Clever Reflections

FOUR- Cinna

Lunch was surprisingly - thankfully - uneventful. No one became suddenly or fatally ill; nobody broke any extremities; not one student started to madly scream, foam at the mouth or pulled out a gun and yelled 'scram'.

Salem spoke in a somewhat anemic tone about various teachers and students, brightening to a smirk every once in awhile to make a jab at someone or some class. He possessed a certain degree of ironic humor that I appreciated, and while I mostly just ate and nodded, I wasn't as bored as I projected. My disinterest was a farce, a shield to remind myself to stay stony. Salem seemed to be opening up to me, and I needed to remember to keep him at a distance. I needed to remember to stay isolated, least I grow attached. I needed to remember that I was quiksilver; the humans exposed to me were sure to die.

And yet...

And yet I couldn't shake the feeling that Salem was different, somehow; that maybe his apparent adaptivity would keep him out of the cloud of harm that hovered above and around me's way. I repeatedly caught myself the second before I grinned or laughed, having to concentrate to keep my usual countenance and solemn expression. Others would have tried to compensate, beaming and laughing at me and trying to force a friendliness that they did not truly feel. I was no stranger to first-day guides, they wanted to flee as soon as humanly possible and I usually broke them by midday. But Salem was different. Salem was standing his ground, stubborn despite my shunning. Instead of desperately scrambling for escape or closure that he'd done his job, he matched my somber mood point with his own ironic depression. He was socially awkward and either had no practice speaking with his peers or was the most tactless person I'd ever met. He'd begun to avoid touching me unless absolutely necessary and kept his voice at a level just loud enough to comfortably hear. He was a quick study. And despite myself and all I'd been telling myself for the past thirteen years of my life, I was actually warming to him.

I was slowly letting Salem Kaeri chip away at my mile-thick guard, and beginning to consider tunneling on my side as well.

Perhaps in time I could beat Houdini.

Perhaps in time I could escape the girl in the glass.

Tesela Middle School was different from most others that I'd attended in that P.E. was mandatory and Home Economics was as well. I'd never taken a Home Ec. course before. In Home Ec., they dealt with fire and knives. I'd always avoided the vicinities of knives and fire and late-in-the-day immature pseudo-adults, let alone all three at once. Home Ec. was a recipe, if you will, for disaster.

Salem had warned me of the designated Hippie Teacher Ms. Feyril, so I did not shriek when I stumbled around the corner into her room and was met with a clutching embrace. I did panic a little, and tensed straight as a board, but then tentatively reached my left arm to lightly pat her back in an awkward side-embrace. Salem had impressed that I hug her back, for she wouldn't let go until I did.

Ms. Feyril pulled away, holding me at arm's length with surprisingly strong, thin fingers clasping my shoulders. She squinted directly into my eyes, the short woman that she was bringing her face exactly level with mine. With my glasses staring into hers, her eyes were doubly magnified and seemed as huge, hertrochromian moons. Her hands skipped lightly to my wrists and I flinched, jerking away. She let my right hand go but kept my left as she slowly removed a leather strap with a grey stone on it from around her neck and wound it around my wrist. Ms. Feyril leaned into me and I shrunk even as she towered, petrified by her gaze, which hadn't wavered the whole time.

"Be careful." She patted my wrist and turned back to the open door.

I was released, and I stepped, slowly and deliberately, around the bony woman. She was adorned with at least three multicolored shawls and endless talismans coated her neck and forearms. She wore gigantic round glasses and her magnified eyes were different colors. I barely noticed, such was my apprehension at the sight of the rack of knives; the gas burners; the needles and irons. I stepped as lightly as I could over an electrical cord taped to the floor and wove through a row of tables to the back of the room where Salem had dropped his books.