“I want my money back,” Jules seethed through his teeth.
“Good morning, Carswell,” said a chipper voice.
Sliding his gaze past Jule’s shoulder, Carswel smiled and nodded at the freckled brunette who was
shyly fluttering her lashes at him. “Morning, Shan. How’d your recital go last night?”
She giggled and ducked her head. “It was great. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it. Um. I just wanted to
say hi, and … you look real y nice this morning.” Blushing she turned and darted toward a group of
friends who were waiting near the water fountain. Together they broke into a fit of teasing chatter as
they flitted down the hal way.
Jules pushed Carswell into the locker again, yanking his attention back. “I said-“
“You want your money back, yeah, yeah, I heard you,” Carswel held up the canister. “And that’s
fine. No problem. I’ll transfer it over during lunch.”
Harrumphing, Jules released him.
“Of course, you’ll lose all the progress you’ve made so far.”
“What progress?” Jules said, bristling again. “Stuff doesn’t work!”
“Sure it works. But it takes to weeks. Says so right here.” He pointed at the label, and Jules snarled.
“It’s been three.”
Rolling his eyes, Carswell tossed the canister from hand to hand. “It’s a process. There are steps. The first step is-” He respectfully lowered his voice, in case Jules didn’t want the sensitive nature of their conversation to be overheard. “-you know, clearing away the first layer of dead skin cells. Exfoliation, as it were. But a real y deep, intense, all-natural exfoliation. That takes two weeks. In step two, it unlocks al the grease and dirt that’s been stuck in the bottom of your pores. That’s the step you’re in the middle of right now. IN another week, it’l move on to step three. Hydrating your skin so that it has a constant, beautiful glow.” He quirked his lips to one side and shrugged. “You know, like me. I’m telling you, it does work. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s skin care products.” Unscrewing the cap, he took a long sniff of the cream. “Not to mention …no, never mind. You don’t want it. It’s not worth mentioning at al . I’l
just take this back and-“
“Not to mention what?”
Carswell cleared his throat and dipped forward, until Jules had lowered his own head into their
makeshift huddle. “The scent is proven to make you more attractive to girls. It’s practically an
aphrodisiac, in aroma therapy form.”
A crease formed in between Jules’s brow and Carswel recognized confusion. He was just about to
explain what an aphrodisiac was when a third form sidled up beside them.
“Hey, Carswell,” Said Elia, the pep squad captain, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. She
was easily one of the prettiest girls in school, with thick black hair and a persistent dimple in one cheek.
She as also a year older and about four inches taller than Carswell, which wasn’t particularly uncommon
these days. Unlike Jules, Carswell hadn’t seen even a glimmer of a growth spurt yet, and he was really
starting to get fed up with waiting, even though none of the girls had seemed bothered by the fact that
they’d been outpacing him in the height department since their sixth year.
“Morning Elia,” Carswell said, slipping the canister of facial cream into his pocket. “Perfect timing!
Could you do me a favor?”
Her eyes widened with blatant enthusiasm. “Of course!”
“Could you tell me, what does my good friend Jules here smell like to you?”
Instant redness flushed over Jules’s face, and with a snarl, he pushed Carswell into the lockers again.
“What are you-!”
But then he froze. Carswell’s teeth were still vibrating when Elia leaned forward so that her nose
was almost, almost touching Jules’s neck, and sniffed.
Jules had become a statue.
Carswell lifted an expectant eyebrow.
Elia rocked back on her heels, considering for a moment as her gazed raked over the ceiling. Then –
“Almonds, I think.”
“And…do you like it?” Carswel ventured.
She laughed, the sound like an inviting wind chime. Jules’s blush deepened.
“Definitely,” she said, although it was Carswell she was smiling at. “It reminds me of one of my
favorite desserts.”
Jules released him and, once again, Carswell smoothed his jacket. “Thank you, Elia. That’s very
helpful.”
“My pleasure.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was wondering if you’re going to the
Peace Dance next week?”
His smile was both practiced and instinctual. “Undecided. I may be cooking dinner for my sick
grandmother that night.” He waited expectantly as Elia’s gaze filled with swooning. “But if I do end up
going to the dance, you’l be the first I ask to go with me.”
She beamed and bounced on her toes. “Wel , I’d say yes.” She said , loking suddenly, briefly bashful,
“Just in case you weren’t sure.” Then she turned and practical y skipped down the hal .
“Well,” said Carswell, pulling the canister back out of his pocket. “I guess our business is all
concluded, then. Like I said, I’l return your payment in full by this afternoon. Of course, the retail price on this stuff just went up twenty percent, so if you change your mind later, I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge-“
Jules snatched the canister out of his hand. His face was still bright red, his brow stil drawn, but the anger had dissolved from his eyes. “If nothing’s changed in another three weeks,” he said low and
threatening, “I’ll be shoving the rest of this cream down your throat.”
Well, most of the anger had dissolved from his eyes.
But Carswell merely smiled and gave Jules a friendly pat on the shoulder just as the anthem of the
American Republic began to blare through the school speakers. “So glad I could clear things up for you.”
~~~~~~
He walked into literature class four minutes late, his book bag over one shoulder as he deftly
buttoned his blazer. He slid into the only remaining seat – front row, dead center.
“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Thorne,” said Professor Gosnel.
Crossing his heels, Carswell tipped back in his chair and flashed a bright smile at the teacher. “The
pleasure is all mine, Professor.
He could see her refraining from an eye rol but she punched something into her portscreen. The
screens built into the classroom desks lit up with the day’s assignment. Great Dramatists of the First Century, Third Era, was emblazoned across the top, fol owed by a list of names and which of the six Earthen countries each dramatist had hailed from.
“For today, I want everyone to select one artist from this list,” said the teacher, pacing in front of
the classroom, “and choose a drama from their body of work that appeals to you. At half past, we’ll split into pairs and you can take turns reading the dramas you’ve found with your partner and discussing how
the themes in them relate to our world today.”
A finger tapped Carswell gently at the base of his neck, the universal symbol for “I chose you.”
Carswel struggled to remember who had been sitting behind him when he took this seat, and if it was
someone he wouldn’t mind being partnered with. Had it been Destiny? Athena? Blakely? Spades, he