"Are we clear on it not being Sinister, so there's nothing for you to feel guilty about and no reason for you to get involved? Just stay inconspicuous, don't draw attention and don't get into trouble," Scott instructed catching Remy outside of the high school.

"I ain't a chile an' I ain't a charity case," Remy replied sullenly. "Can do m' part for de team, neh?"

"No," Scott said firmly.

"Come on Cyke, it'll look worse if Remy does cause a stir before Logan spirits him away," Ororo said. "What's going to happen in a week anyway?"

"I don't know and I don't want to worry about it," Scott replied.

"Don' I get a say in dis?" Remy asked. "It be m' risk to take."

"No," Scott repeated. "As your field commander, I'm telling you not to."

"Yo' say I'm too young for de X-Men," Remy said with a shrug. "Dat means yo' ain't de boss of me an' I don' have to do what yo' say."

"Remy!" Scott exclaimed as the younger boy turned his back on them and walked off.

"Be seein' yo' mes amies," Remy said.

"Have fun Remy," Ororo replied.

"I swear, I'll tie you up and sit on you till Logan gets here if you don't behave yourself," Scott threatened.

"Chere, yo' best be getting' de fearless leader to mellow out for he give hisself a heart attack," Remy said letting the school door shut behind him. He glanced around the school's bright, utilitarian hall, lined with lockers painted in obnoxious yellow and purple hues.

"Either someone be havin' a sale on dose colours or de painter be colour blind," Remy said settling his sunglasses a bit more firmly on his nose.

Remy walked into the main office and paused scanning the room. He picked out the prettiest of the secretaries and sauntered over to her desk.

"Bonjour chere," he said smiling warmly. "Yo' be de lovely mademoiselle I'm to get m' schedule from?"

"Sure Heartbreaker," the woman laughed. "If you'll give me your name?"

"Remy Lebeau at your service," he replied with a grin and a slight bow.

"That fits. I'm Claire by the way. All right, here it is. I'll get a locker assigned to you then I can point out the various halls. We don't have time for a tour before your first class, but I'm certain you'll charm someone into providing one and I'll bet you're classmates will have a more interesting set of stories to go along with the facts and figures."

"Yo' deign me de pleasure of yo' company chere?" Remy asked flirting outrageous, knowing the woman didn't take him seriously and that she was enjoying it anyway.

Clair scribbled out a locker combination and handed that to Remy along with his schedule. "I just find your presence so overwhelmin'." Clair replied in a theatrical southern belle accent, fluttering her eyelashes and pressing a hand to her heart. "Come on Heartbreaker, let me make sure you can find your way to at least one class."

Claire left Remy at his first class a few minutes before the first bell. He looked over the empty room with unabashed curiosity. The board on the front wall was white instead of green, the desks were bigger and the pictures on the walls were less brightly colored, but overall it wasn't too hugely different from the last classroom he'd been in. Remy felt vaguely disappointed at that, in the fifth grade, high school had seemed like another world.

Sensing someone approaching behind him Remy stepped fully into the room and turned to confront them.

A stout man with light brown, slightly curly hair and slightly greenish eyes came in and walked to his desk. "New student or just lost?" he asked Remy.

"Perhaps bot' less yo' be M. Dumas de mat' instructor?" Remy replied.

"I'm impressed, you got the pronunciation right, but judging from the accent, you've got something of an edge when it comes to French," Mr. Dumas confirmed. "By the way, no hats or sunglasses are allowed in the classroom unless the roof leaks or you've just gotten back from having your eyes dilated."

"Got an eye condition," Remy said frostily, slipping the sunglasses up just far enough to let the instructor get a good look at his unique eyes.

Unimpressed, Mr. Dumas asked. "Does the light hurt your eyes or are you just ashamed of them?"

Remy snapped off the glasses and dropped them in his pocket. "Bettah?" he asked angrily.

"Much," Mr. Dumas replied. "If you try to hide what you are it's easier for other people to use it against you."

Remy's eyes widened with disbelief at that but before he could decide on whether or not to debate that statement several other students wandered into the room.

Remy saw the flicker of shock as his eyes registered with them. Working as a street performer his eyes had always been an advantage Remy suddenly remembered they made people stop and stare. The trick and the dangerous part was winning them over as an audience before shock turned into fear.

He sauntered over to the group. "Dey be unique, neh? See pretty good in de dark, me," his glance focused in on the other guys in the group, a sly smile touching his mouth. "Wish dey do de X-ray t'ing, but yo' take what yo' get, neh?"

A few snorts of laugher, a few rolled eyes. "Not a bad start," Remy thought to himself.

"I'm Karen," one of the girls said offering her hand. "That's Grady, Brian, Marcy and Rich."

"I be Remy," he replied making a show of kissing the back of her hand.

"Ooh me next," Marcy giggled. "Guys take lessons. I like this one."

"You get impressed over the strangest things," Brian said shaking his head. "Nice to meet you Remy. If you keep this up I may have to hurt you. I need Marcy's head out of the clouds if I expect to pass this class."

"Check, no flirtin' wid de femmes tell after mat'," Remy replied.

"Oh you can flirt with me all you like," Karen corrected. "I'm counting on Marcy's tutoring to get me through this class too."

"Seems it be in m' best interests to be nice to Marcy," Remy said.

"As long as it's outside of math class," Brain said as the bell rang, putting an end to the conversation.

"What happened to low profile?" Scott muttered grabbing a seat beside Ororo. Across the cafeteria a healthy crowd had gathered around Remy.

"Stop being such a worry-wart," Ororo replied. "Besides, I think its habit as much as anything else. You know he always fiddles with his cards when he's nervous. Faced with this sort of a crowd, switching over to his old street performer act is probably second nature."

"And what happens when our killer targets Remy?" Scott asked angrily.

"Wasn't that the point of having him here?" Ororo asked rolling her eyes. "When, if, it happens we take care of it and go home. I don't know why you're making such a fuss."

"He's a kid, he shouldn't be worrying about people shooting at him, not that he is worried. He should be taking this more seriously, he could be in danger," Scott complained.

"And you're what? Barely three years older," Ororo said. "If it weren't for people trying to kill Remy he'd still be on the streets. And I'm just as glad he's not neurotic about it, it's not like people are going to stop hating mutants any time soon."

The cards bridged between Remy's hands with a slow arc that defied all logic, unless you were familiar with the more subtle applications of Remy's powers. "Yo' see I got tired of having people tell me what to do an' so on. Took off, lived on m' own for 'bout a year. Made a livin' doin' dis," Remy was saying.

"If you were so good why aren't you doing that now?" one boy challenged.

"How long could yo' stand yo' own cookin'?" Remy replied.

Laugher and estimates, most measured in days spread through the crowd.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," the boy said. "I really like mac and cheese."

Remy and the boy grinned at each other, sharing the center of attention for a moment.

"Where did you live?" one girl asked her eyes wide with concern.

"New Jersey," Remy said glibly sidestepping the question.

"Why would you want to go there?" a disdainful voice asked.

"Mais, I made a list of everywhere someone might 'xspect me to go," Remy said, shifting the cards through an elaborate, enthralling pattern. "Den I go somewhere else. New Jersey was definitely somewhere else. Ugly as hell and de femmes weren't much to look at neither."

"Fascinating the way he forgets to mention being cold, hungry and filthy," Scott commented.

"He's telling a story not making a documentary," Ororo replied. "We just have to hope he doesn't charm the bad guy along with everyone else and this case'll be closed in no time flat."

Scott looked grim. "He's not charming them with anything other than his personality. If they don't like mutants he's just going to inflame them."

"Mr. Summers, at least pretend you're paying attention to this class," a sharp voice demanded.

Reluctantly Scott pulled his gaze away from the classroom window in the next wing over. He'd managed to get a copy of Remy's schedule from the younger boy during the last class break and he was reasonably certain he was keeping an eye on the right set of windows. Not that it would be the end of the world if he were off by a room or two, Remy's powers weren't exactly discrete when the boy felt threatened.

"Please tell the class what we've been discussing for the last half hour," the teacher ordered irritably.

"World War I," Scott said without hesitation.

"More specific, we've been discussing the first world war for almost a week."

A slow, smug grin crept across Scott's face. "Specifically the Zimmerman telegram and the Lusitanian's rolls in bringing the US into the war," Scott replied making a mental note to thank Jean for all the times she'd forced him to hold a mental conversation with her while continuing an entirely separate verbal conversation. "I don't have to look at you to hear you."

The rush of anger that filled the woman's face almost felt good to Scott, better than sitting back and letting Remy make himself a target in any case. As the teacher stalked back to the front of the room Scott's attention turned back to watching over Remy.

As soon as the bell rang signifying the end of the day Scott was out of his seat and working his way to the most probable intercept course with Remy.

Scott spotted the younger boy's almost shoulder length russet hair just as he reached the hall's juncture. Lengthening his stride Scot caught up and snagged the collar of Remy's coat, hauling him out of the flood of bodies hurrying toward the parking lot.

"Yo' lucky I knew it was yo'," Remy said, dark eyes flashing angrily. "Else yo' be hurtin' right now, comprenez?"

Wolverine's training was paying off, Scott decided noticing that Remy had dropped into a fighting stance rather than going immediately for his cards.

"Done playing James Dean for the day?" Scott asked sarcastically.

"Got a job a to do Scotty. Yo' gonna try to stop me?" Remy asked the look on his face clearly stating that he didn't think Scott could.

"Okay," Scott sighed. "Do what you want, but if you sense any hostility, you tell me. Don't try to handle it yourself."

"I ain't helpless," Remy protested.

"I don't care," Scott exclaimed. "Just take it as humoring my control-freak tendencies and tell me! I'm responsible for keep my team safe, how the hell am I supposed to do that if you don't keep me in the loop?"

"D'accord, yo' got m' word Scotty. I get a cross look yo'll hear 'bout it. Happy now?"

"Yes, I'm deliriously happy, and you're still leaving with Logan the minute he gets here," Scott said.

"Guess I'm goin' to have to work fast," Remy replied.