Summer's End

[Aimee Connors]

"An ear to the ground," Aimee repeated. "Why don't you just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll tell you if I will or not." She handed the photos back over to Mrs. Smith, and folded her arms, hunched over a little in the corner of the Bentley.

[Mrs. Smith]

"I want you to listen. That is all."

In a show of friendliness and sincerity, Mrs. Smith glided into the neighbouring seat, and took Aimee's hands in her own. Still, the girl harboured doubts, it was there in the steel behind her eyes and the slight resistance to her touch. A glance outside, a timed flicker of fear, and then, with a sigh full of concern, the attack was renewed.

"Aimee, you can be my eyes and ears with people in places I cannot reach. There is a very real chance these drugs will be dispersed through illegal channels and, within a matter of days, they will become untraceable. If you hear mention of any such trafficking or see anything that might rouse suspicion, please inform me."

When she relinquished her grip, there was a business card in the palm of Aimee's hand. Mrs. Smith gave a shrug.

"That is all I ask."

[Aimee Connors]

"Okay," Aimee said, tucking the card into her back pocket. "Sure. Sorry, you just... never mind. Yes, I can do that." She smiled a little too brightly.

Helping her would be helping Jim in a round about way, and she wasn't asking anything that would put Aimee in a difficult spot with Troy or the others. She relaxed shoulders she hadn't realized had gotten so tight, and looked out the window again. Jim's neighborhood was beginning to take shape around them as the car drove on.

[Mrs. Smith]

"I knew I could trust you, Aimee. Thank you."

While she maintained her poise, the gleam in her eyes betrayed the kind of happiness that would have another person wrapping the mutant teenager in her arms. Instead, she settled for a broad glossy smile before finally deflating once again into the luxurious cream leather. Then, with a lazy stretch, the section between the back seats unfolded to reveal a hidden cooler cabinet which housed two champagne bottles.

"I do apologise if our little conversation left you a little shaken. I do prefer the direct approach."

While she spoke, Mrs. Smith retrieved a bottle and a couple of champagne flutes, which were then handed off to Aimee. A cloth was produced and with a magician's flourish, the bottle was uncorked with a deep pop. Promptly, Mrs. Smith started to pour.

"Here," she said, with a wink, "What's the point in riding around in one of these things if you don't enjoy yourself?"

[Aimee Connors]

Aimee opened her mouth, and then closed it with a shrug. "Sounds good to me." She took a big gulp of the champagne, the bubbles tickling her nose and the flavor causing her mouth to twist. People drank this stuff...on purpose? Her second attempt was a much smaller sip. Ms. Smith was probably silently laughing at her reaction, but Aimee looked out the window again.

The mention of Cam had really shaken her. She'd been surviving the break up by simply avoiding thinking about him, and to have it all dredged up unexpectedly had thrown her for a loop. She'd even thought the woman was accusing her friends of stealing from Jim 's dad. How absurd. She looked at the delicate glass in her hand, and downed the rest of the drink before the flavor could hit her tongue.

[Mrs. Smith]

"It's not for everyone," Mrs. Smith took a sip, and considered the bubbling glass, "Honestly? I prefer scotch."

Silence, again. Though her smile remained, inwardly, she despaired of this poor hopeless girl. Such a young beauty gone to waste with such an empty head. Of course, the only thing about their conversation that had sparked any sort of genuine enthusiasm was the mention of the boy, Cameron. Behind her glass, Mrs. Smith smiled. Perhaps it was time to fill that pretty head with something. She was studying Aimee deliberately.

"I can see why he likes you," when Aimee glanced her way, she elaborated, "Jim."

[Aimee Connors]

Jim?! "He's a good friend," Aimee said, her eyes straying out the window looking for anything familiar. Mrs. Smith seemed to be waiting for her to say more, so she added, "I'm grateful that he offered me a place to stay...?"

The woman's expressions didn't change, but Aimee could almost feel an air of disappointment wafting off of her.

[Mrs. Smith]

"I'm sure you are."

She offered Aimee a courteous smile that vanished behind the rim of her champagne flute. It seemed that she was immune to her insinuations, but Mrs. Smith was not one given so quickly to defeat. There was another avenue of attack at her disposal, but it would have to wait, as would her entertainment. Before long, they had turned onto Delaware Place, where there stood proud ranks of maple and sycamore trees, blooded red by the turning of the season. And nested amongst the trees was ostentatious family home of the Lewinskis.

"Aimee, it's been a pleasure meeting you," she placed a gentle hand on her arm, "Please, remember what we spoke about. If you hear anything - anything at all - don't hesitate to call. I do hope we speak again soon."

[Aimee Connors]

"Of course," said Aimee, still a little bewildered by the entire turn of events. What did she mean, Jim likes her? Mrs. Smith's little smile had caused her suspicion to increase, but... well, that was just silly. "Yeah, I have your card."


She smiled a getting-the-hell-out-of-here-please-don't-stop-me smile, and popped the car door open as soon as it stopped. Aimee waved, and then ran up the rest of the driveway toward the house.

[Jim Lewinski]

The door flew open before she could reach it. Jim was holding aloft his phone and spearing Aimee with a look full of wrath.


"Don't you know how to charge your phone?" Suddenly, he was alongside her, finishing the walk to the house, pleading, "Aimee, where the heck have you been? I've been worried sick!"

[Aimee Connors]

"My phone isn't -" she fished it out of her jeans and tsked. "Okay, yeah. It's dead. Sorry." Aimee looked at Jim as he jittered beside her, and said, "I went to visit some old friends. I told you that."

Her time with Troy and the others came flooding back to the front of her brain, the weird ride with Mrs. Smith starting to fade. She grinned. "It was great. I don't know why I was worried."

[Jim Lewinski]

"See? I told you it would be fine."

Despite his words, Jim didn't exactly exude confidence. The thirteen voicemails awaiting Aimee on her phone betrayed as much. In her absence, what little he knew of Aimee's old friends had been enough to send his hyperactive imagination into overdrive. She had painted them as a band of colourful misfits, frayed around the edges, not unlike her old family back in California. But, as always, Jim knew better: he'd seen first had the sort of reception their own colourful band of misfits received on the night of the riots. What if Aimee's friends had similarly outstayed their welcome in New York? When his calls went unanswered, he really started to panic and went out to search on foot - to no avail. Next time he'd have the address. This, he conveyed with a tremulous smile.

"So..." he said, with some apprehension, as they entered the house, "You wanna tell me about it?"

[Aimee Connors]

"Well, they've been doing great. Even got a permanent place to live, all on the up and up." Aimee smiled, stopping short of telling Jim about her intention of moving in with Troy. She didn't know why, but her lips couldn't quite say the words. She kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes in the plush carpet.

"How was your day?"

[Jim Lewinski]

"Meh," Jim gave a shrug, "I re-wired the circuits in my new room and installed, like, ten new sockets. Then I decided to paint the walls because I hate peach. Afterwards, I re-organised my workshop and built my first prototype tokamak. It's awesome! Now I just need to get my hands on some fresh deuterium and tritium and find an efficient way of heating it to 100 million degrees."

Of course, first he'd have to construct a cooling system, and probably get some sort of permission - he could worry about that later. The house was deathly quiet. His dad was working late and his mom was attending a fundraiser for the Horticultural Society of New York. Once free of his shoes, Jim zipped into the parlour and crashed onto a small mountain of cushions on the floor. There were DVD cases everywhere. He leaned back onto his elbows as Aimee entered the room.

"I figured we could have a movie night like we used to back home. Just you and me and more pizza than we can eat," he gestured at the assortment of movies, "Lady's choice!"

[Aimee Connors]

"Did you reverse the polarity of the deflector as well?" teased Aimee. She flopped onto the pillows and started sorting through the DVDs. "Do you have the Princess Bride?"

Jim blurred for a moment, and then the movie was in his hand. She grinned. "And I hope you found some decent barbecue chicken pizza." Aimee pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail and secured it with a hair band.

[Jim Lewinski]

"Like I could forget!" he smiled, and then just as suddenly, the smugness morphed into surprise, "Oh, I almost forgot!"

Discarding the DVD, Jim wriggled to free something from the pocket of his jeans. A faded and flimsy pamphlet, which he planted into Aimee's hands. He watched expectantly as she glanced at the cover.

"I found that going through my old stuff and thought that, you know, maybe it might be something for you. I mean... you wanna finish school, right? This is the place I wanted to go to when I- before I went to California. So... whatcha think?"

[Aimee Connors]

She took the pamphlet and turned it over. "Cullen's Institute for the Gifted? What is it, a school for brainiacs?" Aimee flipped it open and scanned the text. Nothing in what was written seemed to contradict her initial assessment, but the wording seemed to lean more toward send your special snowflake to our exclusive school.

"Ah, genetically gifted," she said, tapping her finger on the words. "It's a school for mutants?"

[Jim Lewinski]

"You got it."

Suddenly, Jim was by her side, poring over the contents of the pamphlet. A year stashed away in a box had drained the pictures of their colour but robbed none of the beaming faces of their evident happiness. He remembered every detail.

"Ten acres of unbroken greenery," he said, dreamily, "Woodland, gardens, a boathouse, a swimming pool, a basketball court - you name it, they got it. And just look at that place: the school's a mansion! A mansion, Aimee!"

[Aimee Connors]

"Your house is a mansion," she said dryly. "How come you didn't go?"

Aimee plucked the Princess Bride case from the pillows and cracked it open. She couldn't go to a fancy boarding school... could she? Get her GED and a job, that was her current plan. And Troy and the gang...even Jim. Where would they all fit if she moved upstate?

[Jim Lewinski]

When Aimee called his home a mansion, Jim grimaced. It wasn't the same: his house was big, but the Cullen's institute was very big. The hours, or perhaps minutes, he spent staring longingly at those pictures, imagining what life would be like living with other mutants. In the end, he got his wish and had an experience at Redención House that was richer than all the mansions and all the acres and all the basketball courts in America. By virtue of his genetic advantage, Jim squeezed two school years into one and received his diploma a year early, but Aimee was yet to graduate. He didn't want her to go, but typically, what was best for someone else was scarcely best for him. And he wanted Aimee to have the best.

"My dad wouldn't allow it," he confessed, uncomfortable, "He didn't want me isolated from the rest of society because I was different. He said it would make me soft and that I'd thank him for it one day. So I was enrolled in an excellent, totally normal, high school. But I didn't want to be normal. I wanted to be... exceptional. So I ran away."

There was a hint of red in his face when he looked up at Aimee, in whose purple company even his shame was inadequate, "Now you know. Spoilt rich kid runs away from home because he wanted to be special. What would Alex say to that?"