A/N: Here's the classic, yet highly overused, 'OC in the X-Men universe' plot. Thought I'd give it a shot. Review: help me keep Loki from becoming a Stu! I love your input. Rated the way it is for his mouth. I don't own X-Men: Evolution. Don't sue. All I own is Loki. So, dear readers, read on. Last note: I don't have anything against Michigan, so don't take any offense.
Fate's a bitch. Don't let anyone tell you any different. It's slowly but surely become my motto these past few years.
"This is stupid," I whispered to my friend. Resisting the urge to scratch the incredibly itchy black face paint off, I flicked my eyes back and forth anxiously.
Spencer shrugged. "I'm failing this class," he hissed back. "Failing this exam means being held back. You don't want your buddy, your first friend, to get held behind with all those stupid sophomores, now would you? Even if it is summer school?" His dark brown eyes bored into my own. Reluctantly, I shook my head.
I unfolded the paperclip and the pliers, setting to work on my Pre-Calculus teacher's desk. Mr. Ulsted. He was a goof, really, but his tests were absolute murder. I myself had an A-, but Spencer, as he had already put it so eloquently, was at a glorious 39 percent. AKA, failing miserably. I took the class to give him company. He took the class to pass the one he failed during the school year.
Biting my scabbed lip, I wiggled the metal around until a solid click was heard. "We're in," I said. Spencer greedily leaped in front of me, pawing through the papers stashed in the messy files. I glanced at my watch: we were about three minutes behind schedule. "Hurry up. Ulsted's going to be here any minute!" I urged. Actually, I didn't know when he'd be here, so we wanted to be out by five or (at the latest) ten after.
He nodded, brushing a lock of hastily dyed black hair out of his face. Suddenly he stiffened, eyes darting rapidly around the empty room. Paranoia settled in. I sighed. "Forget this, man," he said. "I'm outta here."
"Spence!" I snapped, belatedly remembering to grab the answer sheets from the drawer. Big mistake number one. I shoved his shoulder and he tripped over the garbage can. Big mistake number two. His groans filled the room with echoes which I'm sure travelled all around our three story school.
Finally, I helped him back up just in time for Ulsted himself to stalk in the room, his normally cheerful face etched into hard lines of anger. "What," he said in a deadly low voice, "Is going on here? Loki? Spencer?"
I winced, and Spencer fake-sobbed and cried out, "He forced me into it, Mr. Ulsted! He was going to sell the answers to me but I refused and he threatened me!" I turned to him, shocked.
Blatant betrayal. By my 'buddy' and 'first friend'. God, what luck.
I could clearly see Mr. Ulsted wasn't believing a word. But I knew that once this hit the student body, my rep would be trashed. Permanently. The fact that it was Spencer's word against mine didn't help. He was the son of the Superintendent. I was the son of a government secretary.
I was screwed. Gah! What a jerk. After being relocated to this stupid state of Michigan, he was the first person to be anything resembling kind to me. And now, here he was, ratting me out for something I didn't even do.
Fate's a bitch, I tell you. She's got it out for me.
Personally, I was surprised Ulsted was even awake. It was 6:15 in the morning, and we had only gotten in after Spence had nicked the keys from good ol' Papa Evans. Ugh. The man was a nice guy, really, but his son had him wrapped around his little finger. Honestly! Who else spoils their kid with a new car every other year? He'd only gotten his license last year and he'd been stacking since he was fourteen!
As you can tell, I'm a little bitter right now.
Moving on. Ulsted had taken us (after safely removing the answers) to the office, rang up our parents, and brought 'em down to the school. My father was not happy.
Not one damn bit.
"What is the meaning of this?" he thundered. "I am called when I wake up to find you skipping practice again to steal exam answers? What is wrong with you, Loki?! I thought we-I taught you better than this!"
He's pretty bitter too. Mom divorced him when I was six, running of with some billionaire playboy and leaving Dad to scrape the bills. Then he got promoted and now he's being payed decently well, so everything's good now. You know, 'cept for the whole 'I raised my son alone but still credit you' thing he had going on.
So basically my life was over. Sixteen, with nothing left to live for. I hung my head, ignoring the ground-breaking lecture my father was giving me. "...only reinforces my idea of moving!" At that, my head snapped up and my jaw dropped. I bet flies were making love in my mouth. Truthfully, I couldn't care less.
"We're moving?" I shouted, leaping to my feet. The pseudo-comfy chair I had been burrowing in flew to the floor. I was too...well, too pissed off to care. "You can't do that to me! For God's sake, Dad, we've moved three times already! Let me stay here!"
His eyes got all squinchy and I knew he was going to be stubborn about it. I hated when he got like that! He was like a stupid mule: once he made up his mind, there was no going back.
Mr. Evans was giving me a hateful glare. After he had stalked away to grill Spence, he had stalked right back in to suspend/expell/exorcise me. I rolled my eyes and I swear he started leaking smoke from his ears.
Well, to make a long story short, he basically told me to get the hell outta dodge. They don't expel people (that would go on their permanent record, after all), just politely tell them to go away. So, I went home to laze away the day...so I thought.
Nope. Fate, again knocking at my door.
I got to be the one-man packing squad. 'Punishment' was what it was called. No. It was freaking torture!
When you own as much junk as we do, then you'll understand. Especially when your dad tries to 'help'.
"Make sure you wrap that tight, it's sentimental!"
"No, that doesn't go there!"
"Gah, Loki, give it a rest, and pack the silverware instead!"
Slave driver. I mean it. "Jerk," I mumbled, handing the hired help (so now they come...) a box of china plates to put away in the van. The old man snorted and tossed it in, and I winced as a faint tinkle reached my ears. "Gentle!" In response, he ruffled his walrus-moustache and ignored me.
And with that, within the week, we were off, driving to New York of all places, to some little hick town called Bayville. I slunk down farther in my seat as the buildings flashed by. Cutesy little general stores and such. Blah. What I wouldn't give to be stuck back with those stupid trolls.
We passed a creepy-looking mansion..."Xavier's, huh? Probably a school full of genius recluses." I flicked a spare dust fleck off my shirt, watching it bounce out the open window. Finally we pulled up into the driveway of another cutesy little town house after a solid eleven hours of driving on my dad's part.
It was puke green. Not even joking. "Why?" I mouthed to the sky, looking completely nonplussed. I rubbed my eyes; they itch like mad when I don't get enough sleep. Ugh.
So then, of course, I had to unpack everything I had just packed, try and instruct the moving people not to break anything else, and keep my dad complacent. Most of it was going well. Until my dad made me go to the school to register and all that junk.
Walking through those hallways was horrible. All the teachers where there (and cranky, too; they don't like being there during the summer, I'll bet) and giving me the evil eye. I subtley shifted closer to my dad, who was barking orders into his cell while trying-at the same time-to find the principal's office. After studiously walking around in circles for fifteen minutes, he tugged me into a room where a frazzled looking woman was typing at a computer. My dad, ever the impatient parent, pushed me forward and I said politely, "Can I have the registration papers, please?"
She popped her gum loudly and drawled, "Name?"
A sudden burst of papers in my face was her response and when I had them in some semblance of order, I nicked a pen and started filling them out. After a slightly humorous round of charades with my dad to get all the necessary info, I handed them back to the rude woman, along with the transfer information I had brought from my last school. With one hand she filed them, handed me a schedule and locker number, and shooed us out of her little space.
"I wouldn't finish that if I were you," Dad interrupted. I grinned falsely and he went back to talking.
I don't even know why we moved! Because I was a troublemaker? Because my dad met a lovely lady he's trying to woo? Because he's an alien?
Okay, maybe not the last one.
Sighing, I flopped back onto my bed, surrounded by boxes. "Well, it's not like I have anything to lose," I muttered. I flipped one of my textbooks open, running a hand over the printed ink. "Seems like you're all I got now, eh?"
September came all to quickly for my liking. In my boredom, I had already skimmed all of my books, cleaned out the sci-fi section of the library, and had emptied my sparse pocket change buying used books off the 'net (sneakily, of course...technically I was grounded from everything, and yet I was within walking distance of the post office). Everything was packed and ready; my ratty old backpack stuffed with some of my favorites, hair combed, etc.
Being dropped off at that school literally made me feel like my dad was abandoning me in the lion's den. Teenagers roamed around the grass, secretly smoking, talking about their summers, and doing stuff. Frowning, I walked through the doors into the school itself among whispers of confusion.
Small town. One new person comes and everyone buzzes around like a hornet from an upturned nest.
"Hello," a calm voice said from behind me. I jumped, and my locker door slammed shut. Grimacing, I reopened it and turned.
She was pretty. "You're pretty." Damn! "I mean, hey. One woman welcoming committee?" Smooth. I'm an idiot! Gah!
She smiled, flicking her flaming red hair over one shoulder. "Something like that," she answered. "I'm part of the student government, so I heard rumors of a new kid and thought I'd say hi. I'm Jean." She stuck out her hand.
I shook it warmly. Maybe this school had some promise after all. "Loki. So?" I pressed, slinging my pack over one shoulder in a 'cool' sort of way. I hoped.
"Well, you've got a map, I see. Homecoming's on the 29th. Game at 6, dance after til 11. Enjoy your time here!" With that, she was off, slinking towards some blond brute and cuddling him tenderly. Oh, gag me.
Okay, fun nice cuddly moment over. I looked at my map and directed myself to my first hour...P.E. Gag me even more. It was your standard gym class: everyone dresses, then stands around talking while the sport-dorks play basketball and football (touch, of course) to their hearts content. I stood off in a corner, watching. After watching this one guy run around and around and around the track, I got dizzy. Luckily enough it was time for the next class.
Pre-Calculus. I could have sworn I took that class at my last school...damn. Well, then. Guess I'll suck it up and deal. Not like I've had practice, or anything.
The rest of the day went agonizingly boringly slow. Is that even a sentence? I dunno. But it did. Band (trombone, what a fun instrument), english, lunch, chemistry, then economics/government. I spent most of the last hour banging my head on my desk while writing my hand off. What a pain. I hate taking notes!
There was some kid in my last hour of the day that had on these killer red sunglasses. He stood off in a corner, like me (in a different one, though, what would it be like if we shared a corner? Creepy, that's what. I don't even know his name!) and stared out the window. Taking a peek, I saw him oogling Jean, who had gym last hour. I guess.
I scratched my ear, then frowned and scratched harder. Five minutes until the bell rings, and I get the scratchies. Fate again! I tell you, she's got a grudge against me or something. Making me look like I've got lice or something. I swear-
My eyes widened and I bolted out of the classroom, ignoring the teacher's halfhearted attempts to wrangle me. I felt the bile rising farther up my throat and I barely made it into a stall before I spewed. Spitting the last of the ick out of my mouth, I wiped my face only to stare in shock at the water and the towel.
Blood. Everywhere. And my ears were burning, and so was my face. Everywhere burned, as a matter of fact. "Son of a bitch!" I groaned, throwing up another round of blood.
Then, of course, Sunglasses and Jean busted in.
To spare myself the mental embarrassment, I blacked out.