Part 2
Monday, May 20th, 2030
Chapter 4: Laura
It was always one sturdy knock on the door. There was no real pattern, and it wasn’t every morning or even many mornings. But when it did happen, it was always early, before dawn. One brisk knock, and Laura’s eyes would fly open, her lips turning upward into a grin. Sparring. She would hop out of bed, brush her hair out of her eyes, change. And then, as she swung open the door, her Papa would be standing in the hallway, arms crossed, giving her a brief tilt of his head, clearly communicating Let’s go kid. Sparring typically happened on the first floor of the house, a walk-out basement that had been turned into a catch-all room of sorts, and in one corner, a few karate mats where they typically worked. Laura loved sparring with him. Sparring was physical. Sparring meant a way to expend some of her energy. And, most importantly, sparring meant her papa was having un buen dia.
Papa usually went fairly easy on her, even if he was not cómo solía ser. Laura could barely get her hands up in time, even though she was más rápido and encendedor on her feet, but her father simply knew more. Laura always struggled to read him closely for tells, for signs. Sometimes he would let her see what he was going to do, offering her up a knowing secret. She knew he was doing this deliberately, however, and sometimes her frustration grew with the knowledge that she was never truly getting anywhere in discovering papa’s misterios.
Today though, her padre was putting up a fight. He was pushing. He gave nothing away. They were barefoot—they always were— as they moved through the complicated karate sequence.
They were both sweating now as they traded hits and blocks on the mat. Papa’s pace kept quickening; he was making her work and being less lenient. Laura found herself growling more, skulking around him, trying to find a chink in the armor. He could always anticipate every move though, every attempt— El podía leer las mentes—and today he wasn’t giving her a chance. Papa had also taken to barking orders at her in Japanese, a language she struggled to even begin to understand. English still got a bit jumbled in her head sometimes. Japanese was…well insoportablemente duro. Laura moved up into a quick high kick only for it to be easily swatted away, and she barely caught her balance.
“Motto hayaku!” he yelled. At least Laura knew that one. More quickly!
Seething, she surged forward, ready to fake right to lean left, before he easily caught a hold of her wrist and brought her to the floor.
“You’re sloppy today,” he growled, before he barked out a “Tsuite iku!” Keep up! She snarled, throwing her body upward and back onto her feet and leaning into him before he once more had her in a lock. She relentlessly struggled against him, breathing hard, and Papa seemed to sense this, muttering a low growl that clearly meant patience. He had her in an arm lock, and she was unable to break free of the hold, and then she was summoning all her strength, using the core of her body to propel all her force upward and Logan stumbled back, planting his feet on the floor to keep from tripping. They both stood there for a second, breathing heavily.
“Fuck kid, you’re getting stronger,” he muttered. Laura wiped the sweat from her face, exhaling deeply from exhilaration. Her angered had flared, and now she couldn’t help but glare at him.
“Por qué me presionas? Why are you being so hard on me today?” she demanded.
“You need it,” Logan muttered.
“Why?” Laura practically growled. Logan only stared at her for a moment, before he intentionally broke eye contact with her, stepping off the mat to fetch water for them both that he had set in the basement window sill.
“You need an outlet, better control,” he said under his breath, as he threw her the spare bottle. Laura caught it easily, popping off the lid and drinking heavily, before wiping her mouth and frowning once more at her father.
“But…school…” Laura murmured. Logan snorted, shaking his head slightly as he did so.
“You think a few counseling sessions, a little meditation and running a pacer are gonna be enough?” he asked. Laura raised an eyebrow at him. Today, Papa was full of contradictions. He wanted her to control herself at school, but also keep up her training. No tenía sentido.
“But I thought you wanted me to be normal,” she muttered under her breath. Logan stopped then, the muscles in his body suddenly rippled with tension.
“Kid, I just want you to survive,” he murmured, turning around to face her. Laura furrowed her brow at that.
“But…papa…there’s nobody left to fight. Everyone here…they accept us,” she murmured to her feet. She could feel her papa’s frown, as he set down his water and stalked back over to her.
“Hell kid, you read enough of those comics to know that things can change on a dime. Right?”
“But…” Laura started, before stopping, rocking on the balls of her feet
“But what?” he asked, crossing his arms as he did so.
“I thought los comics weren’t real. Like you said… no es la vida real.” Logan sighed, coughing just slightly as he did so.
“Look, it’s not that...hell. Some of it, yeah, was real,” the older mutant paused, seemingly torn. Laura’s ears perked as she realized he was on the brink of telling her something about the X-Men, something important.
“Humans didn’t always champion us. You know that kid, right?”
“Like, you mean what happened with the food and with Transigen?” Laura asked softly.
“Worse,” he muttered.
“How was it worse?” Laura asked. A troubled look crept up onto Papa’s features, his jaw taught. For a moment, Laura wondered if he would speak at all, but then he was choosing his words carefully, his voice low and rough.
“When you’re different, people wanna have control over ya. Particularly if they don’t understand you, yeah? You’ve learned about the holocaust, right?”
“Si,” she murmured quietly. The truth was the news of el Holocausto terrified her. Images of thin, starving bodies, mutilations. After a history lesson this past winter, Laura had googled it, and then she wished she hadn’t. She had ended the lives of many people, but something about las imágenes gráficas had moved her to feelings of desperation. She knew many people were bad. She hadn’t known they could be completamente sin alma.
“Well, at one point, that happened with mutants too,” Logan muttered. Laura’s eyes widened. That wasn’t a story she had ever heard. Nothing that Papa or Marie ever talked about.
“Were you...were you there for it?” she found herself asking quietly. Logan shifted his weight under his bare feet, the mat moving underneath him as he did so.
“Yes. I was. I was... con lo que quedaba de los X-Men,” he muttered.
“Qué quedó?” Laura asked. What was left of the X-Men? It didn’t make sense. Laura knew about the Westchester incident now. But, up until that point, the school had continued on as it always had, operating in relative peace.
“It was…in a different time,” Logan muttered. Laura thoughtfully considered this, not quite taking his meaning.
“Was Marie there too?” Laura asked quietly, and instantly she knew it was the wrong question to ask. At this, something in Papa’s eyes darkened, and his body grew tense as a small frown formed on his lips.
“Yes. Yeah, kid,” he murmured. “Look, that’s all for now. I’ll tell ya more of it later.”
“Cuando?” she asked.
“Cuando estés listo,” he muttered, taking the water bottle from her hands and then placing it back on the sill alongside his own. As he turned to face her, however, he frowned again, even as he joined her once more on the mat.
“Look. In the end...I want ya to have all those normal things. The things most people take for granted. But you can’t get soft, either. You can’t forget how to fight. Things...they always go south. And when they do…” he paused, bringing his eyes to meet Laura’s own, “You’ll need to protect Marie."
“Daddy…” she trailed off. Something strong within her wanted her to cup her hands to her ears. For once to not listen. She knew this already. She knew what he was inferring, and she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted him to stop talking. She wanted him to take it back.
“She’s getting older, kid. She’s gonna need you, especially if the weather changes,” he said, before clasping a heavy hand on her thin shoulder.
“Papa…” Laura trailed off.
“Finish the sequence,” he grumbled, taking a step back from her and drawing himself up to his full height once more. “Shīkensu o shūryō suru.”
“But Papa-” she stammered.
“Finish it,” he growled. Laura looked up to him sharply, frowning, before finally relinquishing into a full, traditional Japanese bow.
“Domo arigato sensei,” she mumbled.
“Do itashi mashite.” As he also bowed, he lowered his head to her, but his eyes never left hers.
--
George and Mary had danced something called “the Charleston.” Laura had googled it. Her lap top screen had been filled with images of people in antiquated clothing moving quickly around each other. Laura had grinned, finding the clip, too, of George and Mary dancing before they had fallen into the pull underneath the gym floor. She loved that part, right before they fell. Something about how they had moved together, how he had held her in his arms and had smiled. It was fascinante. Her whole life, she hadn’t known what dancing was. She hadn’t known that two people could move like that together. She had been embarrassed that she hadn’t known, though, and she didn’t want to ask Papa and Marie about it during the movie. Laura had certainly never seen them dance.
After sparring, Logan and Laura sat at the kitchen island stools as Marie fussed over breakfast. Papa rarely ate in the mornings, and Laura would have been fine with cereal, but Marie often found herself cooking regardless, and now the smell of sizzling bacon was making Laura’s stomach grumble in anticipation. Papa sat reading the paper, looking relaxed and hair still partially wet from a shower after their sparring, glasses low on his nose. Un beun dia still, then. Laura meanwhile was fumbling with her homework, putting everything in her backpack to be ready for the day, before she had caught a glimpse of the purple and blue flyer once more. Outta This World End of School Dance! Laura blushed, before shoving it further down in her bag and doing up the flap.
Everyone was talking about it. It was this weekend, and it was going to be hosted in the school gym, just like in Bedford Falls. Laura bit her lip, toying with the flap of the backpack, throwing a sidelong glance at Papa who was still immersed in the paper, before turning back to the woman cooking just beyond the kitchen island.
“Marie?” Laura asked.
“Yeah?” Marie murmured idly, although her attention was still focused on the gas stove in front of her.
“How do people….dance?” she asked, before she could stop herself. That did it. Marie looked up from the skillet, and Laura noticed, too, that Papa had looked up from his paper and was now arching an eyebrow in Laura’s direction as well.
“Dance?” Marie asked, crossing her arms, even though she still held a spatula in one hand.
“Yeah. Like George and Mary…but how they do it now…” Laura mumbled, fiddling with the cuffs of her jean jacket.
“George and Mary?” Marie asked.
“From la película,” Laura whispered. The movie.
“Are you asking because of the middle school dance coming up?” Marie questioned, as she walked a plate of bacon over to the kitchen island, setting it down on the counter between father and daughter. Meanwhile, Laura’s cheeks felt hot, and, at the term middle school dance, Papa had whipped the paper down to the counter once more, and openly stared at them both.
“What ‘middle school dance’?” Logan asked.
“How did you know about that?” Laura grumbled to Marie, ignoring Logan. Marie blinked at both of them, raising her hands up in the air defensively as she did so. “What? Am I the only one who reads the school emails?” she asked. Papa only gave a low growl in response, before turning to his daughter once more.
“What kinda dance are we talking about, hija?” he asked, turning to Laura.
“I dunno. And I’m not going Papa. I was just…curious,” she muttered to her backpack, before snagging a slice of bacon from the plate and biting a piece in half, mouth now conveniently full of food.
“Why aren’t you going?” Laura found Marie still asking. Laura chewed slowly, and only shrugged her shoulders in response.
“Why are sixth graders going to dances anyway?” Logan asked, still staring at the other two in disbelief.
“I think it’s a pretty typical thing, baby. You’re just thinking of Xavier’s. We didn’t do them there,” Marie said. Logan shot another look at them both, before shaking his head slightly and taking a deep swallow of coffee.
“You didn’t?” Laura asked, frowning once more. Marie sighed, untying her apron as she did so.
“To answer your question Laura, at your age, dancing is probably a lot of awkward swaying,” Marie said. Papa coughed into his mug, before setting it down haphazardly.
“Swaying?” Laura asked. Marie bit her lip, setting the apron down on the counter, before checking her watch quickly, realizing they still had time before Laura needed to go to school.
“Uhh, yeah. Logan, stand up, sugar,” Marie said, and she was already walking around to their side of the island.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.
“Stand up, or no breakfast,” Marie said, sliding the plate away from where he had been grasping for a slice of bacon. Laura caught him glancing back to his daughter, and then he was grumbling as he stood.
“They used to do it like this, like in the movie. Logan, take my waist,” Marie said through a smirk. She was taking Papa’s hands and positioning one at her waist while one of hers clasped his shoulder. “Your father should remember. He was around for the Charleston,” Marie said through a wicked grin and a wink. Papa only growled a little, but his hand instinctively tightened around Marie’s slender waist still, while Marie moved to hold his other hand between them in the air.
“See?” she said, smiling. Laura’s eyes had gone wide, but now the younger mutant giggled.
“You look ridiculous. Especially you, daddy,” Laura said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Logan muttered, before dropping the hand he had been holding Marie’s in, although Laura noticed he hadn’t taken his eyes off Marie and the other still lingered on her waist.
“But you’d probably get made fun of if you did it that way now. So… like this…” Marie murmured, before she once more moved Papa’s other hand to the other side of her waist, and then she slunk her hands around his neck. Seeing how close they were, how different it was than what she had seen in the movie, Laura gulped.
“With a….with a boy?” she finally stammered. Marie sighed as she dropped her hands and Logan turned to look at Laura once more.
“But you’ve decided you ain’t going, right? So no problem,” he grumbled, as he stalked back over to the counter, finally snagging a piece of bacon. Marie frowned a bit before picking up her cup of coffee off the kitchen counter. “So you don’t want to go, Laura?”
“No.” she said, moving to grab her backpack and hopping off the stool. “I was just…asking. Curious."
“Alright then,” Marie said through an intentional smile. “Good to know.”
--
The hallway was bustling in that sort of way that was filled with tense excitement. Laura could hear the various heartbeats, the pulses quickening over the course of the semester, and now that the warmer weather was finally here, it seemed to put everything into overdrive. Banners for the Outta This World! Dance were everywhere, painted rocket ships blasting across black skies surrounded by painted stars. It was also spirit week, and now balloons and reams of colored paper filled the hallways, most of it space-themed advertising intergalactic travel and honeymoons on the moon. Laura had rolled her eyes at most of the spirit week stuff—why would anyone want to wear their shirt backwards? What was the point of that?— and had tried, as hard as she could, to focus on her classes and school work. Finals were also on their way, and that’s where she had put most of her attention. She wasn’t going to wear her shirt backwards or dress up like her favorite athlete, mainly because she didn’t have one, but still.
The dance, however… As Laura tore through the combination on the dial to her locker, not needing to memorize the numbers and listening for that reliable click of the mechanism, Laura’s thoughts flew once more to the way Papa had put his hand around Marie’s waist. Instinctively. Intuitively. Like it belonged there. He loved her so. Laura clutched her books tightly to her chest for a moment, before finally relinquishing them and putting them inside her locker.
Ever since they had learned she was a mutant, Laura did have a few more friends. She was exotic to many, an oddity to a few. Cole’s friends, especially, had once more gladly accepted her back into the fold, mainly because they had never met a mutant before and because she had discovered several of them read the X-Men comics. To them, it was like she was a real life character that had jumped right out of the panes of the story. Laura had bitten her lip, and of course had abstained from saying something like No that’s actually the rest of my family but sometimes… all of it got on her nerves. She was still herself after all; ella era más que su mutación. Even if they didn’t see that yet.
“Laura! Hey Laura, wait up!” she heard a voice call, and suddenly a gangly blonde boy with freckles and glasses was meandering over to her locker. Mitch. Mitch was one of Cole’s friends, prone to asking her a myriad of questions related to mutants and the X-Men. It was true that Laura knew the intricacies of most of the X-Men comics, along with a few precious real-life details from Logan and Marie, sometimes Mitch made her feel like a walking search engine.
“Hi Mitch,” Laura said.
“So Alex and I were talking last night, and are you like, for certain, the Brotherhood would have come into power in the early eighties?”
“No, Mitch, the sixties. You’re thinking of Mystique’s revival.”
“But in issue 199…” Laura rolled her eyes as Mitch blabbed on, as they made their way to the lunchroom from the emptying hall. The funny thing was Laura wasn’t the only one who had seen a turnaround in what people thought about her since they had been outed. Papa had been right—word got around in towns like this— and both adults, too, had seen an influx of interest from the community. They already knew about Laura, but the word of gossip on everyone’s tongue was that they all might be mutants. A welcome basket had shown up on their front porch one day, even though they had moved into la casa del lago months ago. Marie had been invited to the Baptist and the Methodist churches’ ladies’ social clubs—much to Papas amusement—which Marie had politely declined. Papa had seen a steady uptick in his work to the point where he was turning projects down. Want to serve on the PTA? Want to join us at town hall meetings? We wouldn’t mind the mutant perspective; we haven’t had one in a while. Help us organize a community night!
Laura was happy to see that the couple of initiatives Marie had actually been interested in involved the rights of the indigenous peoples of Hay River, and Marie had even attended one of the local tribal council meetings, at their invitation. That night Marie had come home talking animatedly about how they were trying to solve the problems of discrimination in their community, and Laura had clung to every word.
They sound like they know what it feels like to be a mutant, Laura had said to Marie.
I think you’re right, Marie had said back through a smile. Papa had only offered a humph in response, even though Laura knew he agreed. Papa was a sucker for justicia, and he loathed discrimination. One of the many things that, under his gruff exterior, made him un buen hombre.
Meanwhile, Laura dealt with the attention at school, often having to field morbid questions from Mitch and the others, particularly about her healing factor.
So would you heal if your leg got sliced off? What if you were in a plane and it crashed over the Pacific ocean? Can you even drown? What if you were struck by lighting? Bit by a poisonous snake? What about if you’re in the middle of a nuclear blast? What if you were stung by ten thousand jellyfish at once?
Laura was fairly amused and simultaneously a little disturbed at the scenarios they dreamed up for her, although often a prideful and mischievous grin would infect her features when she’d offered them a slight nod her head to the chorus of the other boys shouting “that’s so cool!” Sometimes, though, she actually wasn’t sure if she could survive the situations they invented for her, and once or twice she made the mistake of going back home and asking her papa for clarification.
A leg sliced off? What the fuck, Laura? Sure, yeah. Regenerative capability. Let’s not test out that fucking theory though, ok?
“But you have to take in the fact that Toad’s brotherhood was by far the most iconic…” Mitch was still saying.
“Mitch, I said I’m right. And I am,” Laura grumbled, as they both sat down at the table. Laura had taken to eating hot lunch more lately, waiting in line with her friends. Laura noticed that Cole was two seats down now, and he looked twitchy, staring down at his uneaten mashed potatoes every so often as Mitch prattled on about the Brotherhood.
Cole had been probably one of the only ones who hadn’t bombarded her questions about being a mutant. Their friendship had continued in that camino fácil it always had. A little awkward, always a bit stumbling, but mostly bien. It had been Cole’s mom that had invited Marie to the tribal meeting, and there was something about this Laura liked. Cole never talked about his heritage, but a few times he had taught her some Chipewyan words and she had returned the favor by teaching him some Español. Lately though, Cole was quiet, and sometimes, like today, Laura easily noticed that he had taken up to staring at her for long periods of time, which would often set Laura on edge. What was he looking at?
The conversation was still happening around her, and only when Mitch repeated the question the second time did Laura look up from her tray.
“Laura, I said, do you think, like, you’re the only one left?” Mitch asked.
“The only what?” Laura asked absently, finally picking up her fork from the table.
“The only mutant?” Mitch asked. Laura rolled her eyes at this, stabbing a dollop of mashed potatoes.
“I know I’m not the only one,” she said. Mitch’s eyes went wide, and as the air stiffened around her and the scent of fear and anticipation filled the room, she realized that she had commanded the attention of the entire table all of the sudden.
Realizing what she had just admitted to, Laura bit her lip. Mierda. She wasn’t supposed to talk about what happened at the lab. But some parts maybe she could leave out? “I grew up with a couple. Childhood friends.”
“When you lived in Mexico?” Laura looked up to realize that Cole had asked that question. She glanced at him for a moment, fiddling now with the fork in her hand.
“Sí,” she muttered.
“Where are they now?” Mitch asked, giving her his rapt attention.
“Well,” Laura stammered, thinking hard about how much to say. “The boy, Rictor, lives in Ontario, but we still text,” she finished. She realized that once more Cole shot her a weird look that Laura didn’t quite know what to do with.
“What could he do?” Mitch asked.
“Uh, he could generate vibrations. Energía sísmica,” she finished. There was an impressed gasp from more than a couple of the boys, one murmuring a “that’s so freaking awesome”, but Laura noticed that, at this, Cole looked disturbed and now was intent on staring at the fruit medley on the tray in front of him.
Lunch continued on, but, like Cole, Laura had fallen silent for most of the rest of it. Monday was always a source of a little more tension, especially recently, because directly following lunch Laura was now supposed to make her way to the administrative offices, and even though she wasn’t in trouble, Laura had been in there enough to always feel like she was.
This had been part of Laura’s IEP, el plan. Ms. Gundalson had made it a point for Laura to talk to Mrs. Greer, the school counselor, at least twice a month, especially regarding any frustración Laura was feeling at school. Laura knew, in part, this was simply to protect the other kids as much as herself; they didn’t want her to sock anybody again. They had reassured Papa and Marie that it wasn’t something everybody was calling therapy, but Laura wasn’t always sure what to say, or what to do, during these appointments. She walked into the woman’s office hesitantly, even though Mrs. Greer had warmly invited her in, and now she found herself fiddling with the jean jacket she was now holding, staring at the silver frames of happy children between her and the older woman. So far at these appointments most of her responses to the counselor’s endless questions had resulted in one or two word answers, while she squirmed in her chair and listened to the steady ticking of the clock on the far wall.
The hardest part about it all was that Mrs. Greer was una mujer amable, dark-skinned and good natured. She seemed to genuinely want to offer ayuda where she could, but Laura was starting to suspect that the problem was that the woman didn’t, couldn’t know the whole story. The half-lies Laura was forced to tell were difícil to keep up with at times, and sometimes Laura had to focus on her breathing to not become overwhelmed by it all. Mrs. Greer was good at getting to the truth, though, and often Laura found el animal inside her pacing, feeling threatened.
“So…are you excited about spirit week this week? About the dance?” Mrs. Greer was asking.
“Uh, I guess,” Laura mumbled.
“Are you going? To the dance, that is?” she asked carefully.
“Probably not,” Laura muttered. At this, the older woman’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Will your parents not let you?” she asked. “Because I know some families view it as a little…premature.”
“Ah, no. They probably would,” Laura said. “I just…I don’t feel like going.” At this, the older woman sat back a bit in her seat, and Laura knew she was changing tactics. She knew habilidad táctica when she saw it.
“How is your father doing?” Mrs. Greer asked.
Mierda, Laura cursed to herself. She had let it slip at the last session a couple of weeks ago that her papa hadn’t been feeling as well and that was why she was stressed. Of course this woman seemed to remember that. But her father’s salud was the last thing Laura wanted to talk about.
“Good. Much better,” she murmured. It was, again, a partial lie. Today had been a good day, esto era cierto, but on bad days… The trembling in his hands. How he wouldn’t always eat. Drinking too much. At these thoughts, Laura could only shift in her seat.
“Really?” Mrs. Greer asked, a look of mild suspicion playing on her features.
“Si,” Laura muttered, and then after another moment, she added. “Can we talk about something else?” The older woman offered her a small, polite smile, before folding her wrinkled hands on the table in front of her. Laura noticed the thick, sterling rings, several on each finger, and she settled down a bit. Laura liked jewelry, mainly because she had never gotten to wear it in Mexico, and Mrs. Greer’s choices were bonita y calmante. Seeing the rings wink in the light somehow helped.
“Your essay over The Color of Water in honors English…Mrs. Finn said it was exceptional.”
“Gracias.”
“You like to read a lot, huh?”
“Sí,” she murmured. At this, Mrs. Greer leaned forward a bit in her seat.
“Have you thought about what you want to do yet, when you grow up?”
Laura couldn’t help the hairs on her arm stand up as a new level of discomfort descended on her. Laura wasn’t often keen on thinking so much about the future.
“I know that’s a big question…” she continued on. “But It’s something you should be thinking about, even in middle school.”
“Why?” Laura asked.
“Well,” Mrs. Greer paused, before calmly gesturing with an open palm around her. “It’s the rest of your life.”
Laura frowned. The rest of your life. But how long was that going to be? How many decades? More than one century? Why hurry off to school, focus on a career, when she had time to finish school several times over? And besides, she hadn’t forgotten what Papa had said this morning.
You’ll need to protect Marie. She’s gonna need you.
A shiver went down Laura’s spine, as the counselor kept talking.
“You’re a good critical thinker…when you focus,” the woman was saying. Laura blushed a little.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Laura…” she added, leaning forward on the desk once more.
“Yeah?”
“A lot of kids in towns like this don’t consider it. But I want you to think about college, ok?"
“Sí, señora,” Laura said quietly, before looking down at the scuffs on her sneakers, happy to focus on something other than what was in front of her. Meanwhile, Esperanza’s voice still in her ear: I looked at my feet in their white socks and ugly round shoes. They seemed far away. They didn't seem to be my feet anymore. And the garden that had been such a good place to play didn't seem mine either.
--
Kids were darting this way and that through the hall as the bell rang. Even from the windows, she could tell everything was lighter outside, the sun higher than it used to be. The days were slowly getting longer, and everyone was grateful for it. Laura had taken to walking home, had insisted doing so because the weather was better now and the two-mile walk often helped clear her head. Today though had her begrudging the upcoming journey, the appointment with the counselor still fresh in her mind.
Laura was like her papa in many ways, this she already knew. Sometimes not thinking about something was the easiest option, the one that made the most sense for both of them. It seemed more helpful, more appropriate, most of the time to live in the moment, to face each problem as it unraveled in front of her, but she also realized on more than one occasion this had gotten her into trouble. Perhaps some problems shouldn’t be handled like the sparring sessions with her papa. There were other types of problems that couldn’t be dealt with the physical instincts of her body. Roundhouse kicks and uppercuts would be no use for navigating the sequences of much more mundane, but still very real, problems. She had to start anticipating the most likely scenarios. She needed to start using her mind. And she needed to be ready.
She had just walked through the metal doors, pack in hand, when she heard it. The telltale sputtering of an idling engine. He had come to get her. Como en los viejos tiempos. A wide, long grin broke out on her face as she saw the Bronco, but just as she started walking more determinedly over to it, she heard someone shout out her name.
“Laura!” She turned to see Cole practically jogging behind her, breathing heavily his phone in hand. Laura tried to withhold a physical growl from escaping her throat, feeling frustrated and obviously perturbed as she turned back around, muscles tense.
“What is it, Cole?” she grumbled, as she threw a nervous glance back over to the car, but still feeling the need to clench her jaw to not look too annoyed. Cole didn’t know her papa was having a good day. Cole didn't know there wasn’t a moment of a good day she wanted to miss.
“Sorry. It’s just…Do… I heard you say that your parents let you text?” he was asking her.
“Yeah?” she asked. Cole lifted up the phone in his hand and waved it in front of her.
“Listen. My mom finally let me get a phone. It’s not great, but I can text. Can I…can I have your number? To talk to you? Just about…uhh…stuff?” he asked, and Laura noticed he wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“Stuff?” she asked.
“Yeah. X-Men stuff. School stuff. Math questions,” he floundered.
“Uh, sure. Hold on a second,” she said, throwing off her pack and fumbling in her backpack for her phone. He mumbled the number as Laura typed it in, and then, just like that, he was turning around to leave in the other direction.
“I gotta go,” he muttered.
“Ok…” Laura said to the space where Cole had just been, as she watched him scamper away through the throng of kids. She turned back around, head still fuzzy and spinning and phone still in hand, as she finished making her way to the Bronco, opening up the passenger door and climbing in the front seat. Finally, she meekly brought her gaze upward, looking quietly to her padre. He had an arched brow, a small smirk on his face. Sigue siendo un buen día.
“Hi Papa,” she muttered through a half-smile.
“You ok, kid?” he asked.
“Yeah…yeah,” she said, before biting her lip and looking up to him again. He was staring at her knowingly and she exhaled through her nose.
“You heard?” she finally asked. Logan cleared his throat through a slight cough, before putting the Bronco in reverse.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” he muttered.
“You’re not mad?” she asked. Her father only smirked, before turning the Bronco off into the main road.
“Eh. Cole’s harmless,” he said. Just then though, Laura’s phone vibrated in her hand, and as she glanced down at it, she realized it was a message from the new number she had just inputted into her phone.
Do you have a date to the dance? Cole. Laura could feel the blush creep up her cheeks as she stared down at the screen.
Logan cleared his throat, before he added, “That him askin’ ya to the dance thing? Over text?”
“How’d you know?” she asked.
“Hmpf. He’s not so hard to figure out,” he muttered and then, turning to look at her once more, he added through a slight smirk, “Kid’s sorta scared of ya, isn’t he?”
At this, Laura’s face broke out into a true smile as her padre looked back to her. She shrugged her shoulders helplessly, even though they both could hear her heart thumping heavily still with the events of the last few minutes. No one said anything for a bit of time as town slowly dissipated and the truck made its way up the long gravel drive, until finally Logan spoke again.
“You know, hija, if ya wanna go with him, it’s alright by me,” he finally murmured.
“Really?” Laura asked, through another small smile.
“Yeah. I mean, after this morning, I’m not sure I could even stop ya anymore if I wanted to,” he muttered through a chuckle. Laura frowned slightly at this brand of humor, but chose to disregard the comment and put a smile on her face once more instead.
“Thanks, Papa,” she murmured.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, throwing her another glance, before murmuring, “Kay’s over tonight. Is that alright with you?”
“Really?” she asked, voice brightening with the news.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Perfecto,” she murmured, before leaning back in the seat, clutching the phone to her chest all the more tightly.
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