Snippet #1389651

The first thing Gordo does when he makes it back to his room is fall face first right in to his bed, taking in long deep breaths and exhaling slowly. The day was not even a quarter of the way over and already he is sick of this place. He gets the same feeling he got in normal schools even though he had hoped he would get a different vibe considering the sort of people he is around. So why don't you just stir up some trouble? See what the buzz is with the other students.
For a long moment Gordo just lays there, his face buried in to the coolness of the pillow but suddenly his face lifts up and he has a quizzical look in his eyes. That thought wasn't his. Well, it was. He knew he was thinking it... at least, he thinks he was. Rolling off the bed to hop back to his feet, Gordo rubs his face vigorously and walks towards the window, pulling it open and hanging his head slightly out to feel the fresh air. He is sure that the thought was his but it was not his more common diction and the slang had been all wrong.
There is sure to be a telepath or two at this place. Maybe one of them got in to my head? He cannot stop the thought from coming to him and again he cannot help but think about the implications telepathy might have on his reactive adaptation. This was just the sort of environment that he has been looking for in order to better understand his powers and now here he is considering running away before he even has a chance to understand. Gordo quickly begins digging through his bag to grab a few essentials, his class schedule among them, and heads out the door. He may not make it for Swimming class but he'll be there for lunch and then off to Mutant Studies.
As he makes his way downstairs he wonders the best ways he might be able to test out some of the questions he has had about his powers. With out even giving a second guess to that invasive thought from back in his room, Gordo smirks and says to himself, "I s'pose I could always start a little trouble."
He glances down at his schedule to see the name of his teacher in Mutant Studies and feels a strange pang of recognition when he reads Mrs. McAllister-Summers. Summers. He is sure that the name is supposed to mean something to him and he is sure that it was just recently that this information was known to him. He does not contemplate it for long, though as he folds up the paper and stuffs it in to his pocket, shaking the feeling off as some sort of imagined deja vu.