We Remember || ONC2022

Chapter Five

It was nearing the end of market day and the crowd had run to a dribble. Pim had taken the opportunity to do some shopping and Una was off on her own, likely stalking the fishmongers' stalls on the pier. I was reading a book that Celeste had chosen for me, a tale of Faerie, about a romance between fae from rival Courts. Casting my eyes over the square, trying to decide whether I could get away with packing up early, I spotted Lemon García-Chen and her boyfriend, Orin Gray. They seemed to be having some sort of quiet argument and kept gesturing in my direction.

I didn't know either of them well. They were a year behind me in school, but the student body was so small that there was plenty of mixing between the years. But Lemon had decided many years ago, with a most dramatic shove to the ground, that she wanted nothing to do with me, and Orin always followed her lead.

Orin didn't speak to anyone besides Lemon and his family, and I didn't think anyone at school had ever heard his voice. He would communicate by writing in a notebook or on a handheld slate, but that wasn't a guarantee because sometimes he was too anxious even for that. Frankly, I was surprised to see him out for Market Day as I knew he didn't like crowds, but it was close to the end of business hours and the best time for someone with social anxiety to visit.

I didn't know what he and Lemon were arguing about, but finally he whispered something in her ear and then crossed the square to my table. Lemon, obvious in her reluctance, followed. They were a sight. Lemon was fierce, with arms folded over her chest, a glare on her face, and her long, thick, dark hair falling down her back like a cape. I may not have liked Lemon, but if I were asked to describe a heroine in an epic tale, I think she'd look like Lemon.

Orin was harder to get a handle on, because his face was blank and his gaze glued on a spot over my shoulder. He was a good looking guy, half Irish and half Black, with a head of copper corkscrew curls. He'd always struck me as a gentle person, not because he was quiet, but because I'd never seen him do anything without the utmost care and focus.

"Hi, guys," I said. "Can I help you with something? Lemon, is everything all right with your grandmother?"

"She's fine," Lemon said. "Well, not fine, she's dying. But she's not dying anymore today than she was yesterday."

Orin took his notebook from his pocket, flipped through it to a blank page, and then wrote something with a small, pocket-sized pencil. He handed me the book. His writing was meticulously neat, though I didn't find that surprising as it was his main form of communication with the outside world. His note said, "Hi, Selwyn. Do you have time for a reading with your shells today? I'd really appreciate it."

"Oh," I said, surprised. "Sure." I handed him back his notebook. "Would you like me to write what I sense in your book or just speak aloud?" I knew Orin's hearing was fine, but wasn't sure if other people talking made him uncomfortable. He tapped his mouth, so I said, "Okay. You can both sit down." Lemon yanked her chair out from the table and collapsed into it with a huff, while Orin sat down as silently as he did everything else.

From underneath the table, I withdrew an old, metal chocolate tin, inside of which I had collected the most common shells from Saltash beaches, each with their own magickal correspondence. In addition to shells, I also had a bit of driftwood, a pearl, a heart-shaped stone, and a piece of shell from a plover's hatched egg. I pried off the tin's lid, which was a little rusty from our sticky, sea air and always stuck, and set everything out upon a blue silk handkerchief.

"Now," I said. "This works two ways. You can ask a question and I see how the shells answer. Or I give you a general reading based on the shells that call out to me. Do you know which you'd prefer?" Orin held up two fingers, which I interpreted as the second option, a general reading. "Okay, just give me a minute."