Orientation
Bobby watched the new kid, trying to figure out what he thought of him. The kid didn't ever seem to stop moving, weaving away when people tried to touch him and keeping his ragged book bag pressed between his feet. It was hard to get people to leave you alone at Xavier's, especially if you were new. Sometimes people tried too hard to be friendly. Bobby thought maybe he should get them to cool it for awhile.
Dr. Grey stuck her head into the rec room just as he was about to start trying to throw people out. "Hi, kids. I could use a little help in the kitchen. That's not actually a request," she added as Jubilee started to back toward the other door. Bobby started to follow them out, but Dr. Grey met his eyes and shook her head a little.
"I think our new arrival might like to see the grounds," she said. Bobby nodded, trying not to look proud because he knew that wasn't cool.
"Hi," he said, turning to the new kid.
"Let me guess," the kid said. "You're going to be my buddy."
"I'm Bobby Drake," Bobby said. "And you are?"
"John."
"You want to go outside? It's kind of crowded in here sometimes."
"You are supposed to be my buddy, aren't you?" John shook his head. "Do we have to hold hands?"
"Not unless you're secretly six years old," Bobby said.
"I'm eighteen."
"If you were, you wouldn't have been in a children's shelter," Bobby said.
John looked him up and down. "On which you're an expert."
"A lot of kids come here from foster care."
"Eighteen, seventeen, whatever."
"Sixteen? Fifteen?"
"Sixteen, Jesus, who the fuck cares?"
"I'm sixteen, too."
"So?"
"So, do you want to go outside, or what?"
"Do you have to come?"
"Um. Yeah, probably. Or one of the teachers will go out and see if you're okay."
"Jesus Christ." He picked up his book bag, clutching the strap too hard. "Okay, fine, take me for my walk."
It was chilly outside, and there weren't leaves yet on the trees, so the garden looked a little bleak. Bobby went into cheerful tour guide mode anyway, pointing out the garage and the basketball court and the hedge maze behind the old kitchen garden. John kicked idly at the old vegetable frames with the toe of his worn sneakers, but looked at the maze with the first signs of interest he'd shown.
"Can you really get lost in there?"
Bobby shrugged. "Only if you're really short."
John snorted a laugh and looked almost friendly for a moment. Then he seemed to catch himself, pulling a cigarette lighter out of his pocket and playing with it.
"There's no smoking," Bobby said.
"I don't smoke," John said. He didn't put the lighter away.
"I know it's weird being in a new school," Bobby said. "And people kind of swarm you. But they're just being friendly."
"Whatever."
"You can leave your bag up in your room if you want," Bobby said.
"I don't have one yet," John said.
"They're probably still figuring it out. We've got rooms empty, but they'll probably give you a roommate because there are always kids starting in the fall."
"Great," John said, turning the lighter over in his fingers. He flicked the flame on, and held it up as if it could make the gray evening light brighter. "You know how to get through this thing?"
"Pretty much," Bobby said. "But it's not like we can't see over the --"
"Come on," John said, stalking into the hedge maze.
Bobby followed him around several twists and turns. John was walking too fast, and Bobby didn't try to keep up. He figured John needed some space. He came around a corner to see John slumped on a bench, leaning back into the prickly boxwood, staring at the flame in his hand.
"Tell me this," John said without looking up. "What's the catch? The teachers feel you up, you get locked in the closet, they beat the shit out of you -- whatever it is, I can deal until I figure out where I'm going next."
"No. No, it's nothing like that."
"Look, I won't run tonight, because then they'll make it your fault, right? But either tell me the truth or go tell them what I said so we can all quit pretending."
"Nobody's pretending," Bobby said. "The teachers here are good. They don't hit you or anything like that. The worst we get is detention or extra chores. It's not that much different from home."
"You don't know anything," John said.
Bobby shrugged. "I've been here two years."
"What are you in for?"
Bobby pointed at the corner of the bench and concentrated. Ice glazed it, creeping close to where John sat. He cupped his hand and concentrated, forming a pool of ice in his palm. When he turned his hand over, it fell and shattered on the stones of the path.
John nudged at it with his foot. "Ice? Just, like, normal ice?"
"Yeah. It'll just melt. If I do it inside, I have to use a mop. What's your mutation?"
"My mutation."
"Your mutation," Bobby said. "We're all mutants here. You can talk about it."
"Okay," John said, and flung the lighter forward. For a moment Bobby thought he'd thrown it, but he saw it still glittering in John's hand as the ball of flame landed in the hedge. Flame spread quickly through the blackening branches, which crackled and smoked alarmingly.
Bobby held both hands out, spraying ice over the hedge.
John looked at the result for a long moment, eyebrows raised. "Ice sculpture?"
"I think I kind of overdid it," Bobby said guiltily.
"Hey, it's a plant, right? It's out here all winter. It's tough. It can take a little ice."
"But probably not being set on fire."
"Lots of people seem to have a problem with that."
"It's okay," Bobby said. "There are plenty of kids here who--"
"What, do you get paid for this?"
"I wish," Bobby said. "I should. I probably know the whole tour guide speech as well as any of the teachers do."
"Good for you," John said. He tucked his knees up to his chest, still holding onto the lighter. It was quiet for a few minutes. The sun was setting, and the wind was going from chilly to cold. John was probably warmer in his old sweats than Bobby was in his button-up shirt and jeans.
"We've got a Playstation," Bobby said finally.
John looked up over his knees. "Free?"
"Yeah. You have to let other kids play after half an hour if they're waiting, though. And it's best not to play really gory games in front of the Professor, or you'll get a lecture about Martin Luther King and stuff."
"Just don't listen."
"He knows if you're not listening," Bobby said.
"So listen, but don't care."
"He's not bad. Just awfully old. He talks about the 1960s a lot."
"That figures."
"Hey, do you want to room with me?" Bobby asked, trying to sound casual. "That way I won't get stuck with some little brat in the fall."
"Thanks, but don't you think we should date a little longer before we move in?"
"I'm serious," Bobby said.
John looked everywhere but at him. "It's not up to you, right?"
"I can ask."
"Whatever."
Bobby thought that 'whatever' maybe meant 'yes.' "I'll go ask." He headed back in toward the house.
"Hey!" John called before he'd gotten far down the path. Bobby turned to see John staring at him. "You're just leaving me alone out here?"
Bobby shrugged. "This isn't a prison. If you want to walk into town, it's that way." He pointed across the tops of the hedges toward the woods. "There's a bus station and stuff. I figure you know how to hitch a ride."
"I do," John said, looking toward the woods. "But I'm kind of hungry. I might stick around for dinner."
"I think it's spaghetti tonight," Bobby said.
"That figures, too," John said, but he picked up his bag, and when Bobby started off down the path he could hear John's footsteps behind him in the dark.