaking around and all,” she chirped. “Are those going to Goodwill?"
"They’re certainly going to *someone’s* good will,” said Sara. “Please, Cricket, I don’t have time to dally.” She began walking, taking Todd’s arm in a firm grip and hustling him along.
Cricket bounced in their wake. “But I have to tell you my good news! I’m going to be working with the Junior-year cheerleaders! Isn’t that *fantastic*?"
"Yeah,” deadpanned Sara. “Astounding."
"And I owe it all to my mom buying me those special silicone bra-stuffers! It’s always okay if you just need a *little* help!” Her platinum curls bounced when she did as she followed them inside. “Everyone uses them, these days!"
"Cricket…” Sara sighed. “Can you please quiet down? My mom shouldn’t be disturbed when–"
"Your *mother*,” said a creature that could only be Mrs Adrien herself. “Is *already* disturbed. Why are you creeping around through the *servants’* entrance? Who is this young man? And *what* sort of perverted ideas are you selling to poor young Cricket?"
Todd saw Sara’s face fall. He could read that expression all too well. _Oh *crap*…_
[1] I can just hear Sara thinking, _There goes the theory about hidden solar cells._
~
There is no feeling as bad as encountering someone or something that one has been attempting to avoid.
Sara imagined that, if the helmsman on the Titanic knew the ship’s fate as the iceberg gently bumped along her side, he would have felt the sick, sinking trepidation that Sara felt now.
No matter what happened, there was going to be a disaster.
One hand reached out, unbidden and spasmodic, for Todd’s. He squeezed back.
"Well?” said Mom. “Aren’t you going to be feeding me lies about how you weren’t doing anything or saying anything? Or are you just going to stand there like a landed fish and prove how much your so-called IQ is pure cock-and-bull? I don’t know how much or how badly you cheated, young lady, but you can *bet* I will find *out*!"
"I was just shifting some things out,” murmured Sara. “I didn’t want to be a bother."
"You were a bother on the day you were *born*, little *miss*! From the moment you started in my *womb* you were a bother! I don’t even know why I *tried* to have you! And STOP THAT TWITCHING THIS INSTANT! Do you want other people to *see* you like this?"
Cricket had fled. Todd remained as her lifeline.
"N-nnnnn…” damn stammer. Damn twitching. And bother Xavier for telling her not to box them up. “Nnnnnn…"
"Jean *Grey* never had trouble like this! Jean *Grey* is a *good* daughter! Even when she was in dire straights, she stood out from the crowd and landed herself a *scholarship*! Jean *Grey* has *always* been a good girl! She never caused half as much trouble as *you*. Why can’t you *do* something with yourself? Why can’t you accomplish anything? *Why* are you holding that street punk’s *hand*?"
+
Jean Grey did, despite what Mrs Adrien thought, have vices. One of them was being almost fatally curious. Therefore, she’d excused herself to powder her nose, and followed Mrs Adrien to see where she was going.
And now she got an earful.
It was always said that evesdroppers never heard any good about themselves, and it was partially true, here and now. Hearing her name thrown like a weapon, accompanied by the whimpers and moans of Sara, was an ugly, ugly thing.
_I never knew I was an instrument of torture…_ She stepped into the room, clearing her throat and pretending she’d been deaf. "Excuse me?"
In a literal flash, Mrs Adrien was cloyingly sweet and kind-natured again. "Something I can help you with, dear?"
"I’m afraid I’m a little lost,” she lied. “Can you show me where the ladies’ room is?” she added Party Laugh number one, “Aren’t I a little silly?"
"Of course, sweetie.” Mrs Adrien took her arm. “*This* way."
Jean smiled winningly in the grip of an urban monster. _This must be why they like *pretty* virgins in their sacrifices… to distract them while the heroes can rally their forces._
+
Ray hustled them into the kitchen, appologised to someone called M'seur Marchants, and made a quick hot chocolate for the both of them.
"Sorry you had to see that,” Sara whimpered. She shook violently as she sipped her drink.
“Yo, I wouldn’t be no good boyfriend if I left yo’ t’ face a Dragon alone.” Todd found he had more than a few trembles himself. “Y'know, some o’ the ole ones from legends spat poison?"
Sara laughed. "Apt. Oh, so apt.” Her breath shuddered in and sighed out. “I am *so* glad I’m leaving her."
"Yeah. Change is holiday.” Todd hugged her. “It be cool, yo. You get better wit'out no poison Dragons aroun’."
"Oh God,” Sara whimpered. “I just realised I owe Jean Grey a favour… What do you do for the girl who already has everything going for her?"
"A week free of Toad slimin’s?” he grinned. “I can make up a li'l certificate…"
Sara giggled. "Your sweet, dear, but this is my debt to pay. I’ll find something, anon."
"And meanwhile,” said Ray, “we have to *get* on."
"And on, anon, anon,” joked Sara. “I’ll pack, you boys ferry. If anyone asks, Todd’s a friend from school."
"Hey, yo. We share Biology class, a'ight?” he grinned.
The joke worked. “Oh yes. That would work. You my bad boy.” She kissed his cheek. “Come, love. Away, away…”
~