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The girl closed her eyes with a look on her face that was like bracing herself. With a running leap she vaulted herself onto the balance beam. It was a beautiful mount. Twyla let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She was sitting on the edge of the couch in front of the television. Her brown-eyed gaze transfixed on the gymnastics tournament playing on an ESPN channel she had found about half an hour ago. It was around one on a beautiful Saturday afternoon and instead of enjoying the weather with her friends outside like many of the other students she was one of the few still in the living room and she was glued to the screen. Part of her not enjoying the weather with friends was that she still didn’t really have any friends at the mansion, she had talked to a few other students, but not enough to form a real relationship.

She probably looked strange, sitting tensely on the edge of a very comfortable couch leaning forward as if to get closer to the action of the tournament and changing her expression based on the events unfolding on the gymnastics mats before her. Her appearance wasn’t something she had paid a thought to, not when her favorite sport was holding her attention. Besides her family, gymnastics was the thing Twyla had missed the most since leaving home. She had reconciled with her family over a few phone calls–her mother was coming to grips with her mutation and was already making plans for her to come home for Christmas but gymnastics was still something she hadn’t been able to get back. She had tried to practice a few days ago but had instead gotten into a conversation with another student–a girl name Clea. This morning Twyla hadn’t felt like practicing or doing much of anything. It was one of those days. Luckily, she had found this tournament and her attention was held.

Jealousy threatened to crawl up her throat but she suppressed it and made herself be happy for the gymnast on the beam. She had had a good routine and it was evident in her scores. Beam wasn’t an event that Twyla excelled at but she still knew the rules well enough to know that the blonde girl had done well. A commercial for tennis shoes flashed across the screen and Twyla let herself relax against the soft cushions of the couch.

She had the phone card for long distance calls and she had her grandmother’s forty-eight hour ultimatum in her head. All that was missing was a phone to use for the call home and her courage. Courage was something Twyla Ashby had always lacked. She wasn’t brave and she knew it; most people who knew her knew it too. At least the ones who had seen her in situations that involved needing courage knew that it was something she couldn’t always seem to find. Legs shaking and stomach clenching she padded almost silently through the halls of the Mansion. She didn’t pass many people. It was late, almost midnight, but the time difference between the east coast and Wisconsin was an hour and her parents wouldn’t be in from chores until after ten. For a moment Twyla was reminded of her brief stay at the Sanctuary where she had explored the halls after hours. This memory only distracted her for a moment before she realized that she had found a phone that she was pretty sure students could use. Her stomach fell through her and it felt like it should be sitting on the carpet at her feet. She looked down to check but all that was on the carpet were her feet, which had taken on a bit of the same coloring.

It took her a few tries to get the phone card to work, but eventually she heard the familiar sounds of a phone connection. Twyla’s heart was pounding and she wasn’t sure if she was going to vomit or cry. Telling her parents about her mutation was something she had built up in her mind. It was the main reason she had fled home the previous fall. Twyla understood know that what she had done she had done in cowardice. She understood that she had to tell her family, that they deserved to have the chance to accept her or reject her for being a mutant. She understood all the reasons other her grandmother had given her but she was still terrified of her mother’s reaction. But there was no time to flee, even for someone as good at it as Twyla. The familiar and strange and terrifying and comforting voice of her mother was on the line already.

“Hello?” Margaret Ashby hesitantly asked her receiver. The number on the caller ID had said something about New York, at least that’s what Twyla assumed was the reason for her confusion. Her voice was weak and shaky but she replied: “Mom? It’s me.” ‘Me’ would be enough, at least that’s what the teen hoped, she didn’t have enough air for another word. There was silence on the line for a moment while her mother processed the situation. “Twyla!? George, it’s Twyla! Go get Nate and if Jon is still awake get him too.” Her mother’s voice was suddenly loud as she ordered about her husband. “Twyla, why did you leave? Where are you? Is everything alright? Did-” The rush of questions was too much for Twyla, her heart felt like it was going to burst and the hands that gripped the receiver were clammy with cold sweat. She cut off her mother before she could continue. “Mom...Mom I have something to tell you.” Her voice was still very soft and she could barely hear herself.

Margaret Ashby’s hearing was good and she replied to her daughter. “Well, let’s hear it then.” It was a typical-Mom phrase, at least typical for Twyla’s mother. Margaret Ashby was always brisk, always sensible. She didn’t bother with useless emotional dribble. Another moment of silence, this one caused by Twyla’s fear. One deep breath. Then another. It had been over three minutes, according to the clock in the hallway. Her mother said nothing, always sensible she gave her daughter time to tell her the big news. One last deep breath and Twyla spoke quickly. “I’m a mutant Mom. That’s why I ran away. I was so scared of what you and Dad would say–I mean Mark and his family and....Mom, I’m a freak. I’m a freak Mom. I’m so sorry.” Tears, not vomit ran down her face. The first tears she had cried in months.

Instead of the expected silence on the other end there was noise “Twyla, honey...I...I don’t know what to say....” It sounded like there were tears on the other end as Margaret Ashby, who prided herself on having a normal family explained to her husband and two sons that their daughter and sister was a mutant. There was rustling over the receiver and then it was her father’s voice on the line. “Twyla...your mother is a bit shocked right now...I don’t know much about this mutant business...We love you, Twyla. You’re an Ashby, you’re still family.” His voice sounded like he looked. It was always rough but kind. She had inherited his tendency to talk quietly. Her father’s voice began talking to her mother and then there was more rustling. The phone had been passed again.

“Hey Shy-Twy..” Nate, her favorite sibling, the one who understood anything or tried to sounded relieved. The use of her old nickname made her cry harder. “Don’t cry baby sister. Can you explain things for me? From the beginning.” His voice was calm like it usually was and soon Twyla found herself explaining herself, it was hard at first but she picked up speed and before she realized it her phone card was almost up. She quickly finished the story of Grandma Kleinsmith finding her and setting her up at the school before she told him that she had to go. Nate told her that they all still loved her, no matter what, and that she shouldn’t have left. He got the number her could reach her at and they said goodnight. By the end of the long phone call her tears had dried and she felt good. Cleaned out. Stronger. Maybe braver. She had managed to conquer her greatest fear: losing her family’s support. She had always had them, and she always would.

The phone receiver was warm from her hands when she finally put it back in it’s place. Standing up she stretched her sore legs and walked slowly back to her still unfamiliar new bedroom, not caring that all the hallways she passed through were dark. This was strange, she had ben terrified of darkness since she was very young. It didn’t bother her, she felt too good. She felt untouchable. There were worse things than the ones she imagined lurked in shadows. She had realized that during her phone call. Walking into her room she got under the green covers of her bed and was soon asleep.

“If you do I am sssure you will find sssome cool ssstuff you can do, if that isss what you can do untrained.” He replied to her comment about needing practice. She paused for a moment to think how best to reply. “It’s not really me though. Does that make sense? Some of the time I have control over myself and what I look like but if I get embarrassed or scared or anything intense like that I start going camouflage it’s like a defense mechanism, you know? Don’t be too impressed, I’m nothing special I just get scared easy.” Twyla shrugged as if to brush off her powers.

It was a relief to hear that things at the new school had been easy for another person. Twyla was glad to hear that Koga had gotten comfortable so soon after he had arrived. She told him he could sell tickets to her next ‘performance’ and he replied: “Okie dok, itsss a deal.” For a second the teen thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. It looked like Koga had a forked tongue, like a snake. It would explain the lisp she decided. For some reason she wasn’t surprised, it seemed like something like that would suit him. “Do you sssing? I wasn’t sssure asss the radio ssseemed to be a bit louder.” He asked her after a moment. She felt her cheeks flush at the very idea of being caught singing somewhere. “Oh no.” She replied hurriedly. “I’m a TERRIBLE singer. I don’t sing very often. It was Pat Benatar so I HAD to turn it up. I don’t know if that makes sense....” She trailed off and shrugged.

The toothbrush apparently didn’t mean that he had places to go. He explained to her that he was a bit OCD and brushing his teeth was something he did when he had the spare time. Noting that he looked a bit embarrassed she said: “‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness’ and all that right?” Not that Twyla was one to promote being clean. Five dollars said that her room would have things thrown about it by the end of the day and on while she was busy being a runaway her personal hygiene standards had become incredibly low–although that was more from necessity than choice.

IT"S ALIVE!!!! *cue lightening*

My computer has been healed. So I am back.....yay?

"Okay, Clea's ready for Twyla to show her power!" The other girl smiled and her enthusiasm made Twyla smile a bit as well. Taking her hand and placing it under the other girl’s she relaxed and let out a comfortable sigh. It was easier for Twyla to work if she imagined the act of masking herself as going into a more relaxed state. Sometimes she wondered if she was supposed to stay camouflaged and she was just fighting it by looking normal. “Alright. You’re going to want to watch your hand and mine.” She focused on their hands and let her powers do the rest. It appeared like there were never any hands in that space. Like usual, the camouflage was perfect. Clea’s hand would remain the colors of the steps as long as she was touching Twyla and Twyla held it up. “That’s my power.” She finally told her.

You both like green. That’s the kind of thing you learn when you TALK to people. You make CONNECTIONS and then acquittances and FRIENDS. The part of her brain that listened to her older brother Nate’s advice about being more social was smug. This is the perfect opportunity to start over. No one knows you here, you could be Outgoing Twyla instead of Wallflower Twyla. She stopped her inner monolog to continue the conversation. “Happy cows and happier calves”, he chuckled. “Sounds amazing.” The farm girl in her snorted on the inside and on the outside she gave a small half smile half smirk. “Happy cows take an amazing amount of work.” It was her turn to chuckle although hers was smaller. “But it does give an amazing feeling. That’s the reason we do it.” That and it’s what the family’s done ever since her family immigrated to the United States from Germany in the 1850s. Small time farmers always put in more money then they’ll ever get out. Twyla’s mother was a nurse at the local clinic and her income payed the bills and supplemented the farm spending.

He told her he was from Kyoto, Japan and her mind instantly searched for where she had heard the name before. She found it in the History section along with quite a bit of information from her Modern World History class. Twyla was proud to say that she had read that entire textbook, even the parts that weren’t covered in class. ‘World History’ was a term the referred to mostly Western History with a few of Eastern tidbits thrown in. The tidbit that pertained to Kyoto was just about how Kyoto was the capital of Japan until everything was moved to present day Tokyo. Twyla remembered the specifically because she had won points for her team in the Jeopardy-like game that they played in her class to review for tests. Twyla was good at that game and it was one of the only times her classmates wanted to work with her.

“Not Tokyo, I mean, or any place that matters beyond being a place for tourists. It’s pretty, though. Especially during the festivals. They string up these bulbs with red all over them. I used to walk around and look at all the games with my big sis, Sasami. It was like Christmas. Sometimes, my grandparents would visit and my grandma'd try to teach me knitting... good times." He went on while Twyla, happy to remember her trivia fact, paid close attention. When Twyla was little she had wanted to travel with her Grandmother Blanch but as she got older she realized that there was very little chance that she would ever make it any farther into the world than Minnesota. Coincidentally she was very wrong on that point, so Japan wasn’t too far fetched anymore. “That sounds very pretty...My Grandma Twyla used to try to teach us girls how to sew when she babysat for my parents. Those weren’t very good times.” Images of her older sisters criticizing her technique filled Twyla’s head. They were older and knew what they were doing and Twyla was very young when her grandmother had given her a needle, it wasn’t her fault. She blinked to shoo out the memories. “So is Sasami your only sibling?” She decided to ask, thinking of the five siblings she had left in Wisconsin.

There was an awkward pause where the girl she had tripped over sat and looked at Twyla. Then she took off her sunglasses and looked Twyla in the face for the first time. Anything Twyla found strange about the other girl’s behavior was swept under the rug when the girl spoke. "It's okay. Clea doesn't mind. At least she apologized." The girl said. Before Twyla had the chance to make sense of the sentence the girl spoke again. "Clea Anne Rae Marie Rosebin. But Clea's fine." Clea pointed to herself to get the point across.

She’d seen stranger things since she’d ran away from home but Twyla was still caught off guard by Clea’s speech pattern. Her cheeks flushed a second time when she realized she was taking too long to reply. “Uh, nice to meet you Clea. That’s a very pretty name. I’m Twyla Blanch Ashby, but Twyla works a bit better than all that. Well, I’m glad I didn’t squish you or anything...” She had no idea what to say next. Her legs were itching to stretch but the girl was interesting, if a bit confusing, and she didn’t want to seem rude. So Twyla stood there awkwardly and frantically searched her mind for the polite thing to do in a situation like this. So far, she was drawing a blank.