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“Good Morning Ms. Monroe.”

“Good Morning Class,” the smooth melodious voice of Ms. Ororo Monroe, class teacher of grade six at Xavier’s School for the Gifted, answered from the from the door, immediately silencing the few remaining rowdy students.

“Good Morning Miss Monroe” this time all the students, even the ones who had neglected it before, stood up straight and greeted their Class and English teacher, sitting down as she made her way to her desk, her bag hung over one shoulder, while her other hand clutched the attendance register and her copy of their English literature book.

Reaching her desk, Ororo Monroe did a once over, instantly noting which student was doing what. Her lazuline eyes shone brightly in the sunlight filtering in through the half drawn window blinds. They hue perfectly matching the blue floral top she had on, along with her ‘trademark’ ankle length white skirt and white sandals, her long platinum colored hair, flowing gracefully along her back went right down to below her waist. Even simply dressed, she looked regal in every sense of the word, which given her and her mother’s royal heritage wasn’t far from the truth. At twenty-four years of age, she was one of the youngest teachers at the school and one of the most loved ones. Even though the students knew about her no nonsense behavior, they also knew that she wasn’t partial or one to hold grudge. Always fair to everyone, she truly cared about what she did and how if affected every single one of them, and for that, they both loved and respected her.

The ‘ride’ to such a position, both in eyes of the students and the faculty, had not been an easy one doe her. Joining a year and a half ago, fresh out of college, many thought it to be only because of her father, Professor Charles Xavier, the owner and headmaster of the school, that she got the position. However, it soon became clear that she possessed an uncanny knack and deep passion for teaching. Her ability to seemingly empathize with the students, and to bring herself down to their level, allowed her to form a rapport with even the most difficult students. Finally, eight months ago, she was given her own class; it raised no eyebrows from any of the teaching or non-teaching staff. As for the students, they were more than happy to bid farewell to their previous teacher and welcome Ms. Monroe as their new class teacher.
---

Setting the attendance register on her desk, she was about to start roll call, when a loud deep thump of a motorcycle engine sounded at the front of the school, almost shaking the class windows.

Instantly the students rushed to the windows to see who was it...something for which even Ororo joined them, although for different reasons. While the students were enthralled by the bike and its leather clad rider, neglecting the young girl who had just gotten off the back seat and was walking up the stairs, Ororo’s brow was creased with the noise that the bike seemed to be creating. Although not averse to motorcycles, she did not relish listening to their thump this early in the morning.

*WRROOM WRROOM WRRRROOOOOOMMMMMmmmmm…*

The children Oohed and Aahed as the biker pulled away onto the main road and drove away with a sudden burst of speed.

“Oh man,” a young back with thick glasses was literally jumping off his seat. “Did you see that? That was so Cooool. I bet he hit hundred.”

“Yeah,” his friend nodded whole-heartedly. “Musta done a wheelie too.”

“What’s a wheelie?” The girl caught between their crossfire asked.

“It is when….nah,” the boy stopped his explanation. What’s the use? What do girls know about bikes anyway?

“Aright class,” Ororo’s commanding voice ended any further conversation about the mysterious biker and his AWESOME bike.

----

Reluctantly returning to their seats, the students were drawing out their course books, when a knock at the door drew their attention again. However, whatever excitement that the mystery rider had given them, was lost at the sight of Mr. Scott ‘Hardass’ Summers, the infamous mathematics teacher and vice principal of the school. At thirty-two, he did not fit the normal vice-principal image, well according to Ororo. He wasn’t at all like her vice principal – old, stuffy, overweight, balding Mrs. Jenkins. To her he was a dear friend, calm and collected although a bit obsessive about perfection. However, she knew that not even one student would agree with her. To them he was Mr. Math-head Summers. Apart from his administrative duties, he also taught Mathematics, and was famous for being a hard taskmaster. Although he rarely failed anyone, he almost never gave a mark higher than eighty-five percent, much to the students chagrin.

What drew Ororo’s and everyone else present in the room’s attention; was not her smiling colleague but the quiet Asian girl standing beside him.

“Good morning Mr. Summers.” Ororo greeted him with his formal name in front of the students. “Class!”
“Good morning Mr. Summers,” the students weren’t as forthcoming and mumbled the greeting in a half-hearted manner. This was going to be their first year under Scott Summers and they had already heard frightening tales about him from their seniors. Some, whose older siblings had gone through Scott’s classes, or were still under him, had seen the effect that he had on others.

“Good morning Ms. Monroe,” Scott responded as he stepped into the class. “Good morning class.”

---

Ororo knew the reason for Scott’s visit. She had received the memo about a new student admission. Turning to Scott, she received a nod, letting her know she could begin.

“Class, today we have a new student joining us,” she spoke clearly as she extended a hand towards the girl now standing just inside the door.
“I would like all of you to welcome your newest classmate,” she brought the girl in front of her, both hands resting on her shoulder. “Amiko Yashida”

Calls of Hi and Hello came from different students, who looked curiously at the girl, who bowed her head slightly, voicing a soft, “Hello.” Although soft, her voice was firm as well as carrying a barest tinge of an accent.

----

Getting Amiko settled in the second row desk and chair, Ororo walked outside to join Scott, who was waiting to get her initial feedback and supply her with his own views.

“She looks shy,” Ororo observed, glancing back to the girl, who was busy getting her things stored under the desk. Whether deliberately or out of habit, she kept her eyes averted from the other students.
“Very,” Scott confirmed. “That’s why we decided enroll her into your class. You have experience with dealing with interesting cases like Amiko here.”
Smiling at her friend’s remark, Ororo nodded her head. “I’ll see what I can do.” She assured him.
“Thanks,” Scott responded. “There is another thing I wanted to talk to you about. It’s also pertains to Amiko. Her father has requested if one of the teachers would agree to give her extra lessons…a private tuition,” he clarified. “She is extremely intelligent, but has a weak point – English, particularly English grammar. I was wondering if you could take that too, seeing that you yourself had a similar problem when you were younger and can relate to her better. He has offered…no, he had asked that the teacher quote his or her tuition rate,” Scott corrected himself. Although he had not actually met the girl’s father, his assistant Ms. D’Ancanto, had done that, she had specifically told him that the man had repeatedly said that he wasn’t asking for a hand out and would only allow the girl to take the tuition if the teacher agreed to take the money. Otherwise he’d find someone else.

“The problem maybe that neither of her parents seems to have a strong command over English,” Scott speculated. “At least not at good as they would like her to have.”

----

Ororo knew the difficulty of not knowing the language properly. It was something she had faced as a child and something she was sure young Amiko was facing too. Having spent many of her formative years in Africa, she had very little exposure to English. To overcome that hurdle, she not only made an extra effort but also ultimately converted it into her strength, going as far as to get her graduate degree in English literature. Such was her command and the appreciation for her work that even before completing her masters’ degree, which she breezed through, she was offered a well paying university post and a PhD seat.

However, that was not what she wanted. She wanted to teach, but not at the university level, but to young children, minds that were fresh and inquisitive and open to the world around them. To accomplish that, she completed her teacher’s course and joined her father’s school.

“I’ll do it,” Ororo replied, much to Scott’s relief.

“Thanks Ororo, you’re a life saver,” he sighed. Noting the time, he bade her farewell and headed towards his office.

“I know,” she smiled, shaking her head at his youthful antics. ‘Scotty Summers, vice-principal, who would have guessed’ she thought wistfully.

Clearing her head, she too reentered the class and began her attendance…fifteen minutes later than normal.

After the class, she asked Amiko to stay back an extra five minutes and gave her a sealed envelope to give to her father, explaining the time and schedule for the tuitions….as well as other monetary details.

“Thank you” the small girl managed a toothy smile at her teacher, who towered almost two feet over her.

Ororo smiled at her, a strange thought stuck in her head as she walked away. Amiko’s shyness came from her hesitation in English, but underneath, she seemed to be quite a precocious child.

‘Will have to keep an eye on her.’

-----

The rest of the morning was quite uneventful for Ororo. She had just one more class before lunch – grade eleven, one of her more challenging classes. Not that the students were bad, just that they had just got their independence and at sixteen they thought themselves to be omniscient, omnipotent beings.

‘Ah to be young again,’ she mused as she made her way to the class. Reaching the class, she stopped and stood outside for a minute observing the two liveliest students of that particular group– the class clown and the class firecracker. Both of them had their own little crowd of admirers gathered around them, as they prattled away, weaving their own animated tale, probably of some adventure they had or a dress they saw at the mall.

“Good morning class,” she said, ending their daytime soirée, and charging them into action, all of them jumping over one another to get to their places.

-----

Meanwhile,

“REMY LEBEAU,” a loud screech rang across the large garage. “Ahm gonna kill ya.”

Grabbing the nearest *weapon*- a large spanner, the owner of the voice stormed across the workshop, ignoring the grins and chuckles from the other people in the place. They knew what was going to happen, just as they knew better than to try to interrupt the raging southern tornado.

Inside the garage office, the man of the moment, Remy, cringed at the sound. ‘Oh uh, now Remy be gone,’ he thought, looking over his shoulder.

“What’d ya do now?” The deep voice from across the table asked.

“Noting Mon Ami,” Remy muttered. Rising from his chair, he turned to face the door.

“Ya stepped out…” The owner of the gruff voice, as well as the workshop they were working in, Logan, stated it with conviction. Coming next to Remy, he placed a supportive yet threatening hand on his shoulder.

“Uh….” was all the ex-thief-turned-car salesman could manage, before the door was thrown open.
“REMY!”
“Marie…..Cherie,” Remy tried to calm his girlfriend, catching her hands to stop her from clawing his eyes out, her impromptu weapon falling away.
“Dohn’t Marie Cherie meh,” Marie both pushed and pulled at him at the same time, her rage thickening her southern drawl.

“Logan,” Remy looked at his boss-cum-partner. He would have added friend in there too, had it not been Marie in front of them. When it came to Marie, all bets were off as far as Logan was concerned.

---

“Don’t look at me,” Logan lifted his hands. “Ya did it, now pay fer it.”

Whatever explanation the Cajun Casanova was about to give went away in the swift kick that Marie delivered onto his knee. Buckling over he grabbed the table for support, freeing Marie from his grip.

“What did he do now?” Logan asked Marie, gently drawing her around the desk…away from Remy. Having seen it happen earlier, he knew what would happen once Marie cooled down. In fact, he could see it starting right now.

“Betsy,” Marie gritted tightly, anger tears welling up in her large brown doe like eyes.

“Betsy….Logan,” she repeated, her rage rapidly slipping away, with pain taking its place. “Ya kno’ thaht new disco, thaht dance place…..tha one where we were planning ta go. Where this jackass was gonna take meh,” the tears started their downward journey, her voice cracking. “He went there….with her,” Marie managed before collapsing against Logan, bawling against his white flannel shirt as he enveloped her in a protective embrace.

“Gumbo,” Logan practically growled at Remy, who stood uneasily, rubbing his sore knee. Marie had got him right on the kneecap. ‘Its gonna hurt for a couple of days’ he thought, berating himself for bringing it on himself. “Out.”

“Marie…” Remy tried, stepping closer to her. She however, borrowed deeper into Logan’s chest, trying to cut his sound off, her breathing coming in loud gasps.

“Grr…” this time he did growl. “Out, NOW.” he ordered.

His shoulders slumped, Remy hobbled out of the room. He had screwed up…again. Marie loved him as deeply as he loved her and he had to go and do this…with Betsy of all the people. Betsy was sad herself, all with her lover Neal Shaara leaving for India for six months….especially after the fight they had had in which she told him to go hell. She did not even go to see him off at the airport. It was only three days later that a letter posted from Neal posted before his leaving reached her that she broke down and cried. In the letter he wrote that he loved and cared for deeply. However, if being with him and the responsibilities he had to shoulder; wasn’t what she wanted from life, then it was better that she find someone else. He would return after six months and ‘hopefully’ by that time she would have reached a decision. Betsy did not even need a minute to reach a decision…however having no way to contact Neal, she consoled herself with having to wait out those six months somehow.

The previous night wasn’t a date for her and Remy. It was basically two friends getting together….and even though there was light flirtation between them, Remy knew that it would lead to nothing. Heck, more than half the time, especially after the drinks started hitting her, Neal was all she could talk about. How he was so good for her, how much he loved her, how much she loved him and so on and so forth.

If only he had told Marie before hand about it, or maybe even taken her along. Betsy wouldn’t have minded, not even a bit…..and it would have avoided all this trouble.

He was in the doghouse now. It would be some time before she even looked at him, let alone let him come near her.

----

Recess, Xavier’s School

“Hey you,” Amiko did not look up at the sound. She did not like the tone and ignored it hoping that whoever it was would leave her alone.

“Hey you…Chinky,” came another voice. “He called you. You deaf or something?”
“She doesn’t know English,” a girl mocked her, the group surrounding her as she backed into the wall, trying to disappear.
“Oh yes, the Chink doesn’t know English. She talks like…” the first boy let loose a sorry sputtering of gibberish.

“I am Japanese,” Amiko whispered softly.
“What?” asked another boy.
“She said she’s Japanese,” the first one chuckled. “Like that makes a difference. Chinese, Japanese, whatever-ese, you all look and talk the same.”

Amiko felt anger welling up within her. However, she calmed herself down muttering the prayer her mother had taught her. She had also taught her that she would face difficulties in her life, and people such as these, who made fun of you, looked down upon you, just because you look different, should not paid attention to. She was better than they were, and she should behave as such.

Her father whole-heartedly seconded those words of wisdom and even repeated them to her on more than one occasion. Coming from him, such advice sometimes felt off, especially when he himself would get ready to kill anyone who even looked at her the wrong way, let alone say something offensive. For that, he told her that she was better than he was too and was destined for great things.

----

“Yes,” countered the second boy. “I bet all of her family is like this….*me speak no English people*, yellow skinned, slant eyed, dog eaters.”

“Please, leave me alone,” Amiko managed slowly, her tone a little defiant. They were pushing the limit by bringing her family into it. “I do not want you to get into trouble.”

“Trouble” the ringleader stepped forward. “What…you gonna be trouble for us.”

“Yeah sure….she’s gonna use one of her *martial* kicks and kick our asses,” the group laughed at his remark.

However, their laughter was cut short by a sound from behind them.

*POP*

“She isn’t, I am.”

Note: Ok, not much different from the previous version….yet. However, the small changes will turn into bigger ones from the next chapter onwards….including an unlikely ‘flirtation’.

The Neal – Betsy connection is from the X-Men series. (Issue #109)

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