Chương 8: Chapter 7 - My People

I stared at the islands of food that were laid out, buffet style, and tried to decide if I was willing to eat any of it. A whole lifetime of learning to eat whatever was put in front of me— ruined! I had been spoiled by only a few weeks of Igor's cooking. Here I was, surrounded by my choice of badly fried, junky carbs, and all I could think about was how much I missed the beautiful presentation and quality of a master chef's work.

"I'm going to have to send that man a love letter," I mumbled. My stomach growled. Romance aside, I still needed calories. I sighed and headed over to the nearest island. I was randomly dumping spoonfuls of food onto my plate when a tray dropped down right next to mine. The owner of the tray was standing so close, our shoulders were touching. I looked over. The kid was sixteen or seventeen years old. He had a bad case of cute, but he seemed unconscious of it.

He had longish, unkempt, blond-brown hair that testified to the fact he didn't like getting haircuts. The top button of his white, uniform dress shirt was undone, and his tie hung down an inch lower than the opening. He smiled, so I was able to recognize him, even before he spoke.

"Who's your favorite character?" I grinned.

"Well, of course there's Iroh."

"Of course," he said.

"Aang is adorable."

"As any good hero should be."

"Sokka is fantastic, and Toph—""—Toph is a badass queen."

"Did you ever want to go to sleep on Appa?" He put a hand to his chest.

"Only every day of my life."

"Then there's Lord Momo," I said.

"Of the Momo Dynasty," he said. We said in unison, "Your Momo-ness." He motioned with his head, "Want to come eat with us, America?"

"What?" I looked behind me for a nonexistent crowd.

"You mean the whole country, America?"

"Our table's not that big. We'll settle for you."

"Lead the way." He nodded to the end of the island.

"Don't forget utensils." I grabbed up a pouch and followed him. As we walked further into the dining hall, he nodded to the front of the room. On a raised platform, there was a series of tables shoved end to end. They had chairs instead of benches. Most of the teachers and staff seemed to be eating up there. Darius was sitting next to Wuller. They were deep in a discussion. Between Darius and Conrad was an empty seat.

"I think that chair's meant for you," Osborn said. My stomach sank. I looked away.

"Do you guys have assigned seating?"

"God, no. That's one of Wooly's guiding principles. Common dining hall. Common dinner hour. We don't even have to eat with our houses. Sit wherever you want. Every now and then the cool teachers will eat with us if some idiot gets them in lecture mode." He leaned closer.

"The only downside is the teachers can also eat with us if we're behind on an assignment. I've turned in papers with food stains."

"Does that lose more points than bad handwriting?"

"If I turn in a paper, it's cause for celebration." I laughed. The tables scattered around the room looked like they were supposed to hold eight to ten people. The one we were approaching already had three boys sitting there. The tall one with dark hair leaned back when he saw us coming.

"Oh my god, he got her."

"Never underestimate my charm," Osborn said.

"All I had to do was talk Airbender to her, and she was like putty in my hands." He slid onto the bench next to the smaller dark-haired boy and scooted him over.

"Come on, America." I sat at the end of the bench next to him.

"Now!" he said.

"Introductions. I'm Wes Osborn. Call me Wes. This is my main squad." He pointed to the tallest kid. His dark brown hair was trimmed short on the sides, and he used hair product to create a stylish look. He had a strong jawline that reminded me of Darius when he was being resolute.

"That is Eric Reed," Wes said.

"He'll tell his friends to their face that they're stupid, but he'll slash a tire if anyone else says it." Reed said, "Wes, you are stupid." Osborn waved away his observation. He motioned to the next boy. He was the smallest of the lot. His hair was longer, and it was combed all to one side. It looked fashionable, but he could never be a model, despite his nice, regular features; his face was too expressive.

It morphed through different smiles and smirks, and when he looked at me, his curiosity furrowed his whole brow. He was a living cartoon character. Wes said, "That one's Scott Shipp. He claims he's not a class clown. Don't believe him." Scott rolled his hand away from his forehead in a weird salute.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Wes leaned back so I could see the kid on the other side of him. He had dark-brown, almost black hair that was neatly trimmed in a classic, low-maintenance style. His face was soft and serious, and when our eyes met, he offered me a simple nod. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Osborn was saying, "And this lord among gentlemen will be the only reason any of us pass our A levels. Dustin Walman. The smart one."

Wes turned to me.

"And your name, m'lady?" I put down the fork I had barely picked up.

"All right, if you call me 'm'lady' again, in that accent, I'm handing you a book of Shakespeare and making you read it to me." Scott, the clown, said, "You'd have to hand it to Dustin. Wes would use it as a doorstop." Eric Reed shook his head.

"No good. Dustin has a Scottish accent." I leaned forward to look past Wes.

"I don't mind Scottish." Dustin said, "I don't mind Shakespeare. I think Wes has some American comic books. Will you read them?"

"Sure." I grinned.

"I can BAM! and POW! with the best of them." Even Eric Reed smiled at that.

"First you have to tell us your name," Wes reminded me.

"Emerra Cole—" Dustin broke in: "Hēméra? Greek?" He'd said it. He'd said it right. It caused an odd, cold moment for me. I was so used to Americans making the first E of my name long—saying the letter, instead of swallowing it back slightly, like you're supposed to. He'd included the barest hint of an H at the front, but, otherwise, Dustin said it the way I always said it. The way my father had said it.

"I don't know where it comes from," I said.

"It's what showed up on my birth certificate."

"Impressive, right?" Wes said.

"Dustin went to one of those fancy schools before he landed here. Greek and Latin."

"Does anyone still speak Latin?" I asked.

"Oh," Wes made a face, "no one."

"Emerra," Scott said, "are you with them?" He nodded up to the front table.

"That wolfman and the guy with the suit?"

"Believe it or not, I am. We're a nice cohesive group." Reed's eyes narrowed.

"How old are you?" I smiled.

"Guess." Wes blew a breath out through his lips.

"Sixteen? Seventeen?"

"Nope."

"Eighteen?" Scott ventured. I jerked my thumb upward.

"Nineteen?" Eric said, disbelieving.

"Twenty," Dustin said. I pointed to him.

"The smart one wins."

"Agh!" Wes cried.

"She can legally drink!"

"Not where I come from." Scott shook his head, "You poor thing." Reed gestured to me with an open hand. Maybe he was hoping to soften the blow.

"You don't…look…like an adult."

"What?" I ran a hand over my T-shirt.

"My sophisticated dress sense doesn't demonstrate my maturity?"

"Oh, I think I got a pretty good read on your maturity when you were yelling across the great hall about some stupid cartoon show." I blushed. Wes clapped his hands over my ears.

"Don't listen to the heretic!" Reed rolled his eyes.

"Filth," Wes said.

"Heresy and filth! Only your ignorance allows you to get away with that—""Careful," Dustin said.

"He's about to launch into a monologue." Wes abruptly put his hands down and sat up straight.

"I might not." Reed, Shipp, and I gazed at Dustin with reverence. All homage to the smart one! Dustin didn't look up from his plate, but I thought I glimpsed a smirk. Osborn went on, "I'd rather hear about our guest. Why are you all here?"

"And where did you get a wolfman?" Scott asked.

"He's real, right?" In point-four seconds, my brain blazed through a web of facts and thoughts to present me with two conclusions: there was no way the students didn't already know about the Torr visits, and I wasn't the best at remembering lies. Besides, Darius had only asked me to keep my powers a secret. I said, "We were asked by the supernatural community to look into your psychic powers. We got the wolfman because…" I made a vague gesture with my hand.

"You know, it's a supernatural community."

"What? Another visit?" Reed said.

"How much do you guys know about them?"

"Everything," Scott said.

"The first time you guys sent someone over, Wooly made this big announcement." He did his best to imitate Wuller's bluff tones: "'We have some special guests coming!'" Scott took a bite of his roll and went on in his normal voice, talking as he ate.

"He basically told us to be on our best behavior, and that he was so proud of all of us. Second time, it was because you guys had questions. Third time, he asked for our patience." His face screwed up in a thoughtful scowl.

"He didn't announce you this time." Reed was watching me.

"And they've never sent over someone from another country." He leaned forward.

"Do you know what's going on?"

"We don't," I said.

"That's why we're here." Eric sat back with a grunt.

"Do you know what's going on?" I asked. Wes scratched his head.

"Not really. Wooly keeps saying that our powers are all manifesting because we have an 'encouraging environment.' He seems to think that's important. Like, if all the weirdos are stuck together, the weirdness really shines."

"But you don't believe that?" Eric and Scott both shook their heads. Dustin was willing to meet my eyes, but he didn't comment. We all looked at Wes. Osborn shrugged.

"It's hard to say, isn't it? Sure. That sounds pretty dumb, but what else are you going to blame it on? Do you really believe that Wooly's drugging the food?" I felt the urge to turn around and look at the headmaster, but since I'd have to turn all the way around, I thought it'd be too obvious.

"Do people say that?"

"Some people. Not me. Wooly's more likely to take away our drugs than plant them."

"What does that mean?" I asked. Scott flourished his hand to get my attention, then used it to point to his chest.

"I come in, two doctors' notes—I'm ADHD. Everyone knows this. My teachers know it. My mum knows it. Even I know it. But Wooly took me aside and told me that if I ever wanted to go off my medication, he could have the school nurse oversee the process. Me!" He shook his head at the idea of it.

"He thinks it interferes with our brain's natural course. Duh! That's the point."

"Are you still on your medicine?"

"Yeah." He paused and looked around.

"Wha—you…you can't tell?" I smiled when I saw the adorable, worried, bemused look on his face.

"Are any of you psychics?" I asked. Eric and Scott both groaned. Dustin shook his head with dismay.

"Didn't I tell you?" Wes smiled.

"I'm a firebender." He put his elbow on the table between our trays and raised his index finger. A rush of flame rose along his finger, until it settled at the tip and burned in a steady flame—a candle without a wick.

"Iroh is my hero," he said. Apparently, he maxed out his allowance of cool for the day with his perfect delivery of that line; immediately afterward, he leaned around to look at his own fire with a dorky grin on his face.

"Pretty neat, right?" he said.

"Put it away, Osborn." I recognized the drawl of the sheep-dog teacher who'd called him out before. He stopped by our table. The man was in his late twenties, with dark hair trimmed short and styled so it rode the line between neat and modern. It matched his full beard. Like everyone else in the school, he was wearing a dress shirt, but he wasn't wearing a blazer or a tie. Instead of slacks, he wore jeans. I was a few years out of high school, but I could still recognize one of the cool teachers when I saw them.

Wes lowered his hand. The flame disappeared.

"Sorry, Mr. Turner—but, in my defense, Miss Cole was sent here to look into the psychics." So I was suddenly Miss Cole? I would have to live up to my newfound respect. I stood up so Mr. Turner and I could shake properly.

"Emerra Cole. I'm with the team sent by the Torr." He shook my hand.

"Ah, yes. The Avatar fan." I nodded and tried to keep my expression pleasant and unconcerned. You did it to yourself, Emerra.

"I'm Paul Turner," he said, "history teacher and head of Salix House. That means I have to keep Osborn from burning down the school. It's in my contract."

"Mr. Turner," Wes said, "can we skip prep today? Miss Cole needs a tour of the school."

"And I'm sure she needs all four of you to give it to her." Osborn glanced at his friends, then smiled up at his teacher.

"Obviously." With a smile like that, the kid could get away with murder. Turner said to me, "I would have thought that Mr. Wuller had some plans for you this evening."

"I think he's planning on talking to Darius—Mr. Vasil." When Turner glanced up at the head table, I added, "The one in the suit."

"They do look like they'll get along nicely." He leaned over and said out of the side of his mouth, "Would you like an excuse to get out of it, Miss Cole?" That was the kind of offer I would expect from one of the only three people in the room wearing jeans. We were kindred spirits.

"If you don't mind," I said.

"And if it won't interrupt their school work too much."

"Walman's fine. Reed should be fine. Osborn is trying his hardest to be hopeless."

"We're just back from break!" Wes said.

"It's been a week. Come to think of it, Montes gave you work today. Have you finished it?" Wes scratched his head again. The teacher held up two fingers.

"Promise me two good hours of work before lights out, and I'll write a pass that'll be good until eight o'clock."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Turner!"

"Shipp, you'll have to clear it with Damshakle before you join them."

"Yes, Mr. Turner," Scott said. Turner sighed.

"I'd better go get my pass book." He left. I sat back down.

"You heard him, men!" Wes said.

"We have until twenty hundred. Commence shoveling." The five of us laid into our food.