As mush as I don't really like Leona, i can't say I m comfortable with all this bullying to her. Edric, grow up and treat her better! :P

Illyana was finished with her Tuesday class and was rummaging through her backpack, looking for a specific notebook. It was the one she wrote all her lyric ideas on when she was feeling inspired, and she’d had it since she was in junior high. Bent, faded, and worn to all Hells—it contained her joy, her sorrow, and her fears all in the form of poetry and phrases, spurred on by each emotion. She had brought it along with her to Pandora just in case inspiration should strike but hadn’t gotten a chance to write in it. Currently, she was feeling cheerful, an emotion she hadn’t experienced very much of a lot for the past few weeks. She felt a steady optimism spreading throughout her; as if maybe it wasn’t all bad and there was a sliver of light in what seemed to have been an endless tunnel of darkness.

Now only if she could find that damned notebook and write some of this stuff down!

A loud ’thump’ came from above and made her stop searching, tilt her head back and stare at the ceiling in a scrutinizing manner. The floor above was where the guys at the community college kept residence. What the heck was going on up there?


She shrugged it off and continued to look through the outer pockets on her backpack but was again, startled by another loud ’thump.’

She took in a frustrated breath before propelling herself off the bed and going to check out what or who was making such a ruckus. She grabbed the stair rail and swung herself 180 degrees around, taking two stairs at a time to the next floor. She saw some boxes in the hallway, right outside of the room above hers.

Moving boxes.

Suddenly Franz Schoulsburg stepped out of the room with another of the same in his arms.

“What are you doing?!” she asked with wide eyes.

He looked at her with a blank expression before unceremoniously dropping the box next to the others, which caused the loudest ’thump’ yet, “Moving out.”


Of course, he didn’t explain why. He never seemed to be the type to elaborate in any way—only concerned with answering as simply and succinctly as possible before moving on from the conversation. The shiner he sported didn't escape her notice and she wondered if that had anything to do with it. He disappeared back into his room and Illyana peered in after him. His room was bare bones, if he ever had anything on the walls, they were stripped off. The only things left were the furniture the room had come with, smaller boxes and some piles of books. She noticed a double bass leaning against the mirrored closet. She had forgotten he had even played it, only seeing it in action once upon a time at the Battle of the Bands.

He put a pile of books in a box, ripped a line of packing tape from a roll, and closed it up. She had to wonder why he was moving out but didn’t know if they had enough of a rapport that she could ask that and get an answer.

He stopped in the doorway, seeing her curiously looking into the room. “You have a vehicle, don’t you?”

Her gaze snapped up from studying the room to him, “Yeah, a Jeep, why?”

He seemed to clench his jaw before mumbling, “Could I ask a favor?”

Illyana raised her brows at the fact he was asking for a favor, but she knew immediately what it pertained to considering the prerequisite. Many people in Kashmire didn’t bother buying their own vehicles because the public transit systems were well-maintained and affordable. However, no one would use a taxi or bus to move their belongings from one place to another. Illyana didn’t have anything expensive or fancy but the old Jeep got the job done and that’s why her driving services had been requested on many occasions before from people who knew her. She would have been annoyed any other time but she owed Franz this—it was the least she could do after he let her rant out her frustrations at him. He absorbed it and yet deflected it in such a perfect way that she felt better and he didn’t feel worse. Plus, if she spent some more time with him, maybe he would explain to her why he was moving out of the dorms. Probable explanations flashed through her head—he’d failed his module, he’d given up on school, he’d run out of money…

She ended up nodding as he sheepishly asked if she could drive him and his belongings to his Mother’s home.

“You need help carrying things?” she entered the room and asked, looking around at what was left.

“I’d appreciate it,” he admitted.

She took a seat on his bed and peered into a box, “You have a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“What’s this?” she reached into the box she had been looking into to find a mask of some sort. It had a bad-ass pattern on it. She pulled the straps out and placed them over her ears then turned to look at herself in the mirror on the outside of the closet.

“It’s something I don’t need anymore,” Franz replied evenly, though, in that moment he reached up to touch the side of his face, nearly skirting the edges of the shadow on his eye, “keep it if you like it.”


She slipped the mask down to her chin to speak clearly, “It looks cool, thanks!”

He shrugged and picked up a box, nodding toward one at his feet as one she could carry.

“Oof, more books?” she asked lifting it up, and it was heavier than it had appeared. He made a half-smile but didn’t verbally confirm it.

“So…” she trailed off, looking down at her feet to make sure she didn’t miss any of the stairs as they descended to the first floor, “Why are you leaving?”

Franz slowed his pace, seeming to think of how to word his response. The dude was so guarded, but he’d always been like that from what Illyana could remember. Quiet and unnoticeable, that was until he went and bashed Nick’s head into a tree when they were nine years old. He'd been in a lot of fights, and it looked like not much had changed. She avoided him pretty much after that but it wasn’t hard to avoid someone who also wanted to be avoided.

“I’m moving back home to take care of my mother. She’s sick,” he said by the time they were at the bottom of the staircase. She certainly didn’t expect that in her probable reasons for his departure. She felt bad though, that his loved one was ill and the burden fell on him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? It’s not your problem.”

She stopped walking and twisted her mouth up in annoyance before blurting, “It just sucks! Can’t I sympathize with how much it sucks?”

Franz arched a brow and thought about it before nodding. Then he asked, “Can we stop off at a pawn shop afterward?”

She did a double take, “Why? What are you pawning?”

“My bass. I don’t play it anymore—might as well see if someone else wants to and get some money for it.”

Illyana would never be able to part from her instrument, even if she was desperate for money.

Illyana set down the box she was carrying, as an idea struck her, “Wait, I have something I can pawn as well.“ She ran to her room, deposited her new mask on the top of her nightstand, and pulled open a drawer below it to retrieve the item in question.

"My jerk-face ex gave this to me. I think I could maybe get something out of it. What do you think?” Illyana fastened a necklace around her neck and picked up the box again as she emerged from her room. Franz had seen that piece of jewelry somewhere before, yet couldn’t remember when.

“Doesn’t hurt to try but I’ve seen that necklace before. Things always lose value if they aren’t unique.”


“Really? Weird. He said it was an heirloom that belonged to his grandmother,” Illyana frowned but then it crashed into melancholy, “Though it was probably a lie. He never asked for it back and you’d think it’d be important if it was an heirloom. Maybe I won’t get much for it after all.”

Franz stopped abruptly, her words pricking a sense of déjà vu in him and he realized why. He took a closer look at the jewelry around her neck and blinked a few times before asking, “What was your ex’s name again?”

She’d probably said his name at least ten times to Franz in the periodic vents that she was allowed to throw at him but to be fair, it probably wasn’t all that interesting for him to take note of specifics, especially if she spoke so fast that her angry words slurred together and often transitioned into Espanian—the language originating and prevalently spoken in the regions south of Kashmire.

“Adam,” she replied as she set down her box in order to take the necklace off, now less sure she would get anything for it–she stuffed it in her back pocket and resumed carrying his box of books but not without another grunt of effort because of the weight of it.

He’d been so preoccupied with his mother and the bakery that he missed connecting the facts: Illyana’s ex-boyfriend, the one that had cheated on her, was the one and the same man that was now Fauna’s boy toy of a 'friend'. It was his sister’s choice to be with an asshole, and it was par for the course but Franz didn’t believe she was the type to continue to be romantically invested in someone if she knew they already had a girlfriend at the time.

“What’s wrong?” Illyana slowed her pace because Franz had stopped walking entirely. He didn’t usually lie, he didn’t see a point in it—but considering, Illyana had always been very angry when talking about Adam and if Franz told Illyana that his own sister was most likely the girl Adam had cheated on Illyana with, he could assume from previous experiences that Illyana would become angry again and possibly revoke her favor to move his boxes—which he needed right now.

“Nothing,” he said, feeling tired after coming to the conclusion and a bit bad for lying to keep Illyana in a good mood so that she would cooperate.

Illyana gave him a questionable look. She didn’t know him very well, so took him at his word.

“Illyana. Sanchez.”

She heard her name said purposefully, pointedly, and turned to see who had spoken it. Her cheeks suddenly felt warm and trepidation crept up her legs, rooting her in place. Her eyes widened in shock; she’d been dreading this moment, wondering if it would ever happen. Just her rotten luck that it did.


Franz could see she was in distress, and it was quite a drastic reaction just from her name being spoken by someone. In this case, the someone looked to be a man in a tailored suit and jacket—not old, not even his middle years yet—but some years older than them at least.


Words didn’t find their way to her as she stared back at Tony, the man she had met at the casino, who stood assuredly in front of his expensive sports car. Somehow he had found her. He didn’t look as angry as she thought he would be considering what had gone down the last time they saw each other. His lip had healed though, so the damage she had dealt was minimal.

“Excuse me, but who are you?” Franz cut through the silence.

“Me? I’m a business risk assessor,” he replied and Illyana dropped the heavy box in a quick movement, her frown plunging into a glower and her hands thrown in the air with frustration.

The movement caught both men’s attention and Illyana pointed at Tony with a growing rage, “You are not a business risk assessor! You are some sleazy casino manager who can’t keep his hands to himself!”


Tony looked taken aback and then let out an abrupt, amused, laugh and took a step forward. Franz set down his box, ready to fight if need be but Illyana was the one who put up her fists, “Come any closer and I’ll punch your lights out again.”

He did stop advancing. Her threat had merit.

“You really don’t know who I am, do you?”

“Does it matter?” she growled.

“Our families go way back,” he said and then cautiously reached out, holding a business card he had plucked from the inside pocket of his jacket. His statement startled her and she swiped the card out of his hand after a moment of consideration—to see that his business title really was what he claimed it to be. What he had said made her wonder if their meeting at the casino was happenstance, for what were the chances of her running into someone who knew her family? Well, what family that she had left in any case…


She re-read the name on the card and didn’t recognize it one bit. Her facial expression told as much.

“Surely your mother must have told you…”

“Told me what?” she snapped and then clamped down on her burning curiosity, shaking her head, reminded of his unsavoriness. Before he could answer that she snapped out—“Look guy, all I know is that you are bad news, I don’t like you, and don’t trust you as far as I could throw you. Just leave me alone.”

Tony looked her over and then nodded with slight acquiescence. “If that's what you really want, I will. It’s just a shame you don’t want an opportunity to take back what was yours, you have the same fire in your heart as he did.”

That burning curiosity only grew into a wildfire with the simple pronoun. He turned away from them, honoring her request with a slight hand raised in farewell. It tore at her so badly. A part of her was thankful he was leaving but the more risky, rash, and short-sighted portion of her mind all but made her blurt in question, “as who!?”

Tony stopped and glanced over his shoulder, flashing that same handsome, yet infuriating grin that led her to believe that he knew much more than she did, “Your father, of course.”

Franz was the only voice of reason that prevented Illyana from running after Tony to demand more of an explanation. Franz reminded her that she had agreed to help him and she wasn’t the kind of person to flake out on a friend. She had to think about that because she didn’t know she considered Franz a friend until just now—but she supposed that is what he was to some degree…for knowing hardly anything personal about him.

Tony drove away without so much as looking back at them but he did keep that knowing smile as if he knew she would seek him out for answers soon.

Franz loaded his boxes into the back of her Jeep as Illyana leaned against the driver-side door, wondering about Tony and what he had said. She didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but what seemed a lifetime later she felt the body of her vehicle lurch as Franz fell against the Jeep next to her.

“So…” he said, seeming to struggle with a thought before finishing, “What’s the deal with your father?”


Illyana blinked a few times, seeming to come out of a daze, from trying to reach into the absolute depths of her memory for anything about the man but came up empty, “He died when I was a baby, but it feels like a part of me has always been missing. I never knew him.”

Franz nodded and it occurred to Illyana that Franz just might feel the same way. She knew what they said about him, about his mother—but never had given it much thought. She turned her head, expecting to see his usual blank expression but there was a definite sadness in his eyes. “You know how it feels, don’t you?”

Franz put his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped slightly, and nodded.

Illyana knew her father’s name, and how he died, but other than that, all she had were the memories of others in her family to piece together what type of man he was. From what she knew, it was very little. He was tall, and strong, loved them fiercely, and put a lot of effort into making sure the family was provided for, but her mother couldn’t seem to talk about him without getting emotional. So Illyana had learned to stop asking.

“I’m sorry,” she said and noticed Franz frown slightly, again, at the fact she was apologizing for something out of her control. He didn’t say anything but only nodded in agreement because he knew why she was apologizing and it did suck.

She flipped the business card over and over in her hand, going from the stark black to stark white; the logo of a business, to the letters spelling out a name–Antony Biacotti–who was a man that for some reason unknown to her, had a vested interest in her and her family. That ominous shiver she had felt the last time she had seen him in Pandora felt more than warranted now.

Your ability to churn out content is admirable, and it's always pleasant to see a new addition to Nest of Vipers.

Leona's chapter is a bit telling of the internal struggle she's having. It seems her ego and ambition is at odds a bit with having to play second fiddle to someone who's star shines just a little brighter. Her headstrong personality is one that's admirable in general, but could very quickly prove to be problematic for her goals. I thought Luke's chastisement and reinforcement that her job is to get along with Edric and perform felt very honest, but also demoralizing for her, who's trying to figure out where she stands in this crazy industry. The little aside she has in the bathroom while she chats with Antoine and reminisces about the Crown of Ravens more fully outlines the struggle she's having between past, present and future. She's beginning to tread into the "how far will I go for fame?" territory, and this is just the start. I'm sure there's a lot of conflict and drama ahead for her.

Franz and Illyana are a unique pair with pretty clashing personality types, but both of them are in a state of transition, so it seems fitting to frame them together in this most recent chapter. A bunch of plot threads are tied together in this section, as well as laying the groundwork for potentially big story elements, so I look forward to see where they go.

Always a pleasure to read, and please keep up the good work!

Bbostic8's comment covers all of my thoughts about the last chapters. I like how your characters are not static at all, in fact the character arcs in the last two chapters were very touching and felt real. We got to see Leona, a self centered aspiring singer - questioning the path she chose over her loved ones, Franz had this epiphany that being honest to the point of being cruel, is not always the best way to interact with others and Ily (one of my favorites) questions her strength to deal with a very painful part of her past. Those two chapters were very deep but not boring at all Your small details when you describe feelings or situations are really impressive!

Nick was musing. He mused about the phrase ‘Nick of time’–the first reason being that his name was in it. The second reason was because he had accrued enough real simoleons to cover the tuition he owed if he were to stay a student at Sim State, on the last day he had left to pay it. ‘Nick of time’ indeed.

Fight nights kept growing, both in crowd and fighter roster size, and now was collectively referred to as the Nest of Vipers on account of all the fighters taking on snake aliases. He’d even met high-rolling gamblers interested in betting on winners and bringing in more money. They had yet to implement a process but it looked, for lack of a better adjective–hella promising. It all was going in the direction Cain had predicted, ever since the first night. Nick still had a worry though, that if it grew too big and too fast, the law would get involved and shut it down. More than that, shut him down. Then where would he be? Jail, most likely.

“Nicholas?”

He stopped musing and noticed his mother was crossing his path. How random?

“Mom?”


She looked puzzled to see him but he was even more puzzled–what was she doing on campus? Why was she heading toward where he just came from?

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart,” she smiled and stepped forward to hug him but he evaded it and put on a frown. He was on guard–suddenly suspicious because she usually took his father’s side in arguments and that meant that she had agreed to let Elm take away the means for Nick’s higher education.


Her resulting expression of hurt at him avoiding her embrace stung him more than he would have thought but he pushed past it, “What are you doing here?”

She sighed and pulled out a piece of paper from her purse; a check. “It’s payment for your tuition. I was going over some of our financial records the other night and saw–well it doesn’t matter what I saw–I’m fixing this.”

She moved forward, presumed to go pay the university but Nick held out his arm to halt her and said quietly, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But–”

He took the check out of her hand and looked at it. Plumbobs, college was expensive. He found it ironic that one of his father’s campaign promises was to make college education more affordable when he tried using money to influence Nick’s choice about college–to either become a lawyer or not go at all.

Now, Nick could do what he wanted.

His mother gasped as he abruptly tore the check into shreds, leaving him with a fist full of paper bits.

“Nicholas!”

He threw them into a nearby trash bin along the walking path, “I appreciate what you tried to do Mom, but I can take care of myself.”


She seemed absolutely shocked and bewildered by her son’s behavior. He had torn up a check for no insignificant amount of money. She could only stare at him as though he were crazy and to both their surprise, tears began to leak into her eyes.

Of course, he wasn’t a complete monster–and made a move to comfort her immediately. Unlike him, she accepted a hug without question. He surmised that she was sad because she believed he was throwing away his future and he didn’t know how he could tell her that he wasn’t, without the fact of how he had managed to come up with the money.

“It’s okay,” he heard himself say and hugged her tighter as she cried into his shoulder, her purse dropping from her hand as it dangled hopelessly, “It will be all right, Mom.”


He didn’t expect her to get so worked up over this. Harmony Calhoun, the Steel-faced woman–that’s what the media called her as they took pictures of her standing by Elm’s side–not with a fake smile of a politician’s wife but a sullen, strict look that cooled everyone around her. She had been a public educator for many years, eventually securing a spot as the school’s principal, so had to develop that tough exterior. She was firm but she wasn’t unfeeling.

She shook her head, unconvinced of his words. It was unspoken but then he knew, he just knew that his father had done something to wear down her resolve. How she could stand being married to such an asshole for so many years was something he often wondered about.

“Let’s get something to eat?” Nick suggested, pulling away and looking her over. When did threads of silver start appearing in her hair? When did that crinkle around her golden eyes become so deep and prominent?

He hadn’t visited home in a long while, he didn’t like going back there and always found an excuse to stay away. It’d be different if his grandparents were still alive–but they had passed in recent years, and he didn’t like going back, knowing they weren’t there to greet him with smiles and hugs.

But then it struck him, that while his father didn’t care about Nick’s absence, other members of his family might miss him just as much as he missed Kimmy and Matthew Hart.

His mother nodded in agreement about getting food and wiped away any loose tears remaining, then reached down to collect her purse.

Nick led the way down the sidewalk, keeping his silence measured for he didn’t want to say anything more to upset her. In fact, he wouldn’t know what to say anymore—he probably stopped confiding in her about the time he was in high school when he kept getting grounded for stupid things by his father and she didn’t stand up for Nick–just went along with it to avoid more confrontation.

They entered Joe’s Diner. It was one of those university establishments that had been around for a generation at least. The door jingled when a customer entered, greeted by a soda counter and a row of double-seated booths against a bright red wall with silver paneling. Very retro with a sense of nostalgia though many now had never experienced it before coming to college. Since it was open past midnight, many students could be found there studying in the early dark hours, cramming for an exam while cramming a burger down their mouth.

Nick and his mother were seated, and Nick ordered two burgers. Hamburgers were Joe’s s specialty. His mother didn’t object. He didn’t like the silence, not with her–had he been away so long they had forgotten how to talk to each other?

“Mom, I gotta say, I’m digging your hairstyle today. Buns are where it’s at.“

She looked mildly perplexed at his statement, as if no one had complimented her on her hair in years or rather, she had worn it that way for years and wondered why it earned her a compliment now. Despite her puzzlement, she smiled and said, "Thank you, sweetheart.”

But then with a quick flip of his head, as if to present himself–it was made evident it was a compliment more to Nick himself as his long hair was bundled up in its usual hair tie.

He knew she didn’t prefer the look, but she smiled at his quip nonetheless and repeated a sentiment she had been saying since he was in high school, "Your hair is out of control, Nicholas.”

“It is not,” he disagreed and smoothed his hand over the top of his head to check, it was all pulled back tight, no strands popping out haphazardly. He had noticed though, as he grew it out, that he used more and more shampoo every time he showered. He bet that the next words out of her mouth were for him to go get a haircut. He could almost see the thought form in her head as her brow crinkled.

“You could do with a haircut,” she suggested and he mentally patted himself on the back for correctly guessing, but thankful he didn’t owe himself money for both simultaneously losing and winning the bet he made with himself.


He smirked with defiance, “Why? Women really like my long hair.”

“Oh really?” she arched a brow and he immediately regretted bringing up that subject because she followed up with, “And when are you going to bring any of these so-called ‘women who like your long hair’ over so I can meet any of them?

He let out a nervous laugh, waving away her question, “They aren’t the type one takes home to meet one’s parents but I promise they exist!”

His mother pressed her lips in disapproval, which he knew she would do. She was at the age where she would like to see her sons to be on the path toward steady relationships. With Kit being only fifteen years old–he wasn’t ready for commitment. Shane was about as emotionally intelligent as the robots he built, so there was hardly a chance for him to catch anyone’s fancy. That left Nick being the only son to land a significant other and while he had plenty of fish in the sea to choose from, he wasn’t all thrilled at the idea of getting into a serious relationship; college was the time for fun and he had the rest of his life to live–to find that ‘special someone’ if they even existed.

He jolted forward suddenly reminded of something that he was supposed to ask his mother about, “Hey, Mom–do you think you could ask Dad about something for me?”

She seemed surprised at the urgency of his request and asked, “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine but I wanted to show some of my art at the Harvest Gala. Dad could probably make that happen…”

Their burgers arrived then and he had to put a hold on that thought while they ate. The burger was damn good–juicy and had a charbroil taste, smothered in ketchup, mustard, and topped with tomato. It was an early dinner for him but he had a light lunch and was feeling hungry anyway. He hoped the food would make his mom feel better, it always made him feel better.

He glanced up and saw her eating eagerly as he was and nearly laughed. He’d never seen her eat like that before. She was usually careful about what she ate–he’d seen her with granola, salads, and other healthy foods that she chewed precisely after every bite. He realized, he probably hardly knew her real character, locked away behind that steel-faced persona she had maintained, even at home.

Why did she hide?

“You, uh…really like that burger, huh?” he swallowed a bite and said with amusement.

“Are you kidding? I love Joe’s burgers,” she said and took another happy, sloppy, bite.

“Since when do you eat here?”

“I too, went to Sim State, once upon a time–” she swiveled her head from side to side, looking at the walls with a nostalgic smile on her face, "and I’m amazed that this diner looks the same–it’s like stepping back in time.”

“Really?”

“Yes, your father and I came here often. We’d get dinner, drink a few beers, and talk about everything from philosophy to politics–and I hung on every word,” she smiled wistfully but it faded a moment later, “He was very charming back then.”



Nick restrained his eyes from rolling but ended up frowning slightly, “So, he’s not anymore?”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped, matching his frown until it wavered and dissolved into melancholy.

His expression lifted and turned to concern, “Something happened, didn’t it? Something with Dad?”

She didn’t answer right away, seeming to weigh her words as she focused somewhere else than Nick. Finally, she answered, “We had a fight–and he thought it was best if I didn’t accompany him to a fundraising function tonight.”

Nick had never seen his parents fight before, never even heard of it–thought it was pretty much impossible from the way they stood united all those years. To hear his mother admit that such a fight happened was as rare as seeing a unicorn. He honestly didn’t know what to say after such a truth.

“Sounds like…you could use a drink,” Nick waved over the waitress and promptly ordered two beers despite the shocked look on his mother’s face at that suggestion. He knew she drank, he’d seen the empty wine bottles as a kid–and the full ones stashed up in the cabinets out of his reach.

The beers were uncapped and set before them; Nick picked his up and held it out to her as if he were toasting. She hesitantly picked it up and did the same.

“To Joe’s,” he grinned and clinked his bottle against hers, which caused her to laugh, “May it exist another 30 years.”

“To Joe’s,” she repeated with a smile and took a swig at the same time he did. If he had somehow managed to time travel and told his eighteen-year-old self that one day he would be drinking beer with his mother, his teenage self would have called him crazy and a liar. But there he was, twenty-two years old and drinking beer with his mother.

“Oh wow, I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had a beer,” she said immediately after tasting it and looked at the back of the label.


“Probably since you went here,” Nick joked, recalling her words from earlier.

She rolled her eyes and took another drink.

As she drank, she became more and more forthcoming–talking about her college days, her job and all the snotty pre-teens she had to deal with, her annoyance at how the media portrayed her now that her husband was running for public office–and it amazed Nick to see his mother so candid about life for once.

They had been there so long, chatting and ordering beers that it was now evening.

“What did you and Dad fight about?” Nick finally let his curiosity get the best of him and asked. He was done with his third drink and had set the beer bottle on the tabletop. Funnily enough, he was barely feeling it, college had done wonders for his tolerance.

“Your tuition.”

It was a good thing Nick was done with his beer for if he would have had any in his mouth he would have spit it out in utter surprise. His mind was blown.

While it was rare to see a unicorn, it was rarer yet to know of a fight between his parents that pertained to their eldest son. He thought they had always been on the same page concerning him–his hair was too long, his eyebrow piercing looked unprofessional, art was not a valid career path, he would make a better lawyer with his smartass mouth, and he deserved to be grounded for tricking his uncle into reading Marilyn Manson lyrics at his Grams’ funeral. Okay, but assessing that situation now, he agreed that he definitely deserved to be grounded for it. His eighteen-year-old self would have called him a traitor, that is if he managed to go back in time somehow. He really liked musing on that hypothetical.

Now he felt a little bad for assuming his mother had allowed his father to take away that money for tuition without a fight–but to be fair she’d never give him reason to believe anything else.

“Speaking of…“ her voice turned a bit harder, “how did you manage to get the money to pay it?”

Nick cringed inwardly because he was dreading that question. He had thought of an answer though, “I sold all my art.”

Now it was her turn to look like her mind was blown, and honestly, if someone really had bought his art for that amount, it would have blown his mind too.

“If you sold all your art…then what are you showing at the Harvest Gala?” she asked slowly while her amazement turned into a puzzled frown. Damn, nothing got past her even when she was buzzed.

“I…” he started but picked up his bottle and shook it to hear nothing but drops left, trying to stall as he thought of how to reply, “I’m working on new paintings that I’ll have done by the time the Gala rolls around. I figured it would be good exposure. That’s why I need you to ask Dad.”

He’d finally gotten around to bringing that up again.

She put her finger to her lips thoughtfully, “How about you come home this weekend and ask him yourself?”


“Mom,” Nick groaned and placed his head into his hand, trying his best to give her pleading eyes, “You have to talk him into it, you know he won’t go for it otherwise. He likes to undermine me.”

“I’d say like father, like son in that respect,” she mumbled before taking another drink and it made Nick furious. He did not appreciate being likened to his father. He’d done so much to try and distance himself, and distinguish himself as the opposite of Elm Calhoun–even going so far as using her maiden name to hide the relation from anyone he introduced himself to.

She noticed his expression and explained, “You push his buttons every chance you get. You quit the Greek Society–and while taking away your tuition was a bit extreme–he pulled a bunch of strings to get you at the top of the waiting list for his legacy fraternity. You don’t show him any respect–”

Nick didn’t want to listen to this. The night was suddenly soured with this talk of his father. His father ruined everything, and now she was taking his side again. He jumped up and quickly paid the dining bill at the front, leaving his mother behind–too angry to offer to walk her back to her car.

He heard the quick clicking of her heels behind him, and then a shrill shout of “Nicholas Alexander Calhoun, stop walking away from me this instant!”


If anyone was out and about, they had to have heard it. He’d bet everyone inside Joe’s could hear it as well. He did stop but he didn’t face her.

“I didn’t quit the frat to just annoy him,” Nick sighed, trying to control his growing rage just remembering that last phone conversation with the man. He knew his mother was just behind him as there were no more clicking sounds. “I bet he didn’t tell you the reason.”

“Enlighten me,” he heard her demand in that same hard tone.

He turned around to face her with a scowl, “The frat’s president was drugging the drinks at parties, to take advanatge of women, and when I called him out on it, he gave no indication he was going to stop. He still does it, I’ve seen him do it out at the bars–”

Nick had to swallow another bout of rage, remembering how badly Illyana was affected and how scared he had been for her. It wasn’t right at all, “So I could not, in good conscience, stay in the Geek Society, especially after I explained this to Dad and he told me to accept it and get over it.”

Nick had to grit his teeth as he quoted his father, forcing that skeevy phrase out between his lips. He noticed his mother was matching his scowl, coming to the same realization.

Now, could she understand why Nick couldn’t respect his father? How could he when his father thought something like that was acceptable behavior? His mother didn’t say anything in response, but she looked angry…and now very tired as well as she mulled over his words.

“I’ll have words with him. I’ll tell him about your art and the Harvest Gala but in return for that favor, I want you to come home–we’re having an election party this weekend. It would be nice if we could all be together again.”

“Mom…please–”

“Kit misses you, I miss you. So, don’t come for him–do it for us. Please, sweetheart?”

A tight ball of some kind of anxiety formed in his chest as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. It wasn’t often his mother begged anything of him and he did owe her if she was to put in a word for him to show his art at the Gala. It was fair, but he didn’t look forward to it at all.

“Fine,” he sighed with an air of defeat, “I’ll come home this weekend.”

I realized I never commented on this chapter in all this time!

I love the change of pace this chapter offers. Usually it's Fritz who has contemplative asides with his mother, but it's very revealing about one's character, I think, to remove them from their typical social environment and lay them bare and alone before their parents. I walked away from this chapter really intrigued by Nick's mom. She seems like a rich and vibrant person under all that restraint and invented personality. I'd love to see more of her, and of the other characters' families.

“Alanna…”

The way he said her name was delightfully lascivious. It rolled off his tongue, originating from his voice which was as deep as a chasm. Instead of the indifferent, impersonal, tone that usually marked his words–there was a myriad of emotion caught in it. Adoration. Longing. Sincerity. He didn’t need to say anything more. Franz approached her, swept her off her feet as easily as if she was a piece of paper, and allowed her to taste that voice of his. He was strong, warm, and in that moment, she knew he loved her.


“Three pints of blood.”

Alanna blinked.


She was no longer wrapped up in the scene her imagination had conjured. Instead, she found herself at her Wednesday afternoon class in the lecture hall. The professor had brought in a fake cadaver to demonstrate whatever he was teaching that day.

“This is how much a body loses and then goes into level 4 hemorrhage shock. A transfusion must happen or else the patient will die,” her professor reached into the cadaver and yanked out a plastic heart that was apparently made of some kind of squishy material as he squeezed it. Of course, no blood or other bodily fluids seeped out but it got the point across, “the heart can’t pump fast enough to replenish lost plasma at that point.”

Alanna had been finding herself drifting more and more into daydreams as of late. She was usually alert–taking notes, and asking questions. She was ashamed to admit it, but she didn’t even know entirely what the professor was talking about now because had started out the lecture on blood pathogens. She looked down at her notebook, and saw all she had been doing was etching hearts in the margins and had incomplete notes but for one clear line reading ‘blood should stay in the body’

She sighed and glanced at the clock on the back wall and saw it was already time to go! Lectures sure did fly by when her mind was racing about other things.

“Be sure to read the section on blood types, transfusions, and diseases before the next session,” the professor reminded the class as they began to pack up their books and bags.


Alanna stayed seated for a few more moments, still musing that it was no surprise the predominant ‘thing’ on her mind was her best friend. Dreaming up scenarios of confessions of love, either by both or one of them. If not that, it was imagining their first kiss. Alanna had kissed boys before…well rather a boy. However, that was when she was 15 and it wasn’t serious. What she felt for Franz now, was unlike any other feeling in her body she had ever experienced.

She was in love with him.

After talking to her brother more about it, without naming names, she had come to the conclusion it had to be love. Nothing had driven her heart to beat so fast or feel so tight in her chest just from thinking about someone. She could usually navigate her thoughts with clarity but now they were just a disorganized jumble injected with a heavy dose of feelings as soon as she thought about Franz.

“Oh, Miss Thackery!” the Professor called as she slipped her backpack straps over her shoulders. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw him gesturing for her to join him at the floor where he stood. She nodded and joined him next to the cadaver model, while her classmates shuffled out of the hall and onto their next classes or naps.

“What do you need, Professor?” she asked curiously, hoping her lack of focus was not noticeable or causing an issue. Maybe it was a good thing she had never been so in love before, because she didn’t see how she could have completed high school if she had been struck with such a distracting affliction.

Her professor didn’t seem at all offended she hadn’t asked a single question during the lecture, he instead began speaking with great animation, “The medical studies program will be taking applications here in the next few weeks for students interested in doing their next semester abroad. Only a handful are selected and I think you would make an excellent candidate and would be willing to endorse you.”

Alanna beamed, feeling very flattered that her professor would not only single her out to tell her about the program but endorse her as well.

“I’m honored! What does it consist of? Where would I go if chosen?”

"It varies from year to year–the committee is still finalizing the location, however it’s a great opportunity few get to have, and I’d ask you to consider it. Not only would you be able to continue your studies but receive hands-on experience in helping patients in another area of the world!”


“That sounds amazing! Yes! I will definitely apply for it when I see the announcement. Thank you for letting me know about it,” Alanna’s smile grew even wider as she left the lecture hall and emerged into the building lobby. She took a moment to sit down and giddily think about travelling out of the region, being immersed in another culture while helping those who needed it. She pulled out her phone, immediately checking her text messages to see if Franz had sent anything and to her delight there was one unread message from an hour before but she hadn’t seen it since she had been in class. She hadn’t heard from him since she had visited him at his dorm and eagerly pressed the view button.

Franzster: Hey, thanks for the flowers. Mom really loved them.

She flashed a grin at her phone screen, even more delighted to hear that her flowers were appreciated. She had decided to send them over after hearing about Ms. Schoulsburg being in the hospital. She still was very devastated that his mother was ill and that their family bakery was going to be sold. She flashed a grin and typed out a response before she knew Franz had a chance to turn off his phone and therefore, not respond for a few hours.

Alanna Thackery: I’m so glad! How is she doing? How are you?

She tapped her foot, hoping he was around his phone to answer. She hadn’t realized until the last couple of days but she really hadn’t talked to him all that much since school started compared with previous years–so made a mental note to reach out more often and not get as lost in studying as she had been. Her phone made a noise, indicating that it received a text and she crossed her leg over the other, smiling as she opened the reply from Franz.


Franzster: She’s still there. Hopefully, they will let me take her out this weekend. Sorry, but I have to go. I am pulling all the shifts at the bakery this week in her absence.

Alanna Thackery: Hopefully! I’ll chat with you later. Have a great day!

She put her phone back into her pocket as she stood up, feeling slightly disheartened they couldn’t continue their chat. She could always retreat into her thoughts-turned-daydreams and imagine what else they could talk about but it wasn’t the same. She needed to try and concentrate anyway. She decided to head over to the campus library, she had a few books she’d been meaning to check out for her studies and she had a whole section to read before next class, as the professor had assigned.

Alanna thought that maybe, she had enough books as she straightened her shoulders and climbed the stairs to the upper floor of the library, the weight of her backpack nearly pulled her backward. She needed to remember to empty her bag before her next class, otherwise there’d be no more room left!


She came upon the bookshelf that supposedly contained the title she had been wanting to check out when she noticed a familiar redhead sitting at the study table directly across from it.

“How’s your robot holding up?” She approached the table and crossed her arms; she tried not to let any enmity seep into her words.


Shane seemed to jump at being addressed publicly, coming out of a particular intense stare of boredom or so it seemed. He had a blank piece of loose-leaf paper in front of him. If he was doing a writing assignment, he was failing miserably.

The redhead turned his bored stare to Alanna and quirked a brow as if to ask her why she bothered addressing him, “It’s just fine.”

“Good,” she said a bit indignantly, because if anything went wrong with it, she had no doubt Shane would have blamed her for it. She was still miffed that he hadn’t thanked her for staying to help the other night. She figured he was a bit like his father in that respect.

She’d been exposed to the Calhouns because they had lived on the same street as her family growing up. Alanna didn’t like to throw around mean words but Mr. Calhoun was a bit of a…well…a butt head. She had seen him out in his yard when she was younger, watering his garden but then spraying water at any stray animals that happened to walk by. They were the same animals that she would leave out food for in case they were hungry. She felt bad, like it was her fault they got sprayed because they wouldn’t have been there in the first place if they didn’t expect food. What really made her burn with anger was that Mr. Calhoun had the nerve to chuckle when the poor cats or dogs went skittering off in the opposite direction, shaking cold water from their fur. She stopped feeding strays after two whole summers of that behavior.

It reminded her that Mr. Calhoun was running for mayor and he certainly didn’t have her vote. People who treated other living things with such disdain didn’t deserve to be in any kind of position of power.

She began to search the bookshelf for the book she wanted but heard Shane clear his throat from behind her.

She whipped around with a slight frown but found he had kicked out the chair next to him and nodded toward it as if she should sit. She did so, but with suspicion–'welcoming' was not an adjective she would use to describe the redhead. He wasn’t outright mean, but his demeanor was that of an intellectual snob–people, it seemed, were all just too stupid to waste his time interacting with.

She pulled the straps of her backpack off her shoulders so she wasn’t sitting so awkwardly, letting it to the ground with a slight ‘thump’. She met Shane's gaze to see what he wanted.

“So, I forgot to thank you the other night,” he leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, his eyes were intensely serious though; they seemed to want to dart to anywhere else than hers but held firm nonetheless. Alanna’s brows hiked upward in surprise that he was acknowledging it. “I’m sorry, I just don’t usually get help for that sort of thing and forgot. So, thanks for helping me figure out what was wrong–maybe now I’ll beat out Orbinson to get into the tournament.”

Alanna shook her head back and forth, suddenly confused, “What do you mean ‘beat out?’ I thought all the robots get a chance to participate?”

“Well no, not at the regional level. Each college picks one robot to send to compete. You can tell the other members at SSU don’t take it seriously enough since they left for break instead of working on their builds. Only Orbinson and I really have the chance to compete, but that’s just my opinion,” Shane explained, and his serious stare was interrupted by a few crinkles at their edges as he grinned.


Alanna had never actually been in an official robotics program before and her brother never mentioned that he always beat out his classmates to complete at the regional competitions. She bit her lip in worry, now wondering if she had unfairly given Shane the advantage as he wouldn’t have figured out what was wrong with his robot without her. Then again, she’d given advice to Reggie as well that bettered his build. Perhaps she should have just kept her mouth shut. Her brow creased, remembering how Reggie had seemed annoyed with her advice, probably wishing would have kept it shut in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” Shane asked, seeing the unusual expression, well it was unusual for Alanna–the human personification of sunshine.

She took in a breath and released her frown, settling her expression back to a Franz-like neutral.

“Nothing. You’re welcome. Glad I could help,” though her tone wasn’t indicative of gladness. She picked her backpack up and slung one strap on her shoulder, trying to keep herself balanced from tipping in the other direction because of all the books in it. Curs-ed Newton’s laws! “Good luck with the competition, Shane.”

“Hey wait,” he said and paused while she turned around, regarding him with slight annoyance. She had things to do and didn’t feel like chit-chatting with her old high school rival.

“What?”

“Are you sure you can’t join the robotics program? I mean, it’d be nice to feel challenged again,” he asked and then added the last part in that arrogant tone he always seemed to have.

Alanna grinned sarcastically and narrowed her eyes, shaking her head, “Reggie doesn’t challenge you enough?”

“Orbinson does all right but he lacks imagination. You always had it.”

At that rare compliment, her grin transformed into something genuine and a bit regretful, “Sorry, I have too much going on with my coursework to dedicate time to building tech anymore.” Especially if she needed to do the work required to get into that program that the Professor told her about.

“Well, maybe you should stop by more often to see what is being worked on since you’ve managed that much,” Shane suggested.

“Why? Are you running out of ideas?” she teased.

He made a doubtful scoff at the back of his throat in response and rolled his eyes; this was the kind of banter they’d always had in high school when the science fair came around every year.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckled, “Anyway, I have to get a book and get back to studying.”

“Same,” Shane gestured to his unwritten paper and promptly turned around but looked back over his shoulder with the same slight grin, “See you around.”

She nodded and quickly scanned the row of book spines, grabbing the one she was looking for in the first place. She saw some others near it that piqued her interest but feeling that literal weight on her shoulders reminded her she didn’t have room for all of them. She frowned in thought, trying to solve her dilemma and came to the conclusion she would get the books she wanted and she would just carry the rest in her arms if need be.

She emerged from the library triumphant. She had her books, and now she was…

“Heeeeey Alanna,” she nearly jumped as her train of thought went reeling off the track. She balled her fist and looked up to see Reggie of all people, smiling at her.


She blinked a few times and relaxed her posture before replying, “Hello Reggie.”

What a coincidence she should have run into him right after thinking about him. He had his messenger-style bag slung over his chest and adjusted the strap as he said, “You going off to study?”

“Yeah actually, just had to pick up some books first,” she bobbed her head to indicate the stack she was carrying.

“You need help?” he offered.

“Thanks, but I can manage,” she started walking down the sidewalk toward the campus coffee shop. She liked to study there during the weekday afternoons. The library was too stiff, her dorm room was too crowded–but the sofas and the table in the corner of the coffee shop were quiet and cozy.

“H-Hey, I…I wanted to say that I was sorry for snapping at you the other night,” she heard him say from behind her. She hadn’t realized he was following her, and looked over her shoulder to see his sheepish expression. He was nervously running his hands through his dark hair, mussing it one way, then the other while he looked at the ground, “I actually took your suggestion and installed an audio component lower on the bot.”


She stopped walking, and felt the light autumn breeze bluster past them. She’d had two guys apologize to her the same day about what happened in the same night–three if she counted Franz's apology text but for an unrelated thing. Timing was an odd thing. She turned around fully but not with her usual smile, “Thanks, I accept your apology, but I have to know–why were you so short with me? If you went ahead and took my advice, it surely wasn’t because my ideas were bad?”

Reggie shook his head, “No, I just got overwhelmed–it’s not every day someone shows that much of an interest or knowledge in one of my hobbies.”

“So, your first reaction is to push them away?”

Reggie only knotted his brows in thought as a reply and Alanna continued on her way. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time Reggie had pushed her away. Reggie was the only boy she had ever kissed, and she had felt strongly for him at the time and thought he felt the same. He never called after, and it didn’t help that she had told him she only pretended to like him in exchange for Evelyn Jane spilling the secrets of her scheming in the Battle of the Bands. She had told Franz the same thing, however Franz saw through her lie and reached out–he questioned her–Reggie wasn’t brave enough or didn’t care enough to try. Poor Reggie was collateral damage, and that to some degree, was why Alanna felt she owed it to him to try being friends again.

But he made it difficult sometimes.

She was walking up to the coffee shop entrance when Reggie bolted past her and leaned on the door as she was about to open it. She frowned and pressed her lips together, silently questioning why he was blocking her way.


“Listen, I really am sorry and I’ll make it up to you,” he grinned with a hint of hope.

“Oh? How?” she arched a brow.

“There’s a meteor shower on Friday night. I can bring my telescope and we could watch it together at the Old Sim State Tower. I’ll bring snacks, some chairs, and we can stargaze the night away. How does that sound?”

She did like stargazing. Had she told him that before? She probably had back in high school when they were chemistry partners; they used to have very long, productive conversations when they had been friends, and she did miss that. Franz, though they talked together often, wasn’t one to hold such lengthy, personal, conversations.

She mulled the idea over in her head, “That sounds lovely, I’d accept that as an apology too.”

Her answer sent Reggie’s smile to its broadest yet and he removed himself from the door, opening it and gesturing she should go inside, away from that chilly autumn breeze.

Another chapter, another set of difficult choices and uncertain futures for the kids of Kashmire.

I thought Alanna's daydreams and her lofty hopes and aspirations for Franz were sweet, but a little ambitious for the difficult emotional and mental place he's at. Romance is probably the last thing on his mind, these days. Just means she'll probably have to be the one to initiate. I'm not entirely unconvinced he wouldn't warm to her advances.

Alanna's going to find herself at a crossroads here really soon, with Franz on one hand and her opportunities to learn and help others on the other. I'm sure that if her relationship with Franz grows, that choice will be made infinitely more difficult.

The opening and closing of this chapter leaves the reader with a sense of uncertainty. Interjecting Alanna's fantasy with talk of bloodshed and closing with Alanna accepting Reggie's offer to watch stars together in a secluded place feels...off. I hope everything turns out all right, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I also thought the photos were arranged really well. I especially liked the posing of background characters walking and talking and checking out books in the background of key scenes.

All in all, a charming read. I look forward to more, as always.

I can relate with my girl Alanna, I spent most of my high school years daydreaming I loved this chapter as always, especially the top half, and that first pic got me high on hopes...

I read from start to finish (well to present) this morning and am really impressed and hooked. At first I wasn't sure I could manage the hops from one character and situation to another but you present it so well and intertwine them so convincingly that it works beautifully. The tension and the occasional pop of humor are great! Extremely well written.

The shots are wonderful. Composition, creativeness, great expressions (my downfall), and you mix them up so you really feel like you're right there in the world. No annoying distractions (trees popping out of heads, strange artwork looming in the background etc.) - wonderfully clean and obviously carefully thought out. I look forward to more!

Alarie walked into the Delicatessen feeling a truckload of relief because Illyana had finally reached out to her, and requested to meet up. It had been three days. 72 texts with no response, 13 unanswered calls–Alarie hated talking on the phone so that was testament enough of how concerned she had been to try and call. She figured Illyana had been too busy to reply; it wasn’t unheard of in their friendship to go a week without contact but Illyana was usually good about responding to even one missed call. Alarie was thankful Illyana was all right, though slightly annoyed that Illyana took so long to respond. However, as she spotted Illyana sitting at the usual counter top inside, she knew something was wrong.

“Hey,” she greeted as she approached but stopped at the chair next to her friend and leaned on it. Illyana was staring forward with a frown, “It was about time you texted back.”


“I’m mad at you,” Illyana stated, foregoing any words of greeting.

Alarie paused as thread of terror shot down her limbs because Illyana Sanchez was never one to directly tell someone she was mad at them. One only found out of Illyana’s slow burning yet steadfast anger after years of no contact. She was lucky it had been only three days.

Alarie made a move to the other side of Illyana, noticing Illyana wouldn’t even look at her.

“What did I do?” Alarie asked curiously, taken aback, and hauled herself up onto the counter chair.

“You only left me alone with the vilest, most narcissistic, entitled ass clown in Kashmire!” Illyana replied, still with an unmoving frown. Still refusing to look at her. Alarie had to wonder if Illyana wasn’t just being overdramatic.

“Was he really that ba–”

Illyana cut her off sharply, and finally did turn her gaze to Alarie, “He slipped some kind of drug into my drink, so yeah–he really was that bad. I swear if you spent less time trying to get me to hook up with random assholes, we’d all be better off. So I’m saying this once–I don’t need or want your help when it comes to my love life. I will, in my own time decide when I am ready to pursue anything of the sort, and not before.”

Alarie usually would go on the defensive after being told off like that but Illyana’s words were like ice–sharp and chilling–and it made Alarie freeze up with an encompassing worry. She could understand why Illyana was mad at her but it was never Alarie’s intention to get her hurt. She thought maybe Illyana would get her mind off her ex-boyfriend if she was distracted with someone else. That’s what she would have done in the same position.

She took note that her face was heated and her body was tense, holding in words she would have shot back at Illyana otherwise, the word ‘sorry’ seemed to bubble up in her throat but she pushed that all back because there was something more worrying to her, “Are you okay? He didn’t do anything did he? Because I’ll tear his fucking legs off...”

“Don’t bother, Nick already called the cops about him.”

Nick.

So, it was true. They had been hanging out again. Before Alarie could ask about that development, Illyana dropped a card between them on the counter top, “Speaking of assholes–remember that guy from the casino? The one I punched?”


Alarie nodded.

“He tracked me down. Somehow.”

Alarie’s eyes widened with greater concern but before she could ask anything more about it, Illyana tapped on the business card, “and he knows something about my father.”

The concern transformed to utter surprise. Illyana barely talked about her father, in fact, the one time that Alarie could recall Illyana mentioning anything about him was when they became friends in junior high. The friendship was new, Alarie was getting used to having more people to socialize with outside of her immediate family, as she had been home schooled up until then by her father. She would invite Illyana over nearly every day to hang out and they would swim in the pool if weather was nice or watch TV, or tease Antoine while he tried concentrating on building his nerd-bots. This one day though, that lived in Alarie’s memory was when her father told her she couldn’t have Illyana over because Alarie hadn’t cleaned up her part of the shared bedroom. Alarie argued she had, but mostly because she shoved all her stuff to Alanna’s side of the room, which got her even in more trouble. Of course, perfect little Alanna had cleaned her side and tattled on Alarie for trying to get out of the chore. Alarie had to tell a disappointed Illyana what her father had decreed.


Alarie was beside herself in outrage as she walked home from school, “Ugh! It's so not fair. He is such a hard-ass sometimes. So what if the room isn’t clean? You don’t mind hanging in a messy room, right?”

Illyana shook her head paired with a shoulder shrug.


“I wish Dad would just get off my case,” Alarie pouted and kicked a rock that went clicking across the sidewalk in front of them, but noticed Illyana had stopped walking. Alarie turned back to look at her new friend curiously.

“At least you have a dad,” she finally said.


Alarie picked up the business card to read it–“So he wasn’t mad that you punched him?”

Illyana shook her head, “He didn’t care about that at all.”

“What did he want then?” Alarie placed the card back to the surface of the counter.

“I don’t know, I told him to fuck off.”

Alarie laid her head in her hand and sighed because Illyana often made unwise, short-sighted decisions when she was angry.

A waiter brought them cups of water and asked them if they needed more time, to which they both nodded and waited until no one else was in earshot to continue the conversation.

“Well, did he say anything else?” Alarie prodded curiously.

Illyana narrowed her eyes to think and then said, “He assumed my mother would have told me about him...but mom hasn’t ever mentioned anyone named–”Illyana glanced at the business card and said the name on it pointedly, “Bee-a-cot-tee."

“Well there you have it,” Alarie concluded and Illyana knotted her brows with confusion so Alarie spelled it out for her, “Ask your mother who he is! If he thought she would have told you, she should know. Then we can all get on with our lives.”


“Mom is busy.”

“It’ll take literally two seconds.”

“Maybe,” Illyana said quietly.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s more than just wanting to know who Tony is–I want to know who Dad was. My family doesn’t talk about him, not really. All I have are old pictures, and even then, most of them are put away in boxes. I don’t know why she tries to bury all of him. He’s dead but he can live on in memories, you know?”

Alarie reached out and put a sympathetic hand on her friend’s shoulder with a small nod. She was surprised Illyana had said so much about the subject, not knowing that was how her friend felt for all these years about it. She didn’t handle other people’s emotions that well, and didn’t know what to say but her mind went back to that memory in which made her grateful that she had a father than none at all.

“Hey, let's order. I’ll buy.”


Illyana tapped her fingers on the surface of her desk, each rhythmic hit was loaded with nervous frustration. She pulled her hand away and rubbed her eyes; she had been staring at Tony's business card–more specifically, at the numbers of his cell phone. It was a trap, somehow. She felt it was. The skin on the back of her neck prickled with a bad feeling. He wanted her to call him, that's why he left her with a piece of bait: her father. A man so mysterious to Illyana, and she yearned to know more about. She didn't understand how Tony knew her family, and how Tony had known her. Maybe Alarie was right and she could ask her mother.

Illyana twisted her lips in an unsure manner, knowing her mother was working a late shift —when wasn’t she? Maybe Illyana didn’t want to know, but a part of her really, desperately did. She was as bad as a cat as far as curiosity was concerned.

"Mama, I have a question."

"What is it? I don't have much time to be on the phone before I need to get back to work."


"Do you know who Antony Biacotti is?"

As she said it, she kept staring at the embossed black print stark against the white background of that business card. It looked so expensive, just like Tony–she knew he had money, so why would he know anything about her struggling, working class family?

There was icy silence on the end of the line.

"Mama?" she broke her concentration away from it, noticing there had been no response.

"Where did you learn that name?"

The way in which her mother asked this, it was unlike any tone she'd ever heard. It was of pure loathing and it startled Illyana to the bone, making her feel like she was in trouble, but not knowing what for.

"I..." Illyana's curiosity flared up ten-fold than before she had called. There was some merit to what Tony had said, and her mother was suddenly on guard. She scrambled to sound convincing and casual, "I heard of him when I was in Pandora with my friends. I thought maybe he was a politician or some–"

"Forget about the Biacottis. You will be only too lucky to never cross paths with the likes of them," Her mother cut her off with instruction and then mumbled something in Espanian that sounded like 'Sons of bitches'

Just Illyana's rotten luck she had punched one in the mouth.

"But Mama, why?"

"I don't have time to talk about this, Yana," her mother sounded hassled but her tone turned affectionate a second later as she said in Espanian, I love you, Goodbye."

What a dead end that turned out to be! She wondered if she could ask her brother if he knew why their mother was so bent out of shape at the mention of that particular surname. Iago was older than Illyana by a few years but rarely visited home and spent most of his time shacked up with his boyfriend in Memosa Bay. She decided that this mystery was greater than her pride.


"Illy, long time no talk. What's up?"

"Does the name 'Biacotti' mean anything to you?" She came right out and asked, not in the mood for any catch-up talk. If Iago wanted that, he could afford to come home for the holidays. Bus tickets were only 15 simoleons per trip.

He seemed to pause, to run the name through his memory, "I mean, it sounds familiar but I don't know why or where I've heard it. Why do you ask?"

She shifted her weight where she stood and answered, "I asked Mama and she reacted very strangely. She said, I would be 'lucky to never cross paths with one.' I didn't know she carried grudges..."


"Are you kidding me? Where do you think you got it from?"

Illyana would have stuck her tongue out at him if he were there in person; an inherent reaction to his teasing. Illyana didn't like being teased. She didn't deign him with a reply either.

He was having a few laughs to himself, like he'd cracked one of the funniest jokes in a long while but eventually focused back on her question, "Sorry, but I can't help you with names. Is there anything else you need since you obviously didn't call just to say 'hi’?”

"That door swings both ways," she bit out in Espanian.

"Not until one of us walks through," he replied in kind, and hung up without saying goodbye.

She held in a breath of frustrated air at his retort; he was so stubborn. They hadn't seen each other or really even spoken at length in three years. All because he insulted her boyfriend at the time, the very same one that had broken her heart a little under two weeks ago, and now the insult seemed warranted...but she responded with a more personal insult, being hot-headed and not thinking of the consequences. The consequences ended up being Iago's lack of contact. She wasn't the only one who held grudges.

So, what now? She threw the card back onto her desk and sat again. She didn’t know why the business card attracted her eye so much and found herself staring at it again. It was such a simple yet elegant design. The black and the white, contrasting–it left her feeling uneasy.

She held out her phone in front of her, gnawing on her bottom lip with a nervous energy and then eyed the cell number on the business card. What did he want? Damn it, what did he want from her? She had to know, and quickly dialed the number to get it over with, hoping she wasn’t about to end up like the cat in the proverb for this decision.

A lot of mysterious heartbreak in her mother's response - not a useful response though. To tell a curious child to drop a mystery is pretty pointless (personal experience...). At first I thought Illyana and Alarie were going to end up in a real fight or that the argument would end with a break in their friendship but it appears they're going to weather it. I love the flashback - also love the way you switch to black and white for that scene. The shots are great! How in the world did you get that last one?! The business card is a wonderful detail. It makes a huge difference - much better than just mentioning the existence of a business card. The painting with the phrase Be Courageous Little Soul is particularly apt. I like the way you compose the third from last shot to focus on it. It seems to be reassurance from some outside source, encouraging Illyana to keep going.

Also, personal note from me, thank you for all the help you've given me. You are very kind as well as talented!

That poster on the wall: "Be courageous little soul", couldn't look more accurate! Ily craves to find her roots and she has all the rights to do so. The Biacotti's obviously know many things that her mom tries to keep a secret from her, either because of fear or because of old grudges, and I have a feeling Ily will investigate this, till she gets all the answers. I m with her, on this!

It had been a week since the debut of Orion's love song on the radio, and its popularity was not wavering. The first thing Cypress did when he arrived for his shift at the radio station was check the request tracker. He saw the song listed more times than he could count twice over on both his hands. He was torn now because he was thrilled that Orion’s song was liked among the listeners but then there was that kind of blank, soul-crushing look he noticed more and more in his best friends’ eyes as they went about their daily routines and couldn’t help feeling that he was the cause of it.

What was worse, was the creeping silence that settled between them. Orion had come back the same day and apologized for blowing up at Cypress, which at first, put Cypress at ease but then he began to notice that their usual topic of conversation–music–wasn't brought up anymore. Cypress knew Orion wasn’t keen on sports so that topic was out. They couldn’t discuss their love lives because Cypress disliked Orion’s main squeeze, and Cypress didn’t have one to speak of. He knew if he brought up the subject of Tranquilicis again that Orion would shut down completely. Their interactions had devolved to simple greetings, remarks on weather, and what was for dinner.

It was emotionally concerning to Cypress, to know that something had changed for the worse between them enough to make Orion feel as if they couldn’t talk anymore, or keep his best friend at arms’ length.



He sighed as he scrolled through the updated music library, picking out songs to fill the time with. Of course, if anyone called in with a request, he could push the queue back to accommodate it. He didn’t get many calls, because it was Wednesday night. People just had better things to do.

He jumped slightly as the station’s line lit up with a shrill ringing tone that permeated the quiet studio. He slipped his headphones off and answered, “This is KRLM, eighty-six-point-five, the Llama, how can I help you?”

“Yeah hi, I was wondering if you could play the Jackass Love song?” a female voice asked, and Cypress winced because he really had given a decent song a horrible moniker. He was just feeling agitated at the moment because Orion had written and sung a love song for someone who wasn’t worthy of one. No wonder Orion was so pissed off–Cypress could understand now, putting the whole picture together. To pour your heart into something to have it taken and released without permission, even with the best intentions, and for it to be known by a title created out of spur-of-the-moment pettiness.

Maybe, he thought, I deserve the silence.

“Sure, I can play that,” he was loathed to agree. The caller thanked him and he added it to the queue. He could have refused, but then the station director would for sure be angry if she found out he was causing more red spots on her song-tracking software.

He rubbed his eyes but didn’t replace the headphones; his mouth felt dry at his recent realization and he stood to make a quick break for a vending machine downstairs so he could remedy it.

As he stepped out of the studio he was struck with a surprise. Gabriella’s office door was cracked and there was light from inside. What the heck was she still doing there? He decided, since her office was closer than the vending machine, to check out what was up.


As he entered her office, he saw that Gabriella was hunched over in front of her computer with an intense stare of contemplation. He knew she had workaholic tendencies but she didn’t usually stay this late at the station. He cleared his throat, which broke her concentration briefly–and seeing him made her realize just what time it was.

“Shit, it’s past eight isn’t it?”

“It’s almost nine-thirty,” he replied.

“Shit,” she repeated, seeming to have just confirmed the time on the computer screen.

“What’s wrong? Why are you here so late?”


“My Friday DJ quit this afternoon due to ‘academic struggles’ so I’m trying to shift around schedules last minute to find someone to fill in. We have our second-highest traffic of listeners in that afternoon time spot–we can’t just leave it unattended–” she gave an explanation but then stopped in the middle of it abruptly and eyed Cypress as if evaluating him, “Say, you have any plans Friday?”

He couldn’t remember; he usually didn’t have anything important going on Friday except go to class which he could skip since he hated lectures so much. He took a seat in one of the office chairs and thought about it. Maybe he could use her desperation to his advantage.


“I can fill in,” Cypress said with an idea forming in his head but before Gabriella could smile and thank him for being flexible, he added, “On one condition.”

Her smile was stillborn, retreating into a line of concern. She made a slight nod that he should continue with his terms.

“That song I recorded last week. I want to pull it from the station’s music library.”

Her hand landed on the surface of her desk with the nails splayed in a subtle threat, while she frowned with a slight hiss of refusal in her tone. “It’s on a trend right now, how can you possibly suggest–”

“It wasn’t right to add it. The singer didn’t know I recorded it in the first place and that makes it a liability. However, it’s not outside the realm of possibility he could agree to re-record it in the future and let us play it. But for now, it needs to be pulled.”

Gabriella’s eyes widened in shock before narrowing in a displeased glower, and he could tell he was on thin ice with her. She had no choice if she wanted him to cover the Friday shift, and especially had no choice with the possibility of Orion taking legal action against the station. Cypress knew Orion wouldn’t, but he didn’t tell that to the Director.

He saw her work out the dilemma in her head while frowning before she asked, “What do we tell people who request it, then?”

“To pick another song,” he replied simply.

Her frown remained but she gave a chilly smile of acquiescence, “Fine. Pull the song. But I better see you in here Friday, and no more missteps. I’ve let you break too many rules, too many times, Cypress.”

He jumped up from his seat with a smile, release of relieved breath, and a salute of respect to her, “I promise to be a good boy from now on, and since you don’t need to worry anymore about finding someone to cover Friday–you should go home and get some rest.”


“It’s not even ten yet,” she scoffed, gathering up her purse and shutting down her computer–“What do you think I am? Eighty years old?. I’m gonna go get a drink at Endless Blue.”

“Ah, of course. I didn’t mean it like that–”

“Care to join me after your shift?” she stuffed a cigarette between her lips but didn’t light it. She would as soon as she got outside the building.

She’d never asked him to join her for drinks before, and while she was a cool boss and he would have agreed any other time to hang with her, he had something more important to do after work.

Apologize.


When Cypress made it back to the house, Nick was gone. Typical. He never seemed to be around at night–then again, his cousin was highly social and had a million friends to keep up with it seemed. What he really hoped, was that Orion was home and not with Cain.

He took in a breath and made a small knock on Orion’s bedroom door, while simultaneously turning the handle, “Hey, Orion?”

“Yeah?” Orion asked, not looking up from his phone which he was staring at while lounging on his bed. Cypress thought at first, Orion was playing some mobile game but the lack of music or sounds proved that wasn’t what had his attention. He must have been texting or scrolling through the internet.

“I uh...I need to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” Orion still refused to give him his attention and it crushed his resolve a bit. He couldn’t let it though, he was righting a wrong and managed to put on a small smile to reassure himself and Orion it would all be okay between them.

“I had your song taken off the station's music library.”


Orion’s thumb, which had been tapping out some kind of text on his phone screen, stopped in mid-air and he slowly turned his gaze over to Cypress, “Why? I thought you liked it? I thought you said I deserved to be recognized for my talents? Am I not talented enough anymore?”

The amount of scathing sarcasm in Orion’s tone took Cypress aback and he shook his head, “No, you’re crazy talented and always have been but It's clear to me now that I was wrong to record it, least of all play it and keep playing it. I betrayed your trust and I’m...I’m really sorry, man.”

The guarded look in Orion’s eyes vanished into something vulnerable–thankfulness, relief, and surprise all at once. Cypress was a bit startled at Orion’s sudden movement that resulted in being embraced tightly. Orion had always been a ‘hugger’ ever since they were kids. It shouldn’t have surprised him but it did, that Orion forgave him so easily. He supposed that was a perk of being a best friend.

“I take it this means you forgive me?” Cypress smiled and crushed Orion even tighter as payback for the hug.


Orion pulled away and faced Cypress, nodding, seeming to blink back even more emotions evident in his wavery voice, “Yeah, I forgive you.”

Cypress gave his friend a warm smile, thankful that this awful silence would now pass–he couldn’t wait to get back into the swing of their normal routine of talking music, playing songs together, and joke-guessing Nick’s whereabouts late at night. Cypress felt the phone in his pocket vibrate and he gave an apologetic look to Orion as he made his way across the hallway to his own room, “Sorry, Cedar is calling. I’ll be right back.”

Orion watched his best friend shut his bedroom door to take the call and his whole body seemed to release a great deal of tension he’d been holding in since the weekend. He appreciated Cypress’s apology more than he could put into words but there was another reason he had been avoiding Cypress–and that issue still persisted. He slumped down into his desk chair and pulled out his last bottle of Tranquilicis from one of the drawers. He’d been trying not to take the pills as frequently since he didn’t know if he could face Cain and get more but found his anxiety heightened beyond normal after realizing Cain was dealing drugs and whatever other shady things he mentioned in that alleyway. For the first time in their history, Orion was the one who was ghosting Cain–too afraid to face him and confront him with these questions. He couldn’t talk to Cypress about it either. He felt...alone and anxious but knew he was running out of time before he’d be at the mercy of his nerves again.


“Hey bro, what’s up?” Cypress asked, putting his phone to his ear.

“So, like I was thinking of what to bring to hang out at your classes. I’ll probably take some notes but that will get boring really fast. Are you allowed to play video games during class in college if you are quiet?”

“Hold on, hold up...wait–what are you talking about?” Cypress shook his head and cracked a laugh at his brother’s nonsensical words.

“Friday! You said I could tag along with you to your classes for my writing assignment. Don’t tell me you got amnesia all of a sudden!” Cedar sounded so offended his voice cracked.

“This Friday?!”

“Yeah of course, I wouldn’t call a week in advance asking about this–you know I’m not that good at being prepared.”

Apparently, Cypress wasn’t either. There was no way he could take back his offer to work the Friday radio shift. There was no way he could take back a promise to his brother either.

"Break the silence" title... was any pun intended? Anyways, it worth the wait, cause I enjoyed the chapter. Cypress/Orion may not be in my favorites, but I still like them. In fact, not only I enjoyed the chapter, but I related to Cypress and his troubled cohabitation with Orion. When I was a student, I shared an apartment with my childhood best friend and we had 2 big fights in 4 years. Nothing can be more excruciating that spending the day in the same house with a person you love, but can't speak to, anymore. Seeing their face again and again, pretending that it's all fine. At least Cypress solved this problem, in the end

I was kind of surprised Cypress decided to do the right thing, and that Gabriella gave in as quickly as she did. Potential legal problems are great motivators. Her invitation is interesting - wondering if that's going somewhere...So Orion is back on Tranquilicis and hiding it. So he's avoiding Cain; avoiding Cypress; and avoiding facing what looks like a descent into a lonely hell. You don't hold back on unpleasant endings either - very very good writing! As usual I love all your shots, they're all different, all easy to follow, the colors work perfectly. However, the shot of Orion holding his head in his hands while sitting in a red chair at a red desk is just perfect!

Oh yeah, forgot about the fun part - Cypress and the promise made to his brother. I know he feels like he can't break it, but it's not a marriage vow, it was a casual commitment for a Friday. Personally I wouldn't hesitate to make the choice although inviting his brother to the station or something might make it easier to swallow. Been there, done that, life is never never fair.

I really love what you do with these. You always come up with something unexpected, except for the shots, and they're consistently beautiful.

Reggie knew he had some hurdles to overcome if he was to have what he wanted. Luckily, he had always been of a sharper mind than most and got very little credit for it. That would probably work to his advantage. It also helped that he’d carefully observed his sister get her way again and again through various manipulative means as he grew. If she could get away with it, why couldn’t he?

He took a seat in the law class lecture hall next to someone he never thought he’d need to think about again.

That someone, whose jovial laugh penetrated the room’s din as he joked with a classmate, grated on Reggie’s nerves—taking his thoughts back to his primary school days. It was the same laugh that had always caught him on edge because he knew he was about to be viciously mocked for nothing he could help.

Nicholas Calhoun didn’t deserve to sound so happy.



Of course, Nick was oblivious and perceived Reggie as just another student like all the rest in the room. Nothing about Reggie stood out—dark hair, glasses, pale—just another nerd, the type Nick had found an easy target when they were young.

People didn’t just ‘change’, either. Somewhere inside, Reggie knew Nick still had that bit of bully in him, and that is why he had no moral conflicts with doing what he was doing for the sake of reaching his goals.

Reggie had access to quite a few fun little pieces of gadgetry being in the robotics program, and GPS trackers were among them. How else would one find their robot if it was stolen? It was the necessary first step to do what Marshall Cosgrove wanted—to get dirt on Nick, and naturally, Reggie would have to know of what Nick did in his everyday life, including the places he went. He’d had to think of the best way to get a tracker on or near Nick and have it stay long enough for Reggie to know his movements. It was small enough he could slip it onto something like a phone or wallet but the chances to get access to something personal of Nick’s like that was slim. The laptop sitting in front of Nick was an option but he doubted Nick took it with him wherever he went.

Nick was twirling a pencil in his right hand, letting it lace between his fingers like a drum stick. Reggie didn’t mean to stare as he concentrated, working out how to achieve the first step, but it was long enough that it made the classmate on the other side of Nick give Reggie a questioning look. Which in turn, caused Nick to turn around and see what was up.

“Need something, buddy?”



I’m not your buddy, Reggie frowned in thought. Then, he realized Nick had a jacket on that had pockets. Pockets that the device could hide in. It was another chilly day and was unlikely that Nick would remove it if he was wearing it indoors even now.

However, men didn’t just ask other men to try on their jackets, not without arousing judgment or suspicion and Reggie lost his nerve.

“No, just spacing out, sorry,” he mumbled an excuse and turned away but kept an ear on them in case something came up in conversation he could use as a starting point. Currently, Nick was discussing throwing a house party.

Reggie inwardly scoffed; how could Nick not realize what he had given up by leaving the Greek Society? The Hoh Fruhm parties were legendary. What was a measly little house party in comparison?

The professor took their place at the podium and told everyone to simmer down so she could begin, “I’m no Grand Chancellor Bao, but we have a schedule to maintain.”



The lecture began and the room went silent but for the clicking of laptop keys or scratching of pencils on paper for notetaking. Reggie used his laptop; he also was signed into his Rush Hour account waiting to see if Violet_Fire would get online.

He had convinced Alanna to go stargazing with him later that night. It was something he was looking forward to. There was supposed to be a meteor shower in the evening and he had no doubt she’d love it. It gave him a thrill to be the cause of her smiles, her laughter, and only wished he could do more of it.

As he was taking notes on a text pad, a notification popped up in the corner of his screen that Violet_Fire was online. He immediately clicked it and typed into a private message chatbox:

MegaZoom: want to race tonight?

Of course, he actually couldn't but was further testing his theory of her real identity. He was about sixty-five to seventy percent sure his online arch-rival was his real-life crush but he just had to know more.

She was typing a response and he waited with bated breath and unblinking eyes, halting any attention to the lecturer or his notes.

Violet_Fire: Can’t. Got a date tonight. Maybe next time?

He swallowed a gasp and bit his fist to keep it from escaping as his stomach made a happy little flip flop. A date? She thought it was a date? This was amazing news! He had purposefully tried not to come off as it sounding like a date because of the way Alanna had always insisted on them being friends, but could this be her hidden desire?

He quickly typed out a response and felt his pulse quicken.

MegaZoom: yeah some other time then...unless you’re afraid I’m gonna to beat you again

Violet_Fire: In ur dreams.

He bit his lower lip and smiled to himself because she had no idea how close they were to a meeting in reality.



She was only online for a brief moment, perhaps checking a store update. A new custom wheelset was supposed to release that day that was only available to players that had grinded enough through recent race missions to get an achievement. Reggie had checked the game store earlier too but didn’t see it yet. Her online status changed to offline a few minutes after their chat. Good. He had missed a few minutes of the lecture while his mind was preoccupied with how he could somehow hint to Alanna that his true feelings for her extended beyond cultural excursions and outings.

As he packed up his laptop in his bag after class ended, his mind turned back to Nick Calhoun. Reggie held the small-signal transmitter in his hand, hoping for an idea to strike. He really didn’t want to go to the trouble of physically following Nick, he had other things to do like get ready to meet Alanna. True, it was a few hours away but he wanted it to be perfect! The perfect date for the perfect girl.

Instead of trying to be a fancy SCIA agent and do some kind of stealth move to stick the tracker on Nick, he knew he’d have to be clever and find something of more substance.

He shuffled out of the classroom, keeping his gaze to his feet but an ear on his former bully, listening for anything that could dismantle the Calhoun reputation. Reggie had always considered himself good at problem-solving so why was it so hard to come up with a solution to this?

Nick walked with a natural swagger, and casually held his bookbag while chattering with the same friend from class. Reggie’s attention caught when Nick’s voice suddenly switched tone.

“Hey, Tara! Wait up!”

Reggie glanced up and saw a pretty blonde girl pass by them; she didn’t look too pleased to see Nick and didn’t make any hesitation to ‘wait up.’

“Hey about last weekend...” Nick tried to speak and keep pace, but his attempt was rejected by her determination to keep walking forward. She made it seem like Nick was a pest that she just wanted to get rid of. Reggie respected this girl already, whoever she was. She had the good sense not to be taken in by the likes of Nicholas Calhoun.

“Harsh,” Nick’s friend commented as they watched the girl walk away without a second glance.



“Yeah but...I kind of deserved it,” Reggie heard Nick admit and watched them as they turned to walk in their original direction, discussing more details about the house party.

Reggie was struck with an idea and started following the blonde girl. He probably couldn’t get near enough to Nick to plant a tracker but with a little convincing, that girl definitely could. He knew from experience when a girl of one’s affection got close, a guy’s mind would short circuit and tunnel focus on a few select things, probably wouldn’t notice a casual touch contain anything—even something small like a tracker.

He picked up his pace to see where the girl was headed, trying not to be too obvious he was following her. He had never been good at talking to girls, so that was a worry at the back of his mind. How could he start a conversation with her, let alone convince her to stick a tracker on Nick?



He ended up following blondie, and she, in turn, ended up in a very familiar classroom, and then he realized it was the class he took last year! She did not seem the type to be into political science. She took a seat near the back of the room and pulled out a notebook for note-taking. Reggie set down his bag and rummaged through it, looking for something small that he could hide a tracker in. His father had given him some campaign buttons to hand out if he found willing students to declare their political affiliations. It was a perfect size. He popped the back off one and stuck the transmitter in, after activating it. The back of the button easily clicked back in with the tracker sandwiched in between.

“Hey. Um, are you sure you are in the right class?” Reggie sat down next to her. She gave him a passing glance, seemingly annoyed.

“Yes, but I don’t usually attend.”

That explained why she didn’t question his presence in a class he wasn’t currently taking.

He gave a nervous laugh, “How's that going for your grade point average?”



She scowled, “Not good, obviously. That’s why I am here now. Ugh, I just haaaate the lecturer’s voice. It makes me sooooo bored. If I am going to end up napping, I’d rather do it back at the sorority.”

Sorority?

“You're in the Greek Society then?”

She just raised a brow in which replaced what he could hear only as ‘obviously, you little nerd!’

“I am too!” he said, but then had to slow his enthusiasm down as her brows shot to the top of her forehead in surprise, “Well I will be. Soon. Membership pending. I actually have a question for you.”

“No, I won’t date you.”

He choked on his next words, “I would never ask you that!"

Her glare turned to gobsmacked, “What? What’s wrong with me? You’d be lucky to date me.”

Reggie frowned, trying to keep his patience, “You aren’t my type.”



“Oh,” she seemed to pout more at the fact that her ego was bruised than the fact someone like him wouldn’t be interested in dating her, “Okay then, what did you want to ask?”

“I was wondering if you could do something for me and I could pay you—”

“No! I’m not going to sleep with you!”

Reggie had never had his face turn so red in his life. He noticed a few students already nearby give him questionable looks as her rejection rang out. Plumbobs, talking to girls got him in so much trouble!



“That’s n...that’s not what I was going to ask,” He stumbled over his words in mortification and couldn’t help to frown, “Would you please just listen and stop assuming I am coming on to you? I’m not interested in you like that.”

She scoffed, “Your loss, nerd.”

“I have this button, and I’ll pay you twenty simoleons if you pin it to Nick Calhoun’s jacket without him noticing.”

“Who?”

“Nick Calhoun. He’s that tall guy that used to be at Hoh Fruhm—man bun, bad sense of humor—”

“You mean Nick Hart?”

Reggie had forgotten that was what always Nick called himself.

“Yeah, same guy.”

“That’s a really weird thing ask. Besides he can drop dead, he’s the biggest jerk that I’ve ever slept with and I don’t want to see him ever again.”

Reggie scrambled to keep his cool, and his face from returning to that bright shade of red, “It’s not a weird thing to ask—you see this is a campaign pin for his father’s opposition as mayor of Kashmire, and if the media sees it on Elm Calhoun’s son, they will think his own son doesn’t support him. You’d be getting back at him for being a jerk.”

“Politics are soooo boring,” she huffed. Again, Reggie wondered why she had any business being in a political science class. After a pause, she seemed to think his explanation made sense, and rubbed her chin in thought, “I didn’t know Nick’s dad was running for mayor. He never mentioned it.”

Reggie shrugged, and held out the button to her, “As you said—politics are boring. I’ll give you twenty simoleons to do it. Do we have a deal?”



“No.”

“What? Why not?” Reggie knotted his brows in puzzlement.

She licked her lips and smirked, “In exchange for this, I don’t want twenty simoleons—I want you to do my term paper for this class.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but don’t make it have like...a super brainy summary. Like, keep the vocab on the basic side. The T.A. who grades will never believe it if I get a hundred percent after missing so many sessions."

Reggie grumbled, weighing the terms and wondering what it was like to settle for such mediocrity. Was it worth it? She was the best chance at the moment to get a tracker on Nick. She was also shrewder than he anticipated. “Fine, but you have to turn it in. I’m not submitting it for you, they are likely to notice if you are missing but they have your homework marked present.”

She stood up and stepped forward, “What’s your name again?”

He glanced up, only a bit startled at her movement. He wondered why she was grinning so self-assuredly, “I never told you before, so I can’t say it again.”

“Plumbobs, you are such a smartass.”

“Well, I am smart.”

“My name is Tara. Tara Tan. You at least need to know that so you can put it on my paper.”

He gave a small, nervous, laugh, “Yeah, I guess that would be good to know.”

“But really, what is your name?”

“Reginald.”

She wrinkled her nose, seeming to hold back a laugh, “Sounds like something out of a romance novel.”

It was his turn to try not to laugh, knowing his romantic history or lack thereof, “Trust me, it’s not.”

“Okay then, Reginald—” the way her voice wrapped around his full name and seemed to cradle it with warmth made his eyes snap to her, not in surprise...it was just different. Only his family ever called him by it, and only when they were displeased or being insufferably formal, so the casual tone of it threw him a bit off guard. “—we have a deal.”

With that said, she plucked the pin from his hand.

This is so hysterically perfectly horribly awfully funny. God I hated high school. Now that said, for the moment at least Nick comes across as the most mature of the three. I can't imagine Tara pulling off the button-tracker plant. I mean, come on Reggie! I adore her pants and heels. They match her personality perfectly. Those two are a match made somewhere, probably not in 'heaven' but somewhere by someone with a fabulous sense of humor. The shots work well with this, understated with a lot of great detail and enough students to make it feel real. So glad you picked this up again!

Wake up Reggie! You are still (and forever will be) on Alanna's friendzone. As you may imagined, I m not a big fan of Reginald, but suprisingly I enjoyed very much this chapter -though it had lots of Reggie in it! Welcome back, and please keep sharing the NoV story