“I’m not going to do that anymore,” Elliot said flatly.
Luke paused for a moment, evidently decided there was no point arguing when Elliot was in a mood, and continued: “I thought I’d see what your classes were like. I didn’t think there would be children crying!”
“Oh yeah, it happens every class,” Elliot lied. “You didn’t think it was funny?”
“No,” Luke said slowly. “Because children were crying.”
“Huh,” said Elliot. “Well, no surprise that you have no sense of humor.”
He busied himself with cleaning the blackboard, the marks of chalk blurring and then lost against the black. He saw that they were fitting back into their usual roles, Elliot making children cry and Luke comforting them. He had enjoyed being the nice one, the one who could afford to be kind. It was easy to be generous, when you had something to give. He missed being happy.
Luke cleared his throat. “About the summer. If you want, I guess it would be okay if—”
“I don’t have any reason to come anymore, do I?” Elliot asked casually.
Luke was silent for a moment, then he laughed shortly. “Wait until you’re asked. I wasn’t inviting you to my place. I was going to say something, um, quite different.”
“Oh?” said Elliot, and left a deliberate, expectant pause for Luke to fill.
Luke did not, but in the pause Elliot found the time to feel ashamed. Luke hadn’t hurt him. Luke hadn’t done anything wrong. It was nice of him, in a misguided way, to take pity on Elliot.
He wanted to be kind to Luke, even if he didn’t feel there was much kindness left in him, and any kindness there was he fiercely wanted to save for himself. But that wasn’t how friendship worked, was it?
“Well, whatever,” said Elliot, more gently. “I misunderstood. Anyway, it would be a bit awkward, wouldn’t it? Better to have some space. And I’ll have a lot to do this summer: get reacquainted with computers and phones and jeans”—Luke made a face—“make some sort of large chart with a life plan on it, possibly using a projector—”
“I don’t think your life plan should include teaching,” Luke remarked blandly.
“You’re hilarious, loser,” said Elliot, rolling his eyes. “Well, see you next year. I have to go see the commander now.”
He headed for Commander Woodsinger’s tower, because he did not want to be instantly caught out in his fib. He went up to the top of the tower and looked outside. He’d been sitting there for a couple of hours, thinking, when he heard the sound of firm footsteps on stone, and looked up to see the dark serious face of the commander.
“Cadet Schafer. A few of the students you were teaching have announced that they are leaving the Borderlands and do not plan to return after the summer.”
“Whoops,” said Elliot. “Sorry ’bout that. I did try to tell you me tutoring was not the best idea in the world.”
“I am glad of it,” said Commander Woodsinger. “It is true that recruits from the other side of the Border are very valuable.”
Elliot nodded. He remembered Commander Woodsinger, the first time he had ever met her, giving money to his teacher so she could test children to see if they could see the wall between them and another world.
“Though they do not like to admit it, many of the proud Borderlands families interbred with the people of the otherlands long ago when there were fewer humans. This means most of them cannot climb the wall from this side. Recruits from the other side mean we always have guards who can travel between the worlds. It has always been our way to find children who can see the Border, and encourage them to adopt Borderlands ways and Borderlands names.”
All his suspicions were proving true. Elliot had been sure there was way more interspecies romance going on than anyone would admit to. He instantly believed the Wavechasers had got their name based on forbidden mermaid love.
“No matter how valuable the recruits are,” continued the commander, “I do not want to have cadets who are not committed to their cause. I am not in the business of trapping children.”
Elliot bit his lip. “I believe that. You’re not. You wouldn’t.”
Others in this world might. He didn’t know what expression he wore, but he guessed how desolate he must look when the commander’s expression changed. He hardly recognized the emotion, it was so unfamiliar on her face. She looked uncomfortable.
“Cadet Schafer, if you come up to my tower for any sort of—reassurance, I have to tell you that I am not a—maternal person. I am a soldier, and I do not desire a personal relationship with any of my cadets.”
He must be so pathetic, to make her feel she had to say that. There was no need: Elliot had never thought she liked him or anything.
“Of course, Commander.”
Commander Woodsinger cleared her throat. “I will see you next year, Cadet.”
She did not wait for a response, but turned and made her way back to her office. Elliot had made no attempt to give one.
He stared out at the expanse of green, at the brimming blue where the mermaids swam and the deeper green of the forests where harpies flew. He thought of the commander saying that nobody understood the otherlands, and thought of everything here that he had not seen. He did not know if it was enough to stay for, mermaids and a challenge.
He’d thought he would always have one reason to stay—but that was not true, because he did not have much anymore.
He saw, down at the dusty ground at the foot of the tower that was their training camp, two figures he could not possibly mistake. As Elliot watched and they walked toward the Trigon pitch, Luke put his arm around Serene’s shoulders. That was not usual for them: Serene might be upset. Elliot had no doubt she would get over it.
The other students who were leaving probably had more to go back to than he did. But if he went back and stayed, he could create a life there. He could build something real in the world where he had been born. He was smart enough to make up for the lost time, he hoped, but if he stayed two more years he did not know if he could do it. Time was passing. He was losing hope and losing ground there, and he did not know what he was doing here. Either way, he would lose.