Work Text:
Jubilation Lee is too long a name for a mall performer, so she uses Jubilee instead. Harder for the mall goons to track her like that, though she’d be shocked if those guys could track their way out of a paper bag, to be totally honest.
Harder for anyone to make the connection to her family, too. That thought always hurts, a punch to the gut, so she shoves it away each time it comes to her, biting her lip bloody and keeping her eyes wide so she won’t cry.
Jubilee is better, anyway. Jubilee doesn’t sound like a gymnast, a beloved daughter, someone who can be chased and caught and killed. Jubilee sounds like a rockstar, someone taller than a Ferris wheel and brighter than a star. Jubilee sounds like a name in lights.
It means celebration--she learned that in English class last year. She always liked the way words fit together, much better than numbers. Numbers were cold and confusing; words and lyrics, they made things real. Jubilee, the girl with fireworks at her fingertips, feels way realer with her name.
Sometimes she sees kids from her school at the mall, kids who knew Jubilation. She never talks to them, ducking behind pillars to hide. She wonders if they’d even recognize her with her hair cut short. She can’t take the chance, so she watches old friends walk by and feels hollow inside.
I can’t just live here forever, she thinks sometimes, crouched on toilets while security does their last sweep. I can’t eat Food Court leftovers for the rest of my life. I can’t sleep in furniture stores till I’m eighty.
But where would she go?
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When the weird portal opens after those mutants, it’s not even a question. Jubilation fit here, maybe, but Jubliee can’t.