TITLE: The Evolution of Jubilee 3/3
AUTHOR: Mara Greengrass
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fishfolk@ix.netcom.com. Feedback is better than chocolate.
Other headers in part one


Hank surfaced one afternoon just after the Times article to find Jubilee sitting on the couch in the rec room lecturing a bemused Warren on the politics of museum exhibits. He listened in for a few minutes, got an explanation and a copy of the petition from Jean, and then wandered back to his lab.

Almost immediately, Jubilee found e-mails trickling in from around the world supporting her efforts, many noting that they'd sent a letter to the museum on her behalf. She wandered downstairs in a daze, ending up in her favorite chair in Hank's lab, waiting to catch his attention.

He finally looked up from his microscope when she said, "Hey, Blue."

"Hello, my young and vociferous friend, what can I do for you?"

"Well, all of a sudden, I'm getting mail from these genetics types in Australia and Germany, and I'm thinking I probably didn't run into them at the mall."

Hank bared his teeth at her in a grin, and she grinned back. "It is quite true that eminent foreign scientists spend remarkably little of their free time at the Westchester mall. However, many of them can be located via Genetics-L."


"It is an e-mail list for those of us engaged in genetics research. Happily, it is moderated, which keeps out much of the riff-raff. We almost never get e-mails explaining how the Roswell aliens caused mutations in order to take over the Earth."

Jubilee laughed. "Almost never?"

"Well," Hank said solemnly, "there was just the one, but somehow he gave up when we started questioning him."

"Back to the letters I'm getting."

"Ah, yes, sorry, I get so few visitors that I am easily distracted. In any case, Jean gave me the petition and I postulated my esteemed colleagues might be interested in some of the local ramifications of lack of comprehension of evolution."

Pause. "So," Jubilee said, wrinkling her brow, "you thought they'd want to know what was up, so you sent 'em what I wrote."

"Yes. I'm pleased the responses from the scientists you've gotten have been positive. At least, I assume they are or you would have informed me."

Jubilee eyed the serious expression now on her teacher's face. "Um, Blue, what aren't you telling me?" He sighed, and pushed his glasses up his nose. "No stalling, you brought it up, so tell me."

"Well, I suppose you should realize that opposition to efforts such as yours do not come only from the uninformed and educated populace."

"Like the losers at the mall."

"Correct. There is also a small but vocal portion of the scientific community that manages to hold remarkably unscientific and irrational views of mutants."

"Like the losers who created the exhibit."

Hank laughed. "Indeed." He sobered again. "Your attempts to make changes may face challenges from within the intelligentsia as well as from without. I just wanted to make certain you were prepared for the possibility."

Jubilee leaned her chin on her hands. "I guess I'm as prepared as I can be. But so far, all the science-types have been pretty nice."

Hank looked at her closely. "But not everyone has?"

"Well, I just delete those messages." She didn't quite look him in the eye.

"What do they say?" he asked gently.

"Just...stuff. Nasty stuff." She fiddled with a pile of paperclips on his desk, hooking them together into a chain. "But it's just a few nutcases."

"Why did you not inform Scott or the Professor?"

She looked up at him. "They'd make me stop. They nearly made me stop when they thought it might be dangerous. But I got this far, I want to see it through."

"This exhibit is not worth risking your safety."

"I'm not in any danger!" Jubilee stopped and took a breath. "I want to finish this, Blue. Everybody keeps telling me to give up, expecting me to fail. Good ol' Jubes, can't take anything seriously, surprised she made it this far."


"It just bothers me, all right? It bothers me that they think we aren't human." Her throat constricted. "Don't tell anyone about the e-mails. Promise me you won't tell anyone, or they'll stop this whole thing."

Hank studied her for a long time, and she held her breath. "I will not inform anyone else, if you promise me that from now on you will forward copies of these messages to me, so I can determine how serious they are. And if I believe there is any danger, I *will* inform the others."

She nodded. "You won't enjoy them, though."

"I don't expect to. But I doubt it will be anything I haven't faced before, and in person."

She blinked and looked at her blue, furry teacher. "Oh, yeah. I forgot."

"I did not."


Hank allowed her to continue, and didn't balk at any of the messages she passed on. And so the days continued in the same fashion, classes, and meals, and hanging out at the mall. Things came to a head about a week later...

Mail call at the Xavier School tended toward the hectic. Fortunately for the sanity and safety of the US Postal Service, the mail was actually *dropped off* outside the gates, and it was a student's job to go get it--after allowing a suitable getaway time for the postal worker. Professor Xavier decided early on that his students' propensity to pick up the mail by flying, or teleporting, or using telekinesis to carry the mail, might be...disturbing to the outside world.

On this particular afternoon, Kitty was going partially intangible, letting envelopes drop and then turning solid to catch them again, just to annoy Bobby, who was waiting for a letter from his parents.

After Peter threatened to hang her upside down out a window, she finally started handing out mail to the lucky recipients.

"Here ya go, Bobby," she said, tossing the envelope to him, "feels like a five-pager to me."

She dropped a box in front of Paige, "Looks like your latest cookie delivery is here, so everyone remember to skip dessert tonight." Paige stuck her tongue out as Kitty dropped envelopes into the eager hands of several other students, sorted the Professor's and the other teachers' mail into a pile, and looked in surprise at the final letter.

"Jubilee!" she called.

The other young woman had been watching the mail pickup spectacle from the other end of the rec room with all the detached amusement of someone who never got letters. She looked at Kitty in surprise. "Yo, what's up?"

"Letter for you," Kitty said, handing over the envelope. "It's from the museum again."

The students who were still nearby gathered around as Jubilee opened the letter with great trepidation. //The last one wasn't exactly good news. What are they gonna do this time? Threaten a lawsuit?//

"Well," Paige said, trying to look over her shoulder, "what does it say?"

Jubilee's grin got wider as her eyes ran down the page. "It's an invitation to the next meeting of the museum's Board of Directors, to 'describe my grievances to them in an open forum.' Grievances means why I'm pissed, right?"

"Yeah," Paige said, rolling her eyes.

Jubilee grinned at her friends. "I guess I better start getting ready, 'cause the meeting's next Thursday night."


Suddenly, it was The Night. All the preparation was done, and it was 4:30 and Jubilee realized that somehow she'd agreed to get up in front of a bunch of grown-ups and *talk*. About *science*. She retreated to her room, trying to take comfort in the familiar, her stack of pop CDs, the bedraggled brown teddy bear she pretended not to need, the posters of actors.

Scott found her lying on the bed, unmoving and staring blankly at the ceiling. "Stage fright?" he asked.

She looked over at him leaning against the door frame, as her panic welled up in her chest. "Ya think?"

Scott smiled and pulled up a chair. "You'll be fine. You know what you want to say, I've heard you say it a dozen times. If you want to read, it's written down. If not, just speak from your heart."

She swallowed. "I'm just a kid. Why would they listen to me?"

"Because you make sense, and because you're speaking for all those people who signed your petition."

She covered her face. "Great. More pressure."

"They trust you. I trust you. The Professor trusts you. Just go out and tell them how you feel, and what's wrong with their exhibit. You'll do great, I promise. You should have seen how nervous Jean was the first time she testified before Congress. Meet you at the van at 5:30."

That got her attention. "The van?"

"Yep. There are few folks here who want to cheer you on." And on that note, he left and Jubilee pulled the blankets over her head.

She didn't manage to hide for long, because a few minutes later, Rogue pulled the covers off. "What's wrong, honey?"

"I can't do it. I can't get up and talk," Jubilee said, moaning.

Rogue sighed, and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking worried. "Oh yes, you can," Rogue said. "Remember when you said you'd never learn to fight and Logan was gonna throw you around the Danger Room for the rest of your life?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, didn't he just compliment you on how far you'd come?" Rogue prodded her friend's arm.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"And did you ever think you'd lecture the Professor and come out on top?"


"And what about when you said you couldn't do geometry? What grade did you get in the end?"


"It was hard, but you did it. And you can do this. So there." Rogue stuck her tongue out.

"Well, with logic like that, how could I resist?" Jubilee managed a weak grin at her friends, and slowly got out of bed to get dressed.

"You're gonna knock 'em dead," Rogue said over her shoulder as she left the room. "And I'll be there to see it."


The museum's meeting room was a fairly typical representative of the species, although Jubilee didn't know that. A long dark wooden table was surrounded by high-backed leather chairs, and the periphery of the room held less comfortable chairs against the wall.

The museum board was already seated when Jubilee and Scott reached the doorway, followed by Rogue, Kitty, and Hank. Most of the other seats were filled as well, and all eyes turned to look at Jubilee.

She slowed as the weight of their regard hit her. Her fear came rushing back, and she hung on the edge of fleeing back through the doorway, held in place only by her classmates and teachers behind her.

She felt Scott's hand on her should as she sucked in a breath. He leaned over. "We're here, Jubilee, and you're going to do great. I promise."

Rogue's whisper was just behind, "Get in there and kick some ass, girl."

Jubilee took another step forward and began to see other friendly faces: a shopkeeper, a local scientist Hank once brought in as a guest lecturer, and from the end of the table, she got a big grin from the museum director, now dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks.

A few more steps forward, heartened by the support, until she found herself confronted by one of the men who stood up from the table.

A middle-aged man in a conservative suit, his brow was furrowed and he looked at Jubilee as if he'd just been forced to swallow a live frog. "You must be Miss Lee," he said in sepulchral tones. "I am Bolivar Trask, co-chair of the Board of Directors."

Jubilee felt a surge of annoyance at the look on his face, but held out her hand and tried for her best grown-up tones. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Trask."

He eyed her for a long moment, before finally shaking her hand. "That's *Dr.* Trask," he said, snatching his hand back as quickly as he could.

//Self-important jerk,// Jubilee thought, her anger washing away the last of the stage fright.

"Yes, Bolivar," a female voice snapped, "we're all well aware of your qualifications." The owner of the voice stepped around the table and elbowed the unpleasant Trask aside with considerable skill.

"Ms. Lee, thank you very much for agreeing to join us," she said, smiling politely and holding out her hand. "My name is Catherine Smoll, also a Ph.D., but I'm not quite so strident about it as Dr. Trask here. I'm the other co-chair of the Board."

Jubilee grinned at her. //Oh, I like this one.//

They shook hands, and Dr. Smoll introduced her to Dr. Dent, the museum director, and they exchanged cordial greetings and grinned at each other in a conspiratorial way.

"Please take a seat," Dr. Smoll said, gesturing to an empty seat at the table. "We just have a few other pieces of business to take care of before we discuss your concerns."

She sat at the table and the rest of the Xavier crew took places around the room. The meeting began, but Jubilee never really remembered what they said, just a few phrases stuck in her mind: "NSF grant proposal," "new discoveries in Kenya," and Dr. Dent saying "how very postmodern of you, Dr. Trask."

Finally, Dr. Smoll said, "Well, as I believe you all know, we've invited Ms. Jubilation Lee of the Xavier School here to discuss our exhibit on evolution. Ms. Lee represents," and she glanced down at some notes in front of her, "the 150 or so people who signed a petition, including, I might add, some rather prominent scientists. Ms. Lee?"

Jubilee stood up, remembering from somewhere that it gave you more authority if you stood, and looked down at her notes. They blurred for a second as she started to panic again, but she took a deep breath and looked around the room. Friendly faces, unfriendly faces, and a large number of people in between.

"I came to the museum on a field trip," she said slowly. "I have to admit I didn't care all that much about science when I got here. I mean, what did all this stuff have to do with *my* life?"

Trask was scowling at her, but she did her best to ignore him. "I heard some people talking about the exhibit, and about mutation, and I realized that it *did* have to do with me."

She paused, and took a deep breath. "I'm a mutant."

The corners of Scott's mouth curled up and the others from the school stared in shock: she'd only told Scott and the Professor what she was going to do. Whispers whipped around the room, and she waited a moment before plowing on.

"I'm a mutant," she said again. "I was orphaned real young, and then I ran away from my foster home so they wouldn't send me to China. I lived on the streets until I got the chance to come to the Xavier School. I'm not telling you this so you'll feel sorry for me. I'm telling you because you need to realize that mutants aren't that different from everybody else. Good stuff happens, and bad stuff happens. But more bad stuff happens to mutants, because everybody hates us for something we didn't ask for."

She looked down at her paper for a moment, not wanting to see the faces around her. "So, I came to this school, and for the first time I thought maybe my life was actually worth living. Maybe I was actually worth something. Then I came to your museum, and I saw the lives of every mutant reduced to a few sentences at the bottom of a case.

"The exhibit ignores the everyday lives of mutants like me, just trying to go to school and hang out with friends and maybe learn some algebra, in favor of a terrorist like Magneto, racists like the Friends of Humanity, and a diagram I didn't understand. That just doesn't make sense to me.

"You have a chance here, with this exhibit, to educate people about mutants. Okay, maybe you're not gonna bring world peace all by yourself, but you can make a difference, at least in this community. When kids come to your museum, if they see that mutants are natural, maybe they won't feel quite so alone. Like I did."

Some of the people were nodding, some were scowling. She forged ahead.

"Evolution isn't just about why we walk on two legs instead of four. It isn't just about the dozens of kinds of parrots on some island. It's about why I can do this," and she popped a few colorful plasma bursts. Several people gasped. "It's about why there are orphanages full of babies with blue hair and glowing skin and orange eyes.

"Why do mutants like me exist? I don't know, I'm not a scientist, I'm just a kid. But we're here and we're not going anywhere, and I'd like to be represented like the human being I am."

Jubilee looked down at her notes, and took a final deep breath. "We were reading this play last year, and I remember my teacher reading aloud this one bit that didn't really hit me at the time. He helped me look it up before tonight. It's from the Merchant of Venice."

She held up the paper and read, "If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?

"I bleed. I laugh. I could die. I'm a person, not just a mutant. Don't ignore me."

She collapsed back in her chair, her knees no longer able to support her. There was a moment of silence before most of the people in the room began to applaud. The director was grinning like a maniac, Rogue looked like she wanted to jump out of her chair and start screaming, and Dr. Smoll was nodding with great satisfaction.

When the applause died away, Dr. Smoll opened her mouth, but before she could begin to speak, Dr. Trask said, "Thank you, Ms. Lee."

Jubilee could see several of her apparent supporters look sharply around at his tone. He continued, "That was certainly an *emotional* appeal. But we're not a museum of emotions, but a museum of science."

"Actually," the museum director said drolly, leaning back in his chair, "if you check the sign outside, I think you'll find we're a museum of natural history. And this young lady is, I would venture to say, quite natural."

There were a few muffled snickers, and Dr. Trask glared around, knowing he was being made fun of, but not quite getting the joke. The director's bland and inoffensive smile seemed to annoy him. He continued with a barely restrained snarl, "As I was saying, we are trying to teach science, not generate social policy. If we bow to the forces of political correctness, we will be abrogating our responsibility as scientists."

Several board members nodded, and one (a balding fuddy-duddy in a particularly hideous olive-green suit) said, "Exactly, Bolivar. Science and culture should be kept quite separate. Our exhibits should not be used to portray a political agenda."

"Piffle," Dr. Smoll said firmly. "Bolivar, I expected you to know better. Science can never fully divorce itself from the society around it. I'm just a lowly marine biologist, but I thought that was one of the ideas anthropologists are teaching these days. At least, that's what I recall in the article in the American Anthropologist that Joe was so kind to forward me."

She smiled sweetly, and Jubilee laughed internally. //I'm not entirely certain what they're talking about, but with this lady on my side, how can we lose?//

Another older gentlemen, this time with a bit more hair and better taste in clothes (although Jubilee was curious why he was wearing those loafers with those pants), jumped in. "I'm afraid she's right, ladies and gentlemen, there's no way we can avoid being a reflection of Westchester, of New York, and of the current climate in the United States. If we could, then this issue would never have come up."

"This issue," Dr. Trask said, "as you so carefully put it, came up because one young lady still in high school has taken a personal dislike to our exhibit style." He didn't even look at Jubilee this time, as if dismissing her from his thoughts.

She bristled. "I took a *dislike* to Friends of Humanity propaganda disguised as a museum exhibit. Was that your plan, *Dr.* Trask?"

Dr. Dent had a coughing fit, and several other people seemed to be examining the unpleasant Dr. Trask with a new eye (and not finding anything they liked).

One of Dr. Trask's supporters said, "The exhibit is scientifically sound."

"If you insist. However, it's also sterile," Dr. Dent said.

A youngish woman seated near him, who had been listening intently, leaned forward and tapped a perfectly shaped red nail on the table. "It's boring," she said.

Next to her, a man with a blond hair caught back in a ponytail dropped his pen on the table and said, "Quite frankly, it's unintelligible and disorganized."

Dr. Trask narrowed his eyes at the two of them, "Neither of you expressed any disagreement when the exhibit was proposed."

"The proposal didn't mention," the woman said, twitching her nose in distaste, "that the exhibit would be nothing but row after row of animals. By the time the rest of us received a proper report on the planned exhibit, there was not enough time to lodge a complaint. But since you ask-"

The discussion ranged freely around the room for what seemed to Jubilee to be an interminable period. The language became more esoteric, but whatever they were saying, it was obviously cheesing some people off quite severely.

She kept tabs on the progress of the debate by watching Hank's expression, since both Scott and the museum director had too good a poker face for her to tell what they thought. Anyone who caused Hank to wince was obviously saying something scientifically inaccurate, those who Hank beamed at were obviously supporters.

The debate had degenerated into a series of conversations around the room, when Dr. Smoll gathered them up by raising her voice. "I think we have exhausted the possible arguments on this issue. Including," and she sent a quelling glance to one particular board member, "the financial. I think it is time we put to a vote the question: do we wish to authorize Joe to revamp this exhibit to fit within the mainstream of museum theory? Before we vote, Ms. Lee, do you have any final words?"

The director nodded at her, if she had anything else to say, this was her chance.

She looked around the room. "I know some of you think I'm just a kid, and that means I don't know anything about how to put together a museum. Maybe that's true. But I kind of thought that I was the audience for your museum exhibits, and if my friends and I didn't get it, then maybe you did something wrong.

"Besides, it isn't just me. I may have started it, but there are a bunch of other people who agreed with me. They couldn't be here tonight, but I have it on good authority," and she flashed a grin at Scott, "that they trust me. They trust me to tell you that your exhibit doesn't represent the world as they know it. They trust me to beg you to include mutants in the discussion of evolution. We're not some political movement, we're just people who happen to live here."

The moment Jubilee stopped speaking, Dr. Smoll said, "I move we vote on this issue."

"I second," said the pony-tailed man.

"All in favor of changing the exhibit?" she asked.

From around the room, the various board members called out their vote. Jubilee was so scared, she couldn't even keep up the simple count. Moments later, the young man who had been recording the votes looked up and smiled at her.

"The vote is nine in favor, six against."

Dr. Trask looked like he wanted to object. Or explode. But he settled for hustling out of the room in a huff, rather like a small child prepared to go to his room and have a tantrum. His supporters stomped out after him, but nobody missed them.

Jubilee was surrounded by well-wishers, and through the crowd she could see her teachers and classmates hugging each other. Scott made his way through, his normally solemn face split by a huge grin. They faced each other for a moment.

"You didn't think I could do it, did you?" she asked, made daring by her success.

He shook his head slowly. "Jubilee, I always knew you could do whatever you wanted. You just had to care enough to try. I'm proud of you."

She grinned at him just as Rogue and Hank swept her up into a group hug and bore her back to the school in triumph.


Four months later...

The exhibit room wasn't as hushed as the first time she'd been there, now it was crowded with visitors, participants in the revamp and people who'd read about it in the newspaper and wanted to see it. Jubilee gulped a couple of times as she looked around the new exhibit, and realized the enormity of what she'd done.

The giant glowing double helix was gone, replaced with photographs suspended on wires. From where she stood, Jubilee could see Darwin looking very dour, a small gray bird with an orange beak (which the sign said was a Darwin's finch), a young girl with green hair and claws reading a book, and a scientist peering at a skeleton on a table. She spent a long moment looking at one picture that hung in the middle of the exhibit, a portrait of her demonstrating her powers to her friends.

She blinked up at it a few times, still not certain she liked how she looked. Her plasma bursts looked neat, though. The photographer had fussed and fumed and cursed impartially at the universe, but he had insisted on sticking with it until he found a way to show them off. The Professor had been unsure about letting her display her powers so openly, but the museum director (who hit it off with the Professor immediately) took him aside.

She wasn't sure what was said, but the Professor smiled and agreed to her participation. The director introduced her to a short-haired woman who looked like a hippie crossed with a butch lesbian, who he said was an anthropologist working on the oral history.

The anthropologist pulled a tape recorder out of a worn denim backpack, scratched the rainbow tattoo on her left shoulder, and asked Jubilee to tell her about the day she discovered she was a mutant.

Jubilee blinked again and looked around the exhibit, this time seeing all of the changes the director had made. Many of the cases filled with animals were gone, and the ones that remained had shorter and clearer labels. Scattered around the room were large signs with her words and those of other mutants.

"When I sprouted wings, my mom screamed for an hour," one said. "But when you fly under your own power, well, there's nothing like it in the world. I wish everyone could fly."

"I'm an empath," said another. "I can't tell what you're thinking, just how you're feeling. And as a psychologist, I can help you understand your emotions, help you control them, help you become more in tune with yourself. That's so rewarding."

Jubilee wandered over to the display of different animal eyes she had seen the first time. The confusing label had been replaced with an explanation of how natural selection had allowed different kinds of eyes and eyesight to evolve, from the compound eye of an insect to the binocular vision of a bird.

In the upper right corner was another piece of oral history: "I have eyes like a hawk. Literally. I can't see very well at night, but during the day I can see many times better than other people. Last summer, I took a job as a lifeguard and then as a fire-watcher during fire season, because it turns out I can see a drowning person or a fire long before anyone else. They tell me I saved lives. I'm proud of that."

"Yeah," Jubilee said as she watched the crowd mingle, "I'm proud, too."