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A Diamond in the Rough	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General Views: 3410 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6: Only 64 Squares

On Friday, Emma arrived at the classroom for Psychology 101 early, as she preferred. Father had often told her, “Early is on time. On time is late.” Mother disagreed, believing wholeheartedly in the concept of “fashionable tardiness,” so that all eyes would be drawn to her, or to them, upon arrival. The disparity caused endless friction between them.
Emma had – wisely, in her own opinion – sided with Father’s approach, learning to power through the early-morning classes in high school, along with early ballet rehearsals and chess tournaments. Even when not at her best, she made certain to perform, regardless of venue or activity, flawlessly. Only perfection was permitted.
While waiting for class to start, Emma pored over one of her books on chess opening theory. Finding the section on the Sicilian, she studied the anti-Sicilian lines for white, seeking the one she’d almost lost against last night. Upon my next encounter with SlimShady03, she swore to herself, I’ll be ready.
For today, she’d chosen a more casual outfit than usual: a short-sleeved round-necked tee in pastel pink, cream-colored khaki capris, and a pair of two-toned flats reminiscent of the “saddle shoes” of her grandmother’s generation. Her favorite diamond studs and a white gold tennis bracelet completed the ensemble. A fruity granola bar served as breakfast.
A somewhat familiar voice broke into her thoughts: “Planning on joining the chess club on campus?”
Emma shook her head, committing to memory the moves she wanted to use. “No,” she answered bluntly. “The ratings posted on the club’s webpage indicated that the members are far too casual for me to gain much from playing them.”
“Maybe they could gain a lot from playing you,” suggested Ms. Grey.
“Doubtful. At such a disparity of play, it’d be a frustrating experience for everyone involved.” Marking her place with a bookmark, she looked up at Ms. Grey.
She wore a sundress, almost but not quite sleeveless, batik-dyed with a pattern of white feathers. She’d leaned down to peer at Emma’s book, her long hair cascading like a crimson waterfall to one side, framing a face in profile that, in Emma’s opinion, wouldn’t have looked out of place on a runway model. Her complexion, while fair, wasn’t as pale as the few redheads at Snow Valley or in her ballet troupe, nor did Ms. Grey have the typical freckles. Her longer-than-average neck seemed graceful, like a swan’s, and it led Emma’s gaze downward. Past the collarbones, the neckline of Ms. Grey’s dress, along with her leaned-over position, displayed the twin swells and deep vale of her generous bust.
Ms. Grey turned to look at Emma, their faces a lot closer than Emma would’ve thought. Their eyes met, and Emma felt her mind reaching out. Unlike last time, no fiery raptor leapt forth, though Ms. Grey’s emerald-green eyes seemed to dance with an inner flame.
Emma’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been able to make eye contact – and what a glorious shade of green! – with another person safely, without a torrent of their thoughts and feelings deluging her mind. In a way, the unexpected silence felt nearly as unsettling.
The redhead returned to a standing position. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to crowd you.”
Emma blinked a few times to clear her thoughts. “You blocked me again,” she observed, “but without as much vehemence as before.”
Ms. Grey nodded. “I’ve turned down my mental shielding for you,” she explained, “so we don’t have a repeat of Monday.” Folding her arms, she shot Emma a pointed look. “It’s still rude to try to read someone’s mind without permission.”
“Lucky, then, that we begin my training today. I’m tired of hearing others’ thoughts when I don’t want to.” Ms. Grey raised an eyebrow, but Emma merely shrugged. “Perhaps, once it’s under my control, it’ll feel less like a curse, and more like a gift, like you said the other day.”
Ms. Grey’s expression softened into a smile. “I’d like that. It’s really not a curse,” she insisted. “Still, we need to be careful. This place isn’t as bad as my high school about people like us, but let’s not take any chances.”
Now Emma raised her eyebrow. “What do you propose?”
Ms. Grey started to answer, but her head turned towards the door. Other students streamed into the classroom, and the redhead slipped away, towards her typical seat towards the back, on the end of the row farthest from the door. Emma had realized on Wednesday that Ms. Grey’s choice of seat prevented anyone else from sitting behind her or needing to move behind her to reach a different seat.
Backing yourself into a corner is an easy way to get checkmated, darling, she thought, hopefully to herself.
Ms. Grey’s voice, clear as a bell but not as overpoweringly loud as last time, thwarted that hope: Chess isn’t my game. I can’t see the board and pieces the way you or the other chess players I know see them.
Emma pursed her lips, almost but not quite frowning. She didn’t like having someone overhearing her thoughts so casually. Focusing her mind, she brought to her mind’s eye the view of Ms. Grey about to speak before retreating. You were saying?
We shouldn’t meet for your training on campus, Ms. Grey replied. A small campus with a small student body is a recipe for rumors.
Where? Emma asked, her body beginning to tense with the effort of maintaining this level of coherence.
Dr. Breckenridge entered and assumed her place behind the lectern. She began calling names for attendance. Emma opened her textbook to the chapter listed on the syllabus as today’s lecture material.
Ms. Grey’s voice intruded once more: I’ll look for something in the computer lab between classes. I’ll be in touch.
Emma nodded and focused on the professor, who launched into a lecture on the pioneers of psychoanalysis and the Freudian trinity.
All through the hour, the image of two dazzling eyes the color of emeralds lingered in Emma’s mind.

XXXXX

Lunch consisted of yogurt and a granola bar bought with “Extra Credit,” part of Bernhardt’s meal plan that allowed students to purchase snacks or dorm supplies, available with the swipe of their student ID at several small vendors all over campus. Students or their parents could deposit money into the account, and Emma appreciated the flexibility of avoiding the primary dining halls’ fare, which had proven a bit too greasy for her tastes. Already, she’d overheard other students complaining about having eaten nothing but pizza, salad, or cereal because they found the other options unpalatable.
Before her afternoon class, she decided to visit the computer lab to check her email in case Ms. Grey had found a suitable location to meet up. At this time of day, only a handful of students populated the lab, leaving a silence punctuated by the whirring hum of the numerous desktop towers. No sense in driving to my apartment just to drive back, she reasoned. If only cell phones had larger screens and better keyboards for web browsing. Something to replicate a mouse too…
Not that I have the slightest idea how to actually design or build such a device, she admitted to herself. That’s what I’ll be paying other people for once Frost Enterprises under my direction.
Her inbox contained all sorts of detritus – electronic copies of flyers she’d seen posted around campus, announcements from various student clubs she didn’t care about, and an anodyne letter of welcome from the college president. One email contained an updated reading schedule from Dr. Rodriguez for Political Science 101, which Emma marked as “unread” so she’d remember to reread it at home to print the document. She began deleting the irrelevant emails to keep her inbox clutter-free.
After deleting over two dozen pieces of electronic junk, she found what she sought: an email from jgrey@students.bernhardt.edu with the subject line “What’s on your mind?” Emma rolled her eyes at that, but the body of the email at least contained the name and address of a coffee shop. When Emma input the address into Mapquest, she saw it was halfway across town, far enough from campus that she doubted they’d encounter anyone else from Bernhardt, especially in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday.
After entering the appropriate command, Emma claimed a place in the printer queue, behind a short, chubby, short-haired brunette. The whir-hum of the computers would intermittently be punctuated by the click of a mouse, the clack of typing keys, or the staccato sound of the printer’s inkjets. Upon counting a tenth page collected by the brunette, Emma folded her arms and fought the urge to tap her foot impatiently.
The student ahead of her seemed to sense the building fury behind her, glancing over her shoulder with a chagrined smile. “Sorry, Dr. Silverstein’s econ handouts are always longer than anyone thinks is necessary,” she explained. “Anyone besides her, anyway.”
Emma snorted derisively. “Why print them out, then?”
The other student sighed. “She has us turn them in with our class notes for a grade. It takes hours. Like, lady, we have other classes, y’know?” she griped.
My high school prepared me for rigorous classwork. Perhaps you should manage your time better? Emma snarked inwardly. Aloud, she merely remarked, “I haven’t had her class yet.”
The other student turned around partway and gestured at the printer still spitting out pages. “If you don’t have to take economics, take my advice and avoid it. She’s the only professor who teaches it.”
Emma kept her expression carefully neutral as she replied, “Actually, I plan on majoring in business and economics.”
The brunette looked up at Emma, dark eyes widening in shock; Emma barely diverted her eyes in time. “Glutton for punishment, huh?” She seemed to study Emma for a long moment. “I don’t recognize you. Freshman?”
Emma merely nodded, wondering how much longer she’d have to endure this inane conversation. The printer spat out more and more pages, seeming to taunt her with the trap she’d unwittingly fallen into. To her chagrin, she’d lost count of how many pages the other student had printed.
“Are you in Dr. Breckenridge’s Psych 101 class? My little sister’s in there, and she mentioned a tall, skinny, pretty blonde.”
“Why do you ask?” The hairs on Emma’s neck stood on end, and this upperclasswoman now had her undivided attention. For now, she still avoided eye contact, hoping not to replicate an incident like the one earlier this week with the two cretins in their tin can on wheels.
The brunette glanced around, and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone and volume. “I heard that redheaded mutant bitch attacked you on the first day of class. Are you okay?”
Emma inhaled sharply. I know from Snow Valley that rumors travel fast, but I thought it was a function of the immaturity of teenagers. Furthermore, now I have to discern why this person is asking.
Aloud, she replied, “I’m fine. I had a migraine for the first time since middle school. I don’t think Ms. Grey had anything to do with it.” I know I’m taking a risk, seeming to defend her, but I also have to stick to my story.
The older student snorted. “I heard she has mind powers. What if she erased your memory or something like that?”
Emma’s stomach dropped. Only a few days ago, Ms. Grey had mentioned this exact possibility, but hearing it unnerved her more than she cared to admit. With a deep breath to steady herself, she responded, “Father taught me that the best antidote for fear is reason, so let’s use that, shall we? If she’d erased my memories, why not everyone in the class? That way, your sister wouldn’t remember it to tell you.”
“Maybe she can only zap one person at a time,” answered the other student, glancing around nervously.
“Seems arbitrary,” Emma pointed out. “Nonetheless, to pursue that possibility: Has your sister suddenly changed her perspective on the incident?”
“…No?”
Emma smirked. Checkmate. “In that case, if she does, that’ll be evidence of Ms. Grey covering her tracks.” Please let that be the end of this.
Mercifully, the printer shuddered to a halt, drawing the other student’s attention. She fiddled with her stack of paper for a lot longer than Emma thought necessary before handing Emma a single sheet. “This must be yours. Sorry again for holding you up.”
Emma took her page without a word and strode out. On the way, she heard the other student mutter under her breath, just barely perceptible, “Bitch.” Emma couldn’t tell whether that had been directed at her, or at Dr. Silverstein for her extensive handout.
Regardless, Emma ignored it. The opinions of her lesser didn’t matter. Father had taught her that.

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A/N: Sorry for the delay since the last chapter - summer was busier than anticipated, and this chapter fought me a bit. I'm hoping to have at least one more chapter before the end of the year.
Also, apologies if this chapter seems like "filler." I didn't intend Emma's trip to the computer lab to be its own scene, but I realized that she hadn't interacted with any other students besides Jean, which is totally unrealistic. So once the conversation started, I decided to roll with it. I think it showcases Emma's attitude towards other people nicely, as well as painting a picture of campus life.
Reviews are always welcome, so please leave feedback!
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A Diamond in the Rough