Technocracy: Freshman Year, Part 3

The class continued, and then the bell rang, and it was done. Saera packed up her things next to him silently and efficiently, while Terry felt compelled to linger, slowly moving like he was caked in mud. His phone, his notebook, the books he was reading, they all slowly slipped into his backpack. Saera glanced over her shoulder at him, as she moved for the door. He caught her eyes just briefly, but then looked down again. It wasn’t a comfortable thing, meeting new people. Not for him. Part of it always made him feel guilty. There was always a feeling in his chest, a voice, that told him he didn’t really deserve friends.

And as he exited the classroom, this voice told him to skip Lunch, which was up next. Ardo had told him to meet him. Ardo had said they would eat lunch together. This was the real reason Terry was so reluctant to meet him. He wasn’t a good friend. He’d always been a bad friend. That’s why he didn’t have any.

He walked, head down, through the halls, parting the crowds around him as he always did. He was tempted to go home. Sometimes he did that, on the first day of school: just left in the middle of the day, and didn’t come back until the next day. It wasn’t like his father really cared. He could only take a certain amount of school at a time: a certain amount of socializing, a certain amount of the press and swell of other human beings. The urge to be alone overwhelmed him at a certain point. At least on the first day, there was only so much school he could take.

He stopped. He had, despite his misgivings, made it to the wide, opening awnings of the cafeteria. He turned to his left, his copper eyes alighting on a door to the outside. The gray and cloudy morning had been burnt away by the sun, and now blue sky gleamed just beyond the glass doors. He was tempted. A step was taken, towards the doors.

“There you are, man!” A hand clapped him hard on the bicep. Terry whirled around. Ardo stood grinning at him, red eyes bright and vibrant. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it!”

“I...” Terry paused, and his body felt on the verge of a big recoil. The urge to turn and run away flared in his heart. But Ardo stood there, hopeful and expectant, and it had a powerful effect. Terry sighed. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Come on!” said Ardo, turning and surging down the steps, elbowing aside two students as he did. “I hear they’re doing burritos today!” Terry shook his head and twisted down after him, avoiding the students instead of shoving them aside.

“What’d you have last period?” Ardo asked as they grabbed lunch trays.

“History,” said Terry. “You?”

“Algebra, remember?” said Ardo. “I told you when we split up!”

“Oh,” said Terry. He had actually forgotten. “Y-Yeah.”

“I’m really excited about electives this year,” said Ardo. “First time I’ve ever gotten to choose classes. What are your electives?”

“Photography and Theory of Knowledge,” said Terry.

“Cool! I’m taking Photography too! My other elective is Art, which I’m really looking forward to.”

Terry could not help but be caught up in Ardo’s blazing enthusiasm. It was contagious, and despite all his misgivings, he could not stop the ghost of a smile from twitching the edges of his lips.

It was, indeed, burrito day, a nice treat for the first day of school. Terry and Ardo each picked one out, wrapped in foil. Ardo had picked spicy pork, Terry had picked steak. They had topped their plates off with tortilla chips and salsa.

“Where shall we sit?” asked Terry as they exited the line and entered the cafeteria proper. It was a huge, white space, with high bright lighting overhead, and glimmering abstract art installations shining on the broad white walls. It was quite full: students were sitting everywhere, on broad tables that spanned the huge space which was split into two levels, a higher and a lower. These levels were separated by broad, flat steps that were tan in color.

“It’s fucking crowded,” said Ardo, snarling. Terry felt a twinge of happiness to hear this, to hear that Ardo did not appear to like crowds any more than he did.

“Let’s go up there,” said Terry, pointing up and to the right, towards a distant section of the upper level of the cafeteria. “I don’t think there are as many people there.”

With that, the two of them twisted and maneuvered their ways through gaggles of students, gossiping girls, and boys already yelling at each other from across tables. Climbing the steps, they made their way to the area where Terry had pointed, a secluded corner of the upper level. It was, indeed, much less crowded than the lower level was, and even less crowded than the left side of the upper level was. There was a table towards the back, beneath a distant skylight high above. No one was sitting at it. Ardo and Terry exchanged glances. That was it. Nodding to themselves, the two boys walked over to it, and with a smile of satisfaction, they chose seats next to each other, and set their tray tables down at the same time—

Only for two other tray tables to clang down in the spots directly across from theirs. “Hey!” said a proud, imperious voice. “Back off! We’re sitting here! Go somewhere else!”

“You!” snapped Ardo, rising from his seat. His ruby red eyes locked onto eyes of deep sapphire blue. Next to them, pale silver white eyes twitched into Ardo’s eyes, then moved up to meet Terry’s copper brown gaze.

“Oh, it’s you,” growled Marin, Saera standing right next to her. “Of course it is. That’s just how this day’s gone, hasn’t it?”

“Fuck off and go somewhere else, fatass,” snarled Ardo. “We were here first.”

“No way!” snapped Marin. “We were here first. Our tray tables came down, like, two seconds before yours did.”

“They did not!” snapped Ardo.

“Yes they did!” barked Marin. “So take your little sausage party and move.” She crossed her arms over her chest and puffed out her cheeks, blue eyes sparkling like a dappled body of water.

“Hmm,” hummed Ardo. He pulled back his chair and sat down. “Nah. You bitches move.”

“You asshole!” roared Marin. “I’m gonna—”

“Marin,” said Saera softly, causing her friend to glance at the taller girl. “What if we just sat with them?”

“With them? With him? Are you crazy?”

“It might not be… so bad,” she said slowly, carefully, in soothing, dulcet tones meant to pacify. “Don’t you want to make friends?”

“No! Not with that loser!” snarled Marin.

“Marin,” said Saera. Her silver gaze twitched to Terry, who caught it as it moved. But it quickly moved back to her friend. “Please. For me? I ask you, give it a try.”

This was a move Marin had not expected. And it worked. Terry saw the dark-haired girl crumple, just a little. “I...” she glanced back at Ardo, who snarled at her and bent his bright red eyes at her. She sneered back at him, but it lacked her previous fire. She turned to Saera. And sighed. “Fine, fine, Saera, for you.”

Saera smiled gently and prettily. “Thank you.”

“Just for you,” said Marin, pulling out her chair and sitting down. “And only this one time. We’re not doing this again.”

“Hmm,” hummed Saera. She sat down next to Marin. And her eyes again found Terry, catching him with her quiet, but piercing gaze. “Hello again.”

“Oh, h-hi,” he said. He absently began to unwrap the foil from his burrito. “Your name is…” he wracked his mind, and it raced in his nervousness, he wasn’t going to remember, he was going to look stupid again— “S-Saera, right?”

“That’s right,” she said. “You are Terry. I remember.”

“Ha, yeah,” he said, thrilled he’d gotten it right. “I mean it was only just last period.” He glanced at the dark-haired girl. “And you… you’re… Marian?”

“Marin,” she said haughtily, unwrapping her fish burrito and taking a big bite. “I remember you,” she said, talking with her mouth full. She swallowed. “I’m sorry everybody laughed at you in homeroom. That was mean. They shouldn’t have done that.”

“Really?” said Terry, surprised at the show of kindness from her. “Th-Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Marin, taking another big bite. “Only people who deserve it should be laughed at.”

Saera ate her chicken burrito much more daintily, chewing quietly with her mouth closed. Her silver eyes continued to twitch, to flit, like a small bird, over Marin and Terry as they ate and as they talked. They twitched to Ardo, next, who was chewing a big bite of his burrito. She pointed silently at him. He didn’t notice, not immediately, but she kept pointing, holding her burrito with her other hand. Eventually he gave a massive swallow of his massive bite, and looked up. His red eyes flared with recognition. “Oh, hey!” he said. “Saera, right?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Ardo.”

“I know.”

“I like your eyes!” He said it spontaneously and excitedly. He saw Saera’s face flicker briefly with emotion, her serene neutrality broken totally by the comment. And Ardo rapidly held up an arm. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t, I didn’t mean...”

“No, it’s… it is fine,” said Saera, taking another small bite of her food.

“I just, I mean it!” said Ardo, pressing forward, squashing his fear. “Your eyes are cool! I’ve never seen ones like them before. I’ve seen loads of people with eyes that are really light blue. But yours are, like, clear, white, silver. They’re neat!”

Saera saw him smile at her broadly. He radiated clear feelings, and she couldn’t help but catch his enthusiasm. So what had previously made her unsettled now, to her own surprise, made her happy. “Thank you!” she said happily. “Oh, I like yours, as well. Your eyes, I mean. They are rare, too. I’ve never seen red eyes before.”

“Yeah, they’re weird as fuck,” said Ardo. “Nobody in my family has them. My aunts don’t have any idea why I’ve got them. But… I think they’re cool. Sometimes.”

“They are cool,” Saera said. “You are right.”

“I mean, their eyes are weird, too,” said Ardo, sparing a glance at the still-talking Terry and Marin. “But ours are really weird.”

“Yes,” said Saera, biting daintily. “They are.”

“Although, really,” said Ardo, “I mean, their eyes are weird, too, they are. Fatass’ eyes—”

“Her name is Marin,” said Saera, quietly, but firmly, and she fixed Ardo with a piercing look, a glimmering glare of those silver eyes that said more than a thousand words ever could have.

“Marin’s eyes,” said Ardo, shaking off the shudder that he’d felt when Saera looked at him. “Marin’s eyes,” he continued, “are way too deep blue. That’s not normal. Blue eyes don’t get that blue. And Terry’s, that guy’s,” he gestured over to Terry as he took another bite, “his eyes are brown, but they’re not, like, a normal brown. They’re reddish, or goldish, or something. They have this gleam to them that doesn’t make any sense. They look like metal. I swear they change color depending on how he’s looking at you, too. They’re definitely not a normal brown.”

“Oh,” said Saera, “you notice color. You pay attention to color, don’t you?”

“I like to draw,” said Ardo. “I like to draw and paint. You get used to picking out colors when you do art.”

“Oh, that is really wonderful,” said Saera, excitement glinting in her silver gaze. “I’ve never been able to draw, myself.”

“Sorry,” said Ardo.

“It is no big deal,” said Saera. “I sometimes write poetry. That is what I tend to do.” She took another careful bite of her burrito.

“Saera’s poetry is the best,” said Marin, leaning into the conversation. “It’s super cool! She writes in regular meter!”

“I don’t know what that means,” said Ardo. Marin frowned and scowled at him. “How ‘bout you, fatass? You write? You draw?”

Marin curled her lip. “No. I dance.”

“Marin takes ballet,” said Saera. “It is one of your electives this semester, right?”

“Yeah,” said Marin. “I’m going to get a credit for it and everything.”

“Terry, do you do any kind of art?” asked Saera, glancing towards the brown-eyed boy.

“I’m—” Terry twitched away from the gaze of the other three. Their bright eyes bounced off him, and frightened him, a moment. He’d been glared at, before. He’d been stared at, by bright eyes.

Yet he turned. They weren’t mocking him. Even Marin, who had over and over seemed like a very shallow, vain person, wasn’t mocking him. Whether it was a trick of the light or their genuine expressions, they all seemed very interested in what he had to say.

“Oh, well, I…” he searched for a good way to answer. “I… I fish.”

“Neat!” said Marin.

“Fishing is cool, man,” said Ardo. “I’ve never been fishing before.”

“I have been,” said Saera. “Just once. It was interesting. Very quiet.”

“Yeah,” said Terry, grateful to have their gazes off him, friendly though they’d been. “It’s very peaceful. Sometimes I’ll sit behind my house, there’s a river there. It’s definitely quiet.”

“We should go sometime,” said Saera. “The four of us.”

Now it was the turn of Marin, Ardo, and Terry to stare at her, all three of them. “No!” snapped Marin. “Look, Saera, I—” she turned to Terry and pointed at him. “You’re not bad.” She pointed hard at Ardo. “You can fuck off, I don’t want to see you again after today.”

“I’m in multiple classes with you, fatass.”

“You’re just in Homeroom!”

“What’s your other elective?”

“Art.”

“Oh, I’m in that, too!”

“No!” cried Marin, blue eyes widening in horror.

“Oh, yes,” said Ardo, grinning fiercely as she gaped in terror at him.

“What are your electives?” Terry asked Saera.

“Theory of Knowledge and Creative Writing,” said Saera.

“Oh, cool! I-I’m in Theory of Knowledge, too.”

“So… since we all have classes that overlap, and we are all in Homeroom together,” said Saera, “perhaps we should make a habit of sitting together?”

“I don’t know...” said Terry.

“Saera, are you crazy?” said Marin. “I thought you wanted to just sit with the two of us! Just you and me!”

“All you’ve been doing is driving me crazy, fatass,” snarled Ardo. “I’m not the one to blame if you have a problem.”

“My name is Marin!” shrieked Marin, standing up and leaning forward. “You’re just an angry little nerd who lashes out because your parents don’t love you enough!”

That got a reaction out of Ardo: he stood bolt upright and leaned forward, red eyes glinting fiercely. “Do not ever talk about my parents, you fucking cunt.”

“Or what?” said Marin, smiling nastily.

Ardo looked very much like he was on the verge of showing her what ‘what’ was. But Terry sensed what was coming, and to his own surprise, he rose up and put an arm between them. “Calm down. Don’t fight. It’s stupid.”

“Apologize,” snarled Ardo.

“Why should I?” asked Marin. “You keep insulting me, why isn’t this fair?”

“Both of you apologize to each other,” said Terry, drawing the attention of the two of them with the firmness in his voice. Terry felt a thrill run up his spine—what was he doing, ordering people around? But he pushed forward. “You’ve both said nasty things. Each of you owes the other an apology. Ardo, you go first.”

“I—”

“Do it,” he said, speaking with a sharpness that surprised even him.

And it was a sharpness with which Ardo found himself unable to argue. He gazed with lowered brows at Marin, not willing to meet her imperious eyes. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

“Sorry for what?” said Marin. “I can’t hear you.”

“You!—” Ardo glared at her with vivid red eyes. He sighed hard. “Sorry for calling you ‘fatass.’”

“Apology accepted,” said Marin, smirking and tossing her hair back over her shoulder.

“Now, Marin, you apologize for insulting his family,” said Terry.

“Me? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Marin,” said Saera softly. She was the only one still sitting.

Marin turned to Saera, eyes glinting. Saera sat there, serenely, looking peacefully but pointedly at her friend. And, like the drip, drip, drip of water slowly wearing away a stain, Saera’s quiet insistence had its effect. Marin sighed. “Sorry,” she mumbled, crossing her arms and not meeting Ardo’s gaze.

“Sorry for what?” said Terry.

“I’m sorry for making fun of your parents,” said Marin. “There. Happy?”

“Good enough,” said Ardo, sitting back down. Marin and Terry sat down as well. Terry immediately felt like cold water was washing over him. He’d never behaved like that before, ordering people around, telling them what to do. It made him shake all over, and he tried to tamp down his quaking.

The bell chimed then. They had all long since finished their burritos, so they left their trays on the table and began to take up their backpacks and satchels. “Nice to see you both again,” said Terry to Marin and Saera.

“Yes,” said Saera. “Maybe we shall all sit together tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” said Marin. “This was kind of annoying.”

“All your fault,” said Ardo.

“Excuse me?” snarled Marin, leaning in again.

“I’m not the one who—”

“That’s enough, come on, come on,” said Terry, pulling Ardo aside.

“Come on, Saera,” said Marin. “I have Ballet next.”

“It might be nice to see them again tomorrow,” said Saera as she caught up with Marin.

“No way. Absolutely not!”

“Just one more time?”

“No!” Saera pouted at her. Marin grimaced. “No, I mean it!” They walked further away.

“Dumb bitches,” snarled Ardo.

“They were nice enough,” said Terry.

“Yeah, well, if I never see fatass at Lunch again I’ll be fine,” said Ardo. “Where you headed?”

“Theory of Knowledge,” said Terry. “So I’ll at least see Saera again. And the two of us have Photography later. And I guess you’ll see Marin even later, in Art.”

Ardo made a face. “What’s the big deal with you and those two? All we did all Lunch was get on each others’ nerves.”

Terry glanced up at the ceiling as the two of them walked up the steps, towards the cafeteria’s exit. “I have a feeling. It’s hard to explain. I think they’ll be back tomorrow. And we should be, too.”

“You’re weird, man,” said Ardo, as the two of them left their table behind.