“My pleasure.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was wondering if you’re going to the Peace Dance next week?”
His smile was both practiced and instinctual. “Undecided. I may be cooking dinner for my sick grandmother that night.” He waited expectantly as Elia’s gaze filled with swooning. “But if I do end up going to the dance, you’ll be the first I ask to go with me.”
She beamed and bounced on her toes for a moment. “Well, I’d say yes,” she said, looking suddenly, briefly bashful. “Just in case you weren’t sure.” Then she turned and practically skipped down the hall.
“Well,” said Carswell, pulling the canister back out of his pocket. “I guess our business is all concluded, then. Like I said, I’ll return your payment in full by second period. Of course, the retail price on this stuff just went up twenty percent, so if you change your mind later, I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge—”
Jules snatched the canister out of his hand. His face was still bright red, his brow still drawn, but the anger had dissolved from his eyes. “If nothing’s changed in another three weeks,” he said, low and threatening, “I’ll be shoving the rest of this cream down your throat.”
Well, most of the anger had dissolved from his eyes, anyway.
But Carswell merely smiled and gave Jules a friendly pat on the chest just as the anthem of the American Republic began to blare through the school speakers. “So glad I could clear things up for you.”
Turning, Carswell waved his wrist over his locker to unlock the ID-coded mechanism and gathered up his things, as polite a dismissal as he could give.
*
He walked into literature class four minutes late, his book bag over one shoulder as he deftly buttoned up his blazer. He slid into the only remaining seat—front row, dead center.
“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Thorne,” said Professor Gosnel.
Crossing his ankles, Carswell tipped back in his chair and flashed a bright smile at the teacher. “The pleasure is all mine, Professor Gosnel.”
She sighed, but he could see the corner of her mouth twitch as she punched something into her portscreen. Within moments, the screens built into the classroom desks lit up with the day’s assignment. Great dramatists of the first century, third era, was emblazoned across the top, followed by a list of names and which of the six Earthen countries each dramatist had hailed from.
“For today, I want everyone to select one artist from this list,” said the teacher, pacing in front of the classroom, “and choose a drama from their body of work that appeals to you. At half past, we’ll split into pairs and you can take turns reading the dramas you’ve found with your partner and discussing how the themes in them relate to our world today.”
A finger tapped Carswell gently at the base of his neck, the universal symbol for “I choose you.” Carswell struggled to remember who had been sitting behind him when he took this seat, and if it was someone he wouldn’t mind being partnered with. Had it been Destiny? Athena? Blakely? Spades, he hoped it wasn’t Blakely. Once she started talking, it was difficult to remember what peace and quiet sounded like.
He slid his gaze to the side, hoping he could catch his mystery partner’s reflection in the windows before committing to the partnership, when his gaze caught on the girl sitting in the seat beside him.
Kate Fallow.
His gaze narrowed thoughtfully.
Despite having been in the same grade since toddler primaries, he doubted that he and Kate had spoken more than fifty words to each other their whole lives. He didn’t think it was anything personal. Their paths just hadn’t crossed much. As evidenced at that moment, she preferred to sit in the front of class, whereas he did his best to end up somewhere near the back. Instead of coming out to sporting events or school festivals, Kate always seemed to rush straight home when classes were over. She was at the top of their class and well liked, but by no means popular, and she spent most lunch hours with her nose buried in her portscreen. Reading.
This was only the second time Carswell Thorne had stopped to ponder one Kate Fallow. The first time, he had wondered why she liked books so much, and if it had anything to do with why he liked spaceships. Because they could take you somewhere far, far away from here.
This time, he was wondering what her math score was.
There was a thud as Carswell settled his chair legs back on the floor and leaned across the aisle. “You probably know who all these writers are, don’t you?”
Kate’s head whipped up. She blinked at him for a moment before her startled eyes glanced at the person behind her, then back to Carswell.
He grinned.
She blinked. “Ex-excuse me?”