The Montessori School organization is a real entity, and its name is used without permission. For more information, http://www.montessori.org

Mrs. Hardinge is (c) 1998 Indigo (although she is based closely on a real person).

"Yes, Henry?"

Hank McCoy looked down at the papers in his hands one more time. He ruffled the papers. He shuffled the papers. He tap-tap-tapped them into synchronicity on the kitchen table. Hank McCoy then set them down and took his large, blue hands away. He picked them up a moment later, as if afraid they might scurry off and do mischief without him holding them protectively to his chest. He folded them neatly in half, horizontally. He unfolded them. He folded them again, thumb and forefinger pressing a crease into the pages.

"I'm not absolutely, indisputably, comfortably certain that this is such an inspired brainstorm," he finally said in an uncharacteristically small voice. He looked down his nose, over his glasses, at the now quite rumpled sheaf of papers he held.

They were admission papers for the Salem Center Youthful Expansion Montessori School which had sprung up almost overnight during the summer and was now taking applications for the fall semester.

"Why not?" Sam asked, the picture of innocence and humility. "Ah would have loved to have gone to a Montessori school if my family could have afforded it."

"I did go to a Montessori school before my folks died," Jubilee piped up over her pop tarts. "It was cool. They let us do pretty much anything we wanted..."

At Hank's stricken expression, Jubilee only laughed and shook her head. "...as long as it didn't hurt anyone," she concluded, shaking her head with amusement.

"Tell y'what, homme," Gambit offered, hoisting his coffee cup in an equally amused gesture. "I check out de backgroun' of de folks runnin' dis join'...an' if dey on de up-an'-up, we ask Siku what she t'ink."

Ask Siku what she thinks?! Hank echoed mentally. She's only four! He smiled wryly. Well, she can read. She's been dressing herself since she was eighteen months old, and feeding herself. And toilet trained. Hank sighed. When did I become such an overprotective father?

"Do they know she's a mutant? Do they know she's an obvious mutant?"

"Yes," Betsy confirmed. "That was one of the first questions we asked Mrs. Hardinge when we intereviewed her."

They interviewed her? Hank echoed in thought, brows lifting. I should not be surprised. They are as protective of my little one as I am -- almost.

"What are the hours?"

"Nothing too rigorous," Ororo assured him. "Nine a.m. until 3 p.m. with a nap at 11 for half an hour, then a good lunch."

Hank bombarded the two women with questions -- Betsy and Ororo took turns answering him with unflappable, supernally calm voices, smiling indulgently at him. Remy just sat and watched, shaking his head, amused. Finally, McCoy had no alternative but to give in.

"All right."

The encouraging smiles of the other X-Men around the kitchen table did nothing to quell his discomfort. A man of his word, Hank trudged out of the kitchen in search of his little girl.

Sikudhani, when Hank finally tracked her down, was in front of the television, curled up with her Cookie Monster doll, watching Bill Nye the Science Guy.

Hank had to smile. The X-Men had lavished gifts upon Sikudhani in an impromptu "baby shower" once Hank had finally given in to the idea of legally adopting her. She had every Sesame Street character doll available on the market. But Cookie Monster had ever been her favourite. She'd begun talking at about ten months, and when Jubilee had asked why Siku liked Cookie Monster best, Sikudhani's large blue eyes had gone very serious. She had answered, "'Cause Cookie makes me think of Daddy." What had followed was a line of questioning along the lines of "Why not Grover? Why not Herry?" They were blue, too, after all. Sikudhani had been adamant that Cookie was the only one that reminded her of her father.

"Hello, Sunshine," Hank said, crouching beside his daughter.

She looked up and beamed. "Daddy!" Tiny arms flung around his neck, the television program utterly forgotten in her delight at seeing Hank. "Hi, Daddy!"

Hank caught the tiny ball of energy that was his daughter in his large hands and held her close. "I have a question for you, Siku. How would you like to go to school in town?"

Siku paused, and Hank could practically hear the tiny gears turning in her head. Dread filled his heart like lead. Will she hate me? Will she think I'm trying to send her away? He held very still, letting his daughter think.

"When?" Siku asked, one little hand on her father's cheek.

Hank grinned wryly and answered her, "In the Fall, dear." When Siku's expression demanded more information, he continued -- just as Ororo had answered him -- giving her the hours, naptime, and the lunch break.

"Do I have to wear special clothes?" asked Siku, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Betsy had been quite pleased to shop at Baby Gap for Siku. Rogue had preferred The Children's Place. Bobby had picked up duds for Siku at Kids R Us. Ororo, on the other hand, had hand-sewed several gorgeous playsuits for the child So Siku's wardrobe was -- to say the least -- eclectic.

Hank shook his head. That had been one of the questions he'd flung at Betsy and Ororo. No child of Hank McCoy's was going to have her spirit constrained by a uniform. When she was older and chose to wear one, perhaps as one of the X-Men, that was another story. "No, loveling. You don't have to wear a uniform."

Sikudhani smiled that knowing smile that had so confounded her father when she was only an infant.

"Yucky school food?" enquired Sikudhani, narrowing her eyes.

His worldly child got quite the vast culinary experience living under Charles Xavier's roof. Rogue's buckwheat pancakes were a favourite, as were Remy's crawdad fritters -- on the rare occasions the Cajun could be persuaded to cook them. Storm made couscous, and Betsy shepherd's pie. Hank chuckled. "You can have for lunch whatever you like, Siku."

Little Sikudhani might not be his own blood child, but she took after him in many ways just the same. She had showed intelligence from the moment Gambit had brought her home. Hank could feel himself swelling with paternal pride as Siku subjected him to her inquisition about this school in town; much as he had interrogated the other X-Men when they'd pitched the idea to him.

"Okay, Daddy."

Hank felt the odd dichotomous sensation of pride that his beloved daughter was willing to be adventurous and try new things; alongside it, the chilling fear that this was an ill-advised undertaking -- and that his pride and joy might come home in tears -- or worse, beaten bloody. Children can be so cruel. He remembered his youth. He had looked more or less like a normal boy then, but his oversized hands and feet had been grist for ridicule by other children on a regular basis.

"Are you sure, Sikudhani?" Hank asked.

Sikudhani rolled her eyes, but smiled. Daddy only used her whole first name if he was worried. It could be worse, she knew; he could be angry and using her whole entire name: Sikudhani Edna McCoy, like when he had caught her in the lab mixing the pretty colours. Okay, now she knew she might cause an explosion if she mixed up Daddy's chemicals, so she'd learned something.

"I'm sure, Daddy," she answered, and giggled as he gusted a sigh of relief that blew back her hair.

At dinnertime, Hank ducked under the doorway with Siku astride his shoulders, little fists hanging onto his fur.

"True to m'word, mon ami," Gambit declared dramatically, "I do some checkin' up on dis Mrs. Hardinge an' she come clean. Also, Rogue check de web an' she fin' dis 'bout de school's mission statement." He produced a printout and handed it over with a smug smile.

Hank read the printout:

The Montessori Foundation works with the entire Montessori community, regardless of affiliation, as well as parents, educators, schools, and schools systems who are interested in learning more about the insights, research, and approach pioneered by Dr. Maria Montessori.

The Montessori Foundation is not a membership organization, nor do we accredit schools or teacher training programs.

We work with Montessori schools, parents, and local and national Montessori organizations to promote the mission of the Montessori movement:

* to develop the human potential
* to inspire academic excellence
* to nurture curiosity, creativity, and imagination * and to awaken the human spirit

The mission of the Montessori Foundation is ...

* to nurture, inspire, and support the development of strong, successful Montessori schools throughout North America,

* and to promote Dr. Montessori's dream that the movement which she began would become something much more than a way to teach. Her vision was to create a world-wide community of joyful, loving people, children and adults, working together to build a world that reveres the dignity of the human spirit; a world that in which kindness, compassion, sanity, and peace can finally blossom.

The Montessori Foundation reflects a heritage of international education and a commitment to the highest standards of Montessori program and curriculum development, the implementation of cutting edge educational technology, the development of a strong sense of community and family friendliness within our schools, and a return to Dr. Montessori's focus on building a better world by helping children discover their capacity to live in peace, learn without boundaries throughout their lifetimes, find meaningful work, and discover the joy of friendships and community.

Hank nodded approvingly, and glanced up at Siku. She was bent over, dangling precariously by one tiny Weebok and a handhold in Hank's fur, reading along with him. "What does -- com...com...compash-shun mean?" Always inquisitive, Hank thought, proudly.

"Compassion," Hank said softly, gently correcting his daughter's pronunciation.

Ororo had taken him aside when Siku had first begun speaking. "The X-Men are a diverse team, with diverse origins. I understand that," she had told him. "You are an educated man, and I trust you will educate your child in the same way. Rogue and Remy are not such bad examples...however. if this child grows up to speak Ebonics, I shall be most -- put out."

Gambit's response to his daughter's question shook Hank out of his thoughts.

"It mean dat way we kin' to folks who ain' mutants," Remy replied with a pat on the child's head. He took her down from Hank's shoulders and swung her around before setting her in her booster seat at the table.

"It means," Ororo corrected, with a playful tickle to Sikudhani's tummy, "That we must care about the way other people feel, and if they feel badly, dear Siku, then we must do what we can to make them feel better."

Siku nodded. "People are people," she said solemly. Hank suppressed a wry chuckle. She knew all the words to that Depeche Mode song, thanks to Bobby and Jubilee blasting it at eardrum-rupturing volume one day while Siku had been napping. Siku had awakened, as cheerful-spirited as ever, and climbed out of the crib to crawl into the living room. Jubilee had hoisted the then-two Siku into her arms and bounced her along. Hank couldn't help feeling a little astonished that she had already divined the message of the lyrics. "We all should be nice to each other."

"That's my niece who said that," Bobby grinned proudly, splashing grape jello out of a bowl. It froze instantly into the shape of a flower -stem, petals and all. "And my niece who will get the yummy jello-flower-sicle if she eats all her lima beans."

"Eeewwww..." Siku protested with a characteristic face of childish disgust. "Do I have to, uncle Bobby?" Siku had spent an exceptionally short time in the "baby talk" phase -- 'Unca Bobby' had become 'Uncle Bobby' in that brief span. 'Baba' had become 'bottle' a day or two later.

"Yeah, kidling, you have to." Bobby grinned. "We all had to."

Resolutely, Siku ate her lima beans -- one at a time. "Can we have a dog?" she asked, suddenly.

"Uh-uh, petite," Remy chuckled. "I try dat trick on my father when I was a li'l kid. Dogs don' like lima beans no better dan kids do. But dey good for you."

Siku pouted cutely, but only got affectionate, if firm, smiles from the rest of the table.

Hank bent to kiss Sikudhani's forehead. "I am going to buy you a pencil case and a bookbag, and make sure all the arrangements for your first day of school are all squared away. Be a good girl, and no flying around the grounds with Auntie Ororo or Auntie Rogue before bed. It's chilly tonight."

Siku pouted cutely once again, but followed it with a bright smile. "Ice slides?"

"If you brush your teeth and get ready for bed, maybe Auntie Jean will bounce you a bit before bedtime," Hank acquiesced. "You know the rules."

Siku redoubled her efforts to consume the odious lima beans, as Hank donned hat and trenchcoat. "Bye, Daddy."

"I'll be home in time to tuck you in, Siku, Promise."

Hank had to give Mrs. Hardinge credit. She opened the door and let him into the school so he could inspect it. The Youth Expansion Montessori School of Salem Center was clean as a whistle. You could eat off the floors. Hank, despite himself, nodded approvingly. The walls were decorated in interesting geometric art, lithographs of the classics, and -- of course -- the alphabet. The floor was neatly carpeted, flat brown, and the furniture was soft-form and easily configurable to multiple shapes or formats. Good. No constraining desks attached to chairs. Freedom for their youthful forms as well as their minds.

"Are you feeling more assured now, Dr. McCoy?" Mrs. Hardinge asked.

Hank jumped. The woman moved in literal silence. Hank hadn't heard her come up behind him. "Actually, Mrs. Hardinge, I am," he admitted. "Your school is everything I could hope for in a place to begin Sikudhani's education. She has been receiving excellent tutelage at Xavier's, of course -- but this is an opportunity for her to meet and interact with other children her own age."

"I understand entirely, Doctor," Mrs. Hardinge replied in a soft, musical voice. Hank found himself wondering if she was herself a mutant with control over sound and motion. She seemed to move fluidly, as though she and the air around her had reached some amicable, unspoken agreement. When she spoke, it was softly, but the words clear as if she'd been standing right beside his ear, no matter where in the room she stood. "I am so pleased the school meets with your approval. Tea?"

The fragrance of the tea was strong, but not overwhelming. Darjeeling, Hank thought, smiling. One of my favourites. He accepted with grave politeness.

He and Mrs. Hardinge spoke for several hours, until Hank's watch alarm went off. "It has been a pleasure, Mrs. Hardinge, to have spoken with you. I appreciate your taking the time to allay my concerns about the school. I am now quite confident that Sikudhani will be very happy here." With that, Hank stood, bowed to the older woman, and donned his hat to return home.

When Hank returned home, Sikudhani was curled up in bed with her ever-present Cookie Monster doll, plus the plush Bamf doll that Uncle Kurt had sent her. (Uncle Kurt, of course, was her favourite uncle.) Jubilee sat at the foot of the bed, and read to her. Hank cocked his head, and smiled. It was the same fairy tale Kitty had once told young Illyana Rasputin. I didn't know Kitty had committed it to paper.

"The blue jumper with the cute little red beret?" Bobby suggested, holding up the item in question. It had an applique of a penguin sitting astride a block of ice. Underneath, letters spelled out I'm So Cool.

"No, she don' wanna wear that," Rogue scoffed. "She wanna wear her pretty li'l dress." The pretty little dress was yellow with green side-panels. It had matching green stockings and yellow socks.

Siku giggled, watching the X-Men each offer her a different outfit. "Actually," she said quite clearly, "What I would like is breakfast."

"Did someone pack her lunch?" Betsy asked suddenly. The entire room emptied out, leaving Siku sitting amongst a pile of clothing nearly chest-high, as her uncles and aunts stampeded toward the kitchen, each racing to fix Siku's favorite for her first day of school.

Siku giggled again, shook her head, and set about finding herself something to wear. Silly grownups.

"There's my little schoolgirl!" Hank said, appearing upside-down in the doorway, hanging by his toes. "You ready?"

"Morning, Daddy!" Siku came up out of the pile with a pink miniskirt, white stockings. Over that, she had chosen to wear a white sweatshirt that had Cookie Monster on it. Beneath the google-eyes of the muppet read "C is for Cookie". Over the entire ensemble, Sikudhani wore the tiny, real leather replica of the Xavier Institute varsity bomber jacket that Uncle Remy had given her for her fourth birthday. She hopped onto her bed and held her feet straight out before her.

Hank dimpled. For all that his dear daughter was a prodigy in so many senses of the word, tying her shoes still occasionally stonewalled her. She had the sort with the velcro flip-over closures, but she had chosen the kid-sized Reeboks high tops, and those had laces. Clever girl, he thought. I'd almost swear you picked these on purpose so Daddy wouldn't feel like he was losing his baby too soon.

Sikudhani simply beamed at her father and sat very still until she had two neat bows on her sneakers.

Breakfast turned out to be a bowl of Cheerios with banana slices. Accompanying the unsinkable O's, Siku had a glass of orange juice, and two slices of toast with butter and her favourite cloudberry jam. She ate in smiling silence while the X-Men all crowded around her, beaming.

She posed at the door while Bobby snapped Polaroids. "Your first day of school!" he crowed. "We're so proud of you."

Hank zipped up her jacket and tucked her scarf beneath her ears, then popped her baseball cap onto her head. Betsy arrived with the lunchbox. Picking that out had been a production. Bobby had gotten her Barbie and Siku had promptly turned her nose up at it. That lunchbox had been returned, replaced by Street Sharks. Siku had given Bobby a disdainful look down her cute button nose. At that point, Rogue had taken Siku shopping to choose her own -- and she had chosen Disney's Aladdin. Of course she had: the genie, after all, was blue.

Hank drove her the short distance into Salem Center and walked her as far as the door.

"Don't look so sad, Daddy," Siku said as she climbed up the last steps, clinging to her father's hand. "I'll be home in time to watch cartoons with you."

Mrs. Hardinge just smiled serenely on the other side of the door.

Sikudhani Edna McCoy kissed her father on the forehead, on the nose, on both cheeks, and then his chin. "Ala-kazam-kazam-kazam," she said, winking at him. Hank returned their special goodbye, gravely repeating the 'magic words,' then stepped away. Siku then ran inside, leaving a forlorn Hank McCoy to trudge alone back to his car.

Ororo had volunteered to pick Siku up from school. Hank sat at the window, staring out at it from the moment she drove off.

"Mon ami," Remy remarked, "You look like Lassie waitin' on Timmy to come home."

Hank harrumphed indignantly, but hadn't moved, not even when the fragrance of Hank's favourite butterscotch - chocolate-chip blondies wafted through the house, fresh from Betsy's oven. They were Siku's favourite too.

We're spoiling her, he thought, and let the thought slide -- this had the potential to be a harrowing day for her, and if a little chocolate soothed her spirit, he could endure her being a hyperactive ball of energy until bedtime.

Sikudhani walked daintily beside Storm as they approached the house from the carport. Ororo was careful to pace her steps so the little girl would not have to trot to keep up with her.

"Well, love of my life," Hank asked tentatively, "How was your first day of school?"

"I LOVED it, Daddy!" Siku chirped, leaping into Hank's arms, laughing. "We played games and we sang songs, and all the other children said they never saw a blue girl before -- and that blue is a pretty color for a little girl." She wrinkled her nose. "Except Joey. He said I was a little mutie girl."

Hank's heart sank.

"Then Jennifer put paste down his pants." Siku nodded; apparently this met with her four-year-old sense of justice."Mrs. Hardinge was not very happy, but everybody else laughed a lot." Siku looked thoughtful. "I think Mrs. Hardinge was laughing on the inside, but she's the teacher so she has to look like she's not happy sometimes, huh, Daddy?"

Hank's heart lifted, but all he did was nod sagely in response to his daughter's regalia. Betsy Braddock arrived with blondies and milk for father and daughter, then withdrew again.

"I gots homework, too!" Siku warbled, pulling a simple worksheet out of her bookbag. It was a coloring book page, depicting a pony prancing in a sunny meadow. "Oh -- and I made you something!"

Tiny blue hands went back into the bookbag and pulled out a crumpled flower made of bright tissue paper. It was pink, yellow and white -- quite gaudy, really, but Hank had never seen anything quite so beautiful in his life, and he told her so. "It's beautiful, and I'll treasure it always. How much should I water it?"

"Silly Daddy," scolded Siku, "You don't gotta water it! It's paper!" She tickled her father beneath the chin with the paper flower.

Over the next few weeks, Sikudhani was the hit of the school. This was in no small part due to her effervescent personality. But being sent with treats each Friday for the other kids by the rest of the X-Men didn't hurt either. Mrs. Hardinge had permitted the practice on a rotating basis, so long as each child got a turn to bring in a treat.

Joey Babcock -- the one who had called Siku a mutie girl -- had eventually come around too. As Sam and Jubilee had assured Hank, it was a four year old's way of saying he liked her a whole lot. The two had become quite friendly, actually, after that.

It was a morning in late October, approximately two weeks before Halloween when Sikudhani overslept. There had been a power blink -- not long enough for their own backup to have kicked in, but long enough to reset the alarm clocks of everyone in the house to the perpetual 12:00 a.m. blink.

"It's 7:45 and coming up next, your local forecast," said Trish Tilby on the television, smiling widely.

"Seven forty five?" Hank gasped, and bounded up the stairs. "Siku! Wake up! You're going to be late for school!"

As always, his little girl awakened in the most agreeable of moods. Into the bathroom she went to wash up, brush her teeth and dress.

Rush rush -- down the stairs. They were short on time this morning, so Siku got a glass of milk and a granola bar, plus a box of raisins to eat in the car. Betsy had been good about packing Siku's lunch the night before, so the lunch box was grabbed on their mad flight to the front door.

They were less than five minutes from the school when Sikudhani put her hand to her mouth and gasped. "Daddy!"

Hank kept his eyes on the road, but chanced a quick glimpse sideways. "Yes, Sunshine?"

"I forgot! Today is Show an' Tell day, an' I didn't bring anything!" Her little face contorted in preparation for youthful tears. "Everybody is supposed to bring something and I forgot!"

Hank winced. There was no time to turn back to the house now. Irrationally, bemusedly, he thanked providence that they hadn't come up with toilet paper like in that commercial Bobby found so hysterical. He glanced in the back seat to see if there was anything he'd tossed back that she might take with her for Show and Tell. But the back seat was clean. Probably Rogue's doing when she'd borrowed his Miata.

"Oh, my stars and garters," Hank murmured. They were two red lights from the school. "Shall we stop at the five and dime and get you a goldfish?"

"No," Siku said firmly, folding her arms. The impending tears were no longer impending, and her round face was lit in the sunniest smile. "I thought what I want to bring with me."

"What's that?" Hank asked, relieved.

"You, Daddy."

Hank credited himself on not having driven the car off the road.

Hank attempted to protest, but his daughter would hear none of it. "It'll be fun," she insisted with the wide-eyed certainty of a small child. She tugged him resolutely by the hand, pulling on him when he resisted. "Come on, Daddeeeee," she insisted. "Mrs. Hardinge will let me go first then you can go home!"

That turned out to be -- incorrect. As the morning wore on, Hank McCoy became increasingly certain that the serene, beautiful, and pleasant Mrs. Hardinge had a mean streak which she was indulging by allowing the other children to go first, keeping Hank himself in her office with a pot of darjeeling tea, a copy of _People_ magazine, and a pan of warm poori bread.

Hank peered through the observation window.

Joey Babcock had brought a frog he'd caught.

Jenny Greenberg had brought the raw diamonds her brother had sent her from his camping trip upstate at Herkimer.

Pedro Rodriguez had brought homemade chocolate lollipops that he had made himself, "with a little help from my big sister Marta."

Shridhar Brahim had showed the class pictures of his parents' trip to India.

Patty Rafferty had her father's wool cable knit sweater. She swam in it; it was huge on her.

There were six more children, whose names Hank could not remember in his anxiety. Then, finally, it was his turn.

"What'd you bring, Siku? What do you have for show and tell?" The other children's voices were a raucous chorus of magpies.

"I brought --" Siku paused; Hank wondered who had taught her that pregnant pauses were good for dramatic effect, "My daddy! Dr. Henry P. McCoy. He's a mutant, just like me!" She scampered to Mrs. Hardinge's door and reached in. "Come out, Daddy!"

Well, here goes, Dr. McCoy, Hank thought, and stepped out, wearing the black bicycle shorts he customarily wore beneath his trousers -- just in case. He took his daughter's hand and stood, straight, eyes closed.

"Ooooooohhhh...!"

Hank opened his eyes. 'Oooooh?' He looked down. Instead of cringing against the walls, the children had formed a ragged circle around him and were staring up at him with eyes full of wonder. Siku stood in the center with Hank, beaming.

She reached up and tugged on his hand. "Bend down, Daddy. They can't touch you."

Feeling rather like Mrs. Hardinge had drugged his tea -- or perhaps whacked him upside the head with a two by four, Hank McCoy knelt, and extended his arms in a huglike gesture. The children, with the typical, thoughtless enthusiasm that comes so naturally to children -- rushed him. He went down under ten squirming giggling bodies. "Yikes!" he managed, surprised.

"He's soft, like a bunny!" said one little girl, little hands enthusiastically stroking the crown of Hank's head.

A little boy observed "And he's blue like Siku! Is your whole fam'ly blue, Siku? That's so cool! My fam'ly is just the same color as most everybody else...!"

"He's like a great big teddybear," declared another child, flinging small arms around Hank's wide chest.

Hank caught a glimpse of Mrs. Hardinge's smiling face. He heard her voice in his ear, confirming his suspicions about her. "The minds of children are open, like the sky. It takes the prejudices of ignorant adults to wall them behind foolish preconceptions and unenlightened ideas."

Hank nodded his understanding to Mrs. Hardinge. "Tell us about yourself, Dr. McCoy?" she prompted. Hank nodded once again and searched his mind for a story suitable to children. Finding none, he instead pulled open the toybox and began to juggle for the children -- with his feet.

Siku clapped in delight.

"Oh, man -- My dad can't juggle with his feet!" protested Joey Babcock.

"Would you like Dr. McCoy to teach the class today?" Mrs. Hardinge asked with her usual serene smile. She blithely ignored Hank's frantic 'no-no-no-no' gestures.

"YEAH!" came the resounding cry, ten childish voices strong.

Oh, my stars and garters, was Hank's only thought. Then he dove into his own memory, seeking the sorts of intellectual activities with which he might stimulate youthful minds. He began with the old chestnut, "There was a farmer who had a dog, and Bingo was his name, oh -- B I N G O!"

That gave way to "I knew an old lady who swallowed a spider." Hank made shadow animals on the windowshade at the appropriate times, with Siku always getting the line:

"I dunno why she swallowed the fly!" Siku threw wide her hands in a posture of abject confusion and shook her head.

My little future Oscar-winner.

Follow the leader was next. Hank took unfair advantage --and perhaps a tiny bit of revenge upon Mrs. Hardinge -- by leading the kids over the furniture. Most couldn't follow, but they pointed and giggled as Hank crawled across the ceiling.

By the time they had played a rousing game of "I went on a picnic, and I brought.... ", followed by an equally energetic game of 'Simon Says' , all ten children of the small class were completely tuckered out -- their youthful energy finally spent. They'd extended a bit past naptime but Mrs. Hardinge had not wanted to disturb Siku and her father. "You are on a roll," she had declared with a broad smile. Eventually they all had had to take a breather.

By the time the day was over, a yawning and pleasantly exhausted Hank and his daughter headed back to the car. "Did you have fun, Daddy?" Siku asked, clinging to her father's hand.

"That I did, munchkin," he agreed. "Did you?"

"You betcha! I have the coolest daddy in the whole world!" she declared proudly as he fastened the seatbelt around her.

"And I, the most wonderful daughter. " He pulled out into traffic. "Four years old, and you're teaching your big blue old man a thing or two."

The Youth Expansion Montessori school closed that summer, unfortunately. Salem Center was, alas, just too small and encapsulated a community to support it, and none of the surrounding communities wanted to go to the trouble of driving their children to a 'progressive' school when 'perfectly good public schools' would pick up their progeny in yellow buses.

Mrs. Hardinge went back to India, if her letter was to be believed. Hank, however, was quite certain she was spreading her own unique kind of good karma elsewhere. As for Siku, she played often with the other children -- those whose parents hadn't been -- well, weirded out -- by the fact that her father was blue, furry, and brilliant.

"Yo, Hank! Mail call!" called Rogue, flying in from the mailbox. "It's from Mrs. Hardinge!"

Hank raised a brow and accepted the manila envelope. "She returned the remainder of the tuition, and explained what happened with the school...I wonder what it could be?"

One claw sliced open the envelope and he withdrew the contents. "Oh, my stars and garters!" Hank gasped. Rogue peeped over his shoulder and grinned.

Made curious by Hank's reaction, Bobby jogged up to see what Hank held. "Awwwww...." he cooed.

Inside the envelope had been an 8" x 10" glossy colour photograph.

The photograph depicted Hank McCoy, sprawled in peaceful repose. In other words, sound asleep. Sikudhani, likewise asleep nestled in the nook of his arm, her head over his heart. She smiled angelically.

...and occupying every bit of space around him was another one of the children from the day he'd been his little girl's Show and Tell project. Some sucked their thumbs, some clutched handfuls of blue fur. Others just cuddled as if he were the teddy bear they had declared him. "That little dickens," Hank muttered, but his voice rang with respect for the elegant and mysterious Mrs. Hardinge. "I don't even remember having fallen asleep."

The photograph, of course, ended up framed, and hanging on the Wall of Fame, right beside the other X-Men class photos.