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Logan was up before anybody else. He was always up before anybody else. In some ways, morning was what he liked best—he could think, he could work in peace, he didn’t have to answer to anyone or break up any little fights or answer any questions about what was happening today or when it was okay to swim or what shoes were good for playing basketball.

In other ways, morning was the worst.

He thought back to his life before, to the mornings he’d spent in the Canadian Rockies, waking up alone, brewing coffee over a grate, wondering where he could go to buy a newspaper. Wondering if time would always pass so slowly, if every day would always be so indistinguishable from the next, and if so, if that would always be such a bad thing.

Now he spent his early mornings slipping off to have a cigar and counting down the minutes until it was okay to wake up Storm.

He paced quietly down the hallway and thought about ducking into the rec room to watch a little TV. It was just beginning to grow light outside. Not getting light quite as early as it used to—the summer was arching into late July.

When he heard whispering, he stopped moving. Took stock. He knew it wasn’t anything to be alarmed about—he didn’t have that sense. But he suspected that a couple of the kids had gotten up early or had never gone to bed. He must have missed them when he did the count last night.

The whispering was coming from the den. He assumed his authoritative posture and prepared to tell them off. But suddenly the whispering stopped, and the noise changed. It became the unmistakable sound of kissing—and decisive kissing, serious kissing. Making out, the kind of making out done by adults, not by twelve-year-olds. He groaned quietly and wondered who or what the hell he was going to find in the den. Then the kissing stopped, and the talking resumed.

Logan paused next to the door. And listened. And knew, right away, who the voices belonged to.

“I just . . . This is such bullshit.”

“Why is it bullshit?”

“Because I have to leave now. I have to go to college.”

The other voice chuckled. “You’re not going that far. We can see each other on the weekends.”

Logan sagged against the wall. Closed his eyes and listened.

“I’m going to hate college.”

“You’re not. Trust me.”

“Then why did you leave Princeton?”

There was a pause. “That was different.”

“How was it different? People hate mutants everywhere, right? It doesn’t matter where you go to school. There are always haters. Fuck it, I don’t want to go.”

Peter’s voice sounded so wounded, so exasperated. Logan hadn’t heard him like that before. To be honest, Logan hadn’t heard much from Peter before at all—the kid was quiet. Always drawing.

“First of all,” Warren said, “Princeton’s a tough place. Everyone in my family had gone there. That’s why I went there. But it’s shit. Everyone there is perfect, and there was just no way I could fit in. I mean, the Worthington name is on, like, half the buildings there. Everyone knew who I was and who my father was. I couldn’t catch a break from any of the lame-ass professors. And it was worse when the liberal kids tried to dig my mutation, or talk to me about civil rights bullshit.” He cleared his throat. “Second of all? You don’t stand out.”

“I always stand out,” Peter said.

“Come on. Don’t be a dumbass. You can go anywhere.” Warren chuckled. “When I was a freshman I tried to go to a U2 concert and couldn’t get in because the security guard thought I had a bomb on my back.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you think I did? I left. A better person would have shown them what he had, because fuck them, but I’m a coward. I just went away. I’m just telling you that you’re lucky. To be able to pass.”

“That’s some bullshit, man. That’s what I’m talking about. You shouldn’t have to show anything to anybody.”

Logan knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but he was riveted, and he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because Peter and Warren never shown this side of themselves to him—they were always so private and reserved. Warren especially. But now Warren was telling Peter how it was, and Peter was just so damn raw. Logan had never heard two guys talk like that. He wondered if it was because they were gay or because they were young, or both. He suspected that they were high, but he couldn’t pick up any trace of marijuana.

Now they were kissing again. Logan straightened and started to walk away. Then they resumed talking. Logan stood still.

“Purchase is a good opportunity for you. Their art program is great. You’re going to love it there.”

“I love you,” Peter said. “I just love you so damn much.”

“Dude! It’s not even that far. It’s like, half an hour away,” Warren said, laughing. But he was laughing, Logan knew, to cover up the fact that he was beginning to cry.

“What if it sucks?”

“You’ll still have me. And Christ, it’s only four years.”

They were quiet for a minute. No kissing. Then Peter said, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Warren said, sniffling. “I hope Storm and Logan will let me stay.”

“They’ll let you stay. But what about your degree?”

“I have to look into that.”

Peter was quiet. Then he gasped. “Dude, what are you doing?”

“That thing you like.”

“Jesus, man, not here. The door’s open.”

“Nobody’s up yet. Relax.”

And Peter’s breath rolled into even waves.

Logan slowly and carefully backed away. He wasn’t going to interrupt them—no way in hell—but that he didn’t want to hear. Oh, anywhere but the den. He liked to meditate in there. Yeah, not anymore.

But he couldn’t ignore the fact that the whole scene had been so, well, heart-wrenching. As he walked down the hall he felt sad and overwhelmed—and then exhausted. These two kids—these two guys! He just couldn’t believe them. He wondered what was going to happen to them.

The rest of the morning passed slowly. He didn’t get a chance to talk to Storm, and the cook had an issue with the gluten-free kids, so there was that to deal with. He finally found Storm in her office after lunch. He came inside and shut the door.

“Oh good,” she said. “I wanted to ask you about the sump pump.”

The sump pump—Christ, she was so romantic! “Peter’s gay,” he said.

Storm stared at him.

He took a breath and continued. “I overheard him and Warren in the den this morning. Together.”

Storm’s gaze remained fixed on him. “Oh. Oh, really.”

“They didn’t know I was there.”

“And they were having sex?”

“Well—no,” Logan said, holding up his hands. “Not at first.” He stopped. He shouldn’t have said that. He hoped Storm wouldn’t get mad about the sex. She had this thing against sex on school grounds. (Except where they were concerned, of course.) “It was really kind of intense. It was . . . weird. To hear them like that.”

She was quiet. She seemed to be processing. Then she said, “I hope they’re okay. Maybe I should talk to them.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, dropping into the chair in front of her desk. “They’re old enough. Warren’s twenty for God’s sake. I just . . . wonder what the hell we’re doing here sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re a team. And we don’t know these basic fucking things about each other. How I am supposed to trust these kids when I don’t even know if they’re gay or straight or hooking up or what?”

“So you feel differently about them knowing that they’re gay.”

He rubbed his hand against his thigh. “No, come on, give me a break, Storm. I don’t care if they’re gay. I care that I don’t know them. How can you fight next to a guy if you don’t know him? It’s a problem. Tell me you didn’t know everything about Scott and Jean.”

She blinked slowly. Nodded. Then looked up at him again. “Scott and Jean were my peers. With this team it’s different. It’s like you and I are in the role of the professor. Scott and Jean and I didn’t tell him everything, especially not in terms of who we were sleeping with or what we were feeling. In fact, we tried to keep a great deal from him. But it never worked, of course. He always knew everything.”

“We’re not the professor,” Logan said.

“Maybe they just want their privacy. That’s understandable.”

“Do you think they’re afraid that we might judge them?”

Storm crossed her legs and leaned forward. “I hope not. I mean—I hope we haven’t given them that impression. Have we?”

He shook his head and looked away.

He didn’t want to be the guy people told their problems to—and he definitely didn’t want to be the guy two gay dudes told their problems to. Really. But he remembered back to a year ago, back to the summer after the professor died, back when he was trying to figure out whether or not to stay. In those days, Rogue had often come to him to talk about things—her doubts about taking the cure, her relationship with Bobby. He hadn’t necessarily enjoyed hearing so much about a teenage girl’s private life—especially since so much of that private life was uncomfortable—but he understood that she just needed to tell someone, and he appreciated that she trusted him.

Then things changed. She stopped talking. Stopped cornering him after dinner. He wondered what she did with her thoughts now, where she put them. Perhaps she wrote them down. Perhaps she told them to Kitty. But he doubted that. He suspected that she just carried them with her or willed them to go away. That was how children became adults, he knew—they learned to put down their quirks.

He missed her.

“Logan,” Storm said quietly. “Logan, what’s wrong?”

He looked up to find Storm peering at him, her eyes softening with concern.

“I want people to know about us,” he said.

Storm sat back.

“Please don’t say it,” he said. He rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“That there is no us.”

She didn’t move.

When he looked up at her again, he saw that she was hurt. She was tense. Her shoulders were tight. “I wasn’t going to say that.” She uncrossed her legs and pulled her chair closer to her desk and reached for a folder. She opened it and began to read.

“Storm—”

“You must be insane if you think that people don’t know about us.”

They sat in silence. Storm picked up a pen and twirled it between her fingers, her eyes skimming over the paperwork in front of her. He didn’t move.

“I thought—”

“We live,” she said, “in a small boarding school with several telepaths and empaths and other kids with various intuitive gifts.” She looked up from the file. “And just so you know? You are the only thing I think about.”

He hunched forward and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said. “I have to get some work done.”

“Then why all the secrecy, huh? Why all the sneaking around?”

“We’re not sneaking around.”

“Sure feels like it.”

“I like my privacy,” she said, setting her pen down with a certain firmness that he read as anger. “I like a degree of discretion. I don’t like everyone to know what I’m doing at any given moment, or what’s going on in my bedroom. But if you think that I’ve been trying to hide—” She gestured to the space between them. “You’re mistaken.”

Logan pushed himself to his feet. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Turn this around. Make it seem like I’m the one dragging ass about this whole thing.”

“Logan.” Storm stood. “You can’t blame me for—I mean, how can you say—do you even want this?”

“I just told you that I want people to know about us!”

The air around them seemed to decompress.

Storm sighed and spread her hands on her desk. She tilted her head up to look at him. “Why?”

“Why? Because I want to be with you. I don’t know how much plainer I can make it, darlin’.” He pushed the chair in and turned around.

He thought she’d sit down again and go back to working, and that that would be the end of it—whatever “it” was—but instead she peeled away from the desk and headed to the window in the back of the room. She crossed her arms in front her and looked out onto the terrace.

“Don’t cry,” he said.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “I’m not crying.”

Outside the window, a summer breeze tossed the branches of the trees. It was sunny but windy.

“You should,” he said, taking a step toward her. “So I could tell you not to.”

###

She told him to go up to her bedroom, and that she’d be there in twenty minutes. (He liked that—liked it when she told him what to do.) He went upstairs, took off his clothes, got into the bed, and waited.

She had the window open.

He always griped about the fact that she kept the window open. It was hard on the air conditioner, he said. It drove up the bill. But as he lay in her bed, he let himself enjoy the smell of the air outside—the faintly humid smell of cut grass and pollen.

When she came, she shut the door behind her and took off her clothes so that he could see her. Then she slipped into bed beside him. Began doing the things he liked, and a few new things too. Left a trail of saliva between his navel and his hipbone. Then made love to him, climbing on top of him, steadying herself on his shoulders. He held her there as she moved against him. He thrust into her. His toes curled as he came. Afterwards, she brushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him there.

They lay together afterwards. He didn’t want to talk or get up or do much of anything. The breeze flowed in through the open window, and the sweat dried on his body.

Her hand was on his chest. “I’m not advocating that we hide anything,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea that we advertise what we are to the kids. They’re so young. And some of them have parents who might think the wrong things. Technically? I’m your boss. So this is sexual harassment.”

“Quid pro quo, huh?” He traced her shoulder with his thumb. “Where’s my bonus?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of creating a hostile work environment,” she said. Her fingers grazed his right hip.

He thought they might have sex again, but instead she just kissed him and made a promise. She said she had to get up, had to get back to the job. “You need to rest,” she told him. “You look exhausted.”

He figured that he would get up and get dressed after she left, but he surprised himself by staying in bed. He lay there until he heard the kids clamor downstairs for dinner.

###

In August, the feds finally arrested and indicted several members of the Nasty Boys. It was publicized. It was all over the TV. It was a goddamn media circus.

“Hold on, hold on,” Kitty said. “Shush.” She was in the rec room, kneeling in front of the TV. Warren and Bobby and Peter and Jubilee were on the sofa behind her. A few other kids were milling around in the background. Two of them had been playing checkers on the table, but now they looked up and stared at the TV.

Logan stood in the back of the room, arms crossed. He leaned against the wall. Rogue sat in a chair in the corner reading a book, her legs crossed. Logan could tell that she was trying to feign disinterest.

“Look, there!” Kitty exclaimed, pointing at the TV. “That’s him. There’s my guy!”

The TV showed one of the Nasty Boys being led from the courthouse in shackles. The reporter was saying that he’d been denied bail and would be awaiting trial in federal prison. “. . . both state and federal law enforcement agents worked together to foil what some authorities say would have been the deadliest terror attack since Alcatraz . . .”

Everyone was quiet for a moment. The segment ended and the newscaster started talking about the economy. Then Bobby said, “It’s such a thankless job.”

“Not one mention,” Peter said.

“Hey,” Warren said, leaning back on the sofa, his shoulder touching Peter’s. “What matters is that Kitty saved a lot of innocent people.” He glanced over at her and nodded. “Good job.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling.

Bobby started to clap. The other kids joined in, even the kids in the back of the room. Somebody whooped. Kitty blushed, but Logan could tell that she was secretly pleased.

“Stand up and take a bow,” Bobby said.

“Bobby, I am not—”

“I think you’re all being really stupid.”

Logan glanced at the corner of the room. Rogue was standing, her book tucked under her arm.

They all turned to look at Rogue. Kitty glanced up from where she was sitting.

“I mean, come on,” Rogue said. “Why are you so happy? Now these guys know who you are—they know who she is—” She pointed at Kitty. “They know who made the case against them, they know who turned them in. What if the case doesn’t make, Kitty? What if they get off? Jesus, did you ever consider that?”

“Rogue—”

“The first thing they’re going to do is track her down and kill her.” Rogue’s eyes darted over to Logan. “I can’t believe you hadn’t thought about this.”

“Rogue,” Kitty said. “The case is going to make.” She stood in front of the TV and clasped her hands together. “It’s a total slam-dunk.”

“And so what? These people have friends, Kitty. What if someone tracks you down at college?”

Kitty smirked. “Then I guess Yale will become a pretty interesting place.”

“It’s not funny,” Rogue said. “You’re putting other people in danger.”

Warren turned to look at Rogue for the first time during the conversation. He and Rogue did their best not to cross paths in the mansion. Probably, Logan suspected, because Warren was the kid who almost lost his life trying to avoid the antidote his father had invented for him—and she was the girl who had run straight for it.

“Rogue,” Bobby said, standing from the couch. He assumed a posture that reminded Logan very much of—he hated to admit this—Scott. “You’re right, it’s not an ideal situation, but someone has to do this. And that’s us. Think of all the people Kitty saved. And at college, we’re taking precautions. Living alone and stuff.”

Rogue clutched her book. “Whatever.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and walked past them and out of the room.

Bobby exchanged glances with Kitty. Then he moved toward the mouth of the room.

Logan reached out and stopped him. “Just let it go,” he said.

Bobby seemed deflated. He turned and went back into the rec room to join his friends.

###

Logan didn’t go talk to Rogue after the little dispute in the rec room. He figured it was best to let it blow over.

He found Kitty later that evening in the kitchen. She was often in the kitchen after hours, mixing things up and trying new recipes. She liked to cook. On this night, she was steaming some milk to make some coffee. Kitty was addicted to coffee. She smiled when she saw him walk in. “Do you want a cup?”

“No thanks.” He sat down on the stool next to the counter.

She poured some milk into a mug. Then she started crushing some mint leaves.

“So you and Bobby,” he said.

She stopped crushing the leaves and looked up. “Did he say something?”

“No,” Logan said. “I just made a bet with myself that you’re a couple, and that I could get you slip up.”

Kitty went back to work. She cleared her throat. After a few long moments, she said, “We’re just trying to keep it quiet. Because of, you know.”

“Rogue,” Logan said.

“Nobody else knows but you.”

Logan thought for a minute. He thought Kitty was right to be concerned about Rogue—not least of all because of amount of explaining that would need to be done—but he also felt that the concern was unnecessary. Rogue didn’t need protecting. She could handle whatever life threw at her. She could definitely handle the idea of Kitty and Bobby.

He liked Kitty and knew that she was very smart, and he admired her for the effortless way in which she did most things. Things came easily to her. And now, Bobby had come to her as well. He knew she was going to a college where she’d be surrounded by people who were similarly gifted, and he was glad for that. She needed to not be the smartest one in the bunch anymore. She needed to be taken down a peg or two. It would do her some good. When she came home, she’d been different. She’d be even better at what she did than before.

He left Kitty in the kitchen and made the rounds. Came across Warren in the rec room. He was playing Scrabble with three other kids. He looked up at Logan and smiled.

Storm was in her office, bent over the filing cabinet, manila folders spread out all over her desk and on the floor.

“What are you doing?” he said. “It’s late. It’s almost time for bed.”

She sighed and looked up. “I’ve been trying to pull together Peter’s medical records for college. It’s tough. He’s got these major gaps, but they won’t let him live on campus unless they have proof that his vaccinations are up to date.” She sifted through some files on her desk. “We had to pull so many strings just to get him into college. His past is such a mystery. He has no family. Peter isn’t even his real name. It’s his American name. We don’t even know his birthday.”

“Can’t we just . . . take him to the doctor and have him vaccinated there?”

Storm closed the file. “That’s what we’re going to have to do. He hates doctors, though. And for good reason.”

And they no longer had a doctor on staff.

“There’s nothing you can do about it tonight,” he said.

She set the files on her desk and sat back. “I know. I just have a hard time letting things go.”

He crossed his arms and sighed. “I can’t believe it’s time for them to go.”

“It is that time,” she said.

He pulled out the chair and sat down. “It’s going to be so different here. So . . . quiet.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Storm chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’ll never be quiet here.”

Logan didn’t laugh. He didn’t say anything.

The smile dropped from Storm’s face. “Oh, Logan.” She studied him. “It’s empty-nest syndrome.”

“What? No. No, it isn’t.”

“It is,” she said, and laughed some more. “You poor thing. Don’t worry. It’ll get easier. And we have six new students starting this fall. Six new kids for you to boss around. I’m sure you’ll terrify them.”

He glanced up. He still wasn’t laughing. “I just don’t know why Rogue has to go so far. Peter’s just going down the road. Why couldn’t she have gone to that school?”

Storm stopped laughing. She seemed thoughtful. “I think she needs a new start. I think it will be good for her.”

He scratched his chin. “I don’t know what happened there. I think I let her down.”

“Oh, no. No, Logan, that’s not what’s happening.”

“The cure thing,” he said. He was certain that Storm would agree with him, that she’d pin Rogue’s change in behavior on the cure.

“No, it’s just a phase,” Storm said. “That’s all.” She rose from her chair and walked over to him. Stood beside him and ran her fingers through his hair.

He leaned into her, pressing his face against her abdomen and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“She’ll come back to you,” Storm said. “Before you know it. You won’t even remember the time when you guys weren’t close friends.”

He held onto her and stayed there for a while. He just wanted to stay like that. He knew that he and Storm wouldn’t always be together—that much was certain. He didn’t like to pretend things—he wasn’t that type—but at times like this, and in the morning when he went to wake her, he pretended that things would always be this way, and that he was just like everyone else.

###

One morning, Rogue came down the stairs carrying a box. He met in her in the hallway.

“Hey kid,” he said. “What’s all that?”

She set the box down on the floor. The top flapped open. “My things. I was wondering if you could keep them for me?”

He looked down at the box. “You don’t want them with you at school?”

She shrugged. “Do you think I should take them?”

In the box were some books and notebooks and a stitched satin pillow. (She was asking him permission.)

“I think we can find a place here.” He reached down and picked up the box and balanced it against his hip. “When are we taking you up there?”

She laced her thumbs through her belt loops and looked up at him. “You can? You can drive me up there?”

“Well, what else? Were you planning on taking a bus?”

She said that her orientation started on Thursday.

Kitty and Bobby had families to help them move into college (even Bobby’s family, who was less than enthusiastic that he’d decided to embrace being a mutant, decided to help him pay for college), and Warren said that he was planning to help Peter later that weekend. Logan figured he’d drive Rogue up by himself, but then Storm offered to come along. She said that they could leave Warren in charge, and that she trusted him.

So they started out early on Thursday morning. Plattsburgh was nearly five hours away. Rogue sat in the backseat along with a packaged comforter and some plastic drawers and other things she’d bought with her employee discount at Walmart.

“Are you looking forward to this?” Storm said. She was just trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, sure,” Rogue said.

Logan wished he could have a cigar. He was the one driving. Storm was going to drive the way back.

For most of the ride, they didn’t talk.

When they got to campus, Storm and Logan helped Rogue move things into her dorm room. Storm cleaned out her drawers. Then they all introduced themselves to Rogue’s new roommate, a blond girl named Becky, and Becky’s family. Becky’s family seemed nice, but they eyed Storm and Logan carefully as if trying to figure out their relationship to Rogue. Storm and Logan were, after all, much younger-looking than most of the parents milling around campus.

Rogue said that she had to go to the financial aid office.

“You want us to come?” Storm said.

They walked down the hallway together, the hallway that smelled of old socks.

Rogue seemed to carefully consider the proposition. “That’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” Storm said. “Sometimes those financial aid lines can be long. We could keep you company.”

They headed for the stairwell.

“No, that’s okay,” Rogue said. “You’ll probably want to get on the road. It’s late already.”

“It’s not that late,” Logan said.

“Warren’s probably going crazy,” Rogue said. “I bet Jones and Artie have him flying up to the attic or something.”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” Storm said.

Outside in the late-afternoon August heat, Storm and Logan and Rogue stood looking at each other in the parking lot. Rogue tucked her hands in her back pockets. “Thanks for bringing me,” she said.

“No problem,” Storm said.

Logan reached into his pocket and took out a cell phone. “Listen Rogue. You need anything, you call me.”

“Logan, you didn’t have to get me a cell phone. Jesus Christ.”

“I mean it.” He pressed it into her hand. “Anything.”

“Okay,” she said. She swallowed. “Thanks.”

“And don’t let anyone pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do,” he said.

“Logan,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to do anything.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “But just don’t.”

She put the cell phone in her pocket.

An awkward moment passed.

Storm reached out and hugged Rogue. “You probably want to get going. How long does the dining hall stay open?”

Rogue said she wasn’t sure. She reached over and hugged Logan, very lightly. He patted the top of her head.

“Thanks guys,” she said, pulling away. “Okay.” She turned away from them.

“Call us,” Storm said.

“I will,” Rogue said softly, walking in the other direction.

Storm and Logan turned to go find the car. They walked in silence for a moment. Logan said, “This is a nice place.”

“It is,” Storm said. “But you’ve already seen it.”

“It looks better when the sun is shining,” he said, but to be honest he didn’t care that the sun was shining. He was talking to keep himself from thinking. Thinking about how quickly all of this had come.

Then he heard footsteps pounding the pavement behind him, and he knew it was her. He turned.

Rogue was there. He opened his arms to her. She was crying. She pressed herself against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.

He heard Storm say something, touch his back and then walk off to get the car. He just stood there and held Rogue. She sniffled against his shirt.

“I want to call you every day,” she said through her tears.

He stroked her hair. “You can do that. And if you need anything, I’ll come up here.”

She cinched her arms around him and squeezed. Then she let go of him again and turned and walked away as suddenly as she came. He could hear her sniffling as she retreated. He watched her as she walked back to the building. He didn’t pretend not to feel sad. Even if he’d experienced this before, he hadn’t. It was all so sudden, and it was all so new. He turned and walked back to the car.





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