It's odd being here without a uniform on.
It's a Sunday, too, so normally I'm not even at school. I push aside the heavy doors of the prism, and start walking towards the Healing Center.
My footsteps are so loud they echo, but I'm not even stomping.
I follow the twists and turns of Foxfire for a while. I know it hasn't been that long, but these few minutes feel like hours. It's too quiet, and it's too... pristine.
It must be at least two minutes before I hear someone else. At first, I honestly don't pay any mind. I keep my attention on the tiled floors, and I desperately hope that those other footsteps aren't Fitz, because that would be awkward.
But then I realize there's someone in front of me, so I look up, but by then it's too late, and we've crashed into each other, and her face is surprised and embarrassed, and—
We're sent tumbling down. Her hand scrapes against a locker and I hear her inhale a sharp breath, as I land on my side.
"Ah—" I scramble up, why is the floor so slippery?, and hold out an awkward hand to attempt to help the girl I bumped into. "I'm so sorry—I didn't know you were... I wasn't looking where I was going. Sorry."
"I-It's okay," she says, accepting my hand. I help pull her up, and we both stand there for a moment. "Sorry," she adds.
"No—no, it's okay." My face feels hot. "Are you okay? Is your hand...?"
She holds her hand up and turns it; there's a red gash running along it. A drop of blood slides down, landing on the tiled floor, and she winces. "Ah—hopefully that doesn't stain it, or... yeah," she says, her voice trailing off.
I search my pockets—I swear I had a band-aid in here somewhere. A balm or something would be more useful, though.
There it is. "H-Here." I hold up a band-aid. "I know this isn't that useful—and I don't have disinfectant, but at least it'll..." What do band-aids do again? Why isn't my brain working? "At least it'll... cover it," I finish lamely.
The Girl looks at me, a hint of a smile on her lips—I can't tell if it's amused or nervous. Probably both. Her eyes are an interesting color, too. Cornflower blue, shot with molten gold if you look closer—an illusion of delicate electricity.
I shake my head and pass the band-aid to her, and she easily opens it, as if she's had tons of practice doing so. But then she fumbles to place it on her cut, and it's... really... awkward.
"Ah—here." I reach over, gently pressing the band-aid onto her cut and holding her hand still with my other hand. I don't look at her, and I can tell she's holding her breath.
"Sorry," she mumbles. "I'm left-handed, and I'm not used to putting band-aids on myself. Sorry for all this trouble."
"No, it's okay—don't apologize! It's nothing." I finish up and draw back, and the Girl kind of relaxes. "There. Hopefully I did it okay? I'm not used to actually using band-aids."
"No, you're good." She turns her hand, studies it, then lets it drop to her side. "Thank you." She hesitantly smiles, and I smile back.
"Hey, why are you at Foxfire anyway? Today's Sunday, right?" I say.
"I'm going here starting tomorrow, and Magnate Leto let me look around and stuff." She pauses, fidgeting with the band-aid. The blood that'd dripped onto the floor is smudged. "You looked like you knew where you were going earlier, so you're not new, right?" The Girl thinks for a moment. "And you passed all the classrooms. The only places in this direction"—she gestures behind her—"is the cafeteria, office, and the Healing Center."
She's observant; I have to be careful not to say anything about the mission. "Yep, I've been going here for a few years now," I say. "I'm heading to Healing Center right now to check on my friend."
"Oh—is your friend okay?" The Girl looks genuinely concerned, and it's nice to know that she's not really suspicious of me or anything; her analyzation earlier seemed almost instinctual, actually.
"I'm not sure. I think he should be fine."
"Ah, that's good." There's an awkward silence, and then she says—"I'm Rosaleen."
"Oh—I'm Dex." I watch her for any signs of recognition; her eyes widen a little, and I know she's at least heard of me.
"You're... the Technopath," she says. "The one from about a year or two ago, you made the ability restrictor—and your dad, he owns Slurps and Burps."
"That's me," I agree. Now the tables have turned, and I'm the one analyzing. I search her for any judgement or disgust.
I don't see any.
"Is, um, Sophie Foster"—it's kind of funny how she refers to Sophie by her full name—"okay? Like, the ability restrictor, she doesn't have it anymore, right?"
I laugh. "Sophie's good," I promise. "Don't worry. The ability restrictor was trashed a long time ago, and—you know when Ravagog flooded, or when the gnomes had that disease, but it was cured? Or when Atlantis was almost flooded?"
She frowns, then nods. "I mean... yes, I've heard of it. I know the gnomes got the disease, since the Council told us, but I thought the other ones were just rumors?"
A wry grin slips onto my face. Classic Council, keeping information away. "Nah, they were all true. And 'Sophie Foster' can't do all that with an ability restrictor, don't you think?"
Rosaleen realizes what I'm saying and laughs. "You're close with her," she notes.
"What?"
"You're listing all her accomplishments and whatever really proudly, but you're not taking any of the credit. You're proud of her, and happy for her."
I flush. "I mean—y-yeah. We're close, I think. But, like—everyone in the group—we're all proud of her. She's a good person, and—"
"Now you're complimenting her." Rosaleen raises an eyebrow at me, but there's something teasing about it. "I get it, you love her."
My face feels really hot. It's so hot in here. "A-As a friend."
She smirks. It's a softer smirk than Keefe's. More mischievous and playful, less... daring and bold. But she wears it well, and oddly enough, it kinda suits her. What am I—Dex, that's it. Stop thinking. "Of course," she says.
Another pause. I'm trying think of what to say, or if I should go, when she says, "Wait. You guys are always on dangerous adventures and whatever, right? So—if you're going to the Healing Center, it might be serious—right?"
"Ah... right," I say. It'd be really suspicious for me to deny that.
She kinda looks at me. One would think that she'd be really guarded, with a poker face on at all times. But instead, she's really... open, and it makes her seem almost vulnerable.
First, curiosity, then worry. Thoughts are scrawled in her eyes: What happened? Who is it? Is everything okay? Ahh, I hope they're okay. Should I let him go now?
But then, there's an uncertainty: Does he think I'm too pushy or nosy? I should let him go. It's important, right? What if I see him tomorrow? Won't that be awkward? It'll be awkward, won't it?
And then she looks away, and I'm guessing she's thinking something like: Oh frick, I was just... staring at him. For like, five whole seconds.
"I should go," I finally say. "Is that okay?"
"Oh—yes; you probably should, anyway, because I bet it's really impor—" Her Imparter buzzes, cutting her off, and she sends an apologetic look my way as she picks up.
It's a woman. Her mom, I think. They both have the same golden brown hair, though her mom's hair is curlier. She's larger, too, and there's something about her that's really pretty. Maybe Rosaleen gets it from her mom, then.
Whichever braincell is feeding me these thoughts: please shut up.
"Do you know when you're coming home? I have work soon—and Akel's lunch is at—"
"Twelve." Her mom smiles, and Rosaleen continues when she sees she got it right. "And your work is midday to midnight. It's 11:45 right now, so I can stay for five more minutes; then I'll come back and prepare his lunch."
It's interesting to see this side of her. It's so assured, and dependable. (Very responsible, too, unlike me. And it seems like she doesn't prank her sibling every other day.)
"Thanks, sweetie." Her mom is smiling, and I wonder how many times they've done this routine, where Rosaleen finishes her sentences and where her mom smiles at her like this.
Her mom hangs up, and Rosaleen pockets the Imparter, glancing at me. "Sorry, that was my mom," she says. "I have to go soon, but it was nice meeting you?"
"It was." Another pause. "Hey, wait, Rosaleen, we should hail each other another time. We'll be going to the same school anyway, and—you aren't awful." Oh—that came out wrong. "I mean—no, you're—nice. Like, I wouldn't mind—"
She just laughs. "You're not awful either, Dex." And then there's her smirk again.
I ease into a sheepish smile. "You know my full name, right?"
"Dex Dizznee?" Rosaleen guesses. "It's easy to remember, because your last name sounds like this human theme park that my mom used to tell me and my siblings about."
"Yeah—and my first name is Dexter, so if you hail me, use that."
Her lips twitch, and I think she's holding back a smile. "Yes, sir."
"I'll see you—whenever you want to hail me, then—?"
"Sure," she says. "And I'll see you tomorrow at school, too, maybe. Foxfire's big, though—I got lost a couple of times today. And I don't know if we have the same Level, or if you're even around my age or not, so—maybe we won't. But hopefully?"
There's a look on her face after that, like—"oh shizzles, was I rambling?"
But I nod. "Yeah. See you, then!" I say, walking backwards down the hallway as I wave.
She laughs. I probably look silly, but I don't think she cares. "See you," she calls, before turning around and heading to the entrance.
As her footsteps fade away, a familiar feeling of dread builds in me. I was distracted talking to Rosaleen, but now I'm just scared. What happened at that mission?
AUTHOR'S NOTE !
welcome back rosaleen 😌