The Knights of Sheba Episode 1: "A New Day" B

The Knights of Sheba 101 B…Start

 

            The next morning is hot and muggy.  Geneva and Kit meet in their history class.  Students gather in the room, sedated after their first-day highs.  Geneva sits in the back and stares out the window, watching the slow progress of the morning sun across the football field.  Her ankle, while stiff, is more-or-less functional, and her arm still aches.

            “Hey, Genny, how are you feeling? I was really worried about you yesterday, you know?”

            “I’m fine,” Geneva says, flexing her ankle and wincing.  “Okay, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.”

            Kit shakes her head and laughs.  “No, it probably wasn’t,” she says, leaning back and balancing in her chair.  “Still, are you sure you’re okay? You were sounding kind of crazy the other day.”

            “I’ll tell you what I told the teacher: I tripped.  And got hurt, and started talking all kinds of crazy, and I’m fine now.”

            “I don’t believe you.”

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “What can I do to convince you, then?  Do you want me to get up and do jig?”

            “While that would be crazy, I would probably just be even more worried.”

            “No winning with you,” Geneva says.

            “Listen, you say you’re fine, then I’ll believe you, but we’re friends, despite whatever you might believe right now, and that means I’m entitled to worry.”

            “Then be entitled and worry.  Just don’t entitle yourself to pry.”

            “Asking questions isn’t prying.”

            “It is when I want to keep my private health issues, you know, private.  Maybe, just maybe, I don’t want your nose all up in my business.  Cause you know what you are, Kit?  A prier, and not a good kind of prier.  Not Richard Pryor. The bad kind.  That puts their nose in businesses and can’t take a hint.”

            “Hint?”

            “I don’t want to talk about yesterday.  I don’t want to allude to it.  I don’t want to dance around it.  I want it to not be an issue.  I want it to be done with.”

            Kit remains silent for a long while, watching Geneva vent.  Once the other girl settles, Kit leans her seat forward, returning the legs to the floor. “So, there is an issue.”

            Geneva glares.  “Okay, now you’re just trying to be annoying.”

            “You know, you get all pissy when I’m away for the summer and don’t e-mail you, and now you get all pissy when I take an interest in your life.  Jesus, what do you want from me?”

            “I want you to take an interest in interesting things.  ‘Oh, hey, Geneva, how are classes going?’ ‘Oh, hey, Geneva, how was your summer?’ ‘Oh, hey, Geneva, did you catch up on Dr. Who?’”

            “I don’t watch Dr. Who.  I honestly don’t even know who he is.”

            “Well, you should, because it’s incredible, and I’d have a lot to say about it.”

            “Real life has more interesting things than television and video games, you know.”

            Geneva hisses.  “Lies!”

            Now it’s Kit’s turn to roll her eyes.  “Okay, fine, fine, I take that back, and I won’t harass you about your weird heat stroke induced hallucinations.”

            “I tripped.”

            “Yeah, whatever.  Anyway, I’m going to drive you home today.”

            Geneva pauses, looks at Kit.  “What?”

            “I, Katherine Deborah Wright, am driving you, Geneva…”

            “Evelyn.  My middle name is Evelyn.  After my grandma.”

            “Evelyn, huh?  Anyway, I’m driving you home today.”

            “But.”

            “No buts,” Kit says.  “Or ifs, for that matter.”

            “What about ‘No?’”

            “Especially no Nos.”

            Mr. Oliver enters the class and greets his students, who offer a far less enthusiastic greeting than the day before.  At his desk, he opens his briefcase and starts preparing.  Geneva leans over to Kit and whispers, “But, you don’t even know where I live.”

            “I guess that’s going to have to change, huh?”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Again, Geneva and Kit go their separate ways until lunch.  Math and English pass by uneventfully, and Geneva counts the minutes in Biology while ignoring glares from Mrs. Campbell and snide comments from Lana.  When she finally sees Kit as lunch, she slumps down at the table with her tray, nearly dislodging her meatloaf and orange Jell-O cup.

            “Just kill me!”

            Kit looks up from a chicken sandwich, all white meat, cooked to perfection.  A tiny flower of fruit, sliced into wedges and sorted by color, accompany her meal. “You okay?”

            Geneva stabs at her loaf.  “They’re horrible.  Horrible, I tell you.”

            “Who?”

            “Everyone. Lana!”

            Kit sighs, looks over her shoulder at Lana and her hyenas.  Then, she takes a large bite of her sandwich and nods.  “What did she do this time?”

            “Let me put it this way, the phrase, ‘Oh, no, let me handle that. Wouldn’t want you to collapse from the stress of walking,’ was played on repeat all hour.”

            Kit snickers.

            “Not funny, Kit!”

            “I know, I know, sorry,” Kit says, covering her mouth and, subsequently, her smirk.  “Listen, next time she gives you crap just mention Craig Johnson.”

            “Craig Johnson?”  Geneva peels the lid from her Jell-O, hears the voice of her mother telling her not to start with dessert, and silently tells it that she has her reasons.  She scoops a big, undulating glob into her mouth.  “There’s a story to this, and I have to hear it.”

            “They made out in the seventh grade.”

            Geneva pauses, spoon in mouth.  “That’s it?  That’s her kryptonite?  Old flames?  I mean, if she’s weak to men she’s made out with, then I should be able to chuck any random passerby at her.”

            “Let me finish,” Kit chides.  “While they were making out, well, things escalated.  She got her hand down his pants, fishing around for—Well, a worm.”

            Geneva’s eyes go wide.  She stops, mid-bite.  “In seventh grade?”

            “Please, most of her gang got their start in fifth.  Anyway, that’s not the thing.  Craig let one rip, with her hand down his pants.”

            “Wait, he…”

            “Yup.  Farted on her hand, and then he laughed about it.  She said she nearly vomited on him right there and swore me to secrecy.”

            “Oh God,” Geneva says, laughing and holding her sides.  “That’s classic.  Still, I think if I said anything it’d only make it worse.  Lana doesn’t seem like the type of bully who backs down when you stand up to her.  Instead, she’s more the type to start plotting your immediate doom.”

            Kit shrugs.  “You do what you want with the information.  I’m just making sure you have ammo, because if you do decide to fight back, I don’t think you have what it takes to out bitch her on your own.  She’s a master.”

            “THE master,” Geneva says.  “It’s like she worships Mean Girls.  But then, who doesn’t?  I mean, Lindsay and Tina in one movie?  It’s like a dream!”  Geneva looks across the table.  “Lesbians like Tina Fey, right?”

            Kit shrugs again.  “Sure, why not.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After lunch, the girls head to the gym for P.E.  They dress out quickly to avoid the others and are already on their way out of the locker room when Lana and her gang enter.  They meet in the stairwell.  Kit and Geneva step to the side to grant them passage; Lana stops to stare them down.

            She crosses her arms.  “When are they going to send you two to the boy’s side where you belong?”

            “You sure that isn’t where you want to be,” Kit says.  “I mean, everyone knows how much you like men.”

            “At least I’m straight,” Lana returns before flipping her hair and sashaying away.  Her friends follow after, giggling and parroting the statement.

            Kit glares at their backs as they leave.  “One of these days she’s going to say something to the wrong person and get hit.  I swear it.”

            Geneva imagines it, smiles.  “You know, I would totally pay to see that.”

            They leave the stairs and enter the gym, where they wait at the center for the others students to join them.  Geneva sits, cross-legged on the floor.  Kit paces around her, stretching.  Across the room they see Ms. Olivia leaving her office.  She speaks to a few students who are waiting nearby before heading their way.

            “Ms. Oaks, I hope you are well today.”

            “Tip top and no Martians to report,” Geneva says.  Ms. Olivia tilts her head. “Martians are green people.  It—It was a joke.”

            “I see,” Ms. Olivia says.  “That is humorous.  And you will be well enough to participate?”

            “More or less.” Geneva flexes her leg. “Ow.”

            “Yes.”  Ms. Olivia glances toward Kit.  “Ms. Wright.”

            Kit nods.  “Ms. Olivia.”

            “Now, Ms. Oaks, if I could steal you away for a moment.”

            “Steal me—You want to talk to me?”

            Ms. Olivia nods.

            Geneva looks at Kit, who shrugs, and then hesitates.  “Uh, sure,” she says, standing slowly and following Ms. Olivia across the gym and to her office.

            It is a small, bleak room.  The walls are white and unadorned.  The floor is a dark, cement, and seems to swallow the light.  A desk sits in the center, a chair behind it.  The desk holds a lamp, a computer, and a pen holder.  Two more plastic chairs sit in front of it, for guests.

            Ms. Olivia directs Geneva toward one of the plastic chairs and sits on the edge of her desk, her arms crossed, and looking not quite like a teacher.  The way she carries herself, with grace and purpose, gives her greater authority.  Alone with her, inside of the office, Geneva feels somewhat threatened.

            “So, uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

            “Yesterday,” Ms. Olivia says.  “About what happened, and about what you saw.”

            “I didn’t see anything.  It was a trick of the light.  Or I’m nuts.  Or Martians.”  Geneva laughs quietly, watches Ms. Olivia’s stoic response.  She clears her throat.  “Another joke.”

            “Still quite humorous,” Ms. Olivia says.  “But if we could be serious for a moment.  I just wanted to make certain that you saw nothing else, heard nothing else.”

            Geneva watches her.  Ms. Olivia meets her gaze in a way that isn’t accusatory, in a way that isn’t anything.  It is blank, perfectly expressionless.  “Er.”

            Ms. Olivia smiles.  It is practiced, polished, and attractive, but it isn’t real.  Her tone softens.  “I mean to say, perhaps it was a trick of the light, or perhaps you saw someone out there.  If that is the case, I feel it is my responsibility to attend to it.”

            “Um, right, well, I don’t think that’s what happened.”

            “I know but humor me.  Did you see anything else, other than the,” Ms. Olivia pauses, tastes the word before saying it, “Martian?”

            “No,” Geneva says.

            “And did you see which way it went?”

            Geneva shakes her head.

            “And did you hear anything?”

            “Nope,” Geneva says.  She presses her thumbs together, blushes.  “I was kind of screaming for help.  Heh.”

            “I see.”

            “So, uh, can I go back to class now?”

            Ms. Olivia stares at the floor.

            “Ms. Olivia?”

            She looks up.  “Hm?”

            “Class.  Can I go back to it?”

            “Yes.” Ms. Olivia stands from her desk.  “Tell them I will join them shortly.”

            “Right,” Geneva says.  She stands and goes to the door.  At the doorway she pauses and looks back.  “Uh, Ms. Olivia, I just remembered.  Before I started to scream, I heard it growl,” she says.  Ms. Olivia looks up now, in a way that worries Geneva. “So, maybe it was a dog.  Got scared when I started wailing like a police siren?”

            “Maybe,” Ms. Olivia says, adopting a smile.  It seems almost genuine.  “Thank you, Ms. Oaks, for your help.”

            Geneva squeezes the door handle tightly.  “No problem.  I kind of made a mess for everyone.”

            “You’re fine,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Come, let us return to class.”

            “Right,” Geneva says, pulling the door open, and letting the chaos in.

            Outside, in the gym, shouts bounce off the walls and the rafters.  At first, it is an unintelligible raucous.  Then, within the maelstrom of noise, Geneva finds Kit’s voice, shouting obscenities as it battles Lana’s for dominance.

            They enter the gym to find a circle of students.  Ms. Olivia burrows through, moving people as she passes.  At its core, she finds Kit and Lana together and a splatter of blood across the floor.  With one arm, Ms. Olivia hooks Kit around her midsection and pulls her away from Lana, who is quickly surrounded by her pack.

            “I’m fine,” Kit shouts, and she jerks hatefully from Ms. Olivia’s grasp.  Casting one last glare into the crowd, she says it again. “I’m fine.”

            Ms. Olivia looks between them.  Lana is at the center of her group, pinching her nose with one hand and holding a pool of blood with the other.  “What just happened here?”

            “Nothing,” Kit says, feeling her right hand.  Her knuckles are red.  She takes a deep breath.  “Things just got out of hand.”

            “Out of hand,” Lana says, stepping out into the open.  “Out of hand?  That—That man!  Hit me.” A small amount of blood trails down her wrist.

            “Keep it up and I’ll hit you again,” Kit shouts, marching toward her.  Ms. Olivia quickly intercepts.

            “That is enough, Ms. Wright!  I will be escorting you to the office.  And Ms. Oaks, if you could, help her to the nurse’s office.”

            Geneva, watching wide-eyed, holds up her hand.  “But I…”

            “I’m fine,” Lana says.  “I can go myself.”

            “I insist,” Ms. Olivia says.  Her tone allows no argument.  Lana and Geneva exchange looks.  “Now, girls,” Ms. Olivia says while dragging Kit away.  Together, Lana and Geneva shrug and leave.  Ms. Olivia walks a short distance behind them, leading a despondent Kit in her wake.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Lana and Geneva walk the halls in silence all the way to the nurse’s office.  Periodically, Lana gives telling glares, as if to remind Geneva of how unwelcome she is.  Geneva pushes through, sorting her thoughts, preparing them for later.

            Ms. Hart checks Lana’s nose.  The bleeding stopped before they arrived and, according to her, the damage is superficial.  It will heal fine and leave only a bruise.  She leaves the two alone, with Lana lying on the bed, holding a tissue to her nose just in case, while Geneva sits in a chair against the wall.

            “You can leave you know,” Lana says, voice muffled.  “I didn’t even need you to get me here in the first place.  I can walk on my own.”

            “I know.  You said so before. And you glared at me.  A lot.”

            “And you didn’t take the hint.”

            “Hint? So that’s what passes as subtlety to you.”

            Lana sits up and fixes her sharpened gaze on Geneva.  If looks could kill, Geneva’s guts would be spread across the wall.  “Listen, loser, and listen well.  I don’t want to be your friend, I don’t want you hanging around me or keeping an eye on me.  So, just leave.”

            Geneva puts her hands on the arm rests, prepares to leave.  Her stomach is knotted up, twisted by fear and anxiety and Lana.  She meets Lana’s eyes, takes a deep breath, removes her hands.  She folds them up on her lap, presses her thumb together, and stares at her palms.  “What did you do?”

            “Excuse me?”

            “What did you do?  To Kit. What did you do to get her to hit you?”

            “Why do you care?”

            “Because she’s my friend.”

            “Friend?”  Lana laughs, high and cruel.  She throws her head back to really enjoy it.  “Oh, that’s a good one.  I’ll have to remember that for the girls.”

            Geneva looks up and regrets it.  Lana is watching her with cold calculation.  She is smiling, but it isn’t enjoyment.  It is sadism. “What do you mean by that?”

            “Funny thing about friends,” Lana says, “They spend time together.  You know, outside of school, and while I see Kit around town here or there, I never see you with her.”

            Geneva returns to staring at her hands. They sit on her lap, fingers locked, without judgment.  “That doesn’t mean we’re not friends.”

            “Oh, did I hit a sore spot?”

            “Just answer me.  What did you do?”

            “I didn’t do anything except tell the truth.”

            “Yeah, cause Kit’s known for outbursts of rage and physical violence.” Geneva pauses.  “Well, I mean, sports don’t count.  She’s competitive.”

            “Listen, it’s sweet how you’re sticking up for your bull and all, but you’re wasting your time and your efforts.  I don’t care about you and neither does she.  So, just do everyone a favor and go away, be invisible, fail out of school, and disappear from existence.  The sooner that happens, the happier everyone will be.”

            “I…”

            Ms. Hart enters the room, carrying a paper cup and a handful of pain killers.  She gives them to Lana and grabs a stack of fresh tissues.  “The office called,” she says.  “I think the principal would like to talk to you about everything that happened.”

            “Of course, ma’am, and thank you for all of your help.  I’m so sorry about all of this.”

            “Oh, you’re fine, honey,” Ms. Hart says, touching Lana’s arm gently.  “You just be careful, okay?  Oh, and Geneva, how are you feeling?”

            “Fine,” Geneva says.

            “Yeah, we were all so worried about you yesterday.”  Lana says it with such conviction that Geneva almost believes her.

            “Well, you two should be getting along,” Ms. Hart says.

            “Thank you, Ms. Hart,” Lana says, hopping from the bed and leading them out.

            In the hall, out of distance from the nurse’s office, Geneva stares in mixed respect and disbelief.  “You’re evil.”

            “I’m pragmatic.”

            “That’s what evil people call their own evil, you know.”

            “And evil is a stupid word used to demean the success of others.”

            Geneva stares now at the ground and walks a few feet behind Lana.  She doesn’t want to be in arm’s length of the girl, not when she looks at those fingernails.  “What are you going to do? When you make it to the office, I mean.  Pull the same little Snow White act and make them think you were the innocent victim?”

            “I AM the victim,” Lana says.  “SHE hit ME, remember?”

            “And you provoked it.”

            Lana shrugs.  “Maybe.”

            “You did,” Geneva says, stomping her foot and holding her ground.  “You totally did!  I’ve only been around you for a few minutes, and I want to smack you!”

            Lana turns, fluidly, and closes the distance between them.  She grabs Geneva by the shoulders and slams her against the wall.  Holding her there, she leans in and stares her in the eyes.  She is grinning again, and this time it is a threat.  “Go ahead and try it, then.”

            Geneva, shocked into paralysis, can only manage, “What?”

            “Hit me, if you think you can.  Hit me, if you aren’t too scared.  If not, then keep your fat mouth shut, because I’m tired of hearing your stupid voice.  Whatever is going on between Kit and me is between us, and I don’t care what imagined little friendship you’ve got with her, it stays between us.  Got it?”

            Geneva hesitates, searches Lana’s eyes, but she can’t find anything.  They are without intent, without hurt or hate.  They’re clear, green, and steady.

            Lana shoves her.  “I said, ‘got it?’”

            “Got it,” Geneva says.  “Yeah, I got it.”

            Lana releases her.  “Good.  Then go to class, because this is none of your business.”  She turns then, and marches down the hall.  Her gait is purposeful, confident.  Geneva stands against the wall, watching Lana’s back as she leaves.

            She waits there as Lana climbs the stairs and goes out of sight.  Then, she stares at the reflective surface of the floor.  The halls are empty.  No one is there to help her, and even if they were, she isn’t sure she would know what to say to them.

            She rubs her eyes.  Kit is in deep, and Geneva knows it.  There is nothing she can do.  She keeps telling herself that, but it doesn’t feel right.  It doesn’t feel like enough.  She lifts her head, wipes her eyes again.

            “You can do this,” Geneva says.  She sighs and closes her eyes tight.  “You can do something.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The main office is a small room tucked into the corner of the dining hall.  Geneva passes it on the way back to the gym.  As she walks, she keeps her head down, staring at her reflection on the tiles.  She sorts her thoughts knowing, ultimately, that they will never come out how she likes.

            Ms. Olivia steps out into the hall and, seeing Geneva, calls to her.  “Ms. Oaks, what are you doing here?  I would have thought you returned to class already.”

            “Same to you,” Geneva says.

            “I was on my way, actually.  They had a few questions for me,” she says.  “Come along, we can go together.”

            “We could,” Geneva says.  She balls her fists, tries to keep her gaze steady. “But, I’m not going back yet.”

            Ms. Olivia meets her eyes, crosses her arms.  She is looking down at Geneva, and through her.  “You’re not?”

            “No.”  This is said with as much defiance as Geneva has in her.  It comes out as a squeak.

            “And why not, may I ask?”

            “Because,” Geneva shifts her weight, looks passed Ms. Olivia long enough to gather herself, and then says, “Because Kit’s going to get thrashed, and because no one will stick up for her, not against Lana.”

            “She struck another student, Ms. Oaks.  Surely you don’t think such behavior is excusable.”

            “I know, I know, but—Lana is really annoying, and if you had to put up with her like we do…”

            “Ms. Oaks,” Ms. Olivia says, her tone pitiless, impatient, “As it stands, Ms. Wright’s behavior was entirely unacceptable, and she will likely face punishment.  I understand that it is difficult for you to be impartial in such circumstances, but your involvement may only further complicate things.”

            “Right,” Geneva says, hanging her head.  She stares at the tiles again, at herself, and she doesn’t like what she sees.  Even in her own head she isn’t the hero of the story.  She is the bystander, but Kit deserves better than that.

            She looks up again, not feeling resolved but stubborn.  “And you know, you’re right, she shouldn’t have hit Lana.  No matter how annoying she is,” she says.  “And I promise you, she is annoying.”

            “Be that as it may, Ms. Oaks, we need to return to class.”

            “No.”

            Ms. Olivia’s eyebrows raise, slightly.  “Excuse me?”

            Geneva thinks to apologize.  She bites her cheek.  “I said no, because this isn’t right.”

            “What isn’t right?”

            “Well.”  She stops, wrestling her unruly thoughts.

            “If you have something to say, then say it, Ms. Oaks.  As you have already pointed out, we’re both long overdue to return to the gym.”

            “Well, it’s just not right when people like Lana win.”

            “Win?  Ms. Love was attacked, Ms. Oaks.  How is it that you view her as the villain?”

            “Because I know her, and she is a villain.  She’s evil.  Like, biblical age, fallen angel evil, and I know Kit.  She wouldn’t have hit Lana, no matter how they feel about each other.  Not unless she was provoked.”

            “Whether she was provoked or not…”

            “Ms. Olivia, come on.  Everyone knows that school violence is zero tolerance.  Everyone.  And while it pains me to admit this, Lana’s not stupid.  She knows what would happen if Kit hit her, and she knows Kit would be too proud to raise a stink on her own.”  Geneva shakes her head.  “I know it sounds crazy, just—Just, do me a favor and…”

            “Do you a favor?  I am your instructor.”

            “I know, but—Ask Kit point blank what Lana did, what she said.  She’s got a mouth on her, and…”

            “What she did is irrelevant.”

            “Kit can get kicked out of school.  I mean, she definitely will, and that will follow her.  It’s like throwing her life into the garbage.  Throwing her education there.  This is a good school, Ms. Olivia.  Like, god-tier good, and Kit has a long life ahead of her.  Are you really willing to throw that away, too, all cause something got out of hand?”

            Ms. Olivia softens, slightly.  “Ms. Oaks, I think it’s admirable what you’re doing but…”

            “Please,” Geneva says.  “Either you do it or…”

            “Or?”

            “Or, I don’t know.  I guess I’ll go do it myself.”

            “You would speak to an instructor that way?  Do you want to get into trouble, too?”

            “Don’t want to, but willing to, for this, for Kit,” Geneva says.  “This isn’t right.  What she did was wrong, but I know Lana, and I know she’s about as clean as a dollar bill.  Which I recently found out are absolutely filthy.”

            Ms. Olivia watches her, impassive, implacable, and it is enough to shake Geneva, but not break her.  They stand together, in a tense silence that seems to stretch on forever.  Geneva continues to shift her weight and focus.  She looks at the plaques behind Ms. Olivia, the trophy case to her right.  She scratches her nose.

            “Fine,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Ms. Oaks, I will speak to the principal and superintendent on your behalf and, hopefully, your point will be heard.  Now, would you please return to class?  One of us has to be there sometime today.”

            Geneva, after a moment of wide-eyed surprise, smiles.  “Okay, yeah, totally, I’ll head right over.  Right now.  Immediately,” she says.  “And, Ms. Olivia?  Thanks. And stuff.”

            “You’re very welcome, Ms. Oaks.  And before you go, let me tell you, how very brave of you it was to stand by your friend.”

            Hearing that, Geneva blushes as they part ways.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The rest of the school day passes without word from either Kit or Lana, and as the final bell rings Geneva loses hope.  She leaves Psychology, books clutched to her breast, and walks the halls.  For the first time in years, she feels very, very alone.

            She weaves through the people, finds her locker.  When it comes open, she grimaces.  Two days in and already it looks like chaos.  Sighing, she goes elbow-deep into the mess and starts extracting the things she will need, a piece at a time.  Bookbag.  Math book.  History book.

            Someone taps her on the shoulder.  Geneva looks up to find Kit standing there, looking a bit puffy-eyed but wearing a half-smirk.

            She drops her things.  “Kit!”

            “Hey there, happy to see me?”

            “Not unhappy,” Geneva says with a telling grin.  “What happened back there?  Ms. Olivia takes me away for a minute and I come back to find you kicking names and taking asses.”  Geneva kneels down to pick up her scattered books, and Kit helps her.  “What, couldn’t wait until I got back to break Lana’s nose.”

            Kit laughs.  “I didn’t break anything.”

            “Yeah, she should give me the name of her surgeon.  Guy’s work is industrial grade.”

            They stand together.  Geneva jams her books into her backpack before taking the ones Kit is holding.  “You in a rush to get to the bus?”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, finding room inside of her bag for the remaining books.  She stares inside, hoping that she has everything.  “But, I’ve got to know what happened.  You two have always been at each other’s throats, but things seemed really heated this time.  So?”

            “So, she said a mean word,” Kit says.  “I’ll leave it at that.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says.  The bell rings again, and Geneva notices how empty the halls have become.  “Oh, crap!  Well, walk with me to the bus, would you?”

            “No, you come to my car.”

            “How will that keep me from missing the bus, Kit?  What, are we going to drive alongside it, make me jump on, action-movie style?  Cause, I’ve got to say, I don’t think I have the leg strength for that.  Or the coordination.  Or the interest.  Yeah, I really just don’t want to do that.”

            “I’m driving you home, Genny.  Remember?”

            Geneva stops, wide-eyed, and nearly drops her things again.  Kit turns and walks away, a smile on her face and Geneva trailing after.  “You—You don’t know where I live!”

            “We’ve discussed this already,” Kit says.  “Besides, I imagine you have a pretty good idea.”

            “Kit, you don’t have to…”

            “I want to.  Now, come on,” she says, not stopping to wait.  Geneva follows, glancing back periodically at the empty halls.  As they step out into the parking lot, she watches the buses make their slow exit, pulling away one at a time.

            Seeing that it’s too late to back out, Geneva hangs her head and resigns herself to accepting Kit’s help.

            Kit pulls her keys out of her pocket and looks back.  “You okay?”

            “Fine,” Geneva says.  “Insides.  Feel like they’re eating themselves.”

            “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Kit says, and she starts forward again.  Geneva follows once more.  “Why are you in such a fit about me driving you home?”

            “Because, you’ve never wanted to do it before.”

            “And I do now,” Kit says.  “We’re friends, Genny.  I know that we don’t always talk much outside of classes but, you’re important to me.”

            “Yeah, but with everything that happened today…”

            Kit waves it off.  “It’s fine.”

            “It is?”

            “More or less,” Kit says, shrugging.  There are only a few cars left in the parking lot.  Some belong to teachers.  Others belong to students making plans.  At the back, Geneva sees a sleek, blue car of some expensive make and model.

            “Any more details, or…”

            “I got yelled at.  A lot.  And I was told how violence is never the answer.  And I was told how I would be made an example.”  Kit rubs her chin.  “How did Mr. Z put it?  He was throwing the book at me.”

            “How thick was it?”

            “What?”

            “The book.  How thick was it?”

            “I,” Kit pauses, “I’d imagine it was pretty thick. I don’t know.  They didn’t really throw anything at me.”

            “Empty threats,” Geneva says, sighing and shaking her head.  “Never going to get anywhere like that.”

            “I know, right?  Anyway, just as they were all but signing my death warrant, Ms. Olivia comes back in.  She talks to the principal, or begs him or something, and he takes a deep breath and says that, in light of my stellar track record and that I’m normally not in his office, well—He wanted to know WHY I hit Lana.”

            “They hadn’t asked before?”

            “No.  Mostly, they yelled.”

            “And what did you say?”

            “I said she was pissing me off,” Kit says.

            “Good going.  I’m sure that went well for you.”

            They stop in front of Kit’s car.  Geneva can see a speckle in the blue of the hood and the tint in the windows, and she realizes that it is more expensive than she previously thought.

            “No, not really,” Kit says through laughter.  “I thought his head would split open, but then—Here, let me get that,” Kit says.  She takes Geneva’s bag and stows it in the back seat.  Then, she unlocks the passenger door and pulls it open for Geneva.  Once Geneva is safely inside, she closes the door behind her.

            The car, Geneva decides, is nicer on the inside.  Everything is clean and leather.  The wheel is polished to a reflective sheen.  Staring at her own hand-me-down jeans and garage-sale shoes, Geneva feels decidedly out of place.

            Kit gets in on the other side.  She slips the key into the ignition and the car purrs to life.  Geneva has never heard a car run so smoothly.  They pull on their seatbelts.

            “Anyway, like I was saying, I thought I was dead, but then Lana speaks up.  She spills everything, how she was taunting me, what she said, and the principal goes silent.”  Kit pulls the car out onto the street.  “Which way?”

            Geneva points right.  “That way,” she says.  “Now, you’re killing me with the interruptions.”

            Kit grins and relaxes, taking the steering wheel with one hand.  “Right.  So, the principal goes all silent, and I’m wondering what’s going to happen.  I mean, Lana’s not the type to admit to anything, so she has to have a plan.  And then the principal says that regardless of what happened, violence is wrong, and that he can’t just let me off because of some hurtful words.”

            “Crap,” Geneva croaks.

            “And then he gave me I.S.S.”

            Geneva goes quiet.  The car hums in the silence.  After picking up her jaw, Geneva says, “I.S.S.?  As in, In School Suspension?”

            “For an entire year.”

            “Ouch, but still.”

            “Could be worse,” Kit says.

            “Way worse.  I guess Lana said something really bad.”

            “Pretty bad.”

            “What was it?”

            “Never mind that.  She got I.S.S., too, though. For a few months, and that’s enough for me.”

            “Seriously, Kit, what was it?”

            “A word I wouldn’t want you to use ironically when talking to me.”

            “Man,” Geneva says, staring at the dashboard.  “That must be pretty bad.”

            “Yeah,” Kit says.  “We have no interest in taking that word back.”

            “Turn here, I think.”

            “Right, so, after Ms. Olivia came riding in like a knight in shining armor, she pulled me aside.”

            “Knight?  Wait, you’re a princess now?”

            “With the looks and all of my feminine charms, what else would I be?”

            “No comment,” Geneva says.  “You’re not planning on sleeping with her, are you?”

            “Nah, she’s too rigid for me. It’d be like making love to a coatrack.”

            “That’s quite the image.”

            “Anyway, she told me the score.”

            “Told you the score?  Told you the score? What are you now, a twenty’s gangster?  Are you two planning to start a racketeering bracket or something?  Do racketeers even have a bracket?  Wouldn’t that make them bracketeers?  Please, Kit, stop me soon, because I’ll keep going.”

            Kit grins.

            “What do bracketeers even…”

            “She told me that you talked to her, convinced her that there was good in me or something like that.  She was kind of dramatic,” Kit says.

            “Yeah,” Geneva says, her cheeks flushed.  She looks out the window.  “She’s dramatic.”

            “Anyway, she said you stood up for me, that you’re a good friend.”  Kit looks Geneva’s way.  “And, I’m finally starting to realize that, too.”

            “Eyes on the road, woman!”

            “What? I’m fine.”

            “There’s a car in front of you,” Geneva says, pointing out the windshield.

            “Way up there.”

            “You were fast approaching.”

            “I was driving,” Kit says.

            “Quickly!”

            “I’ve never even had a speeding ticket.”

            “You don’t need a ticket to die, Kit!  You don’t need a ticket to die.”

            “Okay, maybe you’re not that good of a friend.”

            “I’m the best type of friend.  I’m the kind that keeps you from dying in a fiery car crash, because Kit, even you aren’t immune to fire.”  Geneva pauses, and they ride silently for a few moments.  She relaxes into her seat, drums her fingers on the door.  “So, anyway, what did she call you?”

            A sigh and Kit rolls her eyes.  “Oh, fine, I’ll tell you.  She called me a…”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Fifteen minutes later they pull up in front of Geneva’s house, a modest two story with a line of withering shrubs that her mother half-heartedly cares for.  A tree dominates the lawn and looms over the cracked sidewalk, its trunk barely contained by the chain link fence nearby.

            Geneva stares at it, feeling not anxious but embarrassed.  Kit doesn’t seem to have an opinion on it one way or the other.

            “So, this is where you live,” Kit says.

            Geneva nods.

            “It’s nice.”

            “Please,” Geneva says.  “It’s probably nothing compared to the mansion you live in.”

            “Genny, I don’t live in a mansion.”

            “Castle.  Whatever. It’s all the same to us little people.”

            “My parents aren’t that well off,” Kit says, looking out the window.

            “Didn’t your dad invest in google?”

            Kit looks back, somewhat guiltily.  “Where did you hear that?”

            “Did he or didn’t he? Answer the question.”

            “Let’s talk about something else.”

            “Hey, are you seriously evading the question?”

            Kit laughs.  “Anyway, I seriously like your house, and I plan to see a lot more of it.”

            “What? You taking a picture or something?”

            “No.  I was thinking more like I would come over.”

            “And we could stay up all night and eat ice cream and braid each other’s hair!”  Geneva clasps her hands over her chest.  “Oh, dear, oh my, Kit.  Can we?  Can we?”

            Kit’s face sours.  “Braid our hair?  What are you, Genny, gay?”

            “Funny,” Geneva says.  “Anyway, I can’t help but notice that we’re here now, and you could totally come in.  Now.  If you want.”

            Kit goes silent.  She smiles, tucks some hair back before staring at her lap.  “Honestly, I would love to,” she says.  “Thing is, my parents are going to kill me when they get that call about what happened at school.”

            “Oh. Yeah.”

            “But don’t worry,” Kit says, touching Geneva’s arm.  She smiles again, and this time Geneva can see dimples.  “I meant it when I said that we’ll start hanging out more.  And I meant it when I said that you’ve been really good to me, and that I appreciate it.  I just—I might not want to push things.  Not if I don’t want to be grounded for the whole school year, too.”

            “No, no, I get it.  Really.”  Geneva unfastens her seatbelt and lets it slide back.  Clumsily, she gathers her things together and tries for the door handle.  “Guess I won’t see you tomorrow, seeing as how….”

            Geneva doesn’t even have the door open before Kit says, “Wait!”  She looks back to find Kit leaning toward her with a strange, unfamiliar glint in her half-lidded eyes.

            Geneva stares cross-eyed at Kit’s nose as they get closer.  “Uh—Yeah?”

            “I just wanted you to know.  You’re a really good friend, Genny.”

            “So you’ve said, Kit.”

            “You know, I’ve known you for three years, but I’ve never noticed how blue your eyes are.”

            “Ah—Thanks?”

            “You’re very pretty,” Kit says, drawing closer.

            “Kit, what are you—!”

            Just then, Kit silences her with a kiss.  Together, they fall back, stopping against the passenger door.  Geneva’s bag tumbles from her arms onto the floorboard as their bodies crash together.  For a moment, Geneva even kisses back.  Then, her motor-functions return to working order, and she wriggles free.

            “I.”  Geneva scoops her things up and stumbles out the door.  “I got to go.  Uh, thanks for the ride!”  She doesn’t wait for Kit’s reaction, she just runs and is inside of the house in a blur of movement.  Once the door is closed, she lets out a sigh and rests against it, feeling her lips.

            She gasps for breath.  “That—That was my first kiss.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Viscount Salamand Seere sits in his private chambers reading.  It is nighttime, and the cool, dry plain air drifts into the room through an open window.  Outside, the moon is full, a ripe silver fruit suspended in the sky and decorated by stars.  He reads by the moon light, as he often does, because wax and candles are a commodity.

            Salamand is rare among the demons.  He feels safe in his home and in the night.  Most demons, even the nobles, live in fear of constant invasion and assassination, but he never has.  Life is a constant struggle and, after a certain point, Salamand decided that no amount of fear would change that.

            Only action would.

            Outside his faithful guard, Ruka, waits.  In his youth, Ruka was the biggest and strongest of the demons recruited into Salamand’s personal guard.  He wasn’t promoted for this, however. Despite his large size, he showed intelligence, cunning beyond his station, and Salamand always favored the clever over the strong.  He feels blessed to have someone so trusted who can be both.

            A knock at the door, and a quiet argument outside.  Harsh words are exchanged, as they often are, and a demoness steps in.  She is tall and dark-haired, and her eyes are piercing blue.  She wears a heavy brown travel cloak that is frayed in places and her boots track mud as she enters the room.

            Salamand peeks over his book at the boot prints and at Ruka following closely after.

            “I told you that you were not welcome,” Ruka growls.

            “And I told you that I don’t care.”  The demoness pulls her hood back and looks around the room.  “What, no light?”

            “I can see perfectly fine,” Salamand says.  “And so can you.”  He looks at Ruka, who stands in the doorway.  Ruka meets his eyes, glowers, and bows.  He is out the door shortly after, closing it behind him.  Turning his attention the demoness, Salamand says, “Would you care for a drink, Yima?”

            Yima is at the table, lighting the stubby candle at its center.  “No, thank you,” she says.

            Salamand stands and crosses the room.  He slips his book back into place.  His library fits onto one small shelf, but it is quite large considering his location.  He pours himself a glass of water, another commodity, and joins her at the table.  “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

            She grunts and reaches into a pouch on her belt.  From within, she pulls out a rolled parchment.  Unrolling it on the table reveals a map of the southern continent.  Salamand’s viscounty sits at south-western edge.

            Salamand watches her and sips his drink.  It is cool, fresh, clean.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, dear?  I trust all is well and safe.”

            “Well and safe enough,” she says, and she points to the map, to the south of the viscounty and in the neighboring county ruled by Serpens Andromalius. His lands hold the great forests of the south.  Her finger comes to rest on the image of a large tree.  “It’s open.”

            Salamand stares at the map, his eyes narrowing.  He sets the glass on the table and a long silence follows.  Then, a smile crawls onto his face.  “You mean to say I was right.”

            “You were,” she says.  “And we did as instructed.”

            He looks her in the eyes.  “And they passed through?  Where have they gone?”

            “I don’t know.  I passed only briefly when they didn’t return.  The channels of the Yggdrasil are convoluted.”

            “To say the least,” Seere says.  “But you saw it?”

            “Not much of it.  I returned shortly to tell you.  I don’t have to stay there, do I?  The way he watches me.”

            Seere’s smile spreads, going nearly from ear-to-ear, as he leans back into his chair.  “The door is open,” he says, weaving his fingers together and resting them on his stomach, and he laughs.  “Do you understand what that means, Yima?”

            She frowns.  “What?”

            “It is the start of a new day, and the supposed scourge of the worlds has returned,” he says.  “We’ve returned.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 101…End