Ring. Ring. Ring. /Pick up the phone. Please. Help./ One more ring and I'd get the machine ... and this was the sort of message that didn't go on the machine. Ri--

"Hello?"

Thank goodness. "Alison?"

"Hi!"

I tried my hardest not to project worry, even though I inevitably was. But that sort of thing didn't work over the phone ... at least, not to my knowledge. And I tried to calm down. "Hi, it's me."

"Yeah, what's up?"

I looked down at the letter in my hand again, at the crinkled paper with the worn edges I must've read a thousand times. How had they found me? And for that matter, how had this bloody letter gotten into this world? This sort of thing just wasn't -- it wasn't possible. "Um, I got this letter ..."

"Yeah?"

" ... from this, um, school ..."

"College stuff? I get those all the time, from these schools I've never even heard of."

That wasn't exactly it. "That's not exactly it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I'm, um ... they're sending me away ..." I somehow couldn't get the words out. I never really could. " ... to this place in Massachusetts ..."

"Where? Why? That's so far away! Don't leave me!"

It wasn't the distance I was worried about, but the content of the letter. See ... "Um ... well ... I called you for two reasons, really ... well, first I figured it was just something you'd sent me, 'cause you'd probably do this sort of thing, like with Jimmy, Jack and Freddo ..." She must've seen Apollo 13 a million times; Alison was obsessed with the space program and once sent me a letter from "Jack" claiming that "Jimmy" was going to hijack the moon and it was a matter of national security. It had, of course, been carbon copied to Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. And it was very cute, because she'd gone to great lengths to make it look very official. But this was almost too official-looking.... " ... 'cause you read those stupid comic books ..."

"Jen?"

"This letter, it's from, um, it says I'm, ah, maybe you'd better, I mean --" I was spluttering and it was embarrassing. "I mean this stupid thing says I'm a Zeep and I'm off to Zeepland forever and ever. But they can't do that, right, 'cause Zeeps are just comic books and they don't take real people 'cause they don't really exist but I don't know maybe it isn't 'cause it's not the real Zeeps it's like some high school or something and I just wanna go home!"

Pause.

"You didn't write it, did you?" I asked. It had been my last hope -- maybe this was a trick? -- despite all the arrangements already made. But even Alison wouldn't go that far.

"No ..."

"I'm not a Zeep!" But ... maybe it explained the weird things going on lately. I mean, I've always been considered "psycho freak girl" and I didn't know why -- there's never been a decent explanation for it. If I was ... a Zeep ... then it would make a lot of sense. But I wasn't ... I couldn't be. Even so, I couldn't deny that I'd been ... feeling things ... that I didn't normally feel. And I was a "fanta-chondriac", at least, that's how I put it -- I always thought strange or unusual things were happening to me even when I knew they couldn't possibly be. But here this letter was, right in my hand, spelling things out in black and white.

"This isn't fair," Alison pouted into the phone.

"What!" I screeched.

"You get to be a Zeep and I don't. It figures!"

"But I don't want to go," I pointed out. "I want to stay here." Where, I reasoned, I may not like life but at least I knew what to expect.

"I wanna see this letter."

"Um, okay. Come on over ..." I suggested.

"Okay, be right there."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone and tossed it on a pile of dirty clothes that had accumulated in the corner. And my parents had seen the letter and thought nothing of it. School had even recognized this "Massachusetts Academy" as legitimate, and I would be sent there as soon as possible. Surprisingly, there were no tuition fees demanded, no strings attached: just come and they'd explain everything to us. I didn't want to go.

Frustrated, I turned on my CD player. Thoom, "Every finger in the room is pointing at me," sang Tori Amos. Thoom, "Wanna spit in their faces, but," Thoom, "get afraid of what that could bring ..." And Thoom, thoom, thoom, until the intricate piano harmony kicked in, followed shortly by the drums ... "nothing I do is good enough for you..." I sighed and flopped down on my bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling. "Chains ... chains ... oh-oh-oh." It was nice in there. I could be alone, and just listen to Tori and her piano and I didn't have to worry about parents or school or freakish letters from comic book worlds. "Crucify" finished and "Girl" started ... more music I could sympathize with, somehow. "She's been everybody else's girl, maybe one day she'll be her own ..." Ugh. I was growing so tired of these games.

Downstairs, Alison had let herself in. I couldn't hear over the music, but I just knew somehow ... more of these frightening feelings. And that stupid letter that said I was a Zeep. Gross. And now that she was here, I'd have to get up, open my door, and let her know where I was. I did so. "I'm upstairs!" I yelled and went back into my room before she could bother me.

Moments later, she opened the door and saw me laying there on my bed, in the dark room with the music blaring from my stereo. "You are pathetic," she informed me.

"Thanks," I muttered sarcastically.

"You're welcome. What's this letter?"

I waved it like a flag of surrender from my prostrate position. She grabbed it from my hand and read it over.

"That is so cool," she said finally.

"You'd think so," I sighed unenthusiastically. "You're the one who reads those stupid comic books."

"They are not stupid."

"Speak for yourself." I sighed again and sat up. "I'm leaving next week, starting fourth quarter there. And don't give me that look," I added as I noticed her eyes widen in surprise. "I only found out myself the other day. I would've called you sooner but you weren't around."

"Uh-huh ..."

"I want to know how it got here. I mean, Zeeps aren't real ... unless there's something I don't know about?"

"And something I don't know about, either," she remarked.

Perhaps I ought to explain our terminology if it hasn't already crossed your mind. Years ago, Alison began reading comic books, specifically Spider-Man and X-Men. She often converts me to things -- she's the one who got me into Star Trek and seaQuest, among other things -- and I feared I might start actually enjoying her new love as well. So I immediately I made up nicknames: Spider-Man became "Soup" for some inexplicable reason (to this day I can't remember the origin of that) and X-Men became "Z-People" which was later shortened to "Zeeps" and soon "Zeep" came to mean "anyone with strange or fantastic powers"--so even someone in comic book land who wasn't on that particular team was also a Zeep. At least by my unusual standards. Back to your regularly scheduled moaning and complaining.

"Well, I don't want to go." I, like most people, have a knack for stating the painfully obvious.

"I do." So does she. rday morning cartoon, and this guy was not apparently quite so special. Or perhaps he was a newer character. Light -- I couldn't believe I was thinking like this. This was impossible. Or a really bad dream. Yes, that was it ... it had to be a dream. And I would eventually wake up. Right? Right.

And at this point I was traveling in this car with this guy I didn't know -- but he said his name was Sam, how was I today? All in all he was rather polite and very nice, the sort of person I was sure this bloody school from Massachusetts sent to make my parents think everything was okay when in actuality I was being kidnapped and would be taken to a far away place ... but on second thought, perhaps that wasn't so bad. I could get away for once: away from parents and away from people at school calling me psycho and away from everything I wanted to get away from.

I almost felt sorry for him, that is, unless I was only picking up his emotions again and assuming they were mine. And that, dear friends, is why I was going to this school in the first place: because I was some sort of telepath or something!

Right. And Fox Mulder was going to come by and tell me it was all one big alien conspiracy.

Which wouldn't be too surprising, considering.

Thankfully, Sam had stopped singing along with the terribly annoying country music on the radio. Not that I really mind country or anything, but in moderation ... all things in moderation! I wondered, though, why he'd just stopped all of a sudden. But I didn't care; I took this opportunity to change the station to something a bit more ... tolerable. Luckily some station was playing Sarah McLachlan's "Building a Mystery", so I left it there for the duration of the ride.

I had fallen asleep. And it was quite embarrassing. I hadn't intended to fall asleep. But the break was welcome.

"Jen? Jen, yer gonna hafta wake up now."

Did I mention Mr. Sam had a strong southern accent? I pretended his twang hadn't penetrated my thick, sleeping skull, and I was still lost in dreamland. That is, if I wasn't already lost in dreamland, which, by the way, I was still praying I was.

"Mmmgfff," I explained, which means, "I'm still asleep; go away."

My plan didn't work.

"C'mon, Ah know yer awake."

No. Not "Ah". If this kept up I would soon be speaking like him, and I didn't want that.

"Ah gotcha stuff already," Sam explained. "Are ya comin' out?"

I opened my eyes and simply Looked at him. He was peering in my window, my bags stacked in a neat pile behind him. "No," I answered bluntly. I then turned my head back to the dashboard, eyes open since I wasn't pulling off feigned sleep, blatantly ignoring him.

"Aw, c'mon," Sam urged, "it won't be that bad. They're all real nice here."

Somehow I doubted that.

"Not even for a little while?"

I glared at him, one eyebrow arched as though his elevator hadn't gone to the top floor and I knew it.

"Ah'll even come with ya," he promised.

No. Not "Ah" again.

"An' Ah'll introduce ya ta everyone if they don't do it themselves first. They really are very nice," he insisted.

Perhaps a few minutes wouldn't hurt. But I would be coming right back into this car and driving home myself if I had to. Or maybe to New York City. I always wanted to go there; I had friends there and if I had free rein of where to go, I'd certainly take advantage of it. I slowly unbuckled my seat belt and got out of the car.

I walked behind Sam, suddenly feeling shy rather than stubborn, though still quite unwilling to remain in this prison, as I was so sure it would be.

A few moments after he rang the doorbell, there was an apparent fight over who would be the one to answer as voices rose in argument. I gave Sam a wary glance as though to ask, "This is what you're dragging me into?" The only response was a naïve shrug, just as the door was finally opened by a platinum blonde dressed in ... white lingerie and boots? She smiled an only slightly devious smile as Sam dropped his eyes to the woman's feet. "Good, ah, Mornin', Miz Frost ..."

I couldn't help but snicker. He was quite amusing.

Catching my laughter, "Miz Frost" peered around Sam to find me hiding behind him. "I see," was all she said before her voice seemed to brighten a few degrees. Thus far, her name seemed quite fitting. "Welcome. I am Emma Frost, headmistress," she introduced herself crisply and turned on her heel. "Come in," she invited, far from being warm and very nearly domineering. As domineering, that is, as an invitation could possibly be. She expected us to follow her inside like so many ducklings.

I knew she was a telepath even before she set about probing me. It was bizarre -- a week ago I'd never expected this sort of thing to happen. Nobody else was supposed to do this, just me. Because nobody else could do this -- nobody else could get inside my head, only I could get in theirs. That was the way of things. And people most certainly were not supposed to glow the way Ms. Frost was. A pink halo had set itself up around her head as she tried to scan me.

~surprise~ Her emotion came flooding to me, though only physically expressed in the slight widening of her eyes and a diminishing of color in the magenta aura that surrounded her. "Please," I asked softly, "if there's anything you'd like to know, just ask."

Sam glanced at me sideways but said nothing.

"Come with me," she ordered, leading me into some room adjacent to the foyer. "Have a seat," she instructed. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

I shook my head as I sat down. She picked up her own glass of something I probably wouldn't like, as she sat on the couch across from the chair I'd selected. I was fairly certain that the position she'd placed herself in was simply to make Sam feel uncomfortable.

"Now," she began, "tell us about yourself."

Us? I knew Sam already knew "about me", and Ms. Frost wasn't plural, at least, not to my knowledge, but I supposed that if I'd gotten this far, anything was possible. "My name is Jen," I offered. "So far as I know, I'm not here because of my exceptional grades or anything--it's because I'm telepathic or something, isn't it?"

Ms. Frost nodded ever so slightly.

"Well, ah ... I'm 17, and I'm in some honors classes. I was on the speech team but the season's over. My grades are decent, I take Spanish and art...." This was what she wanted to hear, wasn't it? She was so hard to read; all I'd gotten from her was that flash of surprise earlier. And that in itself -- that I was even thinking that she was hard to read -- was weird. Beyond weird, even, because these things, these emotions were coming to me and I wasn't making them up. And I was starting to accept it -- at least in my own head. There was no need to let anyone else know that I'd accepted it, though. Because I hadn't. :) Denial is a beautiful thing sometimes.

"That isn't what I mean, child," Ms. Frost said.

Child? This would be a long day.

"Tell me about yourself," she explained. "What do you do?"

Do? "Well ... um. I draw, paint ... well, not that I'm any good, just what I do in art class. I like clay when it decides to cooperate with me. I like music ... " Exactly how much I liked music was a fact I decided not to share; the piano was like a friend to me, a friend I could go to and let out all my energies when they were bottled up. My lyrics were my poetry, my truest emotions put into words. Music soothed me; when I needed to I turned on Tori or Sarah and just listened, tuning everything else out. I got the feeling, however, that this wasn't what Ms. Frost wanted to hear about. "As for everything else," I added, gaining a confidence I didn't know I could possess, now looking right at her, "I'm sure you already know."

She was about to say something but was interrupted by an exuberant female voice calling from the stairs above. "Hey! Frosty! Who's that?"

Three heads, mine included, turned towards the voice's source, who was munching on a crunchy something and wearing a bright yellow jacket, which was fanned out behind her as she ran down the stairs.

Now, the extent of my prior Zeep knowledge (aside from Alison's endless ramblings) being random viewings of the animated series on Saturday mornings (as I'm sure I have already mentioned) when I found myself bored completely out of my skull, I knew of only one person who would ever wear such a thing: Jubilee. I sincerely hoped she wasn't as annoying as her animated counterpart.

"This is Jennifer," Ms. Frost introduced me. "Jennifer, Jubilation Lee. You already know Sam."

"New kid!" Jubilee exclaimed. "I'll go get everyone!" She retreated from view, running back upstairs, though could still be heard. "Hey, Hayseed! Guess who's here!" Thankfully her voice diminished shortly afterwards.

Ms. Frost only shook her head disdainfully. "I apologize for the interruption," she said, rearranging herself on the couch. "Now, as you were saying?"

"I wasn't," I answered, still uncomfortable. She was trying to invade my head again, the pink aura flaring again. Wordlessly, almost unconsciously, I put up walls. I hadn't had much practice -- like I've already mentioned, not that many people have tried to get inside my head. I knew they weren't very strong, but it was the best I could do right now and I most certainly did not want this woman -- who displayed herself like a piece of meat, might I add -- poking around in my skull.

Now that I thought about it, she looked familiar. Perhaps I had seen her on the cartoon ... trying to concentrate on holding the walls, I racked another section of my brain. If she'd been in an episode I'd seen, I could change it from a buried memory into a surface thought and subsequently scare her -- or at least try to scare her. It didn't seem like much could faze her.

Then I found it: an animated version of the white-corseted woman before me had been a player in the oft-repeated "Dark Phoenix Saga". I played that part I remembered over and over again and slowly took down my own walls, repeating the poorly animated sequence replete with cheesy dialogue at a level comparable to a song stuck in one's head.

~!!~

I smiled, thoroughly satisfied with myself. I'd scared her. :)

Almost immediately I was hit with the probe she'd been trying to conduct on me. And it hurt something awful, like someone pounding on every part of my psyche -- from the inside out. I wanted to shove her out, to get rid of her in any way I possibly could, but I couldn't. She was too strong.

What seemed like hours later -- but must have been only a minute at most -- she was gone, and I could open my eyes again. "Don't," I whispered angrily, "ever do that again."

~satisfaction~smug~ (*I don't foresee a need to,*) she cooed directly into my brain, some unspoken intent behind her words. (*Provided you've learned your lesson. You have nothing to worry about.*)

I was certain I did.

"I will be returning shortly," she told us. "Make yourselves comfortable. I imagine you'll be staying with us a while."

Not if I could help it. It was time to go, I decided. She retreated into a room I didn't notice previously, and as soon as she was gone, Sam lifted his eyes fully, letting out an almost indiscernible breath.

A split-second later, Jubilee reappeared, bounding energetically down the stairs. "Hey!" she greeted brightly, in startling contrast to Ms. Frost's icy tones. "So you're Jennifer, huh?"

"Jen," I corrected. "Jennifer's okay, sometimes Jennaea but that's online, never Jenny, but mostly Jen."

"Okay," she agreed, "Jen. Kewl. Frosty was tellin' us all about ya but now it's like nobody wants to talk to ya or nothin'. I don't know what's up with that. She said you were some sorta empath or somethin'? That you read emotions. I don't know how much of what she said's true, sometimes she likes ta try an' scare us -- doesn't work half the time, y'know, but doesn't really matter much t'me anymore. Don't worry about her -- ya get used t' it."

I wondered how she could possibly speak so much -- and so fast -- around the rather large wad of gum she chewed.

"So is she right?" ~excitement~curiosity~

Darkly outlined Asian eyes looked at me, fully expecting an answer that I wasn't prepared to give. Was who right about what? She was wearing too much eyeliner ... not that I was any expert on makeup, but it just seemed like too much.

"Uh ... yeah," I answered vaguely, trying my hardest to send a plea for help to Sam. I'd known him longer, if only by a few hours. I almost knew what to expect from him. At this point I was being thrust into dangerous territory, a situation I didn't know with people I didn't know and didn't really want to know. I listened as she babbled on, dragging me along on a tour, about the school and its facilities -- I knew she didn't really care too much, either.

I looked again to Sam for help, but he only shrugged at me. Some friend he was turning out to be. "Ah -- Ah'll be right back," he explained. "Go on with Jubilee. Ah got some stuff ta take care of." He was most decidedly uncomfortable even though Ms. Frost was quite out of sight. Perhaps she was still bothering him telepathically. I wouldn't have put it past her at that point. The hallway we now stood in as a result of Jubilee's tourguide-ism was far removed from the main foyer, but Sam left us decisively in the manner of one who knew his way around the building. I wondered if he stayed here or if he was simply a chauffeur for new students. And then I had to wonder if there were any other new people coming. I imagined so -- it just didn't seem likely that a school would recruit one incoming student for a new term.

I followed Jubilee to what she explained was the "Danger Grotto", or Biosphere. Her introduction of the self-sufficient unit was peppered with vocabulary from the late eighties: "rad" and "kewl" and "totally" and the like. I smiled to myself.

"Now ya get ta meet everyone! This is the fun part, trust me."

I laughed, employing a setup of friendship, but I wouldn't trust her with my life in a tight situation, former X-man or no. I sincerely hoped that wouldn't be necessary, though. Sincerely. I was nearly chasing Jubilee down the hall, that bright yellow jacket like a flag before me, when I heard music -- yes, music from somewhere. Somewhere nearby someone was playing a guitar.

"Jen?" Jubilee noticed I'd stopped dead in my tracks. "That's yer name, right? Y' all right? Yer not, like, totally --"

"Shh," I hushed her, interrupting by waving a hand ambiguously in the empty air beside me. "Do you hear that?" I whispered.

"Yah, that's just Jono ... "

Oh, yes, that certainly explained things. But a musician! There was a musician living within these walls! The very thought was enough. I followed to the source of the faint guitar music; as it grew louder I knew I was traveling in the right direction.

And now Jubilee was the one to follow me, even though I had no idea where I was going. I was attracted to the music like a shark is to blood in the water, and I couldn't let go. It was already too late.

"I don't think ya want ta do that," Jubilee warned.

I heard her, but I wasn't listening. Fascinated, entranced, I pushed open the door at the end of the long hallway and was faced with an even darker cavern of a room. The only illumination consisted faint pinpricks of light that seemed somehow muffled, like they weren't anywhere near their full intensity. These minute stars seem to shine from within the shadow-shrouded figure on a couch against the wall.

I'd found the musician ... but he had stopped playing the guitar he held. It was so dark in there.... What had Jubilee said his name was?

"Hey, uh ..." Jubilee ventured tentatively, snaking around me to come into the dark room. "Geeze, it's dark in here," she muttered.

The musician's shoulders rose and fell in an exaggerated shrug. *Whadder yer want?* I knew the words came from him, and they were complete phrases, individual words which had somehow become stuck inside my skull, not the sorts of vague emotions I was used to feeling from people.

"This is Jen," Jubilee introduced me. "She's new. Jen, this is Jonothon Starsmore. Chamber."

*Jono,* he corrected.

"Whatever."

He shook his head and picked up his guitar again, picking at strings aimlessly. Before long, random notes turned to chords as he started strumming some song or another. I listened, watched, as the music flowed, fascinated by the eerie tones he played, accented by the occasional brighter note. There was a curious question surrounding him, much like the indigo blue -- no, not light, it couldn't be classified as quite that. But something similar to light, and I wasn't sure where it came from -- it was probably just him, some darkly beautiful halo that was as much a part of him as anything else. Just beyond that, on the border of intangible color, shone an invisible radiance I knew marked him as a telepath -- again, I just knew, and it was a very odd feeling. I wasn't, though, as uncomfortable around him as I was around Ms. Frost, but the energy that radiated from him combined with his apparent interest in music to create odd forces of attraction before I even knew any more than his name. And yes -- I wanted to meet him. But if this -- thing -- had started, as I believed it was, there was no way I could possibly stay here. Already I choked on whatever words I was about to say, but as soon as I was able to give voice to my emotions I had already forgotten the terms I wanted to use.

He wasn't reading me, not inside my head, but somehow simply aware of my eyes on him, studying him. *Something wrong?*

I bit my lip, which wouldn't have done me any good in preventing unwanted thoughts from surfacing as spoken words since I'd completely forgotten how to speak, anyhow. "Um ... mm, no," I mused thoughtfully, half to myself and the sounds coming out of my mouth coming as a complete shock to me since at that point I'd thought I couldn't say a thing if my life depended on it. "I play the piano. Did you -- did you write that?"

*Yes, after a fashion.*

After a fashion? Something inside me trembled; my hands went suddenly and inexplicably cold, numb, and away. I feared the same might happen to my feet. What was triggering this? Light -- this was not good.

"It's -- it's haunting," I said, emotions spilling from me, overflowing out of my mind and I could not curb them even if I tried. I was -- tight inside and loose, warm and cold all at the same time. I feared I might have to sit down soon if this kept up.

But before he even had a chance to respond, someone or something grabbed my arm and dragged me out into the hallway. Once I could regain what little composure I may have had to begin with, if any at all, I glared sharply at Jubilee. She had been the one to remove me from a situation I may have actually enjoyed had I not been feeling like the world might swallow me whole at any given moment. "What did you do that for?" I hissed, still trembling, still almost afraid.

"He's already got a girlfriend," she explained.

A girlfriend? What! That wasn't my intent. It hadn't even seemed that way! And if it had, then it was no fault of mine. Still, her statement managed to sting: now I knew I wouldn't stay here. There was no way I could, not with this -- thing -- developing in the back of my brain and refusing to leave. "Look, it's like I said," I tried to explain, trying and perhaps failing to sound rational, "I write music, too." Had I even managed to say that much, or had she grabbed me away before I'd voiced that thought?

"Sure ya do," she laughed, grinning and assuming things she had absolutely no reason to assume. As I turned my head away from her, not wanting to deal with the thoughts I knew she was forming but couldn't read -- and didn't really want to read -- I caught an obnoxious flare of color. It was a bright shade of magenta, closer to red, actually, and I figured she was perhaps demonstrating the fireworks I knew she was capable of displaying. I blinked and turned to her again; it was still there, a some transparent wispy glow encircling Jubilee closely in three dimensions. She hadn't been glowing like that before. It grew only a fraction of a shade purpler as she grew uncharacteristically suspicious. Of me. "You okay?" she asked, her voice matching the aura that colored the air close to her.

"Um, I guess," I replied. "You're ... glowing ...."

~amusement~ as she grinned back at me, her aura coloring back to the bright magenta it was only moments before. "C'mon, let's go!" She grabbed my arm again and led me, rather violently, through hallways and up and down various staircases. She hadn't believed me, I realized with a moment of confusion. This was weird -- just plain out weird. She hadn't been glowing like that before -- why was she now? Maybe, I thought, maybe Ms. Frost could explain it to me -- maybe it was some sort of weird telepathic thing, but there was no way I was going to talk to her ... I couldn't stand her. Wasn't there some other adult here? If I had to live here, like this, with that white-corseted ... woman ... as my legal guardian I feared I would go quite mad within a matter of days.

I was taken to a section of the school where the girls' dorms were located. "I'm pretty sure Paige is in here," Jubilee explained. "If she's not in her room studying she's exercising somewhere." The yellow-jacketed girl rolled her eyes before knocking on the door in front of her. While she awaited an answer -- I wasn't particularly interested in meeting anyone else; my mind was still thoroughly muddled by a combination of my confusion and the growing attraction to the musician in the back of my head -- while she waited, I noticed she was shorter than I was. Not too much shorter, as I might've expected, but still shorter. And still glowing -- the light's presence was annoying enough, that I didn't know why it was there just made things worse.

The door was soon opened quickly in that slightly annoyed manner of someone who's incredibly busy and doesn't want to be bothered -- simply turn the doorknob to release the catch and let the person bothering you come in on their own. A terribly miffed figure retreated from the door as Jubilee forged the way into the girl's room. As the blonde girl sat down at her desk, she asked, "What do you want, Lee?" Each word was forcibly enunciated, clipped in an unnatural manner. Her eyes remained on the task before her, some paper or notes I wasn't particularly interested in, but she apparently was.

"Geez, bite my head off already, I just wanted t' introduce ya --"

The studious one spun in her chair, not getting up, examining me through black-rimmed glasses like some specimen in a lab. It felt ... humiliating. Again my voice was hard to find, but not for the same reasons as before and not nearly as far gone.

"I'm Jen," I said for what felt like the tenth time that day, "um, an empath. Out of courtesy (and uncertainty) I extended my right hand.

She took it, shaking firmly, and introduced herself. "Paige Guthrie. Husk."

Husk? What the heck did that mean? I dropped her hand.

"Nice to meet you," I added, even though it wasn't.

Her smile seemed as forced as her words. "Likewise," she stated and turned immediately back to her work. The palest of pale glows could be seen around her head and shoulders as she took her meticulous notes. Not her, too ... oh, not her, too. But I dismissed it; it wasn't that visible and could easily be written off as my own hyperactive imagination, which I hoped it was.

"Well," Jubilee continued as she walked out of the room, with me not far behind, "she's not usually so ... Scullyfied ... but I guess it happens, y'know?"

Had she just said "Scullyfied"? As in Dana Scully? If I hadn't misheard, that meant Jubilee watched X-Files ... and that, I noted, was a good thing. A very good thing.

"I guess you'll be able to take any of the other rooms here," she added as she gestured down the long hallway, "well, those that aren't taken, of course!" She laughed.

Apparently she was under the impression that I was staying. Of course she'd been misinformed. "I'm not -- I mean, I can't --"

"Huh?"

"I'm not staying," I managed to spit out.

"Whaddaya mean? Of course you're staying! Sam already dropped off all your stuff! Why didja think he left us? He already knows this place, there'd be no need for him t' stay here, 'cept maybe to annoy Paige -- she's his sister -- but he's too nice for that, y'know? And she really isn't in the sorta mood I'd want to annoy anyone in!"

I couldn't believe a word I was hearing. Even the part about Sam being nice. He'd left me here? He'd left my luggage behind? I couldn't believe I'd fallen for it -- the exact same trick was used on Captain Bridger in the first episode of seaQuest! I should have known they'd try something on me. Sam's innocence had been greatly underestimated -- or perhaps that was an evil ploy as well, to get me out of the house and then back here. This couldn't be happening. I had to be dreaming. Yes -- of course I was still dreaming, because I wasn't here in the first place, standing here, talking to a girl out of a cartoon!

I said no more to her, as though not speaking to her might prove she didn't exist, and stalked off in some greatly annoyed huff to one of the empty rooms. The walls were stark and bare, the contents empty and as pristine white as Ms. Frost's entire ensemble. The bed was shoved off in a corner, wedged between square walls. I paid no mind to the room's other furnishings as I flopped angrily onto the bed. Its sheets were bleached and starched, rough with an excess of detergent like the sheets of a hotel bed, an uninspiringly plain beige comforter stretched across its horizontal plane. I tore the sheets from it in a stupid rage, threw the single starched pillow from the mattress and laid there, face down in the upset, shaking ball that I'd become. I hugged my knees close to my chest, rolled onto my side and wanted desperately to cry. I wanted to go home. I wanted my Tori Amos CD so I could blast "Precious Things" and scream along. I didn't want to be here; I didn't like it and it was impossible. It was bloody flaming impossible, and I had no ride back to reality!

I picked up the nonexistent covers, threw them over my head, and simply let the hot liquid run from my eyes down my face, soaking the nonexistent fitted sheet beneath me. I missed my flannel sheets from home; they were so warm. But now I created my own warmth, an angry, homesick warmth that filled my tiny space underneath the nonexistent sheets. And I thought, /Perhaps if I fall asleep here, I'll wake up at home, and I'll be fine 'cause everything'll be okay then ... /

I did fall asleep. And I'd dreamed I was in my grandmother's basement, where I found a positively ugly T-shirt transfer of a one-eyed one-horned flying people eater (it wasn't purple). Thinking it belonged to my grandmother, I ironed it onto a shirt for her, but when she came home, she told me it wasn't hers. Only moments after she disowned it, the guy from Counting Crows strolled in the back door, claiming the T-shirt as his own, and left. Truly odd. What seemed even stranger, though, was that from just outside, holding his brand new T-shirt bearing the image of a one-eyed one-horned flying people eater, the guy from Counting Crows called, "Come and eat, we got pizza!"

I was awakened shortly thereafter by the door of the room I'd apparently claimed swinging open and an ever-exuberant Miss Lee shouting at me to wake up; the pizza was getting cold. I was still so tired, but hunger won out over my reluctance to join the group. I followed Jubilee downstairs (she chattered all the way about seemingly everything and nothing all at once) to some sort of den, where a group of people were seated around a TV, which was showing a repeat episode of X-Files -- "Grotesque", to be exact. Nobody was really paying attention, and no wonder -- I'd seen that episode twice and still didn't understand it!

Of the group gathered, I recognized a few faces. Paige sat on the floor contentedly munching a slice of pizza, her mind quite obviously elsewhere. She hadn't struck me as the type to needlessly daydream but it certainly looked like she was, and it was probably about calculus. Ms. Frost was still in the white corset and boots, though nobody seemed to mind or call any attention to that fact. She'd opted, it seemed, not to eat the greasy, topping-loaded dinner that graced the coffee table and almost everyone else's plates -- and no wonder; I imagined her "outfit" (if it could be called that) stained easily. Jono was glaring at the television with a bored, disinterested look as though it wasn't what he wanted to watch at all, and he'd much rather be anywhere else at this point. I couldn't blame him. A copper-skinned girl I didn't know sat quite regally in a chair by herself, her posture perfect and every inch of her being screaming ~I am above this!~ She'd cut her pizza into bite-sized pieces and was daintily eating them with a fork. A red-haired man, also unfamiliar, took up the portion of the couch beside Ms. Frost.

"Um," I said quietly, afraid to talk to all these new souls, "hi."

The red-haired man's face lit up, smiling and amicable. Before he could say anything, though, two tall guys pushed through a door to the rear of the room, each carrying cans of Pepsi. My attention was immediately drawn to the first, whose build seemed a bit too lanky, and as he came into the light, I could see his skin was an unnatural shade of grey. What? /Comic book,/ I reminded myself. /These people don't exist. They can be whatever color of the rainbow they want to be./ The second guy, whose dark-skinned head was shaved bald, carried a tall glass of iced tea in addition to the Pepsis. /Probably for Frost,/ I thought.

The click of claws on tile followed them -- I sensed some creature following them into the room. Immediately I tensed. I couldn't stand dogs, and this one sounded big, which made it even worse.

Frost introduced me to the newcomers, graciously accepting her tea from the guy named Everett. The grey-skinned one was Angelo. There was still no sign of the dog.

No, I corrected myself, taking a slice of plain pizza and settling in a chair by myself. There was no dog -- the presence I sensed was too intelligent to be canine.

So what else had claws? A really big cat?

And was someone talking to me?

Not more small talk.

I glanced around the room. Dark. Blue light coming from -- Mulder, going crazy on TV. Strange, colored lights dancing around everyone. Where had those come from?

"Jen?" Jubilee's voice. "Jen, I'd move if -- "

Flashes of black and red jumped between me and the pizza box on the table. The large shape settled itself back after taking the last slice from the box. And what under the Light was that? The creature was certainly built like a human, but was most decidedly red, with long, sharp spikes that grew from its head and fell in a single curve down its back. Its -- no, her, it was female -- her limbs were wrapped in black strips and fastened with myriad silver buckles that caught reflections of dim light.

No, this was worse than a dog. I couldn't move or scream, paralyzed in my seat. Didn't anyone see that? I glanced helplessly about, but nobody gave any indication they'd even seen it -- her, I corrected.

She turned her head, crowned with its red spikes of hair and showed me her red face with large pupilless blue eyes. She saw me. She saw me.

I stood atop the chair, jumped from its arm, and bolted from the room. I couldn't stay in there. Not with -- that. Her. Whatever. I couldn't stay in there. I ran upstairs. Had to get back upstairs. I didn't care about the pizza I left to get cold. I wasn't hungry anymore. I went back into my room. Were those voices calling after me?

I didn't care. I didn't want to stay here. When could I go home?

I stayed in my room for what seemed like forever, not caring and not wanting to talk to anyone, just curled up under these awful covers in bed where it was nice and I could just be with myself. That was all I needed, anyway.

I stared at the ceiling from ceiling-staring central, namely, the bed. The sheets were itchy and thin around my face, the blanket didn't fit: it was too short. I was getting cold. I didn't ask to come here or anywhere, I didn't want to be a Zeep -- oh, must I use that term? Why candy-coat facts with colorful euphemisms? Thing was, I was here, and I was a mutant. No question. But then, so was everyone else here, even Ms. Frost and Mr. Cassidy, and they were the only adults I could find.

A soft knock sounded on the door. I sat up and turned on the generic lamp that stood on the night stand, casting a warm yellow glow about the room. I rubbed my eyes and took my glasses from near the lamp's base, putting them on before gently calling, "Come in."

The door creaked slowly open to reveal Paige standing there with an armful of old -- well, they looked old -- sheets and blankets. She smiled. It wasn't quite so forced as before ... was it? I thought perhaps she was on a mission from either of the adults, but there was a sincerity about her that wasn't there the first time I'd met her. "Hi," she said, "I thought ya -- you -- might be able to use these." She laughed gently and stepped further into the room.

"Uh ... thanks," I said, standing, and taking some of the blankets from her. "That was really nice."

"You're welcome." She shrugged. "I'm sorry about before, but I was studying."

"That's okay," I said. Hmm. I didn't really think it was okay, 'cause she really wasn't paying attention to me or anything, but it didn't matter. I unfolded one of the blankets -- some garishly colored orange, brown, green, and tan thing that I could have sworn must have come straight from 1972. It was thick, though, and its age gave it comfort, unlike the hotel-wannabe sheets of this former guest room. I decided that, despite its less-than-appealing color scheme, I liked that blanket. It was a happy blanket. :)

"How have things been going here?" she asked, unfolding another of the blankets. "So far, I mean," she added.

"Okay, I guess. I haven't been here long, but it looks like I'm stuck here." I laughed at something, I didn't know what, since whatever I'd said certainly hadn't been funny. "I do want to go home, though," I admitted. I thought about that a moment. I wanted to go home, but what was home? Angry parents yelling, homework every waking moment, responsibilities that were enforced upon me but without the freedom and individuality I so craved.

I tore the remainder of starched sheets from the bed and threw them into a heap on the floor. I'd pick those up later. I picked up the happy ugly blanket and wrapped myself in it, sitting on my feet in a corner of the bed, my knees drawn up in front of me.

She took that as a dismissal, which it wasn't intended to be, but by that point I was tired (despite my earlier nap) and I let her go. I turned over and put my glasses back on the night stand, and turned off the lamp. The comfortable sheets were welcome and, curled inside them, I soon fell asleep a happy person in spite of my homesickness.