Growing Up A Superhero (6) At twenty-seven years old he still hadn't grown up. Oh, he was adult most of the time, but spurts of youth made their way to the surface regularly. With a mischievous glint in his brown eyes, he flicked the paint brush in the general direction of the young woman standing beside him. She stopped painting and turned slowly toward him, mock death in her twenty-five year old blue eyes. Very carefully she walked up to the man, a slight breeze ruffling her short, black hair as she walked along the outside of the building. She neared him and reached out, touching the tip of his narrow nose with her brush. Very slowly, delicately almost, she traced lines along his narrow, chiseled face. Finally, as a finishing touch, she touched her brush to his silvery brown hair, and then his long, lean, bare chest. With a smirk she turned back to the wall and continued painting. He didn't know why he had let her paint whiskers on him. Somehow she always seemed to get away with these things. Maybe it was because she was so short. Twenty-five and still hadn't gotten any taller than five foot six. Or maybe it was because she looked so damn cute in her cut off jeans and tied-around-the-waist man's old dress shirt, both of which she filled out quite nicely. But most likely it was just because he had known her for so very long. They had been best friends for years, and at one time they had played with dating. The lesson learned there was that they made great best friends, and a rotten couple. "'Ey," he said, poking the woman. She eyed his newly cat-painted face. "How long have we known each other, Jubes?" She stopped and looked at the man, thinking. Around her people kept painting, trying to restore the old buildings into a new school by the end of summer. Birds chirped happily in the warm summer afternoon, and the smell of newly turned earth told her trees had been planted. "At least ten years," she said after a time. His face was gray, but he was handsome anyway. He had the long, lean look of the Latinos, and the muscled, athletic look of someone who took care of himself. He had long since grown into his body and power, and he controlled his looks without a thought. "You're old," she added smugly. Angelo looked offended. "Only two years older than you, abuelita!" Jubilee laughed and went back to painting. "Do you want Lee--ah, me to get you some more paint?" a young man in his mid-teens asked, smiling nose-less-ly up at the two adults. He, too, was starting to grow, though at fifteen his arms and legs looked too long for his concave body. "Please, Leech," Jubilee said, smiling. Only now was he starting to not speak of himself in the third person, after the first years of his life in the Morlock tunnels being trained that it was right to do so. It was a struggle for him, to re-learn something he'd learned as a small child, and he had started stuttering slightly because of it. "You think he'll ever make a fighter?" Angelo asked, watching the boy walk away. Jubilee shook her head. "He's too kind. Too introverted. But I could see him teaching the next wave of kids to use their powers. Oh, heck, I could even see him as an English teacher." Angelo laughed. What Jubilee said was true. Of the two friends--Artie and Leech--Artie was the outgoing one who always got in trouble. Leech could often be found in the tutoring lab, working late into the night to help the kids with their problems. "Well," Angelo said, looking back up at the building. "I don't think he'll ever be able to teach here. He's too nice." Jubilee looked at the building thoughtfully, lips pursed. "You really agreed to be headmaster here?" she asked finally. Angelo smiled ruefully. "Well, they need someone who's tough. I grew up in the barrio, no matter how much you people try to pretend I didn't. I can handle these kids." The newest school for "Gifted Youngsters" was "Xavier and Frost's School for Troubled Youths." Of course, to keep from embarrassing anyone the only thing that was put on the plaque that would go in front of the building was "Xavier and Frost." "Well, Ange," Jubilee said, shaking her head as she started once more to paint. "All I can say is this: good luck." Angelo laughed humorlessly. "The good part is, I get to pick my own teachers from 'Javier's underground. That should help."
***
TJ almost laughed when Angelo approached him. "Me? Teach a buncha highschoolahs? I don't think so!" His Brooklyn accent had thickened with incredulity, and Angelo sighed. "What else ya gonna do, amigo? Stay in this dump fer the rest of yer life?" Angelo's own slight accent, often hidden, rose to the surface at the sound of the other man's. TJ looked resentfully around his apartment, eyeing it for the first time in a new light. It was better then he had grown used to, and nothing like what Angelo might offer. But teach? As if to support Angelo's idea a cockroach scurried from one hole in the wall to behind the giant stack of textbooks TJ was working his way through. At twenty-seven he was putting himself through college, but only with great difficulty. "Ange," he said finally, sighing, "I ain't even outta school myself yet." "Right. We'll support you until you are, in the meantime you'll be the big brother for the east wing. You'll keep the kids in line, stop anything that needs to be stopped, generally gain their respect and whatnot. By the time you become a teacher you'll have a group of kids who think you're a god." TJ snorted. "No pressure," he muttered. "Actually, no. They're teenagers." TJ sighed again, running blunt fingers through wavy black hair. "Why me?" he finally asked. "There're a million other people who could start teachin' right now. Why me?" Angelo licked his lips nervously. Here was the catch. "Most of these kids," he said, choosing his words carefully, "come from broken homes. A lot of them are really tough, and probably mean. Many of them have already been to juvenile hall. You know what it's like, you've been there already, you're proof that you can overcome everything and go on to become someone. Plus you can relate. You understand what they're going through." Angelo grinned. "And you're charismatic." TJ chuckled and rolled his eyes. That particular power had gotten him into as much trouble as gotten him out. "Why else do you think I'm headmaster?" Angelo continued. "I've got just the same rotten background you and these kids have!" TJ laughed and eyed him thoughtfully.
***
"'Ey, Blue! There's no chance you want to come teach, is there?" There was a cheerful laugh on the other end. "Not a chance, Ange," Tommy said into the phone. "Didn't think so, thought I'd check. You know of anyone else who might be willing?" Pencil at the ready, Angelo jotted down the few names Tommy tossed out. "Right. Thanks. Say, how's the acting going?" "I'm on location, aren't I?" Tommy replied, grinning. Angelo chuckled and they chatted for a few minutes before hanging up. He glanced down at the list of possible names he had, then picked up the phone and started dialing.
***
Angelo was stressed. He had a few teachers, and some of the older X-Men had agreed to act as stand ins if he needed them. The school opened tomorrow, though, and not everyone was here. In fact, things were barely set up. "Race!" he shouted down the hall to where he knew the younger girl was tugging the folded pool table into the rec. room. "Did we ever get bath towels?" There was a moment of silence, then "NO!" Angelo swore in Spanish under his breath, scrambling to find the car keys and making sure the Xavier-Frost Mastercard was in his wallet. "I'll be back!" he shouted, running full tilt out the door. He slammed into a tall black woman as he raced out, shouted rushed apologies and told her to check in with Race. Ororo watched him go and smiled, then moved into the room. Race, now legally Rachel Hound, stopped as the woman entered the room. Her snow white hair was cropped short, and in spite of a knee brace wrapped under her slacks she was slender and fit. Blue eyes were as piercing and clear at forty-three as they had been at twenty, and the respect she commanded greater. Friends called her Ororo, but most preferred Storm, though she hadn't fought with the X-Men for three years. "Hey, 'Ro," Race panted, tucking shoulder length brown hair behind small ears. "Help me move this table?" Race had never been impressed by regality, and she treated Storm no differently than she would anyone else. Race treated all people with the same amount of skepticism, cynicism, distrust and impudence. Ororo started to help with the furniture, and within moments was as dusty as Race. In the next three hours people started to arrive by droves. Most weren't staying, but came to help anyway. By the end of the day pizza had been ordered and the school was prepared. Even the kids had pitched in, stocking the cabinets and refrigerator, putting sheets on the beds and making sure all the bathrooms had soap and toilet paper. Iceman had brought bags and bags of candy, and then proceeded to hide it all around the house. "I'll be a nice surprise," he'd grinned. Finally, late at night, the people who had homes to go back to started to head out. "Good luck, Skin," Scott said as he walked out the door. "You'll need it. But you'll do good." Angelo had grinned widely and shaken the elder X-Man's hand. Now he stood in the den, surrounded by the people who would work with him for the next long while. Race was folded comfortably in an old, beat up chair, her hair tied back with twine. Ororo, looking as regal as ever, reclined on the couch. TJ, who had come at the last minute and was a welcome addition to their ragtag band, was leaning on his duffel bag of belongings on the floor. Kurt stood by the sound system, a gift from Tommy, with headphones to listen to music. Monet was sleeping on the loveseat, Warren and Betsy talking quietly together on the other end of the couch. Surrounded by so many people who had fought and led teams, been a part of something important and were so much older than he, Angelo felt daunted. Then Race grinned and winked at him, and he grinned back. Kurt waggled his tail and smiled, and Angelo felt much better. He would have liked to have Jubilee there to teach, but she had declined. Her job with the X-Men Underground took up too much time. "Well," he said at last, "I think I'll go to bed. Big day tomorrow. The teens are coming." Race nodded and stood up herself, and the others took the cue. They all headed to the teacher's wing, where they all would sleep for at least one night. In the morning some would split up, but for tonight they were unified.
***
Angelo swallowed hard, looking at the school with his teachers in front of it. It was plain white, compromised of several buildings over twenty acres of land. It was as secluded as they could get just outside of New York and, though old, obviously had a lot of love and work put into it. Behind him, coming up the gravel driveway, he heard the bus bringing the mutant children from the bad areas, the ones with records and problems. The potential 'villains' and hurt children. Skin's grin widened. "Well guys," he said at last to the "teachers" assembled, "we're starting out with more people then Sean and Emma had. Ready to tackle the next group of young mutants?" Race grinned almost ferally. "Bring 'em on," she said. Kurt nodded. "We'll do well, thanks to your leadership of course." He smiled warmly, it quickly echoed by everyone else. "Great," Ange said, turning to look at the stopping bus, the kids inside already rowdy and throwing things. "Then let's go meet the teens."
****************** abuelita = familiar way of saying 'granny.'
Back to the living room -
The Bell's First Ring 1/1
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