Part 3

The next day, I didn’t see Rose at school, and I started to worry about her. I asked my teacher about it later, and she told me that Rose was transferring to another school. My sadness must have been apparent to her, because she told me Rose and her parents would be back on Friday to work out the details of her transfer, and that I could say goodbye to her then. My heart filled with joy. I could finally tell Rose how I felt about her. And then it hit me. I suddenly remembered where I had seen the ring. It was Rose’s ring, one that she had worn to school almost everyday. When I returned it to her, at least her last memories of me would be fond ones.

The following afternoon, Rose and her father showed up just before school let out. I could hardly wait to see her again, even if it was for the last time. When I got to the conference room, Rose’s father was speaking with our teacher. I walked right up to him and said, “Excuse me, sir?” He looked down at me and said, “What is it, young man?” Holding out the ring, I replied, “Your daughter left this at school two days ago, and I wanted to make sure she got it back.” He stared at the ring for a moment and then smiled. “I think Rose would appreciate it more if you gave it to her yourself. She’s right outside.”

Rose was sitting on the stone steps in front of the school when I found her. She was wearing a dark blue cloak, and the hood was pulled up over her lowered head. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to her and gently tapped her shoulder. She slowly looked up at me, and the sight almost took my breath away. She was even more beautiful up close, even though her face showed no sign of happiness. I spoke hesitantly, trying to find the right words. “I found this at school the other day, and I thought you’d like it back,” I said, producing the ring and offering it to her. She slowly took the ring, staring at me. Then she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. “Thank you so much, Nate,” she said. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

At this point, her father appeared. “Well, Rose, it’s time to go home. It was good to meet you, young man,” he said, shaking my hand. Rose ran up to her father and tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, can Nate come home with us? Please?” And so, after a lot of begging, and a phone call to my mother, we were on our way to Rose’s house.

As soon as we got there, Rose dragged me back to her room, wanting to show me her vast collection of rings from all over the world. Her father traveled immensely, and every time he went somewhere, he brought her back a ring. There were well over 2,000 rings, or, as Rose later told me, “Only fifteen short of a billion!” Every ring was distinct, each with its own inscription in a foreign language. Rose also told me that the black-jeweled ring that she wore everyday was the most special of all her rings. The black jewel was actually opal, her birthstone. As a token of her thanks to me, she gave me a golden ring with my own birthstone, the pearl, in the center. She said that it would guide my life to happiness and success, among other things.

Rose showed me several other remnants of her father’s travels, including foreign clothing, games, and pictures of landscapes from around the world. Never before had I seen such a variety of cultures together in one place, and its safe to say I don’t think I ever will again. I could tell Rose was very proud of her collection, but she didn’t brag in the slightest way. She simply pointed out certain objects and told me where they came from and their cultural significance.

By the time Rose had shown me everything, it was very late, almost after midnight. My mother had arranged for Logan, Prof. Xavier’s student and one of her closest friends, to take me home. Logan wasn’t a very tall man, thought he made up for what he lacked in stature in heart. He was the bravest man I ever knew, never backing down from any challenge, even when the odds were squarely against him. He was what I considered to be my surrogate father, since my own father and I didn’t get along so well.

To be perfectly honest, I think my father sees me as a sort of wedge between him and my mother. She loves us both dearly, but sometimes she centers her every thought on me, which drives him crazy. It tears my mother apart sometimes, the fact that the two people she loves most have a natural tendency to hate each other. I’ve tried to love him, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t, simply because he won’t let me. Despite that, I do respect him. Not everyone can hold a team like the X-Men together, but that’s the only thing I can truly say I admire about him. Our clashes have sometimes ended in violence, and though he has a much greater level of experience, I have the greater amount of raw power, which is usually enough to keep the battle raging until someone breaks us up. My father’s never really been that fond of Logan either, and maybe that’s what makes us so close: a common hatred of Scott Summers.

Logan arrived at Rose’s house at precisely 11:45; he was, if nothing else, always punctual. He tipped his hat to her mother, and shook her father’s offered hand. I knew better than to keep him waiting, and so, with a parting hug from Rose, I went home. I told Logan all about Rose and the things she had shown me, but he only smiled slightly and said, “That’s real nice, kid.” I could tell something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. What I knew of Rose at the time was far from the truth, but it would all be revealed to me soon.

Back at home, I told my mother how I had made a new best friend and all the extraordinary things she had shown me. When I showed her the ring Rose had given me, she smiled and said, “That’s wonderful, sweetie, but it’s time for bed now.” She kissed me goodnight and sent me off to bed, and yet I was sure now that something was wrong. But I was tired, so I fell into a troubled, but deep sleep.