Early On

by Kerrie Smith

 

 


Inspired by the "Weirdness" thread on the Rant and Rave board and subsequent emails, and dedicated to everyone who didn't get into the gifted program at age five because they couldn't tell which goes faster, a car or a rocket ship.

Disclaimer: TCP belongs to Kielle, mutants in general belong to Marvel.


Miss Connor smiled fondly at the seventeen little cherubs seated before her. Each one gazed raptly at her with gleaming eyes.

"...I do not like them, Sam I Am," Miss Connor continued, her voice rising and falling with the galloping rhythm of the story.

Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door broke the serenity of the quiet kindergarten classroom.

"I wonder who that could be?" Miss Connor said brightly, rising to answer the door. "Why, hello, Dr. Brock! Everyone say hello to the principal!"

"HELLO, DOCTOR BROCK!" seventeen voices shouted in reply.

Dr. Brock smoothed his tie and forced a smile. "Miss Connor, may I have a word with you in the hallway?"

Miss Connor eyed her charges for a moment. "Couldn't this wa--"

"No."

Miss Connor blinked. "Um, of course. Children, I expect you to sit and talk quietly with one another while I speak to Dr. Brock in the hallway. I'm watching you."

Their shoes clacking on the hard tile, Dr. Brock and Miss Connor stepped out into the quiet hallway. It was deserted, save for a disheveled third-grader clutching a bathroom pass, who, at the sight of the principal, promptly scurried down the hall.

"What may I do for you, Dr. Brock?" Miss Connor asked nervously.

The principal nodded to the large stack of papers in his hands. "There's a psychologist, out in East Ridge who thinks he can identify... um, er..." he lowered his voice, "mutants. Early on. He's developed a simple little test. The school has agreed to take part in his tests."

"For the kindergartners?" Miss Connor echoed. "I thought mutancy didn't arise until puberty."

"Er, generally, no. But Dr. Travers believes that even before fully mutating, mutants follow a specific personality profile. Outcasts, if you will. Troublemakers. Those who refuse to conform to the general bounds of society. This test is by no means conclusive, but it will give us an idea who to, er... keep an eye on."

"But they're only five," Miss Connor protested again.

"Don't worry, you can read the questions out loud for them," Dr. Brock grinned, pushing the packet of papers into Miss Connor's hands. "Thank you, Miss Connor."

Miss Connor swallowed, and glanced at the first page of the packet.

"Circle the animal which doesn't belong," the first question read. Below it showed drawings of a puppy, a bird, a horse and a fire-breathing dragon.

"But, sir--" she started, before glancing up. Dr. Brock had disappeared down the hallway.

With a sigh, Miss Connor turned back into the room.

The children were not sitting peacefully.

They were not speaking quietly among themselves.

Bradley had constructed a fortress out of cardboard bricks, which Sarah and Henry were trying to storm, with a fair amount of success.

Buddy and Gerald had strewn every green army man in the room over the floor, and were in the middle of World War III.

Amber was using Andrew as a human shield against a barrage of foam balls launched by Mandy and Jon.

Dan had gotten into the clay, most of which was now on Rachel.

Joan was standing on a tabletop, loudly belting out "On Top of Spaghetti."

Peter was trying to see up her skirt.

 Truman, Penny and Hannah were all trying to style the same Barbie's hair.

And Normie just bawled.

Miss Connor cleared her throat.

"Listen up, children!"

Seventeen sets of eyes shot to her.

"I have a wonderfully fun activity for all of you!"

"Whuzzit, Miss Connor?" Rachel asked, a large clump of clay sliding down her nose.

A green army man went flying across the room.

Miss Connor handed Rachel a test, and the other children crowded closer, each wanting their own.

"Today," said Miss Connor. "We are going to finger-paint. Did everyone get a piece of paper?"

the end


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