After picking up our baggage, we were met at the airport by the Dean of Brentwood School for Gifted Youngsters, a trim man in his early thirties holding up a sign that read, “Xavier: Party of Six.”
“We’re from Xavier’s Institute,” Bobby said, shaking the dean’s hand.
“Ah, excellent. I’m Rodrigo Vivar.”
“El Cid,” Kitty remarked, surprising herself.
“That’s what the kids call me. It’s nice to see that Spanish history hasn’t been neglected out on the east coast,” the dean replied, giving her a friendly wink. “And your name?”
“Kitty Pryde. And, um, this is Bobby Drake, Jubilation Lee, Peter Rasputin, Julian Keller, and Rogue.”
El Cid shook our hands one at a time, stopping to give me a warm smile. “Just Rogue?”
“Just Rogue,” I echoed, thinking he had compassionate eyes.
“Well, it’s good to have you here, all of you. This way.”
Bobby shifted his big, black duffle bag higher on his shoulder so he could carry one of Kitty’s suitcases for her. Meanwhile, Peter effortlessly took on all three of Jubilee’s heavy suitcases, plus his own unwieldy duffle bag. And looked damned good doing it, I had to acknowledge when Jubilee threw me an “ooh, baby” look. To use her words, Peter was a man of few words but many, many strengths.
Wagging his eyebrows, Keller held out his suitcase to me. “Have at it.”
“Thought you’d never ask,” I replied, dumping mine into his outstretched arms and trailing after the group.
Accepting my suitcase, Keller said drolly, “Gee, Elmo, that was clever and unexpected.”
“Grover, you moron. Elmo is red.”
“You know the most worthless things.”
“Shut it.”
Once outside in the parking lot, Keller put our suitcases in the back of the van and I stuffed my backpack on the top of the pile. Climbing inside, he crowded in the way back between Bobby and Kitty. “Scoot over. I don’t want to sit by Rogue. She’s grumpy.”
“What’s wrong?” Bobby wanted to know immediately.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I answered tersely, buckling up in one of the bucket seats. Jubilee took the other one and Peter got shotgun.
“Have you had dinner? We could stop somewhere,” El Cid offered.
“We ate at O’Hare,” Bobby declined, speaking up from the back.
They continued with some small talk about our seven-hour trip. Closing my eyes, I pressed my forehead against the warm window. I liked riding in cars. It was soothing. I let my attention waver in out of the conversation happening around me, only catching part of the explanation about how Brentwood had recently lost several of its older kids to a hostile pro-mutant organization that had set up shop downtown a few months back, calling themselves the Coalition for Mutant Supremacy. We already knew this, of course, but everyone else listened politely anyway.
The Brentwood school, only a year old, was one of eight schools that the Professor had organized around the world, the oldest of which was Tokuzawa Ichiro’s in Tokyo. Brentwood was different from our school in a lot of ways. No jets, for example, and no X-Men. It also had, surprisingly, a much smaller enrollment. LA was the central haven for runaway mutants, though, unfortunately, a lot of them would rather fend for themselves than have to abide by house rules. Still, the Professor and the Vivars were confident that enrollment would grow in time.
But this Coalition moving in had the potential to be a major setback. Not to mention dangerous. A whole group of them, including three ex-Brentwood students, had been jailed just the day before for attacking anti-mutant protestors outside City Hall. Violent Coalition response was expected – hence our presence.
The school rested on the northern hills of Brentwood. From what I could see, the grounds weren’t very big, but the mansion itself was about the same size as our school. It looked more modern with its white pillars and large glass windows. Stepping through the front door, the first thing I noticed was the huge, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The renovations to make it more like a school weren’t complete yet so it felt like I was walking into someone’s house.
A short, plump woman came down the black and white marble staircase, a soft glow around her. “Hello.”
El Cid introduced her grandly, “This is my beautiful Luz, the light of the world.”
She laughed off the introduction, getting brighter as she blushed.
“Luz, this is Kitty, Peter, Jubilation, Keller, Bobby, and Rogue.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” she replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs.
“Where’s la princesa?” El Cid asked his wife.
“I just got her to sleep.”
“Oh,” Bobby said, setting down Kitty’s suitcase so he could dig around in his duffel bag. “I have presents for Juliana from the Professor, Scott, and Storm.”
“More gifts,” Luz exclaimed happily.
“She’s going to be so spoiled we’re not going to be able to live with her,” El Cid laughed, taking the three brightly wrapped boxes from Bobby. “We’ll have to send along thank you cards.”
“We can do better than that,” Luz scoffed, turning nostalgic. “I haven’t talked to Ororo in so long.”
Luz, I knew from the briefing, had been one of Professor Xavier’s first students, along with Strom, Cyclops, and Dr. Grey. A California native, Luz had left the school when she’d been accepted to Stanford, and then went into the Peace Corps where she’d met El Cid – who was not a mutant and whose only power lie in his charm and connections around LA. When they’d come back to the city, they’d worked as teachers in Boyle Heights before approaching Professor Xavier with the idea of starting a school for mutants out on the west coast.
“How is Scott?” Luz inquired hesitantly. “It’ll be three years this October. Is he…is he seeing anyone, do you know?”
“He’s keeping busy,” Bobby answered non-specifically.
“Good, good,” El Cid put in. “Uh, well, let me take you to your rooms so you can put your things away.”
A lot of the rooms were empty, probably enough for each of us to have our own room, yet Jubilee, Kitty, and I still ended up sharing a dorm-style bedroom.
“It’s just like old times,” Kitty remarked, tossing her suitcase on the closest bed. She started over toward the bathroom, but Jubilee beat her to it. Derisively, Kitty repeated, “Just like old times.”
Chuckling through a yawn, I flopped down on an empty bed and stretched contentedly.
Kitty said, “You can’t be tired. It’s only seven o’clock.”
“It’s ten o’clock back home,” I pointed out.
“That’s not late. Besides, you slept on the plane. Come on. Seriously. Come downstairs with us to meet everybody. It’ll be fun.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m fine here. Really.”
It took some prodding to get Kitty and Jubilee to leave without me. When I was finally alone, I started reading The Awakening again. I was determined to finish it that night, even though I was well on my way to hating the protagonist, Edna Pontellier. I found her temperamental, selfish, and more and more unlikable as the book wore on. I had made it to the conclusion just before Bobby came in, and couldn’t help but think of Edna, Serves you right, you stupid broad.
“Hey,” he said, sitting on the bed next to the one I was on.
Putting my book down, I forced myself to smile when I replied, “Hey.”
“We got a lead. A couple of the dropouts just came back. They left the Coalition a few days ago because they said it was getting too real. They came back because they know the plan for tomorrow.”
“The Coalition plan? What is it?”
“They’re not one hundred percent.”
“Positive or reliable?”
“Well, neither,” Bobby smiled. “But they say that something’s going to happen at Dodger Stadium. There’s a game tomorrow at one, so we’re guessing that’s when. El Cid already called his friend on the LAPD, and we’re gonna go too. The school has season tickets, so it’ll be no problem. I ran it by the Professor and Scott, and they said that’s what we should do.”
Scott. The whole first-name basis thing was still a bit jarring to me. Likely because I was jealous. Bobby was the protégé. I was nobody.
One thing goes wrong in my life, and suddenly it becomes mandatory for me to tear down the rest of it just for the sake of balance. Certainly not my finest trait.
Through my teeth, I said, “All right. Sounds good. Thanks for telling me.”
Bobby didn’t have any intention of leaving. “Your skin’s lighter than before,” he remarked.
“Yeah, I think it’s finally clearing up. It’s been two days.”
He nodded, drumming his fingers on his knee. “So.”
Oh, great. “So, what?”
“So, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing is wrong. I told you before.”
“Then why are you up here when everyone else is down there?” Not letting me answer, he pressed on, “Why do you always say no when I ask you to go out?”
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t like being the seventh wheel.”
“I mean when it’s just you and me. You won’t go out. All we do is stay at home and watch movies.”
“I like movies.”
“You’re missing the point. You always want to be by yourself.”
“That is not true. If I’m not with you, I’m training or with Kurt. I never get to be alone.”
“‘Get to be alone.’ That’s what I’m talking about. You want to be alone, and that’s what’s wrong.”
“So, it’s wrong to want a little bit of privacy now and then? Geez. Excuse me for not spending my every waking moment with you. I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
“Rogue, I’m trying to really talk to you here. I know you miss Logan – ”
“Oh, come on.”
“You come on. You’re not acting like yourself. You’re acting like him. You’re being him.”
“God, ever since I told you about that stupid yam thing nothing is mine anymore. I beat you at pool and it’s because I have Logan in me. I like classic rock so that must be John’s influence. I can’t even like ice cream without you telling me that I got that from you.”
“See, this is why I avoided talking to you about this for so long. I knew you’d get defensive.”
“Boy, oh boy. You can tell Kitty she shouldn’t have bothered forcing you up here. It’s obvious you don’t care.”
“Whatever. As if you care about anyone but Logan. There is room for other people.”
“Get the hell out,” I said flatly, opening my book again even though I was finished and never, ever wanted to read it again. I’d felt vindicated snapping at Bobby at first, but now I just felt petty, like I’d regressed five years.
Gently, Bobby leaned way over to push the top of the book down. “Okay, okay. Forget that. I’m sorry. Look, I know that Logan’s your best friend, but I’m your friend, too. I’m here and I want to help.”
Before I could stop myself, I muttered, “Logan and I are more than friends.”
Bobby stilled. “What?”
I pursed my lips together. Blowing out a breath, I explained, “Before Logan left, we found out that he’s immune to my skin now. So we…”
“You…” With a slow smile, Bobby came to terms. “That’s great, Rogue. That’s awesome. Why didn’t you tell me before that you guys were together? I would’ve been happy for you. Believe me. I mean, I am happy for you.”
“We were never together.” I couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of my voice.
Bobby’s face fell. “What do you mean?”
“We were never together or going out or anything. We only had that night. We didn’t know before then. It just kind of happened. Like an accident almost. For him, anyway. He didn’t mean for it to happen. Now he wants to go back to just being my friend. More like my protector, actually.”
The anger on Bobby’s face made me feel even worse. “Protector? That was a shit thing he did to you.”
“It was mutually shitty.”
“I doubt that.”
“You weren’t there, so you’ll have to take my word for it.”
Cautiously, Bobby asked, “What do you think will happen when he gets back?”
I shrugged. “It depends. On him.”
Bobby looked me directly in the eye. “What are you going to do if it doesn’t work out?”
“I’ll survive.”
Good friend that he was, Bobby called me on my bullshit. “Not the way you’re going. You don’t want to end up like Edna, do you?”
“You read this book?”
“I took Women’s Lit with Kitty, remember? I wrote a paper on how Edna’s really an anti-feminist, because she’s a really bad example of a so-called independent woman. I got an A.”
“Well, good for you. But what am I supposed to do? I can’t fall in love with anyone else.”
“Does this look like the eighteen hundreds to you? You don’t need some guy around to have a happy life. All you need are good friends, a hobby, and job you love.”
“Way to be a real feminist,” I laughed.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now. What are you going to do after college?”
“Be an X-Man. Duh.”
“What else? Are you going to teach? Be a politician like Keller? Hey, maybe you could go all out and be a man-hating PE teacher.”
“That’s always been my dream.”
“Just figure out what you like and then do it. That way, if it works out with Logan you’ll be doubly happy. And if it doesn’t…”
“I get it.”
“That a girl.”
As hard as it was for me to hear it, everything Bobby had said was true. I was putting too much into Logan. I wasn’t thinking about my future in realistic terms. I did need to suck it up and let myself have fun for a change. I resolved to change all that as soon as possible.
That next day, I was as social as anybody. I went down for breakfast without a fight, met some of the teachers and students, and clamored for my turn to hold Juliana. I felt horrible for thinking it, but the first thing that came to mind when I saw the two year-old was the purple Furby doll my grandma had gotten me for my sixth birthday. It was Juliana’s big eyes, fur-like purple hair, and matching tail that did it. She was normal in every other respect, especially in her need for attention.
To his embarrassment, she grew especially fond of Peter. She sat on his lap at lunch and threw a hellish temper tantrum when it was time to for us to leave. Only after Peter promised he’d bring her back a Dodgers cap did she agree to relinquish his leg so we could get to the game.
It was the bottom of the fourth and I was standing in line for said cap with Peter, Bobby, and Kitty when it hit me that I was, indeed, having fun. The few stares I got – those who didn’t look close probably thought I was merely a diehard fan in makeup – didn’t bother me much, and I hadn’t felt like locking myself in the bathroom or telling everyone to shut the hell up more than once.
To the gang I said, “This is pretty cool. I’ve never been to a baseball game before. Not a professional one, anyway.
“I’ve been to about a million,” Kitty replied. “But this is the first time I’ve seen my Cubbies play away.”
“Your Cubbies,” Bobby snorted.
“Hey, I am a Chicago native. The Cubbies are deep, deep in my heart. And if you had any sense of hometown pride, you’d feel the same way about the Red Sox. They aren’t as good as the Cubs, of course, but you’re obligated to be loyal. Unless you’re from St. Louis. Then you need to move.”
“Why St. Louis?” I asked, not up on my baseball rivalries.
“Because the Cardinals suck.”
“Okay, then. But how do you feel about the Yankees? We could go see a Yankee game sometime, after we get back to New York.”
“Sounds like fun,” Bobby replied, pushing his shoulder into mine to show he was proud of me.
“I’ll take that hat right there,” Peter said when it was his turn, and handed over the money El Cid had insisted he use. “Thank you.”
The four of us switched from the merchandise line to the snack line, then headed back outside to our seats once we’d been served. Jubilee absently took her Diet Pepsi from her boyfriend, engrossed in the moveable tattoos one of the returned dropouts, a seventeen year-old named Christine Cord, was showing her. Tatoo and her girlfriend, Noriko Ashida, or Surge, had come along so that they could point out Coalition members.
So far, they hadn’t recognized anyone. All was quiet. Kitty was using her brand new palm pilot, which was more like a small laptop than a personal organizer, to hack into the LAPD computer system in case something Coalition-related happened somewhere else. El Cid pointedly overlooked that bit of illegality.
As the game wore on, I became increasingly aware that it was July in Southern California and I was the only one not wearing shorts and a tank top. “I am baking over here,” I complained, swiping the back of my gloved hand across my damp forehead.
“I can fix that.” Bobby discreetly waved his fingers in my direction, instantly cooling me off.
“What would I do without you?”
“Suffer horrifically.”
Bobby jumped when Kitty reached over and grabbed him by the arm suddenly. “Ooh, ooh…Yes! Fourth homerun of the game! I love you, Davy Ramirez! I want your babies!”
“Kitty, I’m sitting right here,” Bobby informed her incredulously.
“Remember when she was shy?” I laughed.
“Yeah. Fondly.”
“Hey, that’s three runs for us, not them,” Kitty yelled, drawing our attention to the huge, animated scoreboard. “It’s twelve to five Cubs, not the other way around!” Other Cubs fans began to boo whoever was operating the scoreboard.
The homerun announcement image flickered off the screen and was replaced by a wobbly, handheld video camera shot of the top of a Dodger’s cap. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I like that score much better,” a memorable voice said, echoing loudly out of the speakers.
In the seat next to me, El Cid tensed and muttered, “Here we go.”