<< about time we got this puppy on the road >> Yes'am. Bobbi warm-up, minus the ever-elusive Angel. Alestar __________________ * * * Jagged blue against a pale green. She wore that dress to school everyday, as must have several siblings, or even generations, if the faded stripes and tenuous patches were any indication. It never stank or needed mending; but the sheer audacity of wearing it everyday was enough to win her the ostracism of her peers. "Hey, Martha Barf-a!!" "We found a husband for you!" "His name's Pooch! He's real nice. You'll just have to get used to the drool. And the fleas!" "Oh, but you're probably *already* used to those!" * * * Daddy turns a particularly sharp curve, making lukewarm Sprite spill onto my skirt, startling me out of my thoughts. I look down at my now soaked skirt. Jagged blue against pale green. Sigh. Martha Barf-a. Of course, I'd made up different names for her (you've got to change your material every now and then), but that was the one they liked best. Jennifer had laughed so hard milk had come out her nose. And it never got old. They never got tired of calling that after Martha, as she ran across the playground with her hands covering her ears and salty tears blocking her vision. Well. It was her fault really. If only she hadn't worn that stupid dress all the time, they'd have left her alone. She'd have been safe. Why couldn't she just change? Just change. I read the passing road sign. Salem Center 25 miles. And I look down at my green skirt, with its embarrassingly suggestive wet spot; and I feel my lower lip begin to tremble. I bite down on the offending lip hard, until I feel a flood of iron. Nobody wants a crybaby, Bobbi. I clean the Sprite mess as best I can; and then sit back and count the miles. _________ Mom is fussing over my hair, tugging at one particularly errant strand; Daddy is waiting in the same straight-backed stoic pose he's had since that phone conversation with Mrs. Xavier and telling her not to fuss. They both stop, however, as the door opens to the face of a girl, older than me, with long brown hair and red glasses. "You're here to see the doctor," she says quietly. No one's really sure if this is a question or a statement; and for a moment a pregnant silence hangs in the air. The girl flushes scarlet, and stammers, "The doctor is- is in her office. I'll show you. Mm. Come in." The girl leads us in silence along the hallways to a big oak door, at which she waits for a moment, then opens, as though obeying some secret, unheard command. At a big, wooden desk sits a woman with sharp eyes and a stern mouth. "Mr. and Ms. Drake, come in. Come in, Bobbi." Mom gives a nervous little twitter. "That's Miranda, Mrs. Xavier. After her grandmother." The woman fixes her with a gaze for several moments, and then gives a small, knowing smile. "Yes, Ms. Drake, of course. Miranda." Miranda. Great. Already, with the Miranda. Oh, please. I don't want to be here. These people are creepy. *Don't be so quick to judge, Bobbi.* rings a voice in my head, *You may come to like this place in time.* I start, almost out of my seat; and Mrs. Xavier gives me a small smile. Out loud she says, "Stephanie, why don't you show our new arrival to her room and let her unload her things while I talk with Mr. and Ms. Drake." The girl, Stephanie, I guess, moves to open the large door and looks at me expectantly. I follow her out and down the long corridor to a left, and up a flight of stairs. She doesn't say anything, and our footsteps echo on the hardwood floors. I cough nervously. "Wow, this huge house for just you and Mrs. Xavier, huh? We must get, like, six rooms a-piece." She gives me what might be an odd look, but I can't really tell because of the large, opaque glasses. "One room, with a bathroom. It's up here. And it's *Doctor* Xavier." "Oh. Sorry." A pause hangs in the air. I give it another try. "That mind-talking thing- does she do that alot? Guess you can't ever use the 'I didn't hear you' excuse to get out of work." "The Doctor doesn't ask you to do something unless you need to for your own good. You should listen to her." Hunh. Maybe I offended her with the whole 'Ms. Xavier' thing. Let's try this again. "My name's Bobbi." "I know; the Doctor told us about you." She hesitates for a moment, and then, "My name's Stephanie Summers," she gives me a glance, "Focus." "Huh?" "Focus." "On what?" She actually cracks a smile, for a split second, and then it is gone. "No, Focus is my codename." "Codename?" "Yes, my codename. The name I use instead of my real name in order to keep my civilian identity a secret." Civilian identity? Where am I? I start to ask her about it, but she stops suddenly in front of a door. My door, apparently. "This is it," she says. I open the door and walk in, looking around at the spacious room. "Wow, this is pretty nice. But then, I guess you guys don't get too many-" But I turn around, and she's already gone. I walk slowly to the door and shut it gently. There's no lock on it, so I use myself as a barricade to any of the outside world, pressing myself against the door hard, as hard and with as much fervor as I do not want to be here. ____________ After an eternity, I unlatch myself from the door and calmy begin to explore the new room, *my* new room. My new home. I push the thought from my head. The four-poster bed is simple, wooden; and at the foot is folded a dusty old afghan, at odds with the white, sterile sheets. It makes me smile. Across the room is an antiquified dresser, with a curving mirror and drawers with wrougt iron handles. Though the room is clean, there is a general air of must and dust, which no amount of cleaning can be rid of, and it is apparent that no one has lived in this room for quite some time. I find the thought comforting, somehow. My quick circuit through the room brings me back to the door, with nothing else to do but to pick my way back to Dr. Xavier's office, to my parents, to the only thing in this house at all familiar to me. I open the door trepidatiously. We came from the left. Right? No, we came from the right. I'm sure of it. I think. Yeah, this looks familiar. Except for that window; I don't remember that . . . . . . and that picture on the wall. I'm sure I didn't see that on the way up here. And I feel a panic closing in on me, starting at the tips of my fingers and the corners of my eyes, and rushing inward. As tears begin to sting my eyes, I get a picture of me, crying and running through the halls, just like Martha, and like her I can't see where I'm going. Not that it would matter if I could see because nothing makes sense in this place. Miles and miles of nothingness, in brown and beige; and yet another left turn when there ought to have been the stairs; and *code*names where there ought to have been names like Susan or Trudy or Margaret; and thoughts where there should have been words; and, where there belonged *people*, there were only endless halls and halls of- Pi-CHOOOK!!! From frighteningly close, a huge noise rocks the hall, as purple smoke lolls from underneath the door at the end of the hall. Purple? I move to the door cautiously, and press my ear to it. Through it, I hear a muffled but excited voice. "Gadzooks! What a provocative displosion! And such lovely violet side effects. Of course, now I must devote myself to creating an anti-purplant, if I'm ever to get this carpet clean . . . Anti-purplant . . . Note to self: use the word "anti-purplant" a minimum of five times today." I back away from the door uncertainly, but I don't really have much choice here. I've got to get out of here, even if I have to go through a mad scientist to do it. I take a deep breath (not too deep; there's still purple smoke everywhere) and rap softly on the door. Almost immediately, the door opens; and, had I not been having such an emotional day, I might've been able to hide my reaction. As it is, I gasp and step back, throwing my hands up in instinctual protections against this . . girl? A large, muscular figure looms in the doorway with over-large features and extremities. She resembles nothing so much as a shaven gorilla. Hmm. Gorilla. I'll have to keep that in mind, in case the others don't like her. I recover almost a quickly as she does. I straighten myself and paste on a small, apologetic smile; but not before something passes over her eyes, something old, a hardening, which is gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with a big grin. "Well, hello there, wayfarer. You seem to have fared a way a fair ways away from the fair Long Island. Is there something I can do for you?" My eyes widen in suprise. "You- you know who I am?" "Bobbi Drake, correct? The only student due to arrive today." "Oh. Yeah, I'm Bobbi Drake." "Salutations. I'm Henrietta McCoy, the adamantly allegro Amazon." I return her smile, and some part of it actually tugs at my heart as sincere. "Hi. Um. See, the girl, um, Stephanie, I think", she nods, "She brought me up here to my room, and then she disappeared, and now I can't find my way . . back downstairs . . " I trail off, embarrassed. "Ah, yes, the infamous Xavier labyrinth. Not to worry, follow me, and we'll have you back downstairs, snug as a bug in the proverbial rug. Until, of course, the next time you have to come back to your room." I follow her as she begins to make her way down the hall, and then, smiling, say to her back, "In that case, maybe I should mark the trail with a batch of anti-purplant." She turns and looks at me, and then laughs, surprised. "Why, yes, indeed, that would be a splendid idea. This way, Bobbi." ________ Finding no one in Dr. Xavier's office, Henrietta (Ettie, as she said she's some call her) guides me back to the front hall, where we find the Doctor, and my parents, preparing to make off. As we walk into the foyer area and my parents look up, they see Ettie, and Mom's eyes widen, whereas Daddy just tenses, holding his wife closer. I get angry, somehow defensive over this girl I've just met, so far the only welcoming thing in this over-sized house; and I say loudly, "Hey, Mom, Daddy, this is Ettie. She's a student here." Mom clears her throat delicately. "Hello, Ettie. Miranda's father and I are glad that she'll have so many nice friends in finishing school." Finishing school? Cripes, Mom . . . "Miranda?" Ettie asks, confused. "Yes," Mom answers indulgently, as though explaining something wholly obvious, gesturing to me, "Miranda." Ettie looks at me questioningly. "I thought you said your name was Bobbi." Mom aims her comment to Ettie, but she's glaring holes into me as she says, "Her name is Miranda. After her grandmother." Ettie looks to Dr. Xavier for a moment, before nodding in understanding. It takes me a moment to realize that she must've explained in that way she had, inside the mind. "Miranda," Mom continues, "Come walk your father and I to the car." I follow Mom and Daddy out, and we walk in silence down the sidewalk to the parked blue station wagon. Daddy's back is a straight line, and Mom's digging in her purse, decidedly not looking at me. Mom breaks the quiet. "They- they seem like really nice people." "Yeah," is all I can think to say. And then Daddy gets into the driver's seat. When he starts the car, Mom finally looks at me, quick, without hesitation. Like ripping off a band-aid. "I'm sure you'll love it here, sweetie." She licks her thumb, and straightens my eyebrow makeup. "They seem like really nice people." "Yeah, Mom. I'm sure I will." "You do all your schoolwork, okay? And don't get into any trouble. And don't do anything . . you know . . well . . " she trails off, and she can no longer hold my gaze. Yeah, Mom. I know. "We left some spending money with Mrs. Xavier, and-" "It's *Doctor* Xavier, okay, Mom?" "Oh. Okay. Well. Your father and I need to be back home before it gets dark, so." "Yeah. I'll . . call you." "Okay, sweetie." She leans over to kiss the air beside my cheek, to avoid mussing our makeup. "We'll see you in April." "Okay, Mom." I lean down, peering in, "Bye-" Door slams shut. "-Dad." And the car hums into life, winding out of the long, slender driveway. I watch it until it fades into the horizon. A jagged blue against a pale green. I hesitate where I stand, suddenly wholly in love with my intransient spot of concrete, neither driving into the distance with my parents, nor walking into a whole new life of strangers and codenames and purple smoke and mindspeak. I sigh again, and then make my way back to the mansion. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Waiting for daily BCS updates to arrive in your inbox? Join the ESPN.com e-group and we will deliver them to you. http://offers.egroups.com/click/181/0 eGroup home: http://www.eGroups.com/list/xxy Free Web-based e-mail groups by eGroups.com