The spring semester had started, and with it came a new selection of courses. There were the requirements of his major, things concerning early childhood development, and then there were the fun electives. Locke's philosophy professor found it humorous that they had a student who had a name in common with one of the people studied in the course. It wasn't in Locke to try and correct them. Everyday he had to argue with his dorm mates about more stupid and trivial things. How they had managed to get to this point in their lives was a mystery that the Californian was still trying to work out. By now he would have expected them to have drunk themselves into a coma, or be buried alive in a mountain of dirty clothes, dishes, and papers in various states of wrinkledness. As things currently stood, most of the rooms no longer had doors on their closets. Maintenance had gotten tired of having to come by every few days to replace them, and nobody wanted to pony up for the repair fee. And while Locke's residential life was less than perfect, hovering over hellish to be frank, it could be handled for the most part by just shutting his door. He couldn't do the same though for some of his required classes that had nothing to do with his major.

Such classes included a science course that was split between a lecture time and lab time. Forget about chemistry. Locke was content to limit his knowledge of the periodic table to it being a shower curtain design in an episode of The Big Bang Theory. Physics was out of the question too. He had done that his senior year in high school thanks to some brilliant deduction that he would do well in a class that combined two of his weaknesses. Math and science. Locke wasn't sure how he had managed to pass that class, and assumed that his teacher had had a stroke or something when grading his final. Earth Science sounded almost as if he could do it. After all, he knew more about how tectonic plates moved than anyone he knew, and was intimately familiar with a cornucopia of rocks and minerals. But in order to take that course, Locke would have to take biology first. Why the provost or whoever decided upon requirements, thought that you needed to understand living things to study quartz he couldn't get.

Locke elected to take a seat more towards the back of the lecture hall. The more distance he could put between himself and the professor the better. His plan for survival this semester was to do whatever it took to make sure that the bio prof would not call on him at all, or even look his way. That way Locke might be able to think through things, and try to understand the science babble without interruption, or having eyes turn to him for the answer

It was a weird series of event that had brought Alma here—she’d been relocated by her family, through what was more than mere coincidence. Falcone had power as well as money, and used it to find niece. And, having done so, made his wishes known. If Alma was residing semi-permanently in New York City, she would need to enroll in a junior college. Apparently, her education took precedence of laying low. Yet, her uncle had insisted that “his men” would keep an eye on her. Alma wouldn’t even know they were there. Alma groaned and complained—she could figure things out herself, could get a job, didn’t need to go to a college.

Ultimately, Falcone triumphed. An uneducated, young man or woman, he insisted, was not deserving of respect. Alma would grow to be a respectable young woman, unlike her useless father—whether she wanted to or not.

Thus, the meek, raven-haired woman found herself slinking into an entry-level biology class, feeling thoroughly out-of-place. The last place a lady in-hiding wanted to be was in a roomful of people she had never seen before. Anyone could be an enemy. Not everyone was safe. Her hand tightened on the strap of her tote. Perhaps she was a bit too paranoid. Alma slowly descended the stairs, her gaze scoping the room. A few pairs of eyes found her, a boy or two who had happened to have been looking her way when she walked in leaned over to whisper and jeer to one another. Alma sighed. The back of the room would be safer. Not next to someone who was surveying her like a piece of meat, preferably.

Her gaze found a rather shaggy-haired guy sat, with a few empty seats to either side of him. He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular.

Perfect, Alma thought. A quiet one. He’d probably leave her alone, which the young woman found preferable. She descended a few stairs to the row where the boy sat, and stopped at the end of the row.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, to the rather broad-shouldered boy who was blocking the end of the aisle. He slid his chair in, allowing her to pass. This process was repeated until finally, she was by the quiet, shaggy-haired kid.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly, her gaze flicking to the profile of his face. From this angle, she could see a warbling scar over his eye, which tugged at the skin, and pulled at his eyebrow. She averted her gaze quickly, her eyes widening in shock, but in the brief glance, she could have sworn that his eye was white. She managed to squeeze past him, and took a seat on the other side of the auburn-haired boy, setting her things on the table.

Alma slid out a small, one-inch notebook, and after flipping past sections marked by plastic dividers, opened it to the first blank sheet of binder paper. She then fished-out a ballpoint pen, and jotted, “Biology 101” atop the sheet, in the center. In the left margin, she scrawled the French format of the date in tiny cursive. Over the short span of a few minutes, the professor walked in—he was a short, older man with a clean-shaven face, glasses, and grey hair with a few straggling strips of black, pulled into a ponytail and back from his round, pink face cleanly. He walked to the front, and set his briefcase upon the desk.

He balanced his weight on his hands, which were propped on the desk up front, and waited for the class to fall mostly-quiet. When they did, he gave a wry smile.

“Hello,” he greeted. This received a few hesitant “hello’s” in response, “I’m Mr. Mantovani, and this Biology 101. Is this where everyone’s supposed to be?”

This received a chorus of affirmatives.

Locke couldn't exactly glance up at the girl that was making his way towards him. She was standing on his blind side, and to see what she looked like would mean craning his head up and at an awkward angle. Instead he just ducked his head and tried to pull his lanky legs in without getting them tangled in his battered backpack. It wasn't as if he expected to go the whole class period without someone sitting down next to him. It was a large seminar, and the lab portion was divided between two days. Students that were eager to impress the professor were sitting up towards the front, but Locke was willing to bet that by spring break, gravity would have shifted everyone towards the back of the room, where they would remain until just before final exams.

That was just one of the things he had managed to pick up last semester about college. Another was that professors always started their first class of the semester off the same way. There was always a general introduction in which they said the name of the course. This was done so that people who thought they knew where they were going and what they were doing would have a chance to back out. In the affirmation chorus and awkward waiting while people either stayed put or got up and left, Locke glanced to the side to see who had chosen to sit next to him. It seemed like since that video of Gina got uploaded Locke had to deal with people whispering about mutants. Really could make a guy paranoid, but Locke wasn't ashamed of his powers.

She was by all standards, a hot looking babe. Like maybe she could be in a magazine or something and Holy shiz monkeys, is she checking me out?[/i] Locke wondered. He had heard, and witnessed with other guys, that once they started dating someone that then all the girls who wouldn't normally even glance your way started showing interest. He didn't think that his relationship with KD had been that far advanced yet. Nah, no way that the girl was checking him out. He probably had dirt on him or something. Locke frowned, his eyebrows going together in concentration. She had come from his left side, which meant more than likely she had seen his scar. With a heavy sigh he told her "You get one question about the eye."

Alma was eyeballing the guy, okay? She wasn’t being subtle about it, either. She was staring. Alma could be subtle when she tried, but right now, she really wasn’t. His scar and his weird eye made him different. Interesting, even. How had he gotten it, Alma wondered? Gang fight? No, he was too much of a sweet face to have lived on the streets. Criminal life did a number on a mans’ features. Maybe… attacked on a subway? Horrific accident? She bet it was an interesting story, for sure.

The guy frowned and his brows sank, as did his gaze. Without turning, he addressed her. He was granting her one question, and one question alone. His eyes were lingering in the vicinity of his shoes.

Alma quirked a smile, breathing a faint “heh”. He treated his scar as something to be ashamed of. And, judging by his tone, he got plenty of stares and plenty of questions.

“Alright, Mister…?” she trailed, asking the kid’s name before phrasing her question, “My question is relatively straightforward.”

She let her gaze linger on him casually, as one might glance at a new acquaintance. Polite and reserved, not leaned in intently or leaned out uncomfortably far.

“How often, would you say, do people ask you about it? Not overall, but an estimate of… say, in a month. On average.”

She let the question hang a moment. And, if it wasn’t clear enough, she stated, “That is my one question. And if I’m permitted a follow-up—do they usually get to know much more of you beyond that?”

The kid was too tense. Alma figured some more lightweight questions would be easier for him to handle.

"'m Locke"

Locke's plan to pay attention to the professor was, it seemed, going to be discarded as the girl chose to take him up on his offer. Usually people backed down once Locke challenged them to actually admit they were curious about his eye. There was something embarrassing about being called out on staring, and having it be staring at some sort of disfigurement made things all the more awkward and painful for the guilty party. Unless you had no sense of shame like the RA Kurt Cobain/Shaggy lovechild, you would do whatever it took to not look, to not ask. She asked, but the question wasn't one that Locke had expected.

It took him by surprise. Locke really thought she'd ask something like "How did that happen?" or "What's with the eye?". Instead she asked how many times he'd been asked about it. He smirked because technically she hadn't asked him about his eye. At least her question showed some decency and sympathy towards him. In fact it was funny that she would even ask that. At the Institute everyone asked what your mutation was, what did you do. Back in the hell hole it was questions of “what did you do”. The rest of his dorm mates bragged about past events that they did, each one trying to look like they were the biggest macho man. If Locke cared to interact with them, he could traunce them with tales of fighting giant scorpions and preventing an island from blowing up. They were less than impressed that his scar was just the result of a car crash. Maybe they wanted it to be some sort of bar fight, but Locke hadn't ever stepped foot into one of those establishments. Locke gave serious thought to how to answer the one question that he had granted the girl.

The initial deal he had offered was that she could ask one question about his eye. After that Locke wasn't going to say anything more about it. He also had to think about how many times he did get asked about his eye. Ever since he had cut his hair the questions were a lot more frequent, just because he couldn't hide it behind overly long bangs anymore. Half smiling Locke decided on his answer. ”One too many times.” She had asked the question in such a serious manner and he felt inclined to joke back with how he answered. Still undecided on if he should go or the followup Locke fell silent again.

The aisle wasn't long enough for him to stretch his legs out, but Locke managed to awkwardly tuck one leg up near him where he picked at the thin rubber sole of his shoe. It was a little odd answering questions about himself when she hadn't even given her name. Locke turned his head towards her, was shocked to see that she was still facing him and gave her a smile. ”And for part two, the answer is no,”

Locke, the young woman repeated to herself, smiling impishly as the boy first mumbled his name to her. The inquiry seemed to give him pause, yet his reply was still evasive and slightly thoughtless. Alma hummed, and leaned back in her seat. He was smiling, sure, which meant that he was at least partially relieved she hadn’t asked how the scar had come into fruition, but it still wasn’t a real answer. Not a thoughtful one, anyways. Maybe he was just one of those boys who didn’t know how to talk to pretty girls. Alma would give the kid the benefit of the doubt.

On the bright side of things, he did answer the follow-up question. That had to count for something. She even got a smile out of him.

“Alma Elizondo,” Alma introduced herself, partially extending a hand for a handshake, “It’s nice to meet you, Locke.”

They shook hands, and Alma turned to face the professor. He waved syllabi in the air, instructing the kids to pass them around and follow along. Syllabi were nothing to pay attention to. Alma could continue conversing.

“Are you from here?” Alma whispered, “I just moved here. I was living in Quebec.”

One of the nice things about sitting in the back of the lecture hall was that Locke didn’t have to get up to run to pass off the syllabus. He could sit a while longer before having to go the few seats to take the papers from the end of the row. There still wasn’t anything to pay attention to, and he didn’t think that there really would be. This was only the first day of class and not all professors felt the need to actually teach anything. Even when they did, it usually wasn’t anything important. Locke shook Alma’s hand, thankful that she had provided it to him without him having to awkwardly get it out of her.

Equally awkward was how when she mentioned being from Quebec, the song Blame Canada from the South Park movie started up in Locke’s head. He didn’t watch the show, nor did he have any desire to ever do so. However it seemed to be the most commonly watched program in the dorm apartment, and you had to be deaf to not hear it being quoted all the time. His next thought was “Learn French or die,” but that had to do with Montreal, not Quebec. That was the problem with education in the United States. ?You would learn the names of different countries, perhaps their capitals and their main exports, but other than that, forget about it. Either there was a self importance or there just wasn’t time enough to teach it all.

”Uh, no,” Locke hesitated, ”San Francisco, California, but I’ve been in New York for the last three years.” Going to New York City had been an escape for Locke, and he wondered why Alma would have moved here. From what the media said, and statistics on crime, it seemed like the better place to live was Canada. She had to have her reasons, and Sledge was just going to go with the most obvious solution. This was a college, she probably wanted to further her education. He’d only heard of a handful of colleges in the country to the north. Whatever Alma’s major, she probably liked the program offered here better. ”Family and child studies. You?"

“You have been here longer than I have,” Alma said with a shrug, “Perhaps you can tell me about where all of the best haunts are?”

Speaking of haunts… Alma looked around… where were her spectral little stalkers? A few rows back, she could hear the little ones giggle, but she couldn’t see them. The big ones must have still been outside. Oh, well. It wasn’t like having pets that you could lose easily. They always seemed to be in-tuned to where she was, regardless of Alma’s best attempts to shake them.

Alma sighed, accepting a syllabus as it came her way, and passing an extra packet onto Locke, peering at it speculatively. As per the norm, the class information came first, followed by the description thereof. Alma set the packet down in disinterest, leaning forward slightly on her elbows.

“Hm?” Alma inquired, as Locke murmured a seemingly nonsensical phrase. The young woman turned it over in her head a few times, before she fully understood. He wanted to know what her studies were going to be focused in.

“Undecided,” Alma said casually, “You see—I really wanted out of Quebec, so I moved in with some family down here… and my Uncle said to me, ‘Alma, if you are to live with us, you must either be working full-time, or a full-time student’. Either way, I should probably have an education. So until the point at which I find a employment, I am only at school. I do not know why, but I am.”

Alma smiled, tilting her head at Locke, “Why are you studying children and family?”

One more time Locke had to shuffle himself about in the aisle that was too cramped for him. After unfolding himself from the chair he got up to bring the rest of the syllabus to the students that Alma had to pass to get to her seat. A chorus of paper flipping filled the crowded lecture hall, like a flock of birds taking flight, an origami flock of birds. Now was the time to go through what all the texts were going to be broken into, how the professor was going to be grading the class, the way that labs would be divided among the many students. Important information, but nothing so critical that Locke felt like he'd be missing anything if he didn't catch it all. Alma told him why she was here at the college, and Locke couldn't help but feel a little jealous. She made it sound as if coming to college had just been a whim for her, something that didn't take the same amount of stress and struggle that it did or Locke. Then again, during the year when colleges were looking most intently at your grades, Locke was having a crisis that made his GPA plummet.

”I've always liked kids,” Locke said with a shrug. His major seemed to be one that drew in more females then males, unless you wanted to go with the education aspect. Being a teacher didn't appeal to Locke so much. The younger the child, the more you could teach them, and the cooler they thought you were. Being thought of as cool by six year olds probably wouldn't keep Locke safe from the torments of the frat boys, but at least when a little kid vomits, it's (usually) because of a stomach bug, not because they decided to see if an entire keg of beer could fit into their stomachs. What's more, kids had more shame about the messes that their bodies might make. ”Not sure what exactly I'm going to do with it, but I think I want to help kids who've been through tough stuff. Family troubles, needing support. Just someone who will fight for them.”

He pulled out his wallet, intending to show Alma a picture of his little brother and sister. However a student more towards the front of the room raised a hand to ask about something in the syllabus. Or rather something that was missing from it. "Professor Mantovani? Are we going to talk about... you know...them? Mutants?" Locke frowned. The question sounded like they were trying not to offend anyone, but by doing so it was unavoidably offensive.

The boy beside her spoke freely on why he had chosen his major. He liked kids. Aw, that’s cute. A very sensitive thing for a guy to say. Unnatural, even. Alma smiled and uttered a faint chuckle. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with it, exactly, Locke confessed, but it sounded like some sort of therapist.

“Akin to a counselor?” Alma inquired, intrigued, “Or more similar to a social worker? Either is a very noble aim.”

Locke was rummaging into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and all the while, Alma was directing a small fraction of her attention to the front of her room. the boy made his inquiry. Would they study mutants, he wanted to know? Locke frowned, Alma sighed faintly.

“It would make sense if we did,” Alma mumbled, looking towards Locke as she spoke, “I mean, we talk about genetics and DNA… chromosomal defects…” She flipped through the syllabus, just to be sure, “Not that mutations are chromosomal defects, but… it’d make sense. I’ve heard they’re genetic.”

A larger bodach milled past unseen in front of the two, looking at its mistress as she spoke. The corner of Alma’s mouth tilted upward slightly at the sight of it. A few smaller ones stumbled over feet and onto the next row of desks and seats, coming into focus as they pried into a female student’s purse and began to rummage through it. All of this, unseen, because nobody was focusing on the floor, but on the teacher.

Alma had a good grip on what Locke was looking to do in the future. Maybe an even better then he did. ”Social worker h-uh,” he said, drifting off at the thought she had presented. Locke respected Ms. T, he really did, which is why he had no desire to be a counselor like her. It was a serious job, where you had to understand not only the emotional things, a part of what Locke was learning here at college anyways, but also academic stuff. There would be more years of education for something that Locke simply did not feel he was suited for. Shortly after his dad’s death, Locke had had to visit many a counselor that wasn’t involved with school, and not one of them sat well with him. They claimed that they wanted to help him, but really, what he needed the most they weren’t able to, or maybe just weren’t willing to provide. ”They’re kind of like super heroes, just not wearing spandex.”

While they awaited the professor’s answer about studying mutants, Locke’s hand clenched tightly on his jean’s knees. Alma was flipping through the syllabus, saying that there would be discussion on genetics and chromosomal defects. What the hell? Locke didn’t understand what she meant by “chromosomal defects”, mostly because they had not gotten into that topic yet with the course. They still hadn’t been able to get through talking about the class at large. He might not understand what Alma said, but he got the implication behind the words. Being a mutant was some sort of defect. She said that wasn’t a bad thing, but the word defect was still in it. ”Why bother studying mutants? Even if you looked at just the gene that makes someone a mutant it’s not going to give any answers. It’s pretty much always different.”

Professor Mantovani studied the student who had brought up the question about mutants in the first place. Biology use to be so easy to teach before people began evolving. “Of course mutation will be discussed. Mendel’s pea experiment is one of the most commonly known studies in the field of biology. If you wish to study mutation as it applies to homo sapiens, I would suggest waiting until the ethics of it has been cleared up, or discussing it with your parents.”

Once more Locke was able to breathe, though his anger at the idiot who asked about studying mutants had not subsided. The way that Professor Mantovani had handled the hot topic was very well done. Drugs and that sort of stuff was tested out on animals or labs right? Why should the study of mutant genetics be any different. And right now was really not the time that a college professor should be sticking their noses in a twist in the genetic code with students. Darwin’s theory of evolution sparked a wildfire when it first came out, and that was only the foundation for this new world. Now that he didn’t have to clench his jaw and keep from shouting at the idiot down towards the professor, Locke felt something odd. There was skittering on the floor, like someone had let loose a small yapper type dog. Locke bent over slightly, pulling his backpack open and ferreting about in it while trying to sneak a peak at what was going on on the ground. Nothing that he could see, but he could “see” it. “Five bucks says nobody is going to want to partner up with the one who asked about mutants.”

Alma nodded her head as Locke echoed her, a smile twitching on her face.

“They’re good people,” she admonished breathily. After her mother had passed, when her father had been struggling to care for her, she’d had a few encounters with social workers. At the time, the young Elizondo had a distaste for them, but in retrospect she’d grown fond of them. They had only been trying to help.

Locke seemed to take an affront to Alma’s commentary, despite her hasty attempt to revise what she’d said.

“When we talked about genetics in high school, they talked about mutations… not the kinds that give you powers, but… you know…” Alma trailed, her tone almost apologetic.

Right about then, the professor brought up Mendels’ experiments. Alma quirked a smile—they would, undoubtedly, cover genetics. At which point, the issue of mutations would likely arise once again.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way, is all. I'm not narrow-minded, in regards to them. I just think it's stupid that we don't talk about such a sizable portion of the population... it's like not talking about people with blonde hair or people with pinkies that turn inward, because you're biased against them."

Said the woman who saw things that were only visible fifty percent of the time. Alma leaned forward, slouching slightly as she half-listened to the professor. Locke murmured something to her, and the young woman shifted her gaze towards him.

“You think that, in this entire lecture hall, there isn’t one other person who was thinking the very same thing?” Alma countered, arching her eyebrows at him and smiling, “He’ll get a partner. Who is just as bad as he is.”

If they got partners, that is.

Locke gave Alma one of his rare smiles. "You've not been here long have you? The United States is ripe with a history full of discrimination, isolation, and teasing of anyone who is slightly different. Every country gets mocked, so there's no escape from racial jokes. On top of that red heads are said to have no souls, blondes are thought of as being stupid. Girls are viewed as weak, men as strong, and anyone who doesn’t meet those expectations they automatically become gay. I mean we freaking enslaved people because they were from another country and said that it was all cool because God said it was alright. If we were to talk about mutants in class things would just descend into name calling and a hot pot of fear and hate.”

What the hell was scampering around? With the rows of the lecture hall lined up as they were, each row being on a step, there wasn’t much of a gap between the underside of a chair and the floor. The more that whatever it was moved, the more that it irked him. Talking with Alma was already enough of a distraction for Locke, and to be honest he hadn’t listened to most of what the professor had been saying. When Alma commented on Locke’s bet he straightened up and bumped his head on the seat in front of him. Oh yeah, he was smooth.

”Sounds like we’ve got a bet. If someone asks him to be their partner, you win. If Mantovani sticks someone with him, then I win,” Locke said. It was a bet that he thought he would win. Locke had always been that student who hung back and waited until all other students had partnered up, then would go for the other person who had no partner. If nobody wanted to have to deal with the idiot, then it was safe to say that Locke would be the one the professor stuck him with. Five dollars was, for what the bet was, perhaps a bit high. It wasn’t like he had said fifty bucks, but having something so inconsequential as lab partners be determining who got money. Why not something simple like a soda?

Alma sighed and rubbed her forehead, cracking a smile that wasn’t really all too cheerful.

She breathed a sigh in Spanish, expressing exasperation, before giving a mildly humored, “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine…”

Alma was just teasing, but really—this boy seemed stuck in this mindset that there could not be change, and would not be change.

“I have family from here,” Alma reiterated, looking towards the teacher without really paying attention. She was trying to sound matter-of-fact, but the tone translated to indignant, “I have come to the States often, I know what they are like. I am familiar with the human condition.”

“But these things are temporary,” Alma murmured, “With knowledge comes understanding. By not talking about mutation, we perpetuate the fear of it. By talking about it, suddenly the alien becomes familiar. If we look what makes us uncomfortable in the face, we can become at-peace with it.”

Alma looked at Locke unabashedly, but he was more focused on the floor.

“What are the stakes?” the woman inquired.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm all for talking about mutants and their rights," Locke said, his smile not fading. He hadn’t been able to stand Kendra’s silence on the matter of her mutant step-son. There was only so much that he could deal with being brushed underneath the rug, and at the time his father’s death had been such a huge lump that there wasn’t any more room under that rug. ”But there’s a place for it, and a lecture hall filled with teens who have an inflated sense of self worth because they not only graduated from high school, but are also under the delusion that because they are also in college they are the greatest gift to humanity isn‘t.” At this Locke’s smile did deflate a little. Freshmen had naivety to blame for their exaggerated egos, but sophmores, juniors, and seniors all lived in the apartment dorm building Locke was at, all had that same immature arrogance. Until you had a taste of troubles that was more than just prep for finals or writing a thesis, it was easy to think that you were indestructible and unstoppable. ”The issue is still so new that people our age aren’t equipped to debate it in a polite way. Look at how heated it’s getting with just the two of us, an entire class would be worse. Not that there’s anything to debate. Mutants are just people who have an alternate method of getting the same results.”

Like me with seeing, Locke thought, remembering the disaster that happened when he had last gone to Alcatraz. The guide had refused to accept the thought that mutants could have ever been held in the penitentiary, or that they had any placer in history past the last twenty years or so. To this Locke had called bull, pointing out that the only successful escape had discrepancies in it that could be explained by mutations, and also added that there was no telling who was, or wasn’t a mutant at a glance. Chris was the obvious one at that time, but had Eaan hung around, Locke probably would have been pegged as only human among the three. His hair had nothing unusual about it, and his eye stayed well hidden. The whole thing had been a mess, and while Locke wasn’t ashamed to admit he was a mutant, he had learned that there was a better way to talk about mutants that he just couldn’t see happening in this classroom.

There had to be some sort of witty joke he could make about being a “ray of sunshine”, what with being from a city with noteworthy fog and all. Problem was that Locke couldn’t consider himself an optimist in any sense of the word. To him it was better to be a realist. Instead he chose to focus on the bet that he had proposed. Wasn’t there already an established reward? ”Well, I guess it’s that five bucks I said. Not that five dollars is really the right kinda prize. I mean, what else could we bet? We just met so it’s not like we have anything the other wants, or knows of something the other wants.”