Subject: [OTL]: I Don't Believe . . . (D, W, & X-Gang) 3/3
Date: Tue, 19 Dec 2000 12:46:08 -0800
From: JumpTB@aol.com

I Don't Believe . . . (Wonderwall)
by Omega
part 3

The blond god of thermodynamics was already seated in front of Wisdom's desk
when I strode in Monday morning. He gave me a scrutinizing look as I took the
other empty chair.
    "Good morning, Damia," Wisdom said, putting on his glasses and giving me
a somewhat tight smile. I could feel the tension level in the room shoot off
the scale as I returned the smile to Wisdom and then turned to Emil, giving
him a flashing smile without softening the hard look in my eyes. He returned
the favor with a smirking smile that quickly melted off his face.
    "Right. Whoever comes back alive from this mission is the one I'll keep,"
Wisdom said sourly. He pulled a computer printout from a stack of papers on
his desk. "This apartment is approximately four blocks from the main NYU
campus. You two are going to be living there for however long it takes you
to get my goal accomplished. You are NOT to kill each other before that." He
pulled out his desk-bottle, always full of whiskey and always in the drawer
that squeaks, and poured a generous amount into his coffee mug, downing it
all and then filling the mug back up with straight whiskey. "Okay. This is a
map of that area. The green block is the apartment building; the campus is in
blue. It's just so you can get a general idea of where things are."
    "What's this red? Looks like another apartment building," I commented.
    "It's actually a renovated warehouse. There's a fraternity at NYU that
has made it their whatever, their frat house. You can see it from the
apartment windows."
    "Which fraternity?" I asked.
    "It was only nationally recognized last year. Delta Alpha Omega. You know
how delta means 'change'? The name means something about change from the
beginning - homo sapien - to end - homo sapien superior. Only mutants can
join the frat, but it's coed. Don't know if you could really call it a frat.
But it's basically a good thing. They have a counseling system set up,
offered to everyone who feels like an outsider. They've been honored by the
state for outstanding community service. They keep a little mum and pop
liquor store in business by buying all their beer there. They hold a helluva
lot of protest marches, but everything has always been quiet, peaceful, and
completely legal. There's fifty-three members at NYU, and over three thousand
nationally."
    "So what's the problem?"
    "As in everything, there are extremists." He took a sip from his mug.
    "Let me guess. Good guys, but there are one or two wacked muties that are
planning something evil."
    "Nope." He enjoyed my surprised look, and said, "They're planning
something perfectly fine. There are a couple of extremists, but they just
gripe a little. Delta Alpha Omega is organizing a marathon two months from
now, all benefits going to E.E. - Earthly Equality, a charity that works for
equal civil rights for mutants."
    "I got it," I said. "Someone is going to try to sabotage the marathon, or
wipe out all the people who gather to run in it. You want us to get all huggy
with the frat and protect them from within."
    "Something like that," Wisdom answered slowly. "I want both of you to
enroll in NYU as students. Emil is to join the frat, and Damia, you are to
pose as his live-in girlfriend."
    I didn't say anything. I was trying to figure out what I had done to make
Wisdom torture me like this. Emil took the initiative to ask by pulling a
small spiral notebooks from his back jeans pocket and scribbling a note in
it, tearing it out and handing it to Wisdom with a scowl.
    Wisdom read the note and crumpled it, tossing it over his shoulder.
"Damia's not with Paul because he's gay. End of story. He would stick out
like a sore thumb, trying to pose as her lover."
    Glancing sideways, I saw Emil's face flush at the word 'lover.' I felt
angry, wondering how Matt was going to fit into this. "Is this going to be an
every-hour, every-day thing, or can we get some time off once in a while? I
have places to go and people to see that don't have anything to do with my
life here."
    "You mean Matt? You should tell him that you won't be seeing him for four
years. Maybe then you can see him."
    I bit my tongue.  My boss allowed a lot of lip from me, but I knew he
wouldn't let me back-talk him right now.
    "Emil, same goes for you. I don't know if you have some bird waiting for
you, but in four weeks, if you two have played nice, you can get out for an
afternoon or something." He picked up a list of majors offered at NYU and
handed it across the desk to me. "Pick one."
    I grimaced. I'd planned on enrolling at some college or university next
fall, taking classes while still being at the CH, but I hadn't given it a lot
of thought. Now I had about two minutes to pick a major before Wisdom chose
one for me. "Philosophy," I said, stabbing my finger at the word on the list.
"I'll talk nonsense and everyone will think I'm 'deep.' I've got a
requirement though - absolutely no math classes. You enroll me in a math
class and I'll disappear for good."
    "Damia, I could find you if you were invisible in an African jungle.
Emil, pick one." Emil gave Wisdom a pained look, and Wisdom said, "I know
you've already graduated with a degree in thermal engineering, but pick
something else."
    Emil took his pen and circled his choice, handing it back to Wisdom.
"Art? Fine. I'll have you registered by Wednesday, under your new profiles."
    "Why do we need new identities? No one knows about us anyhow."
    "Au contraire. Kelly was a frequent guest speaker at NYU; most of the
math and science professors on campus would recognize you, Damia. You're
going to need to keep your spurs filed down on this one. Your eyes are fine
since they're a relatively common mutation, but the spurs are very, very
rare. And . . . I think some people suspect that someone is going to be
watching Delta Alpha Omega."
    "That's cryptic," I said sarcastically.
    "Isn't though?" He handed us each a printout. "I've pulled a few strings
and reeled in a few favors so that you can have 'past acquaintances' and
'parents.' These people will vouch for you if anything happens. There are
new social security numbers, new names, official transcripts from the high
schools you supposedly graduated from, med records if we need them,so on and
so on. There are specifics about what kind of clothes you are to wear, how
you're supposed to act, and hobbies. Mia, you've done this before."
    I was skimming over my profile, nodding. At least it wasn't anything too
out of the ordinary. Diana Kersly, nineteen, valedictorian of Mark Twain High
School, possessor of the X-factor gene. Diana had grown up in Maine, and her
parents owned a grocery store that provided for the fishermen who would be
gone for months at a time hunting for swordfish. She was the first mutant in
her family's history, as well as an only child, and adored by everyone. She'd
also been on the basketball team and an active member of the drama club. The
scar on her left cheekbone was from sliding down a rocky slope slick from
sea-spray when she was nine. She was allergic to cats and junipers. She had
skipped second grade, and had done a year at the junior college in her
hometown, where she met Elijah Hadden (presumably Emil). They had been
together since the start of their freshmen years and had together decided to
apply to NYU and live together wile finishing their degrees. She had a very
short haircut - I groaned and pulled at a curl - and dressed in an eccentric
manner. I wondered if I still had the outrageously huge pair of bell bottoms
that were actually from the 70's. "You need a haircut, Mia," Wisdom was
saying.
    "So I noticed. What about the apartment?"
    "Karen - Emil, have you met her? She works details and coffee. Anyway,
Karen furnished it according to my specifications. There's a phone up, and
I've got an account set up to take money for bills out of. Each of you is to
take a cab there - your transportation, starting tomorrow, will be a pair of
bicycles. And you own the apartment, now. You're not renting; you bought it
from an old friend of 'Elijah's' family."
    "Are we going this slick or are you going to give us cranks or something?"
    "I'm not giving you any bloody guns, Damia."
    Emil, who had been listening attentively to everything, got a questioning
look on his face. He mouthed something, but when Wisdom and I exchanged a
look he realized we didn't understand. He rolled his eyes and started using
sign language. After watching him for a moment, I understood that he was
spelling something out. I tried to remember the signs for the letters of the
alphabet as I said, "Wait, start over again."
    He did, going slowly, and I announced, "Whit and Paul." He nodded.
"Yeah," I said, turning back to my boss. "What about Whit and Paul? Are you
having Whit pose as Paul's boyfriend?" I cackled at the thought.
    "No, no. Paul will be posing as a normal student, and I'll put him in the
same classes as Emil, but he's just an extra-security measure. You're not to
contact me or Logan whatsoever. If there's an emergency, go to Paul. I'm
putting Whit in charge of everything. He'll stay here and man the phone line
Paul will have, as well as making sure little things run smoothly. Every week
you will be expected to report to Whit via e-mail. Your new e-mail addresses
are on the sheets, and Whit's will be given to you by Paul, first day of 
classes."
    "Well, when does this start?" I sighed.
    "Tomorrow."
    "Gad. It keeps getting worse."
    For once, Emil agreed, nodding his head.

"I haven't seen these ones," Matt said, holding up an orange thong and a
matching bra.
    "Put those back!" I said. "I'm trying to pack. I become a prisoner
tomorrow afternoon. You're not helping. Where are my running shoes?"
    "Here, I've got them." He put them into the duffel bag. "What about
these? They'd look sexy with the bell bottoms." A pair of pointy-toed
snakeskin shoes were dangled in the air by his tail
    "Fine, put them in." I heard the apartment door open and close. Craig
must be home.
    "Hey Matt, are you staying for dinner?" Craig asked, standing in my
doorway.
    "Hi. Sure. What are you having?"
    "Mia?"
    "Um . . . can we order in Chinese? Something fast."
    "I'll go call it in. Lacey told me Pete was sending you off for a month
or two. Where are you going?"
    "I don't know," I lied. "He told me it was a surprise." I gave him my
brightest smile. "You know Wisdom, always full of surprises."
    "Right," Craig said uncertainly. He'd only met Wisdom once before, and he
didn't know exactly what I did. He thought I was interning for a government
agency that found lost cars or something. Lacey knew what I did but didn't
get ultra-specific, and Matt . . . oh, dear Matt. The goof knew more than he
should, I'm sure, but he thought it was one big hilarious riot. He laughed at
the idea of me shooting someone.
    "He has no clue, does he?" Matt asked jovially when Craig could be heard
on the phone. He was throwing random items into my duffel bag, and I had to
take them out again. "Hey, you might need that!" he yelped.
    "Oh, right. I just might need a trophy from my community soccer team when
I was nine," I said sarcastically.
    "You could use it as a weapon. See? You could thunk someone over the head
with it" - he demonstrated by wacking a teddy bear's plush head - "or you
could stab someone with it." He came at me, holding it like a fencing sword,
and I merely sidestepped him. It hit my chest of drawers and left a big
scratch in the wood. "Uh-oh." He chewed on his lower lip. "Will anyone
notice?" he asked as he quickly put the trophy back in place.
    "Nah. I doubt anyone comes in here if I'm not at home." I dumped an
armful of socks and underwear into the bag. Most of my more, well, eclectic
clothing was already packed. I tucked a pair of foam earplugs into my toilet
bag, wondering if a man without a voice box could snore. I didn't want to
take any chances. I'd found out it was a one-bedroom apartment.
    I think I was finished when the Chinese food showed up, Lacey right
behind the delivery man. A big, noisy, talkative dinner ensued, pleasantly
relaxing with large quantities of fried rice and cashew chicken, not to
mention fortune cookies. "A wise man does not have to speak to be heard," my
fortune said. I scowled, crumpling it up, but Matt confiscated it and his
eyes danced as he read it and laughed. Craig and Lacey missed the joke.
    When Lacey and Craig had retired to their room, Matt and I and a pair of
kitchen scissors all gathered in my bathroom. Tail lazily lashing, Matt
perched on the closed toilet while I sadly inspected my hair in the mirror.
"This is just wrong," I mourned, and actually closed my eyes as I cut off the
first big chunk of wild honey curls.
    Matt helped me out, cutting what I couldn't reach and keeping everything
straight in the back. When we were done I was surprised by the effect. It
looked good. Very good. I put on a headband, more for color than to actually
hold hair back, and grinned. "Say hi to Diana Kersly," I said to Matt, and he
gave a serious, genuine smile, hugging me.

I lugged my duffel into the elevator and punched the button, waiting for it
to lift me to the third floor. The straps to my backpack were digging into
my shoulders, and I tried to shift them. The elevator shimmied to a stop,
however, and slid open its doors before I could do anything productive.
    Finding the fourth apartment, I slid my key, held in a hand with spurs
filed down to nothing and covered in make-up, into the deadbolt and was ready
to twist it when the door was flung open, surprising me so badly that I let
out a tiny gasp and angrily met Emil's eyes. He gave me a bored look and
retreated, leaving the door open.
    "I'm not happy about this either," I spat, dragging in my bag. Panting,
I stood in the middle of the living room and took a look around. The sofa was
old and used and - orange? - but clean, and there were green bean-bag seats
scattered around. Posters were tacked to the ceiling: Oasis, the Beatles,
Steve Miller, Pink Floyd, U2, Led Zeppelin, Third Eye Blind, and a couple I'd
never heard of. One entire wall was covered in a magnetic metal and hundreds
of those Magnetic Poetry words were scattered on it. Another wall was a
half-done semi-abstract mural, and I supposed it was for Emil, since he was
going to be Mr. Picasso Art Major now. The third wall wasn't a wall - just
the back of the kitchen counter, and the fourth wall had a TV and VCR and a
rather dinky sound system centered between two doors. I could, I reflected as 
I loosened the bright, long, woolen scarf I was wearing around my neck above
my tank-top, like it here. I did a little spin, my orange fingernails
flashing and the bell-bottoms billowing. I enjoyed the giddy feeling of glee
I always got at the beginning of an assignment.
    And then Emil came striding in from one of the doors. I scowled a bit as
he breezed past me to the kitchen, where he yanked open the fridge. I could
hear him pulling cans off plastic rings, and he came back, a bit cautious
this time, throwing one can at me. I caught it, giving him a murderous glare
for good measure, and he let out a barely-audible sigh. [Chill,] he said. He
opened his can and took a long draught. When I realized that he had tossed me
a Budweiser, I took it back to the fridge and traded it out for a Diet Coke,
remembering what happened last time I had an encounter with alcohol. I was
pleased to see tons of my favorite soda, and when I started checking cabinets
I found my favorite foods there as well, including M&Ms and Baked Lays. Two
bikes were propped against the wall under a large window at the far end of
the kitchen.
    When I had rummaged through every cabinet and drawer I tossed my empty
can in the trash can and went back to the living room. Emil was nowhere to
be seen, so I opened the right door of the two on the TV wall. Bathroom. I
retreated to my duffel and started to drag it to the other room.
    When I opened the door I first saw the window on the left side of the
room and Emil standing by it, looking down the street a little way, peering
at the frat house. He barely flicked his eyes at me as I took a quick glance
around the room and towed my bag in. "Any preference as to where I should put
this?" I asked his back, and he shook his head. I decided to just leave it in
an empty corner of the room. Feeling a bit uncomfortable with him still in
the room and studiously ignoring me, I fidgeted for a bit while examining the
room.
    The wall that the head of the bed was pushed against was the same color
green as the bean-bags in the living room; it should have been ugly, but it
wasn't. A string of tiny white Christmas lights was strung along the top of
the green wall, and green lights were strung across the tops of the other
walls. The bed was a king-sized affair in a plain pine frame, the bedspread
that same shade of green again. Pine bedside tables, matching the bed frame,
held a small reading lamp and a foam drink coaster each. The walls were
adorned with some charcoal sketches that were framed in unobtrusive aluminum.
When I looked closer at a sketch of a subway platform, people waiting for the
tube-trans, which was emerging from the darkness. It was signed "Elijah
Hadden" and dated. I marveled at the details Wisdom always took such great
pains with. Or told Karen to take pains with. Either way, everything was
convincing.
    Except the fact that Wisdom would personally put a hot-knife through my
eyes if I goofed and slept on the couch. But . . . a glimmer of hope rose its
head. Emil wasn't nocturnal. By the time I got into bed, by about four in the
morning, we should only have to share the bed for three hours, four at the
most (I hoped). When I had went by the office this morning for a last-minute
chat with everyone, Wisdom had told me that he had kept in mind my biological
clock and had scheduled my classes in the afternoon, starting at noon. I
would have to wake up early, but Wisdom had also told me that Emil had
classes in the morning. Hell, if we never had to see each other, things
couldn't be that bad, could they?
    The doorbell chimed, startling both Emil and me. He crushed the beer can
in one practiced movement and tossed it into a plastic trash can by the
bedroom door, striding out to open the door, me close behind him, scarf
streaming in my wake. After taking a quick glance through the peephole, he
opened the door to reveal a tall, willowy girl with an olive complexion and
thick, straight black hair in jeans and a men's T-shirt, running shoes under
the slouching denim. "Hi," she said brightly, offering a package of Oreos to
Emil. "Have an apartment-warming gift. It's the only thing I found unopened
in my kitchen. I'm Jimmy."
    I stepped up, giving her my best smile as Emil took the Oreos and swung
the door open a little wider. "Hi. I'm Di, this is Elijah. Come on in," I
spoke up, and she stepped in, hands in her back pockets.
    "Wow, this place looks great. I just moved in a few weeks ago, and this
place was empty, so I never saw the inside. Who did the mural?" she asked
with interest. Her long legs seemed to reach the poster-covered ceiling, and
her eyes were totally friendly and safe on either side of her long, straight
nose.
    "A friend of Emil's fam owned the place, and we bought it from him. He
started it. Emil's the artist, he'll finish it. We have crates of his art
junk we brought." Emil gave me a dirty look behind her back and I went into
the kitchen, calling out, "Want something to drink?"
    "Glass of water will be fine!" she replied, and when I came back I saw
she cross-legged on the sofa, chatting happily to Emil, who was on the
opposite end. "I was just telling Elijah about the way my place looked when
I moved in. White walls everywhere, dotted with unspackled nail holes. Dead
cockroach floating in my toilet bowl. Nasty." She accepted the glass
politely.
    "Y'all freshmen?"
    "Sophomores." I told her the alibi about spending a year at a junior
college, which she swallowed easily.
    There was some general talk for about a quarter hour, and she asked, "Are
you going to join Delta Alpha Omega? Almost every mutant enrolled at NYU has
joined.?"
    "Probably, yeah. Sooner or later."
    "And you . . . ?" she asked, turning to Emil, who nodded in reply. "So
you guys are both mutants?" When we nodded, she added, "I don't have any
prob with that. My parents - sheesh, they'd kill me if I dated a mutant, but
they're not here, are they?" She gave a wild smile. "I heard they're doing a
marathon in a few months. That'd be so much fun; I enter every marathon and
whatnot around here. My boyfriend is a member though, he could probably
introduce you guys around better than I could. That's what I get for being
normal," she laughed. "Anyway, I'm down the hall in number one. Of the six
apartments on this floor, only three are filled. Bit odd, huh? I'd better
go, though." She stood up, unfolding her legs like a giraffe. "Need anything,
stop by. I'll have you guys over and we'll order in some pizza soon, okay?
Catch you guys later!"
    I waved enthusiastically as she exited, and Emil gave one of his golden
smiles. I saw the blush creeping up her neck as she gave him a last look and
headed down the hall. After watching her back for a moment, I turned and
closed the door. "Well, that went well," I said. "I think I'm going to start
unpacking. The door in the bedroom is a closet, right?" As Emil nodded,
grabbing a pair of wraparound sunglasses, I headed towards the bedroom. When
he walked out the front door I sighed. One hour down. I did some quick math.
1439 more to go.

To Be Continued . . .

(Will Damia kill Emil? Will Wisdom shoot hot-knives through Mia's eyeballs?
Exactly how tall is Jimmy? Can Whit remember his password to log online? And
how long is the marathon? Tune in next time, when all the answers might be
answered! Maybe!)

Escribir es alegria.