Last Dance (An Orien Sage Novel)

LAST DANCE

An Orien Sage Novel by Bryan Paul

PART I

Willo

The sun is the hottest on planet Promythica during the season of respite, where for two blocks in the calendar, scholars take rest from learning, much like the laborers of early settlement took rest from rebuilding Earth civilization on the new land and for most scholars the respite season was an opportunity to date and mingle with ladies down the path, in their neighborhood, in their village and spend time with friends. 

For Orien, whose friends all lived in villages and towns far off from his own, the respite meant for him, typing on his typescripter, alone in his bedchamber, at an old drawing table by his window as the sun shined and glowed upon him. 

When the respite began, he started on a rewrite of a story, which he scripted in his second year of learning at Penhaven Arts.

Jeralyn, his second year Advanced Literature instructor thought his scripting was strong when she had read the first draft, but she defiled his work, his art, with her red inkpoint. There were minor grammar mistakes. And sentence fragments. Too many of them. Jeralyn also said ‘a paragraph can’t be one sentence long’, Orien remembered.

He wanted the words to form a certain rythym in the reader’s mind, though.

The style seemed to work well, in Orien’s opinion.

Orien ignored Jeralyn’s corrections at the time, thinking he knew better than her and that every mistake had been a specific style choice. It was his art and he wouldn’t change a word, he felt.

That was in the past. He would soon see, after digging the manuscript back up that the rough draft was indeed full of flaws, which would inspire him to start over from the beginning.

 And he typed…

“I don’t want to be here,” I had told her. 

Not in a society where love is extinct. 

Here I am thinking of having my way with her, but I had grown to love her. As we talked and our eyes met I felt a sensation. We were secure with each other. Alone amongst the bookstacks away from the madness. If we were going to share something, it was going to be meaningful, it was going to be something personal. She understood what I understood and she wasn’t just another lady.

I’m getting ahead of myself in telling you this tale. Let me begin again from where it all started.

And Orien continued the story, sometimes listening to music, sometimes leaving his bedchamber to eat, sometimes passing his father who would say, “Slept the day away again?” or something similar to which Orien would reply, “No, I’m working!”

“Working? You’ve been in your chamber all day…”

“Yeah, scripting…” Oried would try and defend himself. He wished his father understood the importance of his work, but he could never grasp it, much like with Alto and his music.

“and you still haven’t touched any of the dishes…”

After interactions such as those, Orien would feel guilty and try to find something to do around the house while his father was at Marj’s, though when his father would arrive home Orien wouldn’t hear much compliment or receive much notice for whatever he had done. 

After a chosen chore was accomplished Orien would shut himself back in his chamber and Felice would accompany him on his lap as he sat in bed and listened to a radio show.

Orien would then debate on whether he would page Willo or Dug on his communicator. Usually he would decide not to and he would end up back at his drawing table, at his typescripter and continue with ‘The Romantic’.

‘The Romantic’ was a story about a librarian, seeking love in a world without passion and romance. In the society in which the unnamed protagonist lived, ladies were brought up and encouraged to be objects of men’s pleasure, but the books in the few remaining libraries told tales of true romance. The protagonist sought to find true love with a fellow librarian, who in Orien’s mind resembled a lady named Malia, whom he knew from Penhaven Arts.

And he typed…

I was tapped on the shoulder.

“I’ve read that one.”

It was my ladyfriend. The one I had come to admire. She had taken a liking to me, too. We had gotten to know each other in the few days that we spent together. We had a relationship. 

Sometimes I feel true relationships don’t exist anymore, though that can’t be true.

“The thing I enjoyed about that story,” she said, “was the physical love had a deeper emotional love. The two people enjoyed each other’s company.”

Orien paused from scripting at his desk, turned his head and paused to stare at his communicator, lying on the blanket on his bed and once more that particular night, thought about paging Willo.

Willo only considered Orien to be a friend and there was not much Orien could do to change her mind. She was too far off for him to pursue and was a bit of a radical, more adventurous than Orien.

 Orien had a taste of the radical life, the life of the free spirits, the life of the artists, and he could be a part of that life on occasion. It was a thrill to let out his wild side, but then he had to still return to work, return to his typescripter, return to his words.

Orien went back to his typing, but soon stopped and looked at his corkboard, at his colored print of Willo, which had been pinned up. 

Willo was easy to talk to, have a conversation with and to find a bond with. Orien didn’t want to think about it though, because she was far off and she would not, did not want to be with him, but then, the fact that she didn’t want to be with him almost made it more worthwhile to keep trying as if it were a challenge to change the fact, to which the reward would be even greater.
It was much like the two librarians in Orien’s story, who would find love over time. It would take time for Willo to love Orien, but she would, maybe she could, most likely… or not, Orien feared. This fear would lead him to do nothing, which he couldn’t continue to do for the entire respite season.

Orien typed out the last paragraph of ‘The Romantic’, and got up from his chair without even bothering to remove the completed sheet from his scripter.

Felice looked up from where she was curled on Orien’s pillow as Orien stirred. Orien grabbed his comm. from where it lay and paced around the room with it.

He found Willo’s pagecode in his directory.

He stared at it on the screen and hesitated for a long while, until finally hitting the button and putting the device to his ear to listen to the tones and to hear, “Hello?” from a lady youth of age eighteen.

“Is this Willo speaking?” Orien asked. It was difficult for Orien to make speech as he had been in his bedchamber all respite season, cut off from people for so many day-sets.

“Yes it is and who is this…”

“It’s…this is…Orien Sage,” he stammered out.

“Hello, Orien Sage, hehe,” she said with her familiar dry chuckle.

Orien couldn’t think of what to say beyond his name. He had wanted to simply hear a friendly voice and he did, but he couldn’t think how to get her to talk further, what they should or would talk about.

“How’s your respite season?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve been out of school for some time, already,” she answered.

“Oh that’s right.”

It had been a foolish question and Orien felt like a fool. He had forgotten that Willo dropped out of late learning for an equivalency certificate.

“But, I’ll be starting at Adelyn Higher Learning next semester.”

“That’s good,” Orien said.

“I’d like to talk more,” Willo said and it seemed their conversation would end, “Do you think you might want to meet up in Penhaven?”

“Yes,” Orien said excited, but then calmed, “Yes I do.”

“When can you get a ride…?”

“oh…I…I don’t know, that will depend on my dad…hold a click…”

“’right.”

Orien held his comm. to his chest, stood up and opened the door as Felice’s eyes followed him, but he then shut the door behind him, to let her go back to her nap.

Orien had been through the same routine before, searching the house for his father to ask for a ride to see a friend and it was the only way he could see a friend, which he needed greatly to 
do, to escape from the walled up cottage where he was alone.

“My dad isn’t home,” Orien finally answered, returning his comm. to his ear and looking out the window in the main quarters at the lot where his father’s silver jet would have been, “I’ll page you again later.”

“’right, then,” Willo said, “bye Orien.”
Orien said goodbye and clicked off his communicator. He sat on the couch and stared at the radio.

He was trapped and there was not much he could do. He couldn’t go get Willo. She was still far away and always would be.

Orien’s thoughts reeled around in his brain, in the long silence. He entered varying emotional states, from that entrapment feeling, to that alone feeling. He was alone in the woods not able to be rescued if he were to call out, but soon a silver jet rushed up from the front trail to rest in the lot.

Orien got up, tuned the radio and sat back down as the door opened behind him and he heard his father’s feet stamp out over the news radio program that played:

“…and don’t forget to stay awake and listen in to tonight’s ‘late night variety with Herp Nermon’, up next we have…”

The refrigerator door opened and then closed. Feet stamped, came further and stopped in the main quarters as Orien’s father said, “spent all day listening to radio?”

“What else could I do?” Orien said.

“Just wondering how you spent your day. I don’t like you to be staying in all day. I’d rather you spent your time with friends.”

It was fortunate of Orien that the topic would be brought up as he would reply, “Would you be able to let me off in Penhaven?”

“What is in Penhaven?” his father asked.

“Many things…” Orien said, “Dug is in Penhaven. My friend Willo is in Penhaven. You’ve met her before. She might want to meet there. We might see a show or something/I just mean, if you’d rather I be out/I would need a ride…”

“It can be arranged. If you page your ladyfriend, I can bring you and pick you up later in the night.”

With that, Orien would be able to make a plan with Willo. 

His father turned back into the kitchen. Possibly he would be making himself a meal. Orien didn’t know. That wasn’t important to him.

Orien tuned the radio off, went into his bedchamber and came back several chimes later to approach his father at the table in the dining quarters.

“Willo wants me to meet her at the front of Haye’s,” Orien said.

“What time?” his father asked, with a bit of food in his cheek.

“Toll eighteen,” Orien stated.

“Let me finish eating. We’ll have to go right afterwards.”

Orien turned as his father swallowed down his food and Orien heard him add, “Have you eaten, yet?”

“uh…yes…I ate some bit…” Orien said, though other than biscuits and steamee, he hadn’t eaten much. 

His stomach was nervous in anticipation of meeting Willo, so he wouldn’t eat much then or later.
He rushed back to his bedchamber to change from the plain clothes he was wearing to more trendy attire. He untied his white dayshirt, opened his wardrobe cabinet and reached. 

He pulled out a piece of purple fabric from behind a mess of white and gray. The shirt had a soft velveteen feel and a wide collar.

Orien slipped it on and carefully laced up the black strings, stopped near the top and left the strings untied and loose, to give a casual appearance.

One other thing he didn’t want to forget was to check his pits. He sniffed and he was good, but to be sure he made a trip to the washroom, to apply more odorstik. 

Once he was finished dressing and grooming, Orien was ready and out. 

His father had been waiting, with his shoes and his coat on, at the door and Orien tied up his own shoes, stepped out and skipped along the track from the stepway to the lot, to the silver jet.
His father started the silver jet and started his ride along to a place called Penhaven. To the village center, to a world of art, color and sound, so that he may see Willo, so that he might find harmony.

Along the way, as the jet rode up a hill surrounded by woods, through a neighborhood circle of cottages and passing a red barn, his father explained to him every move.

“This is a much longer route,” he explained, “I take this route to avoid the traffic and it’s more scenic…I tell you this for when you learn to fly jet, there’s many ways to get to where you are going…I’ve traveled quite a bit working in the sales division, traveling to customers…your mother, now she’s the type to get easily lost…I know how to find my way around most places…”

The jet entered a crossing with a signpost welcoming travelers to ‘Penhaven Village’ and the jet soared forth until it reached the village center. That was when the pounding in Orien’s heart began. He thought he could hear it echo in his head. Possibly his brain was throbbing as well. He felt a shiver. He no longer took any potions, so he had little control over his nervous shakes.

Orien saw Willo, smoking a stik with a small huddle of people. She was engaged in conversation with a late youth in a hidecloth shortcoat, with a few facial piercings, and a pair of thick-rimmed eyeglasses.

The silver jet halted along the side of the path in front of Haye’s Market.

“Toll twenty-one, then about…?” his father suggested.

Orien’s restraining belt loosened as he tapped it free.

“Yes,” he answered, “I’ll page you/if we see a show, I don’t know how long the showing will be…”

He put a trembling hand on the door handle to swing it open.

“You have to let me know, understand?”

“Yes!” Orien answered, slid the door, stepped out, stood and looked out at Willo, who smiled and held her arms out to greet him with a friendly hug.

Orien skipped forward and grabbed her, clutching her tight, not wanting to let go, though he did. 

“Bit of a long time,” Orien said, “Since I’ve seen you/I-I’m excited, I missed you/missed Penhaven/spending time in Penhaven/I like it here.”

“It’s a nice community,” Willo said with a smile.

The activity occurring around Orien, from down the path where he stood to across the way on the other side of the path, was more than Orien was used to, being in the cottage for a whole calendar block of respite, alone save for Felice. Feet clapped dirt. Late youths chatted. The late youths in the gourp in front of Haye’s market smoked stiks and the one whom Willo was talking to, dragged his stik, looked at Orien and said, “Did you go to the arts school?”

“Yes I do/it’s my last year,” Orien answered.

“I remember you…you knew Helena-Liz and Samsen.”

“Yes. I rode the transport to school with Helena-Liz in my first year.”

Willo finished her stik, let it drop to the ground and tapped it into the dirt with her boot.

“I’m Samsen’s friend Fredi,” the gentleman said and put out his hand to shake with Orien.

“What’s he been doing recently/Samsen?” Orien asked.

“He’s not up to much…”

“Right, then…” Orien nodded in understanding, and there was not much else he could think to say and not much else Fredi had to say and they didn’t speak any further but remained standing silent, before Willo turned to Orien, “Did you want to go somewhere for food?”

“I suppose I could,” Orien answered, “I’m not too hungry/or I might be hungry/haven’t eaten much/we can go somewhere…”

Willo started walking and Orien walked with her.

“We could go to the diner,” Willo suggested.

Orien remembered the diner as crowded and noisy, and Willo noticed him shrug and suggested, “We can see what’s playing at the showhouse,” which seemed more what Orien might want, yet, he remembered the showhouse being noisy and crowded too.

He stuck close to Willo. There were a lot of people enjoying the nightlife that evening. The elder folks would be going out to the pubs as the night would draw darker, but it hadn’t reached dark yet.

“We can get a dessert and steamee later…” Willo said, “Or we can just walk the pathes…”

“I like walking,” Orien said, “Walking is calming/it’s soothing/the showhouse might be crowded/but we can see what’s playing…”

“We’ll walk a bit,” Willo said.

As they passed the Sweeneysen’s Sweet Shop they would be crossing to Penhaven Bank. 

They stood, with other pedestrians and waited for passing jets and for a signal.

“Have you been scripting poetry…over the respite?” Willo asked.

The light signal blinked, and their fellow pedestrians began to walk.

“Not too often,” Orien said as he jogged forward with Willo, “I’m working on a short story…”

“You should let me read it,” Willo said.

They reached the bank and continued walking, past the bank, past Kirkhille Antique furnishings.

“It’s a very private story,” Orien explained.

“Can I read some of your poems?” she asked.

“Possibly, but again, my work is very private…don’t know.”

He couldn’t really have Willo read his poems about ladies, fictitious poems about what he might feel with a lady, like the verses he scripted in his second year at the arts school:

Till my final breath,
When my heart fails to beat,
I will still want to hold you in my arms,
And feel you with me,
Like a dream instead of ending,
Floating beyond in eternity.

If Willo were to ask him whom those verses were about, he’d have to say, no one, or to be more honest to say that they were about a character named Dorawen, which he made up for a story, though based on a lady named Bianca. 

He thought of those verses as they reached the next crossing, and turned to the other side of the path, to walk back. 

He remembered sitting on Willo’s lap in the back deck of a jetcar, when they were about sixteen in age.

I would still want her to hold me,
And feel her with me.

That wasn’t how it should be. If only he had been attracted to a lady, which he could hold in his arms. 

Orien was becoming so fully distracted, from his overactive imagination as if he were at his typescripter and everything he were experiencing were part of a story. The shops they passed were part of it. The village hall and the transport pickup spot were part of it. Willo was a character. Willo was Orien’s love interest. She was Romen’s love interest, Romen being Orien’s fictional counterpart.

“Do you still see your brother…?” Willo asked.

“No,” Orien replied.

“Not much, anymore? Or his friends, Kip, Munroe…”

“No…I/They’re not my crowd.”

“Why’s that?”

They were on the other side of the path, reaching Gibb’s diner and the quiet rest.

“It’s like what your friend said about Samsen/he’s not up to much…”

Willo took out a packet of smokstiks, stopped, lit a stik and said, “Let’s take a rest from walking,” and she sat down on some steps in front of a closed down shop. Orien continued talking about his brother, “My dad says Alto needs to be more responsible/he lost his job/he doesn’t have a jet...”

Willo blew smoke and said, “That’s the way it happens in life, I suppose,” the looseleaf smoke curled and Orien breathed it in, “I’ve had friends that have gone through rough patches. 
Remember before I officially left the arts school, when I was on leave?”

Orien couldn’t forget. He couldn’t stop thinking about her at the time, but she disappeared only to reappear at the arts school to greet him with a hug and tell him, she’d be gone for good. She wasn’t gone though. She was still in Penhaven, but Penhaven was far away. 

“I don’t recall why,” Orien confessed, “or I mean/I do recall/was it a family problem?”

“A friend of mine, Ashlyn, nearly poisoned herself-tried to poison herself, but the potion she mixed just made her ill. She had mood issues…”

Willo took a very, long drag from her stik.

“Like from the fog…” Orien wondered.

“No, not like the cold feeling you get from the chill, you don’t understand-it’s more-”

“No. I do understand. My mom gets like that, even me sometimes. At one time my medic had me take potions.”

“Do you still?” Willo asked.

“I don’t like the way they make me feel/they don’t help/sometimes/most times you feel worse.”

Willo was looking out at the little museum across the way, in between Haye’s and Simmon’s bookshop. Orien was looking at Willo. He wanted to kiss her. He wouldn’t have cared that he would taste the smoke in her breathe. He just couldn’t help be drawn to her physically. It was something he needed.

“I was there with Ashlyn when she was taken to the medic house. I visited her often, but I took a break from school. I was feeling emotional too and I had other reasons. I never took potions, but I know that feeling.”

Orien could see the image in his mind of Willo helping her friend through her tough time- same as Orien would have had he been in the same position and it had been a friend of his. Orien remembered talking to his mother over steamee when he was just entering late youth, just before she moved out of the cottage, just before Orien began studying at Penhaven Arts. He had the same kind heart that Willo had and they were alike. This was what Orien responded to. This is what made him love her.

“Have you ever been to the gallery?” Willo asked, finishing her stik and letting it fly from her fingers into the dirt.

“I don’t visit Penhaven much…” Orien answered and began to rise and he noticed Willo rise and they both stood up from the steps.

“There’s a flash art exhibit I know you’ll like,” Willo said, turning her head both ways to look out before leading him across, “You took flash developing your first year, right?”

“You remember that?” Orien said surprised and followed her across once the path was clear of jets and once on the other side of the path, Willo said something yet more surprising to him, “I remember, you had that print of me that you colored, that was for your class, right?”

“I showed you that?” Orien said.

“You shared it with me in study support,” she said, opening the doors to the gallery.

“That’s something actually I don’t even recall/and my memory is rather good.”

Their steps echoed on the tilework floor as they stepped forward into a long pillared hallway, with a winding stepway straight across, with portraits on the walls along every step.

Willo and Orien walked in between two pillars, to the welcoming desk. The gentleman in the formal wear at the desk nodded for them to move along wherever they would please. There was a placard in front of him listing the dates and times of the ‘free of charge exhibitions’. 

Some exhibitions must require a fee, Orien guessed, and possibly a guide, like the gentleman in the formal wear would give speech about the artists. Orien didn’t look at the placard though-he followed Willo who was leading him to an open chamber, lit by soft lanterns, with scarlet paint on the walls and black and white flash prints of varying sizes pinned up. Larger ones were framed, but smaller ones were mounted on black paperstock cards.

Orien’s eyes made the rounds, surveying the entire circular chamber, but being fixed mostly on the nude portraits.

He walked over to where Willo was standing. She was leaning slightly, to get a close look at a pinned image, but Orien, being much shorter, was just at eye level with the portrait.

It wasn’t clear what the figure in the print was laying on. Orien focused his sharp eyes, and could make out that the lady was laying on a bed though it seemed she lay in darkness. She had a round belly-soft and gray with dimension from the shadows, like a round ball. Within the skin of the round belly was the child she was carrying, Orien understood, and the two round forms atop her belly were the breasts that carried the child’s milk. The lady’s legs and feet were not a part of the composition, nor was her face. The image was of the child not yet born.

“I like how the main focus of the image is much brighter than what is around it,” Willo observed.

“I see that, too,” Orien said, but didn’t know if Willo believed him that he saw what she saw and didn’t know how to put into words what he thought of the piece. 

Orien took a quick pace around before stopping at a series of portrait images of a once popular actress, who tragically poisoned herself and from what Orien knew of her, from what a lady on the transport ride to the arts school once told Orien, she was a complex person, battling the dark clouds, the fog, the cold feeling, same as he and his mother and Willo’s friend Ashlyn battled.

Tina Terrance glowed in every portrait, blowing kisses, smiling bright. She was only nude in one. This was from before she was a reel show star. She had posed for an erotic calendar scroll, but she was not shy in her portrait, not one twinkle in her eye, did she seem to feel exploited. She was happy to show the world her body. Orien thought of the portrait he had seen of the lady with her child. It was astounding that ladies had the bodies they had and what they were made for, and Tina was proud of hers.

There was a nude gentleman in another print. He stood, thin, hunched and with his penis hanging, without life between his legs, in the same manner that he hung his shoulders. His image was in a mirror. This was not a gentleman proud to look at his body. He was thin and pale in the image, much like Orien, much like what Orien would see when he looked in a mirror.
Orien began to feel awkward as Willo crept beside him to look at the image. He felt a cold wind creep through his body, he felt naked himself, but he would find himself feeling calm as Willo seemed comfortable with looking upon the image, in the same way she might be comfortable with his body.

“What do you suppose he’s thinking?” Willo asked.

“He feels sad,” Orien said, but it was a simple statement and he didn’t know how to express his thoughts further or what more words he might say.

“It’s a self portrait,” Willo said and suddenly seemed amazed, “imagine the courage to be naked like that for people in a gallery to see.”

“All artists do that, I suppose, maybe he’s saying that/it’s like how a poem is private and personal/that can be the same thing as being naked, being personal like that…”

Orien didn’t think he was being clear at all and even when Willo said, “I understand,” he wasn’t sure if she did and there was more Orien wanted to say about the exhibition, but he said so little and they would move on, leaving the flash portrait exhibit to walk up the winding steps and stop and look along the way up.

They had separated a bit at that point. Willo had made her way up to the top quarter to pause and look closely at a particular series, while Orien stayed at the steps, looking upward at a larger painting of a shack with a roof caved in from snow, and some smaller paintings showcasing the seasons.

Orien stepped up slowly and his eyes shifted from the winter shack to a painting of a hillside, with trees, bare from the fallen brown and yellow leaves which were scattered.

After the respite was over and done with, the harvest season would come, Orien thought, then the chill. The seasons would change and they would come fast and then the seasons would come again. Orien wondered whom he would be experiencing the seasons and the many changes with wirthin the next year and with the years ahead. He couldn’t be alone, he thought, not for much longer. 

Orien rushed upward to the top quarter to continue to browse.

Willo was looking at a showcase of lampoon artwork from a caricturist, when Orien met up with her. They both laughed and were amused at the drawings and a few sampling of funny limericks and rhymes.

“Ready to go back downward?” Willo asked.

“Uh…yes,” he said. She patted his back in a friendly way and they began walking together, down the winding stepway.

“Last time I was in here I was with my companion/or ex-companion, actually,” Willo said along the way, breaking Orien’s heart.

She had said, ex-companion, though, he thought and tried to find that knowledge comforting.

“Companion…I didn’t know you had one.”

“For a short time, yes, we broke things off maybe a calendar block ago, I’ve been quite down since, but I’m enjoying spending time with you.”

“But you’re not with him anymore.”

“No. I’m not.”

Orien was eager to suggest that they see more of each other, but knew he shouldn’t, as he had to give her time to heal from her previous companionship. There was that and he knew he wasn’t what she was looking for. He could sense it and yet he wanted to be with her. He was so comfortable with her. They were different, and that was what he liked. She was independant and confident and he was timid and quiet. She was what he needed to fill in the missing piece in his life.

They walked past the gentleman at the welcoming desk once again and smiled and nodded at him on their way to the door back out to the paths in Penhaven.

The night was dark and the lightpoles shined.

“There might be some live music performers at ‘the quiet rest’, I can get you a steamee or dessert…” Willo suggested.

“’Right then, we can go there, where is it?”

“We can walk along some more and make our way. It’s along the other side of the path.”

They kept walking. They were four sets of feet clapping the dirt. They were a team, Orien thought, a duo, he can imagine wandering paths in Tietopus and other big towns, full of museums and artwork and color. If he could he would keep walking and discovering alongside her, never leaving home, or what was supposed to be his home, in his bedchamber in his father’s cottage in Hilliar, he would never want to go there again.

The reached ‘the quiet rest’ and followed the path to the front door, passing the outdoor tables entering a parlor filled with clanking dishes, quiet chatting, and harpstring music.

Orien stopped and looked around at the menu boards and the front counter, but Willo had walked ahead of him to an archway. She looked back and noticed he was not behind her. She waved him forward and he followed her under the arch to a stepway, down steps to a lounge, where a music group was playing, and groups of people were scattered, sitting in couches and chairs.

Orien waited at the bar for the bar-servant, so that he could order.

A gentleman with a ponytail, sitting on a red couch, met eyes with Willo and gave a wave. Willo held her arms out to him and ran toward him. They embraced in a hug.

“Need a few moments to decide,” said the servant at the bar to Orien.

“I’m just going to have a steamee/mid-size/no sweetness/just straight/I don’t yet know what my friend is having.”

The gentleman poured a mug for Orien. Orien stared behind him at Willo and her gentleman friend and she had seemed to forget that Orien had been there, that Orien was waiting for her. Would she just leave him alone, he wondered, to be with the other gentleman?

Orien took out his money purse to pay for his steamee. He slowly took out his notes. His head kept turning to Willo and the gentleman at the red couch.

He didn’t think they were going to stop talking, but they did and Willo walked up to the bar. She brushed aside Orien’s hand holing the notes and said, “I’ll take care of it,” ordered a drink for herself and paid.

Orien took a sip from his mug and nearly burnt his tongue, as it was too hot to drink. He started to walk, to find a seat. 

Willo had already found herself a seat on her gentleman friend’s lap on the red couch.

Orien sat in a soft purple, velveteen chair, sipped his steamee and looked away from them and instead at the music performers playing.

His eyes felt watery. He told himself, in his head that it was the steam from his drink. He kept drinking and each sip of the drink fell hard in his throat like a lump. He would find himself glancing over at Willo and her friend cuddled on the couch. 

They were gentleman and lady cuddled on the couch.

They were like companions, Orien thought.

They were like two people on a date.

Orien couldn’t breathe and he wondered why, it was possibly because he wanted to cry, but couldn’t.

Orien’s communicator was buzzing in his pocket. He placed his mug on the table in front of him and took his communicator out, unfolded it and answered his page.

“I hadn’t received a page from you, yet, I was worried,” his father’s voice said.

“I’m fine,” Orien said, but it was difficult for him to say. It seemed for him that talking would be difficult. He felt alone and cold and he wanted to be alone, not to talk to anyone.

“I decided to just leave Marj’s and come to Penhaven and get you, did you go see a show?” he asked.

“No. I’ll be waiting at the front of ‘the quiet rest,” Orien said, “Do you know where that is?”

“Yes. I’ll be there waiting.”

Orien folded up his communicator, swallowed down his last drops of steamee, put his communicator in his pocket and got up.

“My dad’s waiting for me outside to pick me up,” he said to Willo, who wasn’t really paying attention, hadn’t even noticed he was standing in front of her and her…companion…and probably forgot he had been there.

“Oh, we’ll see each other again, Ori, page me,” Willo said, once she became aware of his presence.

Orien didn’t say goodbye, he just turned, walked up the stepway, past the parlor and money counter, out the door, to sit on the steps and wait.

It seemed a long time of waiting before a silver jet halted alongside to let Orien in, but it came, Orien got in, and was carried off, away from Willo and Penhaven, to settle in his bedchamber.
It was a long ride to Hilliar. It seemed a whole toll. Possibly it was forty chimes. He only spoke to his father when asked about what he did in Penhaven. Orien answered, “We went to the gallery/we had a nice time/talked about artists…”

His father never caught on that Orien was upset, because Orien was utilizing his performance acting skills to pretend to be fine. He listened to his father talk about a museum he had gone to with Marj, on a trip to Tietopus.

It was late in the night once the silver jet reached the cottage and Orien slid open the door walked up the front trail, into the cottage, into his bedchamber and into the small storage room that he used as a hiding spot.

He sat on his black trunk and breathed. He closed his eyes and breathed, and thought about Willo and her friend on the couch. He sniffled and he managed a couple tears and thought of a poem verse he scripted in his loosepaper book once.

I cannot see the sun 
I cannot hear the birds
The leaves are not rustling
The wind out there is cold
But I will not cry.

He stopped crying. He shed only a few tears. He can be brave, he thought, he could be strong. He didn’t have to cry.

Orien got up from his black trunk, opened it and rifled through reel-tape copies of shows, including Al Wulworte features, found a reel in a black case marked ‘Tietanites’ and also a small envelope, which he had forgotten about. He took both items out and closed the trunk, placed the mini projector on top of it, sat down next to the projector, spooled the reel, put his headset on, and let it project the images of Al Wulworte’s feature about the romances and affairs of the people of Tietopus Town.

Orien opened up the envelope in his lap as the show flashed in front of him.

The envelope contained two rings, one with several black-green stones wrapped around the band, the other was of the same style, but with a large heart shaped stone at the center. For the wearers the colors on the stones would change based on mood. They were emote-rings, and he had purchased them at a shop in the Adelyn market, that his brother Alto had worked at.
Orien held the emote-rings in the palm of his hands, and watched as a scene from ‘Tietanites’ played, with Al Wulworte’s character visiting a museum with a ladyfriend, reminding him of Willo. He would love for her to wear the other ring, but if he gave it to her, than he would have to tell her how he felt or ask her how she felt about him, so that he could hear the words and know.
Willo had said that she enjoyed spending time with Orien at the museum. He remembered that. The last thing she said was that she’d see him again. She suggested he page her.

She wanted only friendship, he knew, and he shed a few more tears. He wanted friendship, too, but he wanted something else. He wanted to be the gentleman cuddled on the couch in the lounge with her at ‘the quiet rest’. He wanted it to the point that it hurt. It seemed the time they spent at the museum had been romantic, like out of a story Orien might have scripted, but the romance ended at the lounge at ‘the quiet rest’.

Steflana

The hot sun of respite season still beamed at the start of the ninth calendar block. Orien had spent most of the rest of his break from school at his Hilliar cottage. He finished work on ‘The Romantic’, began to script two plays, but finished neither, watched and rewatched several reels of Al Wulworte shows, re-read Borgman: A Definitive Critique, went on visits to his aunt Greta’s house with his mother, and visited Dug in Penhaven’s west end.

The one time Orien had seen Willo, would be the only time that respite. After the time they spent at the gallery, he hadn’t paged to see her again and had put most thoughts of her out of his mind once the day of his first classes started.

It was difficult to wake at the alarm buzz, but Orien managed and got back into his routine with ease. Once finished washing up and getting dressed, he tuned the radio to listen to during his breakfast and sat and waited for his mother’s red jet to crawl up the front path.

His father said goodbye and was gone for work.

‘Let’s check in with our weather forecast to see if we’ll continue to see sunny days…’ the lady on the radio said.

According to the weather report, the heat of the current season would most likely continue through the day-set and it was possible that the cool breezes of the coming season would come later than typically expected (but most likely just in time for Orien’s birthday-Orien would be sure to see the scattered orange and brown fallen leaves by that time).

As Orien’s thoughts wandered, curious about the coming year and turning of age in his last year of schooling, his mother arrived at the cottage.

Orien turned his head at the creak of the front door.

“Hello, my sweet,” his mother said.

Orien faked a smile and said, “Hello, Mom.”

His mother sat at the chair by the window. Felice heard her coming and curled right up on her lap. Orien’s mother smiled at this and patted Felice on the head.

“Are you looking forward to your last year?” She asked.

“Somewhat,” Orien said and joked, “but not the studywork,” which made her laugh.

“Do you know what classes you’ll take?” she asked.

“I discussed it with Lydia end of last year,” he answered “and I know what I want to take, but I won’t have a schedule prepared until after I meet with her.”

“She’s one of the administrators, right?”

“Yes, she’s one of the school’s founders and she’s my academic advisor. She’ll help me with my schedule…”

His mother continued to shoot questions off at him, asking more about what choices for classes he had been given, which ones he liked, which ones he might take, which ones he needed to complete study, whether he was worried about completing his studywork and many things he did not want to talk about that parents want to know about. He already answered the same questions for his father.

Orien didn’t have to think struggle and stress any longer about answering his mother’s questions once they left the cottage, got in her red jet and zoomed to Hilliar Grocery.

The jet halted. Orien saw only a petite lady youth, most likely a first year, with flowing straight hair standing at the wall waiting.

Orien slid the door open to his mother’s jet, undid his restraint, stepped out and walked up to the lady to greet her.

“Hello,” he said with a wave.

The lady turned around quick and looked nervous and timid. She was holding a presentation board that appeared to be a collage of flash prints, with a map of the colonies and surrounding islands.

“Waiting for the transport to the arts school, I’m guessing,” Orien continued.

“Oh, yes, I am, I had my orientation yesterday,” she said with a slight accent.

“I’m Orien, I’m a fourth year learner/I was really timid in my first year.”

“I’ve gotten to know the others in my learning year,” she said, “With the name games and such during orientation, all the activities, say something nice about the person next to you, and such.”

“I told a lady I thought she was pretty,” he shared, though it had actually been a memory from his audition before the arts school, “a lady named Helena-Liz…”

“My name’s Steflana!” she said with excitement as if in the hopes that he might say she looked pretty as well, which he should have, but he felt it inappropriate her being so much his junior, possibly of age fifteen or fourteen.

Orien recalled his first few days at Penhaven arts, sitting at the field during lunch break with Anton, Hale, Maxen, Lysse, Dug, Wendy and several other of his peers. During the first day-set they would receive many greetings from the elder scholars of third years and fourth years, welcoming them to the arts school, but this tradition had seemed to stopped after that year.

For Steflana, though, Orien had been there to greet her, and he felt proud at that.

“Is that your personal reflection project?” Orien asked gesturing at her presentation board.

Orien remembered his personal presentation for his fellow first years. He had shown the same reel projection of a shadow following a dirt path, that he had shown for his audition. One of his fellow scholars remarked on how easily he had gotten by with so little to show and so little to say about it. Orien may not have had anything to say about his shadow project, but it had led to a unique class discussion.

Steflana held her presentation board out for Orien to see clearer.

“This print, here,” she said pointing to a pasted flash print of a young lady of about seven, “was my first school posing, at Mullins Way School in Hilliar, when I first moved to the colonies.”

“From where? Where did you live before?” Orien asked and Steflana pointed to a rather large body of land far off from Mansington colony, with two smaller islands in between.

“I was born here in Callaeope, I had some early learning school there, and then my mom and dad, this is them,”she pointed to a flash print of her parents, “moved to Hilliar in Mansington for my dad’s job, but we visit Callaeope often, for family.”

“How do you like the colonies?”

“Not much,” Steflana said, but didn’t get to give any further details as the transport zipped in and halted, turning their attention to the sliding doors.

Steflana stepped up and onto the transport. Orien stepped on after and a tall boy with eyeglasses, who had just stepped out of his mother’s blue transport followed last.

The same scholars Orien remembered from his previous year were on board-Shana, Gabrielle, Jazmine, Portia, Lynbeth, Maris, Arley and his sister, Wendy who was a fourth year like Orien and who had a spot free next to her. 

Wendy smiled, blushed and waved at Orien, who sat down next to her.

The transport began to roll. Wendy, much like Orien was known to talk very little, but had many friends. Timid and shy, Wendy was a dancer and a member of the Virtuoso troupe.

She wore a violet and black striped ribbon in her brown hair that matched her purple blouse and black pocket pants.

“How was your respite?” Orien finally asked Wendy after each had stayed silent, for maybe fifteen chimes. It was the simplest thing to say, the thing which every returning scholar would be asking the other, but it was a fine conversation starter.

“Busy,” Wendy answered, “I had a lot of recitals and I’ve already started looking at schools for Higher Learning, been studying for the AEA, have you started studying yet?”

“For the aptitude exam?” Orien said, “I hadn’t planned on taking it.”

“But you need to take it to get into University or even to sign up for a class at the Adelyn school- they’ll look at your AEA marks…”

“I’m not much interested in any of those schools though,” Orien answered.

Wendy had a look of disappointment on her, as if she expected better of Orien and it reminded him a bit of his cousin Anya.

“I suppose higher learning isn’t for everybody,” Wendy continued, “but you should still consider taking the exam, I’ve always gotten this impression from you, that you were very smart and well, I know you’ll do good if you study. Maybe just think about it?”

“I may take the exam,” Orien decided, “It’s possible.”

It wasn’t too out of the ordinary to receive such support from fellow peers at the arts school. Many classmates grew accustomed to each other from being involved in stage plays and other projects, or in the case of Wendy and Orien on the long rides to school. 

Orien didn’t know what Wendy knew of him that told her he was smart. He assumed it may have been from him sharing aloud some poetry during Friday performances, but whatever she thought of him, she had wanted him to succeed. 

The transport reached its destination, stopping first at the west house to let off first and second year scholars, which included Steflana, the tall boy with the glasses, Shana and three ladies Orien didn’t recognize.

“Who do you have for advisor?” Wendy asked on the way to the main house.

“Lydia,” Orien replied.

Wendy smiled and said, “That’s very lucky. She must help you a lot, being head of the school! I have Jermaine.”

When the transport halted at the front lot of the main house, Orien let Wendy step in front of him in line, in the manner of a true gentleman and when he stepped off, she was waiting for him at the front steps.

“Do you suppose we’ll have any classes together?” Wendy wondered as she walked with Orien. Orien opened up the main doors and let her in.

“It’s possible,” he said, followed her down the hall and up the steps reaching Lydia’s office chamber.

“Maybe I’ll see you again later, or maybe just on the transport,” Wendy said.

“We’ll see each other again,” Orien said and they parted.

Lydia’s small advisory group had not changed since the previous semester. Sitting in the chairs in front of Lydia’s desk were Maxen and Malia. Orien took the third chair and in the course of the meeting, decided on his classes.

Orien had been disappointed to find the lack of selection in the visual arts department and that he could not fit in some of the classes he had wanted to take up, such as advanced drawing technique, but was happy to find that for the first time since Orien’s first semester, a reel show production class had been added.

Orien was able to take up the reel show production class. His only other art/performance class would be ‘set construction’, because he needed the visual art credit for completion.

Much like the previous semester, Orien would have a history class with Jermaine (History of the Western Territories) a literature class with Maggie (War in Literature-an Honor’s study course), a science class (Advanced Physics) and a physical health class (Body relaxing technique). His schedule was set, ready and approved by Lydia within only a few chimes of her looking it over, with no objections.

With the close of the meeting, Orien left the main house to walk with Dug to the west house for Physics class.  Steflana passed them along the way and waved.

“Hello, Orien!” She said and her and her friends giggled and blushed.

“Who was that?” Dug asked.

“A first year, she rides the transport to school with me,” Orien explained, and he and Dug made their way to the West house, entering in through the back door, and going up the steps, to the physics lab.

He wouldn’t see Dug or Steflana again until lunch break, which came after Body Relaxing.

Orien stepped out of the shack in the woods by the art house and made his way to the big tree in the field where he usually met up with Dug. He waited for a bit, but Dug had been elsewhere it seemed.

Orien left the big tree behind and walked to the art house, stood in line at the snack booth, and bought a slice of stuffed bread, with a one note from his money purse.

Orien looked around for Dug and took a bite of his food.

“Hello, it’s you again!” Orien heard. He looked behind him and Steflana was waving at him and standing with another first year lady from the transport, a dark haired lady in a red blouse.

“Yes, hello again, Steflana,” he said, causing her to walk closer to him.

“Where does everybody sit for lunch?” she asked.

“Anywhere, right,” her dark haired friend said, “in the theatre seats or in the field…?”

“I usually walk around with my friend,” Orien said, “I was just going to go out and find him,” he added hoping to shake them off, but Steflana took his wrist and said, “We’ll help you look for him, is he another fourth year?”

“Yes,” Orien said as she dragged him toward the art house door and down the steps while her 
friend tagged along.

She was far friendlier and less shy than Orien had suspected, possibly from her Callaepian blood, and her island hospitality.

“What does he look like?” Steflana asked once they got to the field.

“He’s tall, dark haired, dressed proper,” Orien detailed and as he described, spotted Dug, “he’s over there by the big tree.”

Steflana and her friend followed behind as Orien met up with Dug. They held out their hands to shake and Steflana said, “Hi, we’re first years, we ride the transport with Orien, This is Dora and I’m Steflana.”

“I’m Dug,” he said as they shook his hand.

“Nice meeting you,” Dora said and they both turned to joined their fellow first year scholars.
Dug patted Orien on the back and said, “Good for you, making new friends,” and laughed.

“Nothing wrong with making friends with first years,” Orien said, slightly embarrassed and they reminisced about their own first years, sitting under the tree and eating their lunch, just as they had in their early years. They stayed under that tree through lunch break, not walking around the grounds and when break was let out, Orien had his study support class in the west house and ended the day in the art house, learning techniques to create shadow and texture, painting on a wood plank, in set construction.

Before boarding the transport, Orien crossed the path to ‘Donovan’s Desserts’ a small pastry shop, and ordered a steamee, in a take home cup. He walked back across to the main house, to the backlot, and got on the transport, to sit in one of the single-seaters in the back and sip his steamee, looking at the window as the port would make its stops at Laurel Village, Westvale and Hartwood, where Dora would be let off, leaving her spot next to Steflana, who also got up, but only to switch to sitting at the other single-seat in the back.

“Why’ve you been sitting back here alone?” Steflana asked in her island accent.

Orien had finished his steamee and he placed the empty cup, by his feet.

“Don’t know, I just wanted to sit here and think by myself,” he answered.

“About what?” Steflana asked.

“Don’t know. It’s my last year of school. A lot to think about.”

Steflana nodded in understanding and said, “ah, higher learning schools, aptitude tests, I can understand.”

“’Right, those things…” Orien responded.

Steflana was looking at the front seat behind the driver at the tall boy and said aside to Orien, “That boy’s sitting by himself, too,” and called out to him, “You, up there, join the group!”

Orien smirked and chuckled to himself, being reminded of Lysee and his early transport rides, in his first two years.

“He doesn’t want to join us, he’s too good for us.”

Orien found that he enjoyed talking with Steflana, a lady much his junior, but confident, proud and with a fiery personality.

Orien would come to know more about her as the day-sets went on. It turned out she had a gentleman friend back on the island of Calleaope, whom she considered her companion.

“No, I’ve never had anyone…” Orien confessed to Steflana, some days before his birthday, on the transport home, “There is this one lady, but I never see her, she doesn’t go to the arts school, but lives in Penhaven village.”

“That’s not too far if you have a jet, not like being on an island far away like my companion, I’ll only see him perhaps, if my family goes there for the holiday…”

“You’re not worried that he might start something up with another lady?” Dex, the tall boy said adding to the conversation. He had ended up joining Orien and Steflana on the trips back to Hilliar.

“We’re not exclusive. I know he’s much elder, he possibly is with other ladies, but I can be with other boys while I’m here in the colonies.”

“Is that a Calleaopian practice?” Dex said, though wasn’t aware that he sounded rude until Stelfana beamed at him, “Are you disrespecting my culture?”

“No, it’s just not common for ladies here in the colonies to be so free with their companionships,” Dex said.

Orien knew he was wrong though, thinking of Lysee and Malia, but he hadn’t corrected him. The conversation would make him wonder about Willo however, who may have been exploring companionships with other boys, but if he spent more time with her and she really developed the same feelings he did, he could be happy with her.

Still, the thought that it may not happen, and the fear of being hurt caused him to try and put her out of his mind.

He would also have to put thoughts of Steflana out of his mind, though he enjoyed talking with her and she was not exclusive with her companion, who was far away, Orien couldn’t start up something with someone who was only fourteen in age. He wanted to be with someone he could be physical with and he couldn’t with Steflana.

◆

Orien turned eighteen, mid-harvest season and by that time the transport would become crowded. A third year lady named Kira joined the Hilliar group, while her jet was in the shops. Lysee also began riding the transport again, as she no longer had access to her father’s jet.
While most of the transport seats could hold three youth passengers, they became cramped with three passengers of late youth size, which meant for many of the arts school passengers, they would be squeezed in, or some would have to sit on the floor in the back where the two single-seaters were.

Orien had begun sitting up in the front and wherever he sat, Steflana, Dora and Elenor would be close by.

Orien kept quiet about his birthday on the ride to school. He would just be entering early elderhood, being of age to drink blis, smoke herbs and enter higher learning once he completed late school. He was eighteen and elder, yet the school day would follow much as it would on any other day.

Orien had approached the stage show coordinator about hosting Friday performance on his birthday, but Orien heard nothing of it before or on the day. Two third year boys would instead host the performance, but they had a routine prepared that everyone enjoyed.

Orien didn’t attend his study support course, feeling he was free to take it or leave it. He sat at a desk on the upper quarter of the main house, by Jermaine’s door, where scholars went for quiet reading and study. Garth, a well-built gentleman who was an athlete at his old school, sat down in the same corner, across from Orien, as he had a free period in his schedule as well.

Garth shuffled a deck of cards at the desk, began dealing to Orien and explained the rules of play, to which Orien would catch on.

“It isn’t too early to consider the formal dance,” Garth said, during their game,  “once chill comes, we’ll be done with the first term and the time will come to start asking…”

“I asked a lady last year, but I never went, she turned me down and I don’t think I’ll ask again. She said she wanted to wait till her last year, but she’s a third year.”

“Ask again maybe she changed her mind,” Garth suggested.

“I don’t want to be a pest. I don’t want to hear her say no again/I should just leave her be/I don’t want to go with her anyway.”

“What you should do is ask a first or second year. It would be simple and they would be glad for the opportunity to go to the dance.”

Orien thought about Steflana and Dora and considered it, but a thought came to mind. If Dora and Steflana had admired him as much as they did, he couldn’t ask them to a dance and have them think he’d want companionship. He couldn’t fool them in that way and then hurt them.
Orien spent his set construction class dipping a paddle into a barrel of sand mold, and spreading it on a long tube that would act as a pillar for the stage set of the coming Thebuek production.

Orien had completed work on his pillar, just in time for the end of the school day. It would be let to dry once he left.

Orien left the art house, made his way to the transport and took a spot at the first seat by the door.

Steflana took the spot next to him and Elenor took the spot next to Holli, a lady who somewhat resembled Kyley Laval, behind the pilot’s chair.

“Did you have a good day today? How was your day of classes,” Elenor, who was stout and rather pesky, asked as she did every evening when Orien stepped on.

“It was fine,” Orien answered.

“Where’s your steamee cup today?” she asked.

“I decided not to get one.”

When Dora stepped on, she tried to squeeze along the edge of the seat with Steflana, seeing that Elenor and Holli couldn’t make room, with Holli’s stringed harp taking up just as much room as another person.

“Are you squeezed in?” Dora asked Orien.

“Yes, a bit,” Orien replied.

“We can make room a bit,” Steflana pondered, “It might be easier for Dora to sit on Elenor’s lap, sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Much as I’d hate to say no,” Elenor said, blushing. It was suspected that she might possibly have an attraction to Dora, “there’s no room, but one of you can sit on Orien’s lap,” she suggested.

Elenor had been looking out for Orien’s romantic interests for most of the first calendar block of riding the transport and getting to know him. When she suggested Dora sit on Orien’s lap, Orien was just fine as long as Steflana was fine and wouldn’t feel jealous.

“It would be nice for Dora to sit with me…and it is my birthday,” Orien said, but hid his face as it had been turning red from the idea of sharing his seat with Dora.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday!” Steflana said shaking him, “and you haven’t said anything.”

“I’m eighteen, it’s just another birthday,” Orien said as Dora placed her self on his lap and he held her. He could feel the weight of her body on his thighs. Her arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Eighteen is more than just another birthday,” Dora said, “You’re early elder now.”

The transport started moving, out of the lot to follow the path, to bring the passengers home.
As Dora brushed Orien’s smooth hair, Orien thought of the fact that he was early elder, of age eighteen, and though he’d want to imagine bringing Dora closer to him for a kiss, he wouldn’t for many reasons, one of them being he was afraid, the other being that he was her elder. She looked up to him as lady youths did, and was attracted, but he shouldn’t take advantage, though he could.

“You remind me of a harp player,” Dora said, “my elder brother had a portrait of him-he had hair like yours…”

“Derek Strogan?” Orien said.

“Yes, that’s it,” Dora said, and wiped a curtain of straight hair from Orien’s face, which caused him to start to lose his breath. He smiled looking into her glowing eyes, and as his in turn shined, she said, “I’ve never seen eyes as blue as yours.”

Orien was trying hard to focus his attention away from Dora. He’d bring up his own gentle hand and stroke her hair if she weren’t of age fourteen. He reminded himself. Age fourteen.

When Steflana and Elenor began talking, and Dora and Orien joined in the conversation, it broke him away from any thoughts he might have had, but when the port stopped to let Dora off, and her arm would slink away from his back, like a snake curling away, and the warm body that sat upon his thighs would be lifted, and disappear like a ghost, Orien thought of Willo.

Dora disappeared, to walk out the door. 

When Orien sat next to Willo in Penhaven and she told him about Ashlyn, her friend she had cared for while sick, he had felt close to her and wanted to be closer physically but Willo found someone else to share that closeness with. She had taken that feeling away, the happy glow from sharing thoughts and feelings with someone. It was a glow that needed to shine brighter, but she had zapped it out like it had been nothing. It had been nothing to her. 

As Orien sat next to Steflana and the port began to move again, he felt the hurt, remembering Willo. He wanted Dora to come back to him as if she’d make the hurt go away. Dora wouldn’t break his heart, because his heart was not hers to break and there was comfort in that.

“What are you thinking of, staring out the window like that? What are your thoughts?” Steflana asked.

Orien turned his head to answer Steflana, “Turning eighteen…”

“And you said it was just another birthday to you, it’s not is it?”

“I suppose not,” Orien said and turned to look back out the window. Dex was adjusting in his seat to sit on the edge and join the Hilliar group.

“Why’d you let Dora sit in your lap?” Dex asked.

“She wanted to,” Orien replied with a shrug, “I let her.”

“And you liked it! You enjoyed it!” Steflana said.

“I did, but/I mean to say/she’s so much my youth/not even fifteen yet.”

“What does that even mean? I’m only fourteen!” Steflana said.

“Fourteen is young to be fooling around as she does, though, you have to admit,” Dex said, sounding much wiser than he should.

The promiscuity of the first year scholars at the arts school was as it was in Orien’s first year, but in the past two calendar blocks in getting to know Dora and hearing about some of the other first year ladies’ endeavors, his outlook had changed.

 “I agree,” Orien said, “She should slow down-“

“But this is a time for ladies and boys to explore,” Steflana interrupted.

“I don’t feel the need to explore yet,” Dex said, though Orien suspected it was a lie, because if he had said it at that age it would have been a lie, much like the lie he would next tell.

 Further speaking of Dora’s promiscuity, Dex said to Orien, “She would probably bed you, if the opportunity came up,” and asked, “Would you honestly want to?”

“No,” was the lie Orien told. It was a lie because he would want to. He’d welcome the opportunity to be closer to a lady than simply having her upon his lap, and despite the age difference, they were still both in late learning study. He knew he shouldn’t think about it though.

“Even if she was older,” Orien answered, ”She isn’t all that attractive.”

“Because she has pimples!” Steflana said, appalled, “And I suppose you think I’m unattractive because of my bracework!”

“I just got my bracework removed myself!” Orien defended, “And you’re very pretty for a fourteen-ager.”

She grabbed Orien, held him snug and shook him, saying “Thank you Ori!”

“Maybe you two should get together,” Dex suggested.

“Steflana already likes Alvie,” Orien said.

“Yeah, don’t you listen to me, Dex?!” Steflana said, “It’s like we’re not even friends…I’m just going to talk to Orien the rest of the way!”

As the ride continued, Steflana ignored Dex, and talked more about Orien’s birthday and what Orien might receive for presents, if he would receive any paynotes, how he might spend them.
“I’m thinking about a tattoo. My mom thinks it’s a good idea,” Orien said.

“That’s not typical,” Dex said, to which Steflana shushed him, but he continued, “Mothers don’t typically encourage-” to which, Steflana replied, “Ssshhh!” once more and the transport entered the lot at Hilliar grocery to let the Hilliar group off.

Marj was waiting in her copper colored jet, as it was Friday, the day Orien was let out early and as it was around the same time as Marj finished work at the elderly center, right across the path, Marj would bring Orien back to the cottage.

“Did you have nice birthday at school,” Marj asked, in her usual polite manner.

“It was like any day at school,” Orien replied.

“Do you have plans to celebrate over the end-days?” Marj asked.

“My friends all live far off,” Orien said, “my friend Dug lives at the west end of Penhaven/I’d get together with him if I could.”

“Maybe your dad could drop you off?” Marj suggested, “We might be going to Penhaven later.”

“I’ll have to ask.”

The copper jet reached the front lot of the cottage, and Orien stepped out. He opened the front door with his key and let himself in. He heard the hum of Marj’s engine as her jet sped away. Orien unlaced his boots at the door as Felice brushed herself against his legs, purring and greeting him.

The tigret followed Orien to his bedchamber and curled up on his bed. Orien shut the door behind him, and tuned his radio to ‘Starship Quests’, though the ‘Starship’ serials didn’t hold his interest much, they were fun to have in the background as he did schoolwork, or leafed through a book.

Orien had stacks of panel-fiction books on his bookshelf, but he had read them all several times over. 

“Captain, the pod’s thrusters are failing, we’re heading toward an unknown planet…” said the voice on the radio.

“See if you can steady the pod and steer it to a landing…check the atmosphere and prepare to suit up…I’ll get a rescue team ready…”

Orien grabbed a handful of ‘Justice Crusader’ books, fanned them out on his bed and began to thumb pages, skipping to his favorite illustrations, mostly of Prym and Salli, as the love story was what drew Orien to the characters and the beautiful illustrations of Salli. Orien’s favorite illustrator was Clef Henders-it might have been because of the lifelike way he captured his character’s expressions in their eyes, or because his renderings of ladies were significantly bustier. 

Orien always thought of Willo when he would thumb through his ‘Justice Crusader’ books as they had gone to see the second reel-feature together.

It seemed there were a lot of things that made Orien think of Willo, ‘Justice Crusader’ was just one of them.

“Our suits can no longer keep temperature,” the radio played, “I can already feel it grow colder…”

“You won’t die frozen on that planet! You can count on that!”

As Orien spread out the open books on his bed, looking at the illustrations, an ad page caught his eye, with information on where to send away for books. The ad listed a four volume hardbound collection for 120n that contained forty illustrated serials.

Orien had seen the ad page before and wanted to send away for the set, or at least one of the volumes, but for his father to spend 120n on panel books was out of the question, and Orien had no notes, not having a job.

He had the option of spending his birthday notes, rather than getting a tattoo, but then Orien thought of Willo again and what she would think of him if he had a tattoo. The gentleman she had cuddled up with at ‘the quiet rest’, possibly had tattoos, Orien thought he even remembered that he did, though he didn’t have a clear image in his head of what the gentleman looked like.

Orien had been thinking of paging Willo. He had been seesawing the idea, since Marj mentioned she’d be going out with his father to Penhaven and that he might be able to receive a ride there.

He was afraid. He would tell himself it was worth it to see Willo whenever he could, if he could only put the idea in her head that they could be a match, that they could have a like bond, but he was afraid to be heartbroken again.

Orien would find himself with his communicator in hand, several chimes after ‘Starship Quests’ had ended and his panel fiction books had been put away, trying to find courage to page Willo, much like he had done before. It would always be the same routine.

When Willo picked up and answered, the conversation turned to the usual.

“I was thinking about coming up to Penhaven on my birthday,” Orien said.

“Sounds like a good plan,” Willo responded.

“Do you want to meet up?”

Orien was eager for her to say yes. Remembering the times when she had said yes and arrangements had been made for him to go to Penhaven and to see her.
He saw her in his mind with her scarlet hair, and her long limbs.

“I have other plans,” she said and Orien’s heart dropped, for a brief click wondering if her plans were with the gentleman from over the respite, or from the ex-companion she had spoke of.

“Oh,” he said, “That’s fine, then/but, do you want to get together tomorrow or another day.”

“I have to catch up on my schoolwork.”

“Oh. Right. At the Academy. Your schoolwork. Next end-days? Saturday or Sunday.”

“You can page me then, that’s fine. We can get together.”

“Right then. We’ll make a plan.”

“I’ll make time. I will. Happy Birthday Orien.”

“Thanks.”

Orien put his thumb to the red button on his communicator and Willo was gone. He would no longer hear her voice and he wouldn’t see her. He wouldn’t hug or kiss her cheek. He wouldn’t see the light reflect in her hair, whatever color it had been since he last had seen her.

He stared at his communicator screen, at the directory, at the names. He found Dug’s name, paged, and put the receiver to his ear.

“This is Dug,” Dug answered.

“This is Orien.”

“Oh, hello, how have you been? How’s it, then?” Dug said, quick-paced.

“Fine, It’s my birthday-”

Dug’s next comments came out in one single breath it seemed, like pebbles tumbling down a hill, one word after another and they’d just keep tumbling: “Is it, today, then? You eighteen? What are your plans? Did you want to do something? You want to meet? We can meet in Penhaven? Wanna get some smokstiks? You’re of age now! We can get blisterd too, well, we’ll just drink some of my dad’s berus.”

“I have to see if my Dad can bring me-“

“All right, page me later, let me know what time. Bye, Orien.”

“Bye, then.”

Orien thumbed the red button and folded his communicator. He opened up his wardrobe and grabbed a shortcoat to put on, placed his communicator in his pocket and left his bedchamber to see if his father was home.

Orien talked over arrangements with his father. He was planning on meeting up with Marj in Penhaven, later that night. He would bring Orien, as soon as they ate dinner, insisting that Orien eat before leaving.

Orien had already received his birthday gifts that morning. His mother had given him a new pocket clock and several paynotes to be saved toward a tattoo. His father also gave him some paynotes and a copy of an Al Wulworte biography titled, ‘Al Wulworte, A life of Satires, Sensations and Scandals’. Orien hadn’t cracked open the book yet, though, it was still sitting in his shoulder bag with his schoolbooks, to be read during a free period.

After the meal, Orien’s father asked if he wanted a dessert of any sort for his birthday, which he declined. Orien never ate much sweet things, not even cake or sweetreme on his birthday.
His father put his coat on, laced his boots and Orien followed him out to the silver jet. Once in, the jet took off and headed to Penhaven.

“Are you going over your Aunt’s house with your mother on Sunday?” his father asked along the way.”

For the past two years Orien’s Sunday visits with his mother had become more of a family gathering at his Aunt Greta’s with Alto and their cousin Anya. 

“I’ll ask Mom,” Orien said, “I believe so.”

Once the jet reached Penhaven Village Center, his father turned at the crossing, to halt at the backlot of the Penhaven showhouse, where Dug had asked to meet.

Orien recognized Dug’s green family jet, but before he let himself out his dad said, “Page me when you need to be picked up, I’ll be in Penhaven with Marj.”

“right,” Orien said, unrestrained himself, and stepped out to meet Dug.

The silver jet sped off behind Orien as he approached Dug who asked, leaning at his jet, “Did you want to go to my house and a have a pipe, or do you wanna walk a bit, maybe get some smoks?”

“Let’s walk along,” Orien said.

“’right, then,” Dug replied, stepping away from his jet in a stride, followed by Orien. They followed the stone steps up the hill to the garden patch next to the showhouse. The trees were all bare from their fallen leaves, save for the fir trees, and the blossoms had all faded away to dust.

They turned and began walking along the sidepath and then crossing from the front entrance of Haye’s market, to the ‘quiet rest’ on the other side.

They passed a small shop, which Orien hadn’t remembered seeing in his last visit in Penhaven and wondered, trying to remember if it had been the vacant shop, where he sat with Willo. Orien saw the museum across the path and was sure it must have been. It was now a tattoo and piercing shop called ‘Ruffians’.

Orien stopped, though Dug kept walking.

“I was thinking of saving my birthday notes for a tattoo, maybe we can take a look inside and look at prices,” Orien said. Dug turned and waved Orien back to follow him.

“You don’t want a tattoo,” Dug said, “It’s not your style.”

“But, why-“

“You can get one if you want one, I’m not trying to make the decision for you, but do you really know what you want? It’s going to be permanent on your body. For me, I would never get one. I just don’t think it’s a good idea, or at least if it’s what you want give it more thought.”

“I was thinking of a vine,” Orien said as they continued walking, “with thorns going along the upper arm here, to show I have an edge, and a scarlet blossom on the end to show I have a sensitive side. It’s something I think Willo would like-“

“That’s one thing, if it’s just to impress a lady, then think on it more, I wouldn’t just get one.”

The thought was planted in Orien’s head and he had a decision to make. He was also afraid it might be painful, as he knew it was, having the needle pierce the skin and fill it with hot ink. His plan was to go with Willo as she would make him feel brave and he wouldn’t cry then, but possibly she wouldn’t go with him, possibly she didn’t care. Orien just wasn’t sure what she felt.
They stopped at ‘Portsmith Herb Shop’ and Dug asked, “Should I go in with you? If I’m just looking around and not purchasing, they’d be fine, but if they ask for both our identity tabs, I’m not eighteen yet.”

“Let’s browse, maybe come back later,” Orien suggested.

The bell jingled as the two stepped inside the herb shop. The inside had a woodsy smell, much like Orien’s bedchamber, and like Orien’s bedchamber and his father’s cottage, the floors and walls were constructed from tough blackwood. There was also the smell from the rough dry leaf, packed in stiks in packets and boxes on shelves that surrounded Dug and Orien, whose heads turned up and along, looking at the variations of smokware and utensils, on the high shelves.
Dug entered a chamber in the corner, under an arch and Orien followed. Inside, were boxes of fine thickwrapped looseleaf cigar stiks. The thicker ones were on the pricier side, but then Orien couldn’t imagine taking in so much smoke. Dug had several boxes in his hand of smaller cigars and was reading the labels. He handed one to Orien who read the label.

“Cut and dried from the finest tobacco plants, grown from the famed Gelvinlae family farm in Callaepe…”

“Steflana’s from Callaepe,” Orien said, handing the box off to Dug, who was putting the other box away.

“Who’s that?” Dug asked, taking the box and returning it along with the other.

“You met her/Steflana/the first year lady that comes to talk to me at lunch break, sometimes.”

“Oh. Her.”

Orien took a circle around the chamber, to stop at the selection of pipes, mostly designed for looseleaf smoke.

“Where do they keep the herbs?” Orien asked Dug.

“The potent herbs? They keep those behind the counter, given their stupefying nature. Shop herbs are much too high in price though.”

Dug usually got herbs from growers, which was questionable dealings seeing as most such merchants also pushed unsafe potions. They would probably still have to go through a private merchant for herbs, even with Orien being of age, if shop herbs were as pricey as Dug said.
Orien and Dug left the cigar chamber and the bell jingled as they walked out the door, back to the paths of Penhaven to walk along.

“There’s another smok shop in West End, maybe they’ll have those Callaepean stiks and we can smok those.”

“How late are we going to be out?” Orien said as they passed Village Hall.

“I was thinking, you’ll stay at my house, we’ll have a few smoks and some beru,” Dug said.

“I’ll have to page my dad, he’ll have to pick me up in the morning.”

“Give him a page,” Dug said, “Let’s cross and we’ll take my jet to the west end, maybe get some food.”

Orien looked both ways in hesitation, but Dug started and Orien bolted along with him to the other side. They passed by the bank, the sweet shop, Hayes and made their way to the garden and down the hill past the showhouse to the lot where Dug’s jet was halted. Once inside Orien took his communicator out of his pocket, unfolded it, found his father in the directory and waited for his response.

“We’re still having dinner,” his father said, “Have you made a plan?”

“Dug wants me to stay at his house,” Orien replied.

“and he’ll bring you home?”

Orien held his hand over the mic bit and asked Dug, “Are you able to bring me home in the morning…”

“Don’t know,” Dug said, “Don’t know if I can find where you live, I might get lost, it’s far off from the west end right? Just ask your dad to pick you up.”

Orien turned his attention back to his father on his communicator and said, “Dug thinks it’s too far off, he doesn’t know how to get to Hilliar.”

He heard his father sigh.

“I will pick you up at the center in the morning. Page me. I have plans for later, so it has to be in the morning. Page me at around eight. I’ll pick you up around ten. Understand?”

“Yes,” Orien said and the plan was set.

Dug placed his keytab in the slot, turned it and started the jet. The jet rose from the ground backed away and turned out to follow the paths to Penhaven’s West End, West End Grocery, for Dug to grab some food and then to the shopping emporium.

‘Tall Forests’, the west end shopping emporium had only a few scattered shopfronts, not much like the Adelyn market building which had three quarters. The West end shops were all on one single level, so Dug and Orien were able to pace the floor from the main hall at the front entrance to the dining pit and the theatre and back again, more than once, talking along the way.

“Have you seen the new Wil Borte feature? Never Die Without a Fight?” Dug asked, looking over at the theatre postings, as they sat at a table in the dining area.

“I had a few of the Borte shows on reel copy-” Orien began to explain, with Dug cutting him off with “You have a projector?”

Orien was sure Dug knew that already and said, “I believe I told you once-“

“We have a projector at my house,” Dug interjected, “a good quality one, good picture, can project large images, almost like in a theatre, you can turn off the lights and it is like watching a theatre show. We should do a marathon viewing of the Wil Borte thrillers.”

Orien and Dug talked back and forth about Wil Borte, with Dug doing most of the talking, detailing his favorite action sequences.

Before making their way out, to Dug’s house, Orien stopped at a small thequer shop, hidden near the back entrance, while Dug waited at the dining table.

Orien looked around at the bottles, wondering if he should purchase something, but he had never been in a thequer shop before. He stopped at a selection of joice bottles, the blush red contents catching his eye. He had drunk joice before. His father was a joice drinker.

“Did you want help picking out a bottle?” The shopkeeper asked.

“No…I was browsing/I just came for smoks,” Orien said approaching the money counter, nervous that the money handler would think he was not of age, but he opened up his money purse and took out his identity tab.

The shopkeeper slid the tab into the slot and handed it back to Orien.

“Do you have Gelvenlae Farm thickwraps?” Orien asked and the shopkeeper directed him to the smokstik selection on the shelves just to the left of the counter. Orien found the box of Gelvinlae’s and purchased it.

“Happy Birthday, sir,” the shopkeeper said and opened up a drawer below the counter. He handed Orien a small blue box, with a metal cone at one end, “a complimentary flamewand,” the shopkeeper said.

Orien smiled and nodded in thanks, put the blue flamewand in his purchase bag and left the shop, meeting up with Dug at the dining table.

“What did you end up finding?” Dug asked.

“The same smoks we saw at Portsmith’s.”

“And it took you that long?”

“I was browsing the aisles-“

“And you didn’t get any beru?”

Orien supposed he had been trying to be cautious, with not indulging too much, possibly they would have a pipe, and each smok a Gelvinlae, but tossing back bottle after bottle of beru would be too much.

Dug said his father had a stash of berus, they could pick from, and could at least have one or two bottles which seemed enough for Orien.

On the jet ride home Orien mentioned Wil Borte again, wondering if Dug had read the books.

“I don’t read much,” Dug said, but then thought more on the subject, “not much fiction at least, I should say, I suppose I do read non-fiction.”

“I’d be interested in the Wil Borte books, haven’t read them, yet, though-“

“My dad has them on his shelves.”

The jet reached the forests of West End Penhaven, and soared through the tree filled paths, up a slight hill, to a neighborhood of cottages and slowing at the lot in front of a massive two-quarter house. 

Dug halted the jet inside the keephouse and he and Orien stepped out of the jet and up the steps to enter the kitchen.

From the first moment Orien stepped into Dug’s family cottage, in his first year of schooling, he had come to think of it as the perfect refuge for a scripter. It was an ideal setting, nestled in the forests of Penhaven’s west end, isolated from the turbulence of the busy town, but not a rustic, far from perfect shelter, as was Orien’s father’s cottage. Dug’s father had worked hard at his scripting on health and being well. His refuge was a paradise for his family as well as it was for him.

Orien felt a homely comfort, sitting at the breakfast table stool and looking straight ahead at the little lounge by Dug’s father’s den, where the piano was that Dug often practiced on. Most times when Orien stayed over, he’d hear Dug practice his music for recitals and such.

Dug’s bedchamber was down a hall past a set of stairs by the main quarter of the house, where the chairs and couches were positioned before a fireplace and a radioset, by a set of bookshelves.

Bookshelves were part of the décor, large and small in every corner Orien looked.

Dug came out from the washroom and asked, “Did you wanna watch a projection, maybe a Wil Borte feature? Or we’ll just have a pipe and a Gelvinlae at the back porch?”

“I’ll have a pipe. That’s fine,” Orien replied.

“’Right then, follow me,” Dug said and Orien got up from the breakfast table, turned and followed Dug past the lounge, into his father’s den and out to the porch.

Orien sat at a porch chair and was asked to wait. He felt a chill through his shortcoat at the harvest season air.

Dug returned within a chime with his pipe, packed with herbs, and the box of Gelvinlae cigars, as well as the flamewand.

Dug stood by the porch rafters, put the pipe to his lips and pressed the tab down on the flamewand to light the herbs.

He breathed the smoke in, coughed and held it, took another puff and handed it to Orien, with another cough.

Orien didn’t take in much smoke with his first puff, and blew most of it out when he released the pipe, but with his second take, he choked down quite a bit, causing him to hack away before handing the pipe back to Dug.

 The passing continued until the pipe had emptied, and Dug unsealed the box of cigarstiks. He placed one in his lips and lit it with the wand, and Orien did the same.

Orien coughed a bit more and hocked a wad of phlegm over the porch rafters onto the grass, but he continued to smoke, cough and choke, and revel in being independent from his parents, from school, from everything.

There was a feeling that came with being able to smoke and choose to do whatever pleasurable thing you chose to do, without any judgment from any authority figure that made Orien think of himself as in control of his own actions, disregarding his father and his instructors at school, much like in his first years of late learning, but there was also a part of Orien that wanted focus and discipline.

Once the duo finished their cigars and each popped open a beru in the lounge, Dug began at the piano, starting off with a light melody, that Orien recognized and it was one Dug had composed as a youth, possibly around the time when Orien first saw him audition at the arts school.

As Orien sipped his beru and listened, he began to recall his audition, and found himself talking and saying aloud his thoughts.

“Do you remember your audition?” Orien asked Dug as Dug fiddled around with some keys and seemed to be trying to match the tone of Orien’s speech, as he would continue, “I was there, but you probably don’t remember it enough to remember I was there…”

Orien paused and Dug changed from the melody he was playing to a dull repetitive beat and said, “Keep talking…”

“I remember that we sat in the ball room chamber, the one which is used for all of Juno’s dance classes, the one that the virtuoso troupe practices in, I suppose, then we went into Jeralyn’s class chamber, although it wasn’t at the time/I mean when we took literature study with Jeralyn it was in that room…”

Dug’s fingers tapped the piano keys, rising and falling to the sound of Orien’s voice, while also following a consistent melody which Dug chose and Dug experimented with it, going from light to deep and low as Orien would continue to talk.

“Helena-Liz was at our audition. I don’t see her much/in many of my classes/I did have a class with her last semester/her and her companion really made me feel welcome at the arts school, in the beginning/first year/I rode the transport with Helena-Liz/I thought she was/I honestly still think/she’s one of a kind/I mean/as far as how beautiful she is/but moving on/when I met Steflana/the beginning of this year/I suppose thinking to the beginning of my own year at school/I felt I had to introduce myself and make her feel comfortable/and it was something I just did/I just introduced myself and we talked and we’ve been friends since. There’s something about that friendship/and that she is a lady, although young, it’s almost as if I feel like someone whom she looks up to/as a fourth year scholar…”

Dug laughed a bit at that, and picked up the music to follow Orien in his continuing chronicling.

“Keep talking…”

“What I mean to say is, I like being looked up to that way/I suppose I shouldn’t listen to my ego though/when I listen to what my heart wants/which I do because my cousin Anya always told me to listen to it/when I listen/my heart wants Willo/it’s only a shame that Willo is so far away from my reach…”

Dug’s piano song began to wind down, and the two would soon gravitate to the main quarters.
Orien would end up spread out on the couch, by the end of the night, having a few more bottles of beru with Dug who sat on the recliner and continued to talk and converse with Orien.

Once Dug was ready to retire for the night, Orien was left on the couch, alone in the dark, under blankets, looking at the star-filled sky, through the ceiling window above his head.

To help him drift off to sleep, Orien imagined that he held and embraced a lady. He imagined Dora, the feel of her body being most recent in his memory, but he imagined her with a certain confidence that he could sense in the way they held each other, as if she were his equal, as if she were elder, as if she were Willo.

Willo’s sense of individuality had drawn Orien from the start. She had a way she dressed and a way she styled her hair, that was her own and no one else’s. What he felt looking into Willo’s eyes, next to him on the stoop in Penhaven, was not what he felt looking into Dora’s eyes. He knew Willo. He knew what he liked about her and why he would want to be with her. It was like the characters in ‘the romantic’.

This dream lady whom Orien laid with and looked at the stars with that night had all the traits of Willo that made Orien want to cling her to him tight if she were real.

Holli

The trees around Emardleaf Way, and in every surrounding town, would be bare, and all the scattered leaves would be raked and cleared away, by the end of the calendar black. The winds would become cold and Orien would wear his longcoat and scarf around school. 

Packages were usually left on the front porch, but in the days after Orien sent away for his order of hardbound ‘Justice Crusader’ books from Fabulous Fantasy Pulpbooks, Orien, though hopeful, would find nothing waiting for him at the cottage steps.

Once home, he would shed his coat, hat, scarf, boots and sit in the main quarters with ‘Spaceship Quest’ playing on the radio, while reading articles he had printed from the school’s cyber database, or pamphlet-copies he had to read for history.

He found his school tasks manageable, with no trouble completing his assignments. His arts classes were simple enough. Reel-show production was in some ways similar to Orien’s first semester but their instructor, Marco, was far more professional, reminding Orien of Dashiel, his second year acting instructor.

“If you’re on time, you’re late,” Marco would always say, and like Dashiel, Marco would start his classes as soon as possible and scholars had to be prompt, better to be early than right on schedule. That was the most professional manner.

The coldest day of the season would come a day-set before the harvest feast, possibly a sign of early chill. Orien would feel the bite in his cheeks from the wind as he sped fast along the side path from the West house to get to the art house, to be on time for Marco’s class. He hadn’t fully tied his scarf, since he was in a rush, nor had he put his hat on and so he would feel the cold run through his neck, up to his head and the wind’s frosty breath would slice his ears.

He made it, across to the main house, down the hill, to the art house, through the hall, and to Marco’s room.

Once in Marco’s class chamber, Orien tossed his shoulder bag and his coat off. He then left the class to go to the washroom.

He turned right out of the room, and down the hallway, having a brief recollection of Lysee and a brief memory of naked skin.

Orien, with cold fingers, relieved his bladder, once in the washroom, and washed in the sink after with hot, rejuvenating water. He saw himself in the mirror, thinking he might be handsome to a lady, maybe to Steflana or Dora. He shook his head into reality though, trying to shake away thoughts of heavy kissing, with maybe Dora, looking back, on his way out, at the dusty washroom, knowing the things that went on within those walls, that were not mere rumor, but likely true.

Orien turned out of the washroom hallway, past the song-filled choir rehearsal chamber and walked into his reel show production class, where his fellow scholars were huddled in a meeting with Marco taking lead.

“Joining us today?” Marco asked.

“Yes, I’ve been here, I just had to go to-“

“We’re on a set timeframe,” Marco said pointing to his wrist clock, “and I don’t have time to bring you up to speed, are you joining us on our shoot?”

“Yes,” Orien replied.

“You’re on light duty, you’ll be assisting Dylan. Next time I expect you here when we need you.”

“I was here, but I-“

“There are no excuses. If you’re on time, you’re late.”

The subject was dropped, and Marco led the way, as everyone gathered the show equipment and followed him up the hill, to wherever they were expected to go.

Marco worked for a studio that provided taped documentation for newsreels. Orien and Dug outside of class, would often talk about how egotistical they thought Marco was and that he got too carried away with his play-acting, when he would simulate an actual production atmosphere, as he was presently doing.

They followed Marco to the inside of the main house, up the stepway and were asked to set up production in the hallway corner, where Orien usually played cards with Garth during his free class period.

“Our first interviewee, should be meeting us here in ten chimes,” Marco said, “you know what to do, we have to be prepared to shoot, even if she comes early.”

As Marco spoke, Dylan had already begun unpacking the light set as Orien unpacked the stands. Carolyn was setting up the recorder and spooling the reels. Teri was sitting at the table going over her questions for the guest with Dug, who would be playing the role of Conductor. Garth was setting up the microphone and sound recorder and Marco was setting up a snack table, with tato crisps and nut mix, for when they would break for recess.

Orien followed Dylan’s instruction on where to set up the three stage lights around the desk where Teri and Dug were sitting, as Carolyn adjusted focus on her scope.

Dug peeked into the recorder’s viewer in approval.

Orien was plugging the necessary cords for the lamps, as well as the soundbox into the hall’s electric inputs. 

“Sound check,” Garth said.

“This is Teri speaking” Teri said as Garth adjusted the control on the soundbox and listened on his headset, as Teri continued “testing once, testing twice…”

Garth gave a signal of approval to Teri and there was a sound of steps tapping up the stepway.

Orien was adjusting the power cords to be out of hazard’s way and taping them to the wood floors, when he looked up from where he was crouched, next to the soundbox and an elegant golden-haired lady was making her way up. In her smile and in the way she greeted the production team, she would resemble a popular and much celebrated reel show actress, much like Tina Terrence.

“Hello Bianca,” Dug said, “have a seat.”

Dug got up from his chair and offered it to Bianca.

“Thanks Dug,” she said as she sat and asked, “what sort of matters are we discussing in this 
interview…I wasn’t told too much…?”

“We’re gathering interviews of current and former scholars,” Dug explained, “So, then we-Teri, actually-will be asking about your experience, with being in your final year, your plans for when you complete study, if you’re choosing to learn at University, where you see yourself, questions of that variety-which we will contrast with scholars who have left and explored life outside of schooling-or outside of late learning.”

“‘Right then” Bianca said.

“Ready,” Dug asked.

Everyone signaled that they were ready, Dug called out for a final soundcheck to make sure Bianca’s voice would be picked up.

“Sound ready…very nice…reels cued and ready…” he called out.

“Reels set,” Carolyn said and with a flick of the switch the tape began to spin on their wheels and Carolyn continued, “rolling tape…on four, on three…”

Teri and Bianca prepared for the signal.

“and start!” Dug exclaimed.

Orien found himself falling in love with Bianca all over again, as he watched her.
He paid little to no attention to what Teri was saying.

“How does being in your last year compare to being in your first year of study?” Teri asked.
Bianca answered and her voice was the voice of a trained performer, the voice of Victorien, the voice of a poet. Orien couldn’t keep from looking at her eyes, or from following her bright red painted lips as every move they made was like a kiss to whoever was listening.

“…it has been becoming more hectic for the past, I suppose, two years,” Bianca said, “as I started preparing for the AEA exam, starting last year, with the practice AEA, and taking honors Literature, Advanced Study of the Work of Thebuek, which Fabian taught, and working on all the Thebuek performances, being featured in all of them since my first year when I played Victorien…”

Teri worked her way up to questions about University study and where Bianca was applying to and hoping to be accepted into.

“I’m looking at Barrington’s Royal School, as my main choice. If I don’t get accepted, I have other schools in mind, which I can study at for a period or more, until I can be accepted into Barrington’s, or another school where I can gain a Royal Honor’s Certificate.”

Orien found himself with an unusual thought at that moment, that he might want to receive Royal Honor’s as well. He wasn’t much interested in furthering his studies, but if he had, a Certificate of Royal Honor, would mean much respect. It was very appealing, and also the fact that Bianca had such high aspirations and was likely to pursue them, made her all the more attractive.

Once the interview was over, Marco called for a recess and discussed with Dug and Bianca what their plans were for after the break. Orien listened in as he crawled about the floor, yanking up the tape pieces he had placed.

“I want to get some tape of you in rehearsal,” Dug was saying, “We’ve already talked with Fabian, as you know and we’ll be along in several chimes-you can return to the auditorium with the other performers-we’ll be joining you soon, I’m sure everyone has been told we are coming…?”

Orien deposited the wad of tape in his hand, into the rubbish box and then began unplugging the sound unit and lamps from the wall power.

Teri and Dylan where helping themselves to the snacks Marco provided, as Orien continued his tasks, trying to make up for his tardiness by showing that he was a proper worker, all while his stomach ached from hunger and he would find himself becoming irritable.

Orien was able to eat once all the cords were wrapped in tight bundles and packaged with the lampstands.

He took a few handfuls, in a hurried manner as Marco claimed recess was over and it was time for them to go to the auditorium to set up.

Orien wiped his hands with a cloth, which he tossed in the rubbish.
Marco gathered the snacks in a sack.

Orien grabbed the sack with the cords and stands, and followed behind Dylan who was carrying the lamps.

The team lugged the heavy equipment down the steps, out the main doors, down the hill, up to the art house, through the hall, into the auditorium, descending the stadium to the stage area to drop everything and set-up, just as they had set-up before, with Orien tending to the cords and following Dylan’s instructions on setting up the lights, while Carolyn set up the reels, Garth performed sound check and Dug spoke with Fabian.

After standard protocol, the reels began rolling, and recording began as the performers played out a scene for the production team.

Orien had never seen Bianca actually give a performance before that moment, save for in his imagination, and it made him very excited. She would inhabit his daydreams for the next several chimes.

When the scene ended and Dug called out, “end tape!” the team began to scramble and gather the equipment for Marco.

Orien imagined approaching Bianca and telling her about how much he enjoyed her performance and talking with her, possibly on the way out, as she would walk with him along the hall and talk on their way out of the Art House.

He didn’t approach her though. He didn’t know what to say. She was already talking to Dug and soon, once Orien finished bundling the cords and packaging the lamp stands, she would walk past him, still talking to Dug. It was as if Orien’s daydream had come to life and yet, it was Dug who was taking his place.

Dylan and Carolyn stayed to help Marco bring his equipment back to his jet.

Orien walked slowly back to the empty class chamber where he had left his belongings. It was dark and lonely and he took his time buckling his longcoat. He unfastened his shoulder bag and took out his scarf, hat and gloves.

He was feeling jealous of his friend and envious. He had saw himself as the conductor of reel shows, and as the gentleman who would capture the attention of the lady performers. He wanted to be the one to romance Bianca and Dug had still been seeing Reann, therefore had no business in flirting with Bianca, as Orien assumed he had been.

Orien put his hat and gloves on, wrapped his scarf and put his shoulder bag on. He had to hurry before the transport left without him and there was no time to stop at the pastry shop for a steamee.

On the way out into the cold, Orien wondered if Dug hadn’t gotten to Bianca first, if he might have made a move and he knew the truth. He would have been afraid.

Orien stepped onto the transport and looked for a seat, but all spots were taken. Steflana was sitting with Dora, and they would have made room. He might have had the privilege of having one of them in his lap again-but there was a spot next to a dark haired lady named Holli. She had her harp in its case leaning in the spot next to her, but seeing that Orien needed a seat, she moved it over to stand in front of her.

“Hi,” she said in a shy voice and Orien sat next to her.

She didn’t talk too much. On the trips home and back, she rarely joined the group in chatting and gossiping. She may have been timid, or she may have just been the sort to keep to herself.
Her hair was very black and straight. It stopped at her shoulders and she had yellow ribbon tied in it. Orien knew she was a second year learner, possibly sixteen which was a fine enough age for Orien to consider being flirtatious with, but he didn’t. He didn’t know what to say. He had the same fears as he would have with Bianca. He didn’t talk to Holli at all. Holli herself, was looking dreamily out the window and humming a tune.

She made him think of Kiley Laval a bit. The tune she was humming and singing to herself seemed like it might have been from Kiley. Orien heard music in his head and the song continued along the way and after Holli left.

As always, the Hilliar group would be the last passengers left on the port, and as was the tradition, Dex, Orien and Steflana gathered at the front.

“What were you and Dora whispering about?” Dex asked.

“Not for you to know,” Steflana said.

“Maybe it’s private,” Orien said.

“It is private, so don’t ask about it! Not for you to know,” Steflana said sticking her tongue out and pressing her two fingers against Dex’s lips to quiet him.

“It was only a question!” Dex said.

The subject might have been dropped, but then, there was not much else to talk about on the ride home so Dex would continue to ask.

Steflana was asking Orien if he was looking forward to the formal dance after the holiday, and if he had found a date. This prompted Dex to ask, “Was it about Orien?”

“Was what about Orien?” Steflana asked.

“When you two were whispering…about how Dora likes Orien?”

“It was not about that and Dora like Anders, remember?”

“I was thinking I might ask Bianca Jennings,” Orien stated, “she’s in my year and she’s 
performed in all the Thebuek productions…”

“Have you asked her?” Steflana asked.

“I don’t see her much, don’t have classes with her,” Orien answered.

“But, you’re going to ask her-“

“I want to…I haven’t had the courage to…I don’t know if I…”

“It isn’t a difficult thing. You can just ask. You should do it.”

It seemed like a reasonable plan, if Orien had the opportunity, but he thought he might not. He thought it more likely that Bianca would go to the dance with one of her fellow performers. Still though, if he could work up the courage, it could be possible to ask the question.

Dex continued to pester Steflana.

“Not for you to know!” She kept saying.

By the time the transport reached Hilliar, whatever Dora and Steflana had been talking about would still remain a mystery, but Orien knew better to consider the subject dropped. Dex was likely to keep asking on the next ride.

Orien waited outside in the cold for his father to come pick him up. He had more time to daydream about Bianca, but instead he thought about how warm it would be inside the cottage once he was home.

Orien’s father’s silver jet slowed past him, lowered and halted. 

Orien slid open the door and got in. He was silent on the way home and his thoughts were silent as well. The only thing he thought of was the package he was waiting for, and when the silver jet turned from the trail to halt at the front lot, Orien could see a brown box on the porch.

He undid his restraint in a hurry and shot out of the jet, slamming the door.

“Careful with my door!” his father said.

Orien picked up the box and it was from Fabulous Fantasies.

His father unlocked the door and Orien stepped in, unraveling his scarf, dropping his shoulder bag, tearing his shoes off and tossing his coat, hat and gloves away.

He sat on the couch in the main living quarters and ripped the box open as if it was a holiday gift. He dropped the hardbounds on the floor, and fell to his knees. He spread the books, and crawled forward to the radio to tune the dial to ‘Starship Quests’, which played as he skimmed through the illustrations.

He remembered listening to Kiley Laval at the bookshop, while reading the adventures of the ‘Justice Crusader’. 

He remembered how Holli was humming Kiley Laval next to him on the transport. Maybe he would ask Holli to the formal, he thought, but she probably would be taken aback if he asked. He said barely a word to her on the transport. There was that and he knew nothing about music, so was probably not a good match for her. 

He wasn’t a good match for Willo, he thought. That’s when he remembered. He remembered what it was about her that made him think he was. He remembered the moment when they had talked together on the stoop across from the gallery and he remembered going into the gallery with her and observing the prints and paintings.

He wanted to live through those moments again. The only way he would was if he were to see her again.

She was still his friend, he thought and she would still be his friend. When he shared time with her in Penhaven, the happiness he felt, that she made him feel, was a happiness he wanted to feel again and continue to feel. 

That night Orien would read ‘Justice Crusader’, the first volume which contained the ‘Prym Pryce, Youth Crusader’ books.

Before falling to sleep next to his pet tigret, Felice, in his bedchamber, Orien would imagine himself as Prym trying to win the heart of Salli, much like in reality how he would try to win the heart of Bianca and Willo. 

Once his eyes grew tired, he went limp on his bed, and the book fell from his grip, from his draped arm. 

Willo and Bianca were far away, many paths and many miles past Hilliar and away from Orien. They might as well have been just fantasies like Salli Stien.

Orien had shown courage with Bianca, at one time though, and it was fairly bold of him, maybe somewhat reckless, to have snuck a poem into her shoulder bag for her to find. It was a bold move, yet for days he could not face confronting her to confess that he was her admirer.

◆

When Orien would step onto the transport next morning, he sat with Holli again. Behind him, Jazmine and Gabrielle were gossiping about some of the ladies in their year.

Orien took a chance asking Jazmine to the formal dance in their previous year, but was rejected. He had also asked Gabrielle out for a date, and was crushed by the knowledge that she was already seeing someone. 

He remembered how much rejection hurt and that’s what made it a difficult decision to start seeking out Bianca again, or even to ask a younger lady to the formal dance, such as Holli, whom he imagined as reacting in the same manner as Jazmine or Gabrielle.

Still, it makes a person feel brave to face something that he might not have felt otherwise capable of. Looking back, he was proud that he had faced those moments that year.

The transport stopped and let Orien and his fellow scholars off at the west house for their classes.

Orien had study support first off, followed by his Physics class. Jermaine’s history class was in the main house and so Orien would walk after physics and after his history class was let out, headed down the hill to the shack by the art house for body relaxing.

Once finished up with his morning classes, Orien sat in the auditorium with Dug, Maxen, Anton and Hale for lunch break.

The auditorium began to fill up once it became time for performance and Bianca’s friend Brendi made her way down the aisle to the end of the last row, where the Orien and his friends were sitting.

“Are you ready to come to the stage?” she said, looking at Orien.

Dug looked at him. Orien stared back at Brendi, confused.

“You signed up to host, this Friday…?” Brendi said.

“No, I signed up several day-sets ago, but I didn’t end up hosting.”

“We scheduled you for this Friday,” Brendi said. She looked impatient and frustrated.

“I wasn’t told,” Orien replied.

“The roster was posted on the bulletin board. It has been since the calendar block began! You’re not prepared?”

Orien had faced his fellow peers on stage before. He had performed a solo comedy routine at one time, though that was a failure, and a memory he’d like to forget. Better was the time he made a speech to be elected for representative of the peer council. He was taken by surprise that day, too, not being told beforehand.

“It’s fine,” Orien said, “I can do it-”

“Come, follow me,” Brendi interrupted and waved Orien along, on her way to the stage. Orien followed behind as she led him to the backstage area and gave him the roster. There was a set of instruments set up on stage, for a group performance, and several of Orien’s peers were standing and chatting in the dim area behind the curtain.

Orien would have been nervous, had he prepared, had he rehearsed, had he known what he would face that Friday. If that had been the case, it would have occupied Orien’s mind on the transport and during all of his morning classes. 

Orien didn’t have that time to think about it, to worry about it, because he didn’t know it would happen. He didn’t know he would be standing on stage in front of the curtain waiting for Bolin to signal him to begin. It simply happened.

“Thank you everybody for sitting patiently and waiting for us to begin,” Bolin said.

Orien was standing next to Bolin, calm from his body relaxing class, but jittery.

“Our musicians have been practicing hard,” Bolin continued, “to give you a good show for this afternoon. I hope you all enjoy it in our usual fashion as the great audience you always are. 
Orien Sage is standing by here, to get things started, so I’ll let him begin.”

Bolin applauded before departing the stage and Orien bowed. The auditorium crowd roared with noise of whistles and hoots, which became louder as Orien stood and looked around a chime before coming up with what to say and finally he spoke.

“Thank you, hello,” Orien said, “Hello everybody, I’m Orien!”

Orien could not think of anything else to say and started to become nervous but the crowd of scholars in front of him cheered, “Hi Orien!”

He had his share of admirers in the audience. Bianca was clapping and hooting along with Maxen and the others. 

“I don’t come up here much…” Orien said, paused and heard Helena-Liz yell, “Yeah, Orien, yeah!” and her friend Alene hooted at him.

“Though I have before,” Orien continued, “I did a comedy act last year…it didn’t go too well…”
The crowd laughed and Orien said, “See, that was what was missing that night, laugher. 
Anyway, I’d rather not remember that. Let’s forget I brought it up…” Orien was beginning to feel uncomfortable, but he continued, “Well, I was asked to be your host for today, and, uh, here I am…to announce our performers. We will be showcasing some of our music performers, starting with a song from Greta Prieste…so let’s welcome her…”

Orien gave a gesture to Greta, who was standing in the corner, behind the corner drapery. She walked to the front of the stage and bowed. Orien left the stage to stand in the other corner and listen to her song, giving him time to look at the roster and to whom he would be announcing to come up next.

Orien had begun his four years at the arts school, unable to make friends, tired and emotional from the influence of his potions and maybe from the fog. He wouldn’t have thought himself then capable of hosting a performance to an enthusiastic crowd.

It made a person feel brave to face something he didn’t feel himself capable of. Orien supposed that the more he did it, the braver he’d become. That seemed to be his attitude in his previous learning year.

There was a question he needed answering. The answer seemed clear, but he had to hear the words. He knew that if he were to continue visiting Willo in Penhaven, he would continue to feel the need to be close to her. If she didn’t want his company, he’d have to hear her say it, or if she did, but not for the time being, he’d need to hear her say it, but unless he talked to her, he would never know.

Once Greta finished her song and bowed, Orien took her place at the front of the stage to announce the Rhythm and Beat class’ performance, which lasted the majority of the toll, and Brendi tapped Orien on the shoulder and said, “I’m gonna have to cut the group off, soon, we only have enough time left for one more performer…”

Brendi gave a gesture at Marv, the class instructor, who signaled to his group to finish of their song.

The crowd stood and grew wild with excitement as the rythym and beat class bowed.

“Hurry, Orien,” Brendi said, giving him a freiendly push ahead, and Orien rushed to the front of the stage.

“Quiet down. Settle a bit,” Orien said, “Yes…They were spectacular, nice job…” the crowd continued to cheer on the group who was still bowing even as Orien said, “calm down, everyone,” until finally he said, “Shut yourself,” and things went quiet, “We don’t have any time left. Let me introduce Reann…Thank you.”

With that Orien left the stage to be replaced by Reann. The crowd cheered for the last time that afternoon, once Reann finished her song and Bolin announced that it was time for everyone to return to their classes.

◆

In the next day-set, Orien and his fellow scholars would have a break from classes, in honor of the feast celebration and holiday. Orien made arrangements with Willo to meet up in Penhaven and through the days following, Orien would be anxious to see her again, like with every time. 

His head would overfill with fantasy and with fear until the moment would come.

He paged her on Tuesday and Tuesday he waited, dressing himself in front of the washroom mirror, thinking of the tall form of Willo, who would feel no physical attraction to him, but yet he felt a physical response to, and more than that, an emotional one. If he told her he felt anything, he’d be hurt. Perhaps he shouldn’t be debating it. Perhaps he should keep it a secret. Perhaps this one last time in Penhaven, should be the last time he would see her.

Orien finally stepped out of the washroom and walked into his bedchamber.

It was a year for last things, last looks at his scholars before they would leave for universities, last kisses maybe, but a kiss goodbye from Willo or Bianca, was unachievable.

There were two rings on Orien’s bed table, one masculine, with colored stones around it that changed color, the other a slim, feminine design, also with stones with one large one at the center in a heart shape.

He placed them in his pocket and they stayed there, and stayed in his thoughts as he went out the door. He was conscious of them in his pocket as if he could feel them grow hot against his thigh, while his foot tapped on the way to Penhaven in his father’s silver jet.

The silver jet halted and Willo was standing in front of Haye’s market, again with friends, smoking.

She waved at Orien, who climbed out of the jet, approached her and hugged her. He could smell the charred leaf smoke on her breath, but he would still have kissed her if he could. He still had a desire to. A desire he had to put aside, because they were friends.

She tossed her stik on the ground and stomped it out with her foot. A gentleman waved goodbye to her and walked past them. Willo signaled that they enter Haye’s.

Orien followed her into the shop.

On one side was a small boutique with fashionable hats, scarves and coats on the other side was a shop with toys and games for youths, marionettes, building blocks, card games, and similar things.

“I need to go downstairs to use the ladies washroom,” Willo said and began toward the stepway past the boutique.

“I’ll be waiting. I’ll be right here,” Orien responded.

He stood off to the side, looking around as people entered and exited. There were many different people, all with very different styles and fashions. He saw ladies with splash-dyed dresses and hats under their longcoats. Many ladies were adorned with charms and necklets of hemplace. This was the artistic crowd. This was Willo’s crowd. There was something that made Orien feel at home, yet he also felt alone.

He stood alone, and waited and as he waited, without Willo to talk to, just watching, as the excitement happened in front of him and he was independent from it.

Two late youth ladies were looking at scarves, somewhere off to the side. He heard chatting and laughter, but he stood, and didn’t move, like an outsider, without a friend, until Willo came up from the stepway and smiled at him. He smiled back and finally he had someone to guide him through the activity.

The gift giving holiday would not began until after the feast of harvest, but still shoppers were getting an early start, and late youth scholars were on break from study, so there was much commotion.

“There’s a shop on the upper quarter where we can get a steamee,” Willo suggested.

She walked ahead of him. Orien felt overwhelmed, looking about as people passed in many directions. He hustled up to Will, who was many paces ahead of him with her hips shifting in her confident stride and her shoulder length yellow-black hair billowing like a stage curtain.

He caught up to her on the stepway, to the top quarter, which contained the upper floor of the bookshop, a steamee shop, and in the corner a curtained cubicle, which Wllo jogged up to and said, “Let’s get a flash print made!”

“I’ve never been in one of these,” Orien said.

“You sit on the cushion inside and make faces and things and it takes prints-I have coins in my purse…”

She took out two twenty-five piece coins and deposited them in the slot. The curtain unfolded and a red light on the wall lit up. Willo took Orien’s hand and held it in a very firm comforting grip, which to Orien felt very intimate. His heart pulsed and he hid his blushing face.

They sat under the red light on the cushioned seat under the red light. The curtain closed in on them and a roof above their heads unfolded. Willo put her arm on Orien’s shoulder, as they looked at their reflection in the flash device. They were cramped tightly together in the booth and Orien hugged her to him and smiled, feeling happy, smelling the perfume on her shoulder. Willo stood with her head high and chin up, posing in a proud manner. The flash went off with a pop, and then again within thirty clicks, and then two more times.

The red light above their heads turned off as the curtain opened and the roof folded back. 
Orien stood up and stepped out of the booth with Willo. They waited as the clockpiece on the machine ticked, and after several ticks a print strip began emerging from the slot below.
“It’s just like the photoprinting booths on earth,” Willo said, “The technologists copied them almost exactly…”

She took the strip out and they smiled looking at the four printed images.

“Which ones do you like?” Willo asked.

Willo, in each print, looked beautiful, like the print Orien already had on his corkboard at home, but in the strip of images that she handed off to him, he was there by her side.

He didn’t like the way he looked in any of the four prints. In one he had his eyes closed, in another his teeth were showing in a silly grin. The two that he tore off that he wanted to keep, were the ones with him resting on her shoulder, hugging her to him as if she were his companion. The image would suggest to anyone that they were companions, which as Orien looked at it, knowing that they weren’t, wondered if the prints did represent an image that she wanted as much as he did, that if he talked to her, that maybe she would want to be with him, but he was afraid and it wasn’t the time or place to bring it up.

They walked into the steamee shop and Orien looked around at the people seated in the parlor, while Willo waited in line looking at the menu boards.

Two ladies at a table caught Orien’s attention. 

They looked very alike except in the ways that they were different. One was much taller, and didn’t have the wide eyes that her sister had, hers were small and seductive and she was also rather slimmer in tone.

“Is that Malia and Jayn?” Willo said as they caught her attention as well.

Malia waved at Orien and Jayn waved at Willo.

“Let’s join them…” Willo said, “after we order.”

The couple in front of them received heir mugs and left to sit down and the gentleman servant in the black smock looked at Orien and Willo.

“What’ll we have, then, today?” the servant asked.

“A steamee, of the smallest size please,” Orien said, “with no addives.”

The servant nodded and turned his eyes to Willo, who ordered a sweet and spice to drink and as the servant prepared their steamees, she looked at Orien and said, “This’ll be on me, right, then…”

“I have some notes/I do/my dad…”

“It’s fine, Ori, I’ll take care of it. I’m gonna have a small cake square as well, did you want a small bit of coco-cake or something?”

“I don’t eat much sweet desserts.”

The servant handed them their mugs and Willo added her cake square to the order. He gave her the small cake on a plate and she paid.

Orien followed her with his hot mug as they headed to the table where Malia and Jayn were sitting.

“I’ll break off a little piece,” she said to Orien along the way.

“I suppose I could eat a little bite,” Orien said and she smiled.

It did seem for a bit that they were companions, and maybe seemed that way to Malia and Jayn.

Willo placed her plate and mug on the table, along with Orien’s, and they pulled out two chairs and seated. Willo laid out a paper cloth in front of Orien with half of her coco cake. Orien sipped his steamee and nibbled the cake as the three ladies did most of the talking.

“I haven’t seen many of my Penhaven arts peers since I left-“

“Well, our parents are going to be away for the chill season, some time before the gift-giving holiday and we were thinking of a little gathering,” Jayn said.

“I might want to go,” Willo said.

“You’re both welcomed to come,” Malia said.

“When will it be?” Orien asked.

“A Friday or a Saturday before the day of gift-giving, I’ll let you know in class when we have the day and time and you can tell Willo-”

“Or I’ll see Willo probably at the Academy,” Jayn said, “Either way we want both of you to be there.”

“I will see,” Willo said.

Orien thought about the rings still in his pocket, joined with the prints of him and Willo as companions. It might be a romantic gesture to give her the rings at the gathering and in the time that she had to think on the prints she had, of the two of them and of the day they were spending together and of the other times in the past, maybe she would decide that she wanted to be with him.

Orien was going to let her make that decision. He was going to leave her be and see if she would be at the holiday gathering, and then, he would give her the rings and ask her to him the truth, whether or not she could see him as her companion. It would be a simple answer. It would hurt to hear her say no, but he would be brave, he thought.

It made a person feel brave to face something they may not think themselves capable of and so Orien would face a fear.

◆

The snow came several day-sets after the end of harvest feast, much later than the previous year. First snowfall was a light dusting that powdered the ground, but then some days later the ice flakes fell in droves and the land would be painted with white snow as if an artist had added it with emphasis to his landscape.

In reel production class, Marco instructed the team that despite the weather, they would still make their planned outing, to the Penhaven Village East Community Art house, to set up for interviews with former Penhaven Arts scholars.

It was frigid cold, on the morning of the outing. Orien was let off the transport, to the main house, where he hurried up the steps, not wanting to be late, and entered the hallway, turned to the dance hall chamber and waited with Dug, Garth and Teri for Carolyn and Dylan to arrive.

Marco was scripting designations in chalk on the blackwall and assigning jobs. Dug volunteered for chief lighting coordinator with Orien as his assistant. Garth volunteered to be sound recorder, Teri stuck with her job as interviewer and once Carolyn and Dylan arrived, the rest of the crew was decided. 

“Our first interview subject will be meeting us in the community house,” Marco explained, “at the beginning of the next toll, so we will have sixty chimes to setup and be ready. After the interview we’ll take a brief recess, and then set up for our next subject-now let’s get to it, you all know your jobs.”

He gestured the team to follow him out the door and all followed.

The bite of the wind was intense, and the crew shivered as they made their way across the path to the building behind the library, and to Marco’s jetcar, which was halted at the side lot.
The crew gathered the heavy equipment from the jet, the sound recording system and microphone, the light sets and stands and the reel set and lugged them up the steps, hoping for warmth within the building, but unfortunately there wasn’t much of a change once inside.

They struggled upward, following Marco up the steps to the highest quarter and set the equipment down when they reached the vast empty dance hall.

No one wanted to remove their coats, as there was no heat source in the hall, aside from two heat fans, which Marco had carried up, that only provided heat in a small area. They would suffice to keep Teri and her interview subject comfortable, but wouldn’t be powerful enough for the rest of the team. As the crew set up, they took turns huddling around the heat fans and keeping warm.

“It’s like watching a reel show,” Dug said, “and wouldn’t that be an interesting one, I suppose it’s been done before, though, have you seen ‘Prisoner of the Chaos’?”

“No, is it a-?” Orien asked, but got his answer without needing to finish the question.

“It’s a feature,” Dug answered, “It’s a feature about the making of a feature, like some stage shows that are shows about putting on a show, imagine if we were just watching one of those, only we’re watching it in reality-“

“Why aren’t you helping the team?” Marco interjected.

“We’ve finished setting up-“ Orien began, while Dug said over him, “we’re warming up-“ 

“Assist with Garth,” Marco ordered, “put on the other headset and help him with the sound levels.”

Dug walked over to Garth to help him, as Orien looked around the hall for someone to assist. Dylan was struggling trying to put the reels in place and in frustration, looked at Orien and said, “can you help a bit…?” in a cold manner.

The setup of the scene was tumultuous and difficult as everyone was being snappy with each other, unable to tolerate the cold conditions.

Orien set up the reel recorder and switched jobs with Dylan, who no longer wanted to take on the task of recording. Carolyn approached Orien, upon seeing Dylan storm away from his chair and his post.

“Why are you causing conflict?” she asked and berated, “leave Dylan alone and go adjust the lights! We’re working together here-“

“Quiet yourself! He was having trouble with the reels, but I fixed it. Dylan’s going to help light the scene.”

“Don’t shout,” Carolyn said, “I’m just trying to conduct-“

“I know that!!”

Carolyn stormed off to talk to Dylan, while Orien sat in the chair, adjusted the recorder’s scope and escaped from the madness, looking into the eyepiece, at the production. It was much like the title of the feature Dug mentioned, ‘Prisoner of the Chaos’. They were all prisoners of the chaos and Orien understood the title, though he’d never seen the feature himself. What he witnessed through the lens was no doubt a reflection of the events of that show, he imagined.
Order did come at last, when the interview subject arrived.

“Good, I’ve found the place,” the gentleman said after coming up the stepway and looking around. Marco greeted him and introduced him to the crew as Chad.

“Nice to see you again,” Carolyn said shaking his hand.

Dylan and Teri, who were both second year scholars, were the only crewmembers that didn’t recognize Chad. Orien knew him, from his first year, as being a member of the same music group that Samsen performed with, but didn’t know him well.

Chad sat in the chair and Carolyn talked with him and prepared him for the interview. Everyone from that point on behaved as professionals. The stage was set, the subject was lit, the scope was focused and the reels began, as Teri, from her chair next to Orien offstage, began asking questions.

She asked Chad about some of the classes he took at the arts school and he confirmed that he was a music performer, was still performing shows in Penhaven with his group but left study at Mansington University, which prompted her to ask, “Did you find University study difficult?”

“More so than the Arts School…” Chad said with a chuckle.

“Do you think the arts school does a proper job at preparing for University?” Teri asked.

Chad smirked and replied “No. The school doesn’t prepare you much for life outside, let alone for higher learning. It’s bigger out there, more difficult, you encounter a lot of different people…”
Orien was watching through the lens, and creating images in his mind, like images on reels of tape, of tall buildings, of Tietopus, of being small, like to be faceless in part of a crowd, much like how he felt at Hilliar North School and in the first years at Penhaven arts, but at Penhaven arts he found friends and he was guided along the way to where he was now, though it was difficult and Orien wondered in that moment, if once arts school study was completed, he would end up lost again.

 “There were some instructors at the arts school that were tough,” Chad began in response to Teri’s question about the difference in workload at Penhaven Arts and at the University, “but you always had help.”

That was a true statement for Orien, possibly truer, than with any other scholars, as Lydia provided him with a means to receive full marks in classes he had neglected, by assigning independent study work, and his study support tutors helped him through the rest.

“I think the arts school is too easy on scholars,” Chad continued, “and attracts the youth scholars that come in looking for an easy time. I think an ideal arts school would be, maybe just the last two years of late learning, and limited to scholars interested in the arts, because some aren’t.”
That statement was also true, because although there was an audition process for the school, it was only a formality, and any scholar who signed up for study could be accepted, but then scholars just looking for an easy time in their first year with no interest in the arts, would often leave, as Trot did, or they might find an artistic focus, as Maxen did when he became a member of the comic troupe.

Marco announced recess once the interview was finished, and set up a snack table with the usual assortment.

Orien stood by the table and snacked. He looked out the window at the blank white ground, at the layer of icy dust settled, below, nestled in trees, which were bare. It was the time of year that the planet, the colony, all went quiet.

As Orien stared in thought, there were notes of music from strings plucked on a harp, as Chad tuned his instrument in preparation for when taping would begin again and he would perform for a bit. Carolyn and Teri, from behind Orien were flirting and fawning over Chad and would no doubt be watching and dreaming as he played in a way which Orien recalled that he captured on tape in his first year of schooling at Penhaven Arts.

Orien thought of Meagan’s response to the boy, playing harp in that taped reel footage from his first year. It was a type of attention that Orien craved that he could never receive. If he could play music then it would carry a lady’s spirit into dance, but he couldn’t. 

Once recess ended, Orien had to watch Chad’s performance through the lens of the reel recorder, envious at Chad’s talents and ability to attract ladies. Orien didn’t see Chad as having any trouble in his life outside of schooling, he was managing and could manage possibly better than Orien would. Orien was unsure of what steps to take after school. He wasn’t interested in schooling, only in scripting and creating shows to conduct, which he wouldn’t get the chance to pursue if he were to end up lost, or stuck in Hilliar, at the cottage.

At the finish of Chad’s performance, the group applauded. Orien ceased recording, took his eye off the lens and saw that Jayn, Malia’s sister had snuck in quietly up the steps, without Orien noticing. She stopped briefly to reunite with Chad as he packed up his harp and prepared to leave. 

Teri spoke briefly with Jayn and soon the crew became organized again and their second interview was started.

Much of the same questions were asked of Jayn. When asked if the arts school did a proper job preparing scholars for higher learning Jayn said,  “When I had Cara as a history instructor, she really pushed for us to complete our assignments, on time, to specification, she was much like a higher learning instructor. I would suspect University is much different, though, which is why I chose the two year academy first. I think that’s the best way to go for scholars at this school, to start off.”

Both Chad and Jayn seemed to be in agreement that the arts school did not prepare scholars much for the world outside of learning.

“When you get into University or academy learning you encounter many different types of people, that’s one thing that’s different. You learn that not everybody is nice, and standard schooling is like that, but I liked the arts school, I liked not having to watch my back for ladies saying rude things about me or spreading rumors.”

“In this case do you suppose standard learning better prepares scholars for the hars experiences outside?” Teri asked.

“I suppose,” Jayn said, “but no matter what school you go to, as a late youth you’ll always have a limited view of the world, some things just come with being elder. Higher learning is just a different experience. As I said before, it’s best to go into a two-year school for higher learning and than give University a try. A lot of the scholars in my year tried that.”

Teri inquired further about Jayn’s classes at the academy and asked if she still pursued dance, which she responded that she still took classes at the community arts house in her town.

The interview ended with Jayn’s final thoughts on life outside of the arts school, stating, “no matter what you do, where you go, you’re not going to have an easy time, but I keep my thoughts positive. It’s best not to let the hard stuff get you down. We’re all small people on this planet, but that shouldn’t keep us from moving. I’ll probably end up as a dance instructor and I’d be just as happy doing that as I would have if I pursued acting.”

It gave Orien something to think about once the tape stopped rolling and everyone began packing the equipment.

Orien removed the reels and stored them in their cases, remembering some of the experiences in his so far three and a half years of learning at the arts school, studying drawing, flash imaging, reel show study, building and designing sets. It seemed he was a scholar in many arts, rather than one single form, but was not sure that he was expert in any. He also wondered if he chose higher learning if he would even pursue any one art form, unless it were scripting, but he couldn’t think of a reason to be schooled in scripting, since it seemed to come easy enough that all he would need to improve would be practice.

Orien’s thoughts were interrupted by a lady’s voice behind him, “Bye, Orien, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Orien shut the case to the reel recorder and lifted it all in one movement and turned around to ask Jayn, “What did you mean? About, you’ll see me tomorrow night?”

“Malia told you about our gathering, right, well if she didn’t, then now you know.”

“Tomorrow night? I’ll need a way there,” Orien said.

“Maybe my sister can take you,” she smiled, “We’ll get you there,” and descended the steps.

Orien didn’t even consider not going as an option. He’d find a way, he thought, and if Willo was there, he would give to her the emote ring he purchased. Not only that, but he would have to ask her the question he had wanted to ask and prove he was brave. He had to face her to know that he was brave, because he was going to need courage when he entered the life outside of school.

Orien carried the reel recorder in its case, out to Marco’s jet along with the rest of the crew. Their reel shoot was finished for the day, and after lunch break they would return to their classes. Marco congratulated them on a job well down, and Orien followed Dug, down the path to the crossing to have lunch in the theatre.

“There’s a gathering tomorrow night at Malia’s house,” Orien told Dug.

“Hmm… I think I may have heard something about it,” he replied, “why’d you bring it up?”

They continued their conversation once they reached the end of the path, and started down the hill to the art house.

“I…was thinking I might want to go/Do you want to go?” Orien asked.

“Why would I go? I’m not really friends with Malia,” Dug said.

“But her sister said a lot of people were invited/maybe some you know/from our year…”

They walked up the steps and through the hall.

“I don’t have enough time for things like that,” Dug explained on their way to meet Maxen and the rest, “maybe next term, for right now I have to work on applications to Bradsyn music school, and I’m meeting with a professor at Bringham University, next calendar block.”

They sat on the bleachers at the front in the way corner, where they usually sat for lunch.

“What were you two talking about?” Maxen asked.

“Orien needs a ride to Malia’s house,” Dug said, “she’s having a gathering…”

“I heard. I don’t know if I’m going for certain, but if I am I’ll bring you.”

Orien considered that Maxen would bring him, but it was not a set plan, which he needed, to feel safe that he would not be stranded at a transport stop waiting for his father or in some similar situation.

Orien decided it was enough of a plan to tell his father that night that he would be going to a gathering in Hampdenshire with his friend Maxen and that Maxen would bring him home and that would be the plan.

His father did not object. He was glad that Orien would be spending time outside their quarters, in the world outside with his friends. He encouraged it, he told Orien to be safe and to keep touch with him on communicator.

◆

The school day that followed after was relaxing as there were no exams and not much reason for classes to follow any guideline, not that they ever did. Orien spent most of his study support class in thought, with his loosepaper book in front of him. He had a plan for the night. He had two rings in his pocket and he had plans for them, and he couldn’t focus on any other thing.
He scripted in his book:

It is a challenge
To get her to see me
To get noticed

But, why is it so important?
Why can’t I just let it sit?

He daydreamed about Willo and he feared. Every daydream he had, he imagined rejection. He set himself up for it, but if it happened, he’d face it with courage, he thought.

There was the possibility that something good would come. There was a possibility that if he told Willo that he wanted to be companions, and that if she finally understood what he felt and what he wanted, that she would see him in a different way, that she would give him her full attention and the moments that would follow would be spent in Penhaven, with Willo alongside, perhaps finding housing together, where Orien would script when he wasn’t having discussions with Willo on art and music over dinner and joice.

He would be brave, if he were rejected, though, he thought.

He scripted:

Challenge!
I want it!
I’ll take it!
I’ll face it!
I have no fear!
I am ready!

Give it your best-
What are you waiting for?
Come at me!
I can take on the challenge-
I am ready.

And when study support class was let out, he shut his book and packed it in his shoulder bag.

Orien watched a reel in his physics class, relaxed in his body relaxing class, and found his spirit, which he carried with him out of the shack and daydreamed as he ate lunch and talked to Maxen, who decided he was going to Malia and Jayn’s gathering and that Orien should meet him at the lot behind the library across the path.

Maxen, Hale, Garth and Orien all pooled together in Garth’s jet, which meant for Orien that he had to tag along with them to the West End shopping market. Most times that he went to the market, he was with Dug, a friend he knew well, but in the current company he was with, he felt an outsider.

They played billard in the game room, which brought back memories for Orien of playing billiards with Maxen at Trot’s house, the day that Orien would have his first kiss, with a lady named Lysee.

It was near night and the sky was dark once the group walked out of the market. Garth, Hale and Maxen chatted along the way, in the jet, in the twenty chime ride to Hampdenshire, while Orien watched the passing trees and cottages and shops along the way and did no talking, but thought of kissing Willo in the back deck of Garth’s jet, if she were there and if she sat in his lap, or maybe they wouldn’t kiss, just sit and me content in each other’s company, like with Dora, or a another lady he remembered from another gathering, a year or so ago-a lady named Risa.
Orien was greeted in much the same way as he remembered being greeted in that previous gathering. This time it was Malia who offered him a drink. A beru bottle was placed in Orien’s hand and he stood in the kitchen, wondering, looking around for Willo, but not seeing her. He didn’t mingle. He didn’t know whom to mingle with.

He found his way to the main living quarters, though, sipping his beru and watching … and … play harp while … sang. He recognized, Malia, Jayn, Risa, and a face he didn’t expect-a lady with dark hair that rode the transport with him. He remembered at least one time sitting next to her. Her name was Holli and she played harp. She was humming and bobbing her head along to the music. He remembered her doing that on the transport as well, singing to herself.

Orien applauded and listened along. He was having a fun time, though Willo didn’t seem to be there, but after he finished his beru and set the empty bottle on the table by the couch, he looked down the hallways and a tall lady with blue streaks in her hair was conversing with Helena-Liz and Alene. When Orien recognized her his heart thundered. 

She was wearing her longcoat and scarf and she waved goodbye to her friends. She didn’t see Orien as she passed through the kitchen, but he saw her and followed her.

She opened up the door and Orien snuck in behind her.

“You did come!” he said and she stopped startled on the porch and looked behind her as Orien kept on talking, “I hadn’t seen that you were here/I didn’t know-”

“I’m just leaving actually,” she said in a rush, “I only came to see some of the people I missed from the arts school, Alene, Malia, of course….”

“and me!” Orien said excited and nervous and forcing himself to talk through difficult breathes.

“Sure, of course, but I didn’t know you were here,” she tapped her shoe against his in a friendly gesture, “It’s good to see you, but I have to go-“

“Uh, oh, before you leave, since/since we didn’t catch up tonight/maybe we can get together again soon.”

“We will,” she said, “I don’t know how soon, I have a lot of school work, now.”

“I have something for you,” he blurted, “before you go/I wanted to give you,” Orien felt his heart beating so vapidly that he thought he would panic as he put his shaking hand in his pocket and pulled out the emote ring with the heart shaped stone. He placed it in her hand and she smiled and looked at it.

“It’s pretty,” she said.

“Willo?” Orien said. He was afraid she was going to leave and not return and he would not see her again, but if he spoke to her, than she would stay. Her answer would tell him that she would stay, because he thought he could imagine the words yes coming out of her mouth, because he wanted it more than he could anything else in that moment.

She looked at him.

“Do you think,” he began, hesitated, continued, “Do you think/maybe/do you think you might want to be/that you might want us to be companions one day.”

“Oh,” she said.

She didn’t know what to say to make it not hurt, but he forced her to say something, which was, 

“You’re really nice. You’re a nice friend… but… I’m not interested in a companionship. I’ve been seeing-I mean, I have-I’m interested in someone else-I’m sorry.”

She put the ring on her finger and noticed that Orien was wearing an emote ring also.

“We match, look there,” she said, taking his hand and matching it up next to her own ringed hand.

“We’re friends, Orien, we always will be.”

She smiled, but Orien didn’t smile back. Orien couldn’t. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t move. She finally said goodbye and left him in peace. Orien turned around the corner, in the dark, in the cold, and sat in the snow behind the cottage under a window, clutching his knees to his body, with his eyes closed and with tears flowing, in a constant stream, that he would not let stop, ever he thought, that night. He didn’t want them to. The tears made him warm. They made him feel cleansed like from a shower.

Orien played images in his mind, like images that would be captured on a reel recorder and on tape. The reels of tape spun and the memories came and the tears came for some time.
The first image was of Orien standing in the rain on his first day at the arts school and Willo saying, “Kinda wet. Don’t you want to go inside?”

“I like the rain. It feels like a clean shower,” The fifteen-year-old Orien said.

Willo replied, “I like that. Sounds like a poem…and it rained like a clean shower…”

End of reel. 

Orien opened his eyes and looked out into the cold woods behind Malia’s cottage and the snow that covered the back lot, burying a picnic table.

He choked. There was a fist closed around his heart that made it difficult for him to breathe. The fist wore a ring with a heart shaped stone. 

He found a breath and he watched it steam from his mouth in the chill of the wind.

He sniffed and rubbed his burning eyes. He wondered if anyone could hear him cry from the window. He could hear the music the group played.

He thought of a Kiley Lavahl song he used to hear on the radio when he was about sixteen. He would sit under the shower spray in the washstall at the cottage and remember the words:

‘I’ll still wait here,
until the rain’s clear,
won’t cry you a tear,
won’t show any fear,
my heart is in pain,
in my body lain,
but all of my pain,
is going down the drain.’

Kiley, from images he had seen, reminded Orien of Willo, because of her hair. The day after Orien had his first kiss, he paged Willo. He remembered looking at the Kiley Lavahl image hanging in his bedchamber as he talked to Willo. End of reel.

Willo was in his thoughts, at age sixteen, and again at seventeen when they would start meeting in Penhaven.

Orien stood up. His face was red, his eyes were bloodshot and it would be clear to anyone that he had been crying, but he’d let it be so. He wouldn’t be ashamed. His pain was going down the drain. His tears were rain.

Orien sniffed, put his hands in his pockets and slowly trudged through the snow. He trudged, because that was the way it went sometimes. Sometimes you trudged. Orien reached the front 
of the cottage and sat on the front stepway.

He dried his eyes, wiping his face with his sleeve. He heard the door open, but he didn’t turn to look at who it was. He wondered if they might sit down with him or leave him alone.

The black haired lady sat on the step, smiled and recognized him. She didn’t say anything, she just looked into his eyes and waited for him to tell her what was wrong. He didn’t.

She put a smokstik in her mouth, lit it with a flamestik, inhaled and tossed the flamestik out into the snow. She released smoke through her lips and removed the stik.

“You’re in sad state,” Holli said.

She wasn’t making it better either, Orien thought, because he remembered just before his eighteenth birthday, just before the start of the semester when he and Willo sat on a step in front of an empty shop, looking out at the museum in Penhaven. Willo lit a stik and smoked and they shared private stories. She then took him to the museum and he learned they were of like-minds, both creative and artistic, but then she ended up in the arms of a friend in the basement of a steamee parlor called ‘the quiet rest’. End of reel.

End of tears. The rain had been washed down the drain. He looked at Holli. She had been humming a Kiley Lavahl tune, he remembered, when he sat next to her on the transport several day-sets back. He wondered if it had been the same song he remembered.

Orien found himself smiling at Holli, who returned a smile back.

“Might I… have a smok?” Orien asked. His voice was scratchy.

“I don’t have any,” Holli said, “I got this one from Tod. I’m not of age.”

She inhaled from the stick and released it, and after a moment, she looked at Orien again and passed it to him.

“We can share,” she said.

Orien didn’t smoke looseleaf much, except with Dug on occasion. He took a drag, coughed and handed it back to Holli, who took a long drag, with ease.

“What has you so down?” she asked, “Anything you want to talk about?”

Orien looked at her and thought of how to answer. She handed him the smokstik and he held it in his fingers and stared at it, while he replied, “I was saying goodbye to my friend Willo. I’ve been going to see her in Penhaven and I like her company…I asked her if she wanted to be my companion. She’s interested in someone else. Maybe already has a companion.”

Orien put the stik in his mouth and breathed the hot smoke. It seemed to relieve the pain in his heart and when he released the stik, the smoke blew out from his lips and he only coughed slightly.

He handed the smokstik back to Holli.

“I suppose it wasn’t fair of that lady to keep seeing you and make you think she was interested,” Holli said, took a puff a continued, “I wouldn’t do that, I don’t think.”

She passed the stik back to Orien but he brushed it away. He was set. He looked out at the jets parked in the snowy front lot. He didn’t focus on Holli much and Holli kept quiet, continuing to smoke and let Orien stare and be miserable it would seem, until she flicked away her stick, stepped off the steps and stood in front of him to say, “Come, join us inside,” and she took his wrist to try and budge him, but he didn’t want to move.

“Come!” she said, trying to drag him up, “I’m not gonna let you sit out here in the cold, they’re playing music in there, and drinking and celebrating the holiday, I want you to join us and smile. Sing! Share a poem!”

Orien looked up at her and said, “Hmm. I suppose I could do that.”

She had beautiful long eyelashes and her hair was as black as the sky. She was wearing a shortcoat of hidecloth, that may have belonged to a gentleman she knew, maybe a companion. He could think of a poem to describe the way she looked to him, but he wouldn’t share it.
She pulled and Orien unfolded and stood up. He sighed and she was still holding his wrist leading his arm and body forward as she walked up the steps to the door and he let himself be carried in by her, to have a few drinks of blis, to share a poetry as the musicians played harp. He wondered if he would hear Holli sing.

PART II

Lena

It would be a long day-set for Orien, trapped within his bedchamber while outside the snow-covered paths of Hilliar Town offered little promise or excitement. He had bid goodbye to his arts school friends, to Maxen, Hale and Malia at the diner in Penhaven, the morning after the gathering and the last lady he would see would be Malia, as he stepped out of her jet in the front lot of his father’s cottage, but the last lady on his mind on his way to the door and once inside his bedchamber was still Willo.

He tore her portrait print off its pin on the corkboard, snatched the set of prints from Haye’s market off his bedtable and hid them in a drawer with his emote ring. 

Willo was in Penhaven, enjoying her holiday with her family and friends and there she would stay never to walk the paths with Orien, who would have to find his own paths to trudge, but until that happened Hilliar Town would have to be his home again.

For a day-set, while on break from study Orien would have to become reacquainted with his hometown-but it seemed so distant from him.

He walked to his uncle Loue’s house for Mass-ex holiday and along the way passed empty farmland and patches of woods. 

He was let in to the white cottage, greeted by Uncle Loue and his Uncle Morin offered him a drink. Orien stood in the main living quarters, drinking a beru, while his Aunt Greta rocked baby 
Juno in her arms.

There was a time when Orien was a youth and they would have much larger gatherings. He remembered, as he listened to the holiday songs on the radio, being in the same living quarters, many holidays ago, of about age five, when his uncle and aunt had come to visit from Tropicali, with two of Orien’s cusins. Janita and Fluana danced to the holiday music and Janita, who was the same age as Orien, kept pulling him around and trying to get him to dance with her. He let her have at least one embarrassing slow dance.

For a youth, the feeling of holiday brought to mind color, light, music and fun. His Uncle and Aunt’s living quarters were decorated with stringed lights of yellow, blue and green. It was as he remembered it, but much more quiet and much like the previous year and all the years before that as he grew from early youth to late youth.

After the giving of gifts that included calendars and cards, and baby clothes for Juno, Orien and put on his longcoat, said goodbye to his relatives and followed out the door with Alto.

Alto lit a smokstik, as their boots stamped in the snow and he asked Orien, “Dad told you I was moving back, right?”

“He did this morning, yes,” Orien replied.

“I’m done with Skidmore Lane and that crowd,” he took a puff on his stik and they were near the Emardleaf Community postboxes, “I’m thinking about taking up painting-when I get to University.”

“What University?” Orien asked. 

They turned down the trail and straight across the front lot.

“Mansington. I thought Dad might have told you I was applying,” he took another drag of his stik, 
“You should apply with me.”

Alto tossed his stik in the snow and opened up the cottage door.

“I’m not interested in Mansington, or any University, in honesty-”

They both stepped in the door way and as Orien tossed away his longcoat, Alto sad, “You should consider it though, or at least the Adelyn School.”

“You hated the Academy,” Orien said as he untied his boots, “and I wouldn’t like it either!”

“You don’t know that!” Alto said, “You always assume you know without trying.”

Their longcoats laid on the hall floor and their boots sat by the door, as Orien followed Alto to his bedchamber.

“You sound like dad,” Orien said.

“You should listen to him, he’s elder,” Alto said opening up the door to survey the room and decide how he would make it his own again.

“He has wisdom,” Alto continued.

“You don’t listen to him!”

Felice was lying on her bed pillow by a small bedcot and there was an aroma lingering from the waste that had been emptied from her sandhouse, covered up by a pineleaf fragrance spray.   

“I’m elder now,” Alto replied, “I can make my own choices.”

“I’m elder, too and I don’t need guidance.”

“It’s the holiday, let’s stop arguing…”

Alto grabbed the sandhouse to carry it to the laundry chamber and Orien turned back to the hall, to the main quarters to sit on the couch.

Alto walked in from the dining qurters and asked, “Does our old projecter still work?”

“It hasn’t worn yet, it’s still going strong,” Orien said.

“Get it out, then and let’s unroll a show,” Alto suggested.

“Right, then.”

Orien got up from the couch and went into his bedchamber to snatch up the projectrot from the storage closet, which once served as a hideaway/viewing room for Orien and had been since age fourteen.

As Orien hoisted the projector off the trunk in the closet and set it down, he had brief thoughts and memories from that age, things that he would recall further in the coming days, giving him topics he might discuss with his counselor, Dr. Brahm, whom he still went to see and had an appointment with in two days.

“I’ve got the sheets all pinned up,” Alto said from the doorway, “What do you have in mind for a show?”

Orien opened up the trunk and as Alto walked in to look over his shoulder, he felt fear and panic, that Alto might see peaked from under the pile of reel tapes in their black cases, a small selection of erotic books. He was careful as he sifted through to not reveal them.

“’Night Creatures’!” Alto said, and he picked reached in and grabbed the black box.

“My friend Dug recommended it, I purchased it with my birthday fund, but you don’t want to watch a horror show on a holiday night-“

“You know me better than that,” Alto said lifting up the projector and heading out of Orien’s bedchamber.

“Let’s get it rolling,” Alto said and he placed the projector on the stool, opened the black box and began setting the reels.

Orien sat on the couch. There had been a time, he recalled when he and his brother watched a horror show together and in his arrogance, he claimed it not scary, but simply a well put together show, true to it’s fiction origins.

That night as the story unfolded in flashing light on the pinned white sheets, Orien sheered on the creature hunters, along with his brother, and let himself be startled, when things were startling, excited when things got exciting and let the show be a ride, letting his adreline run.

It may have been the blis from the berus he drank back at his uncles, but Orien felt a rush of emotions and once the show came to an end it had been a great bonding experience. They each drank a beru before turning in for the night and Orien fell to sleep right off.

◆

It would take only a single trip to move Alto’s belongings out of the house on Skidmore Lane. It happened as Orien slept. He could hear the radio music playing in the other bedchamber as he lay staring at the clock and soon, he lifted his head and put his feet down of the bed.

Orien ate his breakfast, and washed up. His brother kept to himself, with his door shut, as he did in the days before he moved out and as Orien did, as always while stuck at the cottage, he listened to radio shows.

He held his communicator in his hand, and browsed the code directory. He poked the screen with his finger, until he found the address on Sunblossom way and the code, which he had been obsessing about for several calendar blocks.

‘This user has a personal profile,’ according to the screen. Orien tapped the typed script and a flash image began to load on the screen in black and white. It happened slowly. He began to see the top of her head with a ribbon band and light hair which was dyed. Her lashes, he could see, were at length to touch the ring-piercing in her eyebrow. She still had her freckles on her nose, which was pierced at the nostril. 

‘Personal profile is restricted,’ was scripted below the image in bold letters and in smaller letters was the statement,  ‘create your own profile to communicate with friends in your area.’
Orien tapped the screen, and the type on the screen read. ‘Users must be age eighteen, have valid identification and a flash portrait on file.’

Orien had a cyber-ident file from when he received his jet pilot learning certificate at age sixteen. His card was lying on the bed in front of him, ready for him to input his identity numbers, which he did. A small vertical bar appeared on the screen and a chime later, another appeared and another, until the text on the screen read-‘information received.’

Orien’s flash image from his certificate appeared on the screen, slowly. Below his image were the words, ‘Orien, 18, Hilliar, Mnstn. Col.’ And 1 NEW MSG.
Orien tapped to read his message from ADMIN.

‘Thank you for setting up a profile with the Colonial Cyber Administration’s circle of friends program, which allows users a convenient way t communicate with friends and with family through long message’

Orien tapped to read more, and the text on the screen listed a guideline of rules, including behaviors that should be observed while interacting with other users, and the penalties for misbehavior including harassment. The guideline also gave details on how to setup a user profile and what you may allow other users to see. Profile can be fully restricted, to allow no personal information to non-friends, or only allow a users image.

Orien tapped Return and in the menu under his name tapped, find a friend in your area. Orien tapped the and typed in Sunblossom Path, Mnstn. Col. Hilliar and when a list of names appeared on the screen Orien tapped Lena, 18.

The flash image of Lena, elder and with her ring-piercings appeared on the screen. Orien tapped ‘Request friendship’ and the screen asked, add msg? Orien selected that he did and typed-

Is This Lena Wilkes? 
This is Orien Sage From The Neighborhood 
We Used To Be Friends As Youths

Orien was anxious to receive a reply. He checked his communicate through the day, but did not receive any response. Alto came out of his bedchamber for dinner, and suggested they order food to be delivered, which they did, and the two brothers had a marathon session of reel features. 

Orien kept his comm. in his pocket as they watched.. , .., and … until it became night and when Orien retreated to his bedchamber, he unfolded his communicator and checked his profile, only to find that his friendship requests for Lena was still pending and he had not received a message in response.

Orien believed that she had read his message and decided since she had grown elder, had her own friends in Hilliar, she did not wish to communicate with Orien. It was the reason he had put off his attempt at reaching her and her silence confirmed what he had thought from the start of his plan.

◆

Orien awoke earlier than was typical for him, to check his communicator for messages from Lena. His friendship request was still pending. He folded his communicator and placed it back on his bedtable. He ate biscuits and jam for breakfast and washed up under the shower spray. Once cleaned and dressed, he checked his communicator again. His friendship request was still pending.

It seemed for Orien, that every morning while on break for school was the same and every day was the same at the cottage in Hilliar. Even with Alto back at home, as Alto spent his time shut in his room, typing his essay for his Mansington application.

Orien listened to radio shows, while petting Felice in the tolls leading to his appointment with Dr. Brahm. When the time came for Orien’s counseling appointment, his father knocked on his door and peaked his head in.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes, I am.”

Felice leapt off Orien’s bed and Orien stepped out of his bedchamber, tied up his boots and stepped out to his father’s silver jet to bring him to Dr. Brahm’s office.

“You understand,” his father began explaining on the way to the doctor, “that once you complete learning at the arts school, I won’t be able to fund your sessions with my job’s health allowance.”
“I understand,” Orien replied.

“If you decide to continue higher learning, though, you can still be covered.”

“I don’t feel I will need the counseling anymore.”

“That’s all fine. It’s your choice.”

The jet flew through traffic on Juniper Bridge entering Hilliar center and sped on forward to the brick building past the crossing next to Hilliar grocery and the jet halted in the back lot.

Four years had passed since the first time Orien met Dr. Brahm and he kept regular sessions since. Through each session and through each year he would grow and change to the point where he stood then in that moment walking forward to the back entrance, walking in and up the steps to the lounge to wait as an eighteen year old in what would be one of his last sessions.

He sat on the couch studying the copies of Tietopus Quarterly on the table, mostly past any current date. He picked one up and shuffled to see if he could find a humorous story or antidote. 

He found a lampoon drawing, which depicted a cartoon tigeral and he chuckled at it.

He heard steps from the hallway as a middle elder couple departed from their session. Orien folded the quarterly book back up and tossed it on the table. He rose from the couch once he heard the door open and he walked forward to meet Dr. Brahm.

“Hello again,” the friendly gentleman in the beard greeted and shook his hand.

“Doc! Hello,” Orien said and entered the office.

Dr. Brahm closed the door and Orien sat on the couch facing the chair where Dr. Brahm sat. Orien sat straight with his shoulders back and arms at ease, relaxed, which was a change from their first meeting where he was hunched, stiff and twiddling with his fingers.

“On break from school?” Dr. Brahm asked.

“Yes,” Orien said.

“And had a good holiday?”

“Yes,” Orien answered.

“Very good to hear-and any typical issues with being away from school, as during respite?”

Orien paused, “No, I… yes… it’s only been a few days. There isn’t much to do in the neighborhood/but I was thinking/I may make plans with my friend Dug/and once school starts up again/I won’t have those issues anymore/my brother’s home, too…”

Dr. Brahm raised his eyebrows and said, “oh, then. How has he been getting along with your father?”

“He doesn’t come out of his bedchamber,” Orien answered. Dr. Brahm nodded, paused and prompted Orien to continue, “He’s working on an application for University.”

“It sounds like he’s making a step in the right direction, then, and your father must be proud.”

Orien shrugged, unsure, since he kept himself in his bedchamber also and didn’t talk much to his father, then again, he didn’t have much to talk to him about.

“I suppose he must be,” Orien said.

“Are you applying to schools also?” Dr. Brahm asked.

Dr. Brahm, in the past few sessions had been pushing University. Orien’s issues with feeling alone and trapped within the cottage and within the confines of his Hilliar neighborhood during respites and school breaks had been a concern for much of Orien’s four years of late learning. 
Dr. Brahm would often persuade Orien to consider University learning after the Arts school.

“I don’t know that it’s something that I want,” Orien said, “It’s something I can consider, but not something I can see myself pursuing.”

“It would really help,” Dr. Brahm said,  “for you to meet new friends, with alike minds-“

“But I’ve done that already,” Orien interrupted, “and there is the classroom aspect and assignments to consider.”

“I believe your work ethic has changed since you first started our sessions, though and I believe you are capable.”

“I can still see me being stubborn-If I want to learn about a specific art subject, why do I need to keep studying the rest/math/science? I don’t need further schooling in scripting or studying literature/I can do that on my own time. I just want to study arts. That’s not going to change.”

“There is the Art Academy, they have a branch here in Mansington.”

“Yes, and in Tietopus-that’s where I see myself.”

“It’s time to start applying and looking at places, just to explore the option.”

“I suppose,” Orien said, took a breath, but was unconvinced and still undecided on the subject. Dr. Brahm’s next topic of discussion was Orien’s current social life. Orien, several years back would not have been comfortable discussing the subject with the Doc, but Orien at eighteen, was fairly at ease with telling him, “I’m still recovering from a heartbreak. I understand now that my friend Willo/she just wants to be friends/but I want more/and that won’t happen/I have to be strong/but it was the most painful and difficult thing I ever experienced/when it hit me.”

“It’s one of the worst pains to experience,” the Doc agreed, “There is a saying, that originates from before settlement, going back to on Earth, that says it is better to love and to lose than to not ever again.”

“I started thinking about a lady who lives a few paths from me in the neighborhood, and I haven’t heard from her/but I got in touch with her through a cyber group on my communicator/I was wondering if it might be good to start a friendship with her/it would be nice to have a friend in the neighborhood in Hilliar.”

The doc was intrigued and again raised his eyebrows in approval and nodded, “I think you would benefit a lot from that, and keep me updated…”

At that point all personal topics had been addressed and the remainder of the session was spent talking about reel shows and a stage performance that Doc Brahm had gone to see at the Hilliar Proper School, where his nephew attended.

Orien continued to think about Lena and the Doc’s suggestion that he would benefit from a friendship with her-but the friendship had yet to happen and may not happen as he was still waiting for a response from her.

Orien’s session ended and he shook hands with Doc Brahm and left with his father, to ride the silver jet home.

Orien settled into his bedchamber, opened up his comm. and checked his messages from the circle of friends. He had received 1 new msg-

‘Yes. This is Lena! This is very exciting. My page code is 432-558-404. I’m working a lot but I will make time for Orien Sage!’

Orien read the message again and a third time and a fourth time. He was stunned that she remembered him and that she was excited to meet him again and Orien’s heart soared to the point that he started to imagine a companionship starting and thoughts of romance, and too-high expectations-yet, he could not help feel what he felt.

He stored her code in his directory and as he did, he shook with nervousness. His next step would be to page her, and that was something he feared. He decided he would keep the messages going for the time being, but wait to make a voice page. It might be best, since he didn’t want to let on how eager he was, or let on that he had any thoughts of romance. He would take things slow, he decided.

◆

Orien ended his long schoolbreak with a trip to Penhaven Village center. It was an easy time convincing his father to let him off, since he wanted nothing better than to see Orien socializing rather than staying in most days-and Orien had made a set plan for his father to pick him up later in the night. They made arrangements just as Orien was let out of the silver jet.

Dug was standing by his jet, waiting and Orien waved as he met up with him and Dug said, “How things, then Ori?”

Orien shrugged his shoulders and implied that things were as they were nd they started the walk up the steps to the hill and past the garden to turn down the side path and pass by the shops as they talk.

“How has the break been for you?” Orien asked.

“It’s been fine, Dug replied. He said nothing more and Orien said nothing else.

“Did you wanna grab some food?” Dug suggested.

“I suppose-” Orien began.

“I’m hungry, we’ll get some food, there’s an exotic cuisine restaurant just past the crossing here, that we can give a look-“

“But, I can’t really afford-“

“We’ll use my parents tab.”

They were at a crossing by the pastry shop and Dug signaled and said, “Cross here.”

Orien and Dug rushed across to where the flash developing shop was and turned down the path leading to the big keephouse. There were three or so shop along the corner and Dug stopped at a restaurant with red silk drapery that could be seen through the window and painted letters on the glass read, ‘Sunside Delights Island Cuisine’. Orien followed Dug into the restaurant and waited by the door for the host or hostess.

They were greeted by a pleasant elder lady, with a touch of gray in her hair and an island tan in her aged, but healthy, skin.

Orien and Dug followed her to a small two-person table towards the middle of the dining area by a wall with a painting of a mythic ocean beast.

Reading the menu, Orien was in the same difficult position he would often in, while dining out, as he had so little experience with different foods and flavors and so it would be difficult for him to decide to try.

The serving lady stopped at their table with two cups, that she filled with hot steamee from a pot.

“Ready?” she asked, “Or another chime or two to decide?”

“Yes, just a bit,” Dug answered.

The servant nodded in understanding and went back to the kitchen as Dug asked Orien, “What are you thinking?”

“I honestly wouldn’t know/I don’t normally eat this type… I don’t know how to begin to decide…”

“I was just going to go for the baked swiftfin slivers on spiced rice…” 

”Swiftfin?” Orien said, making a face as if it were an odd thing for someone to eat.

“Yeah, try it, be adventurous.”

When the servant returned to take Orien and Dug’s order they decided on a sampling platter, to share, giving Orien the option to try different things.

They returned their menus to the server and each took a sip of steamee.

“Have you gotten your mid-term report yet?” Dug asked.

Orien nodded, swallowed his steamee and said, “Marco’s note was brief-“

“’Dug was a productive member of the crew, full credit’” Dug answered, “that’s what mine said, and yours the same?”

“Yes-“

“It’s too bad his document project fell through. I suppose the experience will look good in our records as we’re applying for higher learning.”

“I’m not,” Orien said.

“Hmm,” Dug thought, “I know-it’s more school and I was not sure I wanted that either, but then, there is one school I really like up in Brigham-my parents want me to go, you might want to give a look at it, it’s in some ways like the arts school, I understand, good arts program.”

“I suppose I can apply, I’m just not certain that I want to-“

“I have an overnight visit set for the next calendar block/I’d like to have a friend with me, you’re welcome to come.”

Orien raised his eyebrow and asked, “Is that allowed?”

“I don’t see where it would be a problem.”

Orien surveyed the room as he sipped his steamee, observing the yellow and orange lanterns, and the paintings, and decorations from the myths of the islands.

“I think it’s a good thing to see you willing to try new things,” Dug said, finally, “Reann’s more stubborn/she says she’ll try island flavors, possibly, but when I’ve asked her she seems reluctant to come here-other than that it seems like things are coming along between us,” Dug continued on about their companionship, “her friends had a holiday gather.”

“I went to a holiday gathering as well-“ Orien began and thought it a good time to bring up Willo and open up about his heartbreak, but he didn’t get the chance as Dug continued to talk about the gathering, and on whether or not he enjoyed the company of Reann’s friends and whether they were his crowd.

The food came and Orien decided to try the swiftfin. It was very stiff and dry, with the first bite, but he chewed it and it had a standard taste as from most foods derived from the oceans, like fish.

With Dug chewing his food and enjoying the meal, it gave Orien the opportunity to talk up and he said,“I had a liking for Willo,” putting it simply, “but she turned me down.”

“But, you didn’t know her all that well,” Dug said, “it’s different with me and Reann spending more time together-I could even say I’m falling in love with her, but you weren’t in love with Willo, you just had a liking, that’s different.”

“I suppose so,” Orien said, suddenly feeling as if he had been a fool, knowing that he believed his feelings for Willo were feelings of love, when they weren’t. He thought he had been smarter, but he was not as clever and didn’t see things as clear as Dug did, who had more experience. The thought made Orien feel inferior and he didn’t much like it. He also had wanted to feel love. It was an experience he wanted to have, but he still hadn’t found it and didn’t know where to find it or who to find it with-unless he were to find it with Lena. He remembered their youth together and he had known her then, so could know her again and fall in love with her, possibly, he thought.

The night was spent wandering the paths of Penhaven, Orien and Dug still talking, filling time before Orien would be brought back to Hilliar.

“Do you ever wonder about some of your friends from youth?” Orien asked Dug as they passed the Village Hall for the second time around.

“I have one friend who still keeps in touch with me,” Dug said, “and another friend I was close to that I drifted apart from-“

“I drifted apart from my youth friends,” Orien said and interrupted Dug for a change, “but I’ve gotten in touch with a lady I used to know, do you think she’ll still want to be friends with me, now.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“We’re different, I think,” Orien said.

They made their way to the Penhaven Showcase, down the hill and the steps to the backlot to wait for Orien’s father to bring him home.

The silver jet showed up and Orien climbed in after saying goodbye to Dug. There was not much significant conversation between Orien and his father on the way home, other than whether he had a good time out, which he did, and his father satisfaction with seeing Orien outside of doors and spending time with friends.

Orien arrived home, settled into his bedchamber and unfolded his communicater to check his personal messages. He felt his hurt soar with ecstatic joy, in seeing a message from Lena and he tapped the screen to read it:

I lost my comm.! That’s why I haven’t messaged back. Did you try paging me? Try me again. I’ll make time to see you.

Orien had access to Lena’s profile, since she approved their friendship and he couldn’t help be drawn to her, she had much similar tastes in music to Willo, but that also made Orien afraid. 

She reminded Orien so much of Willo, even the way her hair looked in some flash images she provided, that Orien was afraid to meet her, to fall in love with her, and to have his heart be destroyed.

He replied to her message and told her about his night in Penhaven, trying swiftfin for the first time and asked her if she ever got a chance to, or if she ever spent time in Penhaven.

Falling to sleep that night was difficult. Orien lay in bed and had very detailed fantasies about being in Penhaven with Lena, but then he would be reminded of Willo and his hurt would break all over again and it would break as if he had gone out with Lena that night and experience her damaging him in the same way Willo did.

He knew, also, that Lena, like Willo, had a life separate from his own. With Lena, her life was in Hilliar, at the South school with gentleman he imagined that would vie for her affections and at least one would win her over-but not Orien.

◆

Orien spent another quiet day at home before returning to school and got a chance to spend time with Alto and read his essay for acceptance into Mansington University. It was well scripted and straightforward and Orien told him it was very good and that he wouldn’t need to make any changes to it. In honesty, it was much more structured than anything Orien might script, as Orien favored embellishment and was more abstract.

The transport took Orien to school the next day-set, and Orien met with Lydia in her office, with Malia and Maxen to go over their schedules for the next term. Orien’s schedule was approved, with no objections. Orien had received honors marks in Maggie’s ‘Protesting War in Literature ‘, which made up for the remaining credit he needed from the terms he had not completed in his first two years in history and literature. The classes he would be taking in his last semester, were mostly for his own benefit, such as an assistant teaching role in the history class he had already passed, a poetry class with Maggie, a course in the history and development of reel tape and reel shows with Lydia and working on the schoolyear scrapbook.

“You haven’t taken your AEA, yet,” Lydia noticed looking at his files on the cyber screen.
Orien hadn’t bothered to take his aptitude test, or even studied for it, since he hadn’t thought he’d go to University or want to.

“I’m unsure/whether I’ll apply to University,” Orien explained, “But Dug is applying to Bringham and he thinks I should also. I may look into it.”

Lydia looked up from the cyber system at her desk, and in a worried voice said, “Orien, this is your last term, you should have been exploring these options sooner-I wish I had done more to help if I knew you had this desire…”

“But it isn’t a great desire, it’s just an option.” 

“You have to get going, quick, Orien. I’m going to make up a list of schools you may want to look at.”

“I’m only interested in Bringham.”

“You have to explore other schools and you have to begin applying now. I’ll speak with the study support department and we can help you get caught up and start looking into schools.”

Lydia seemed determined and showed equal determination with Malia, but Malia had already done her work and applied to the schools she wanted to and Maxen planned to go to the two year Academy in Adelyn, and there explore what he might want to chose as career.

The advisory meeting came to a close, after Lydia approved Maxen’s schedule and the three scholars left her office and each went their own way, with Orien walking to the West House for study support, which he spent re-reading the last book in the ‘Quest for the Arrow’ trilogy, something he had began to do during the break.

When Orien returned to study support, later that day after body relaxing, history, lunch break and poetry performing, his tutor had already been told by Lydia that Orien was interested in University, and was likewise determined to help him in the right direction.

In the calendar block before Orien was set to visit Bringham with Dug, he was still undecided about higher learning, thinking he wouldn’t make up his mind until he saw the school for himself. Nevertheless, he followed his instructor’s guidance, made a tape-copy of the reel footage he had put together in his first semester when he recorded his fellow scholars, made a folio of flash prints from his flash-imaging class, and drawings from his drawing class, and wrote an essay which was less an essay and more an obscure piece of creative scripting about a man 
traveling with many paths to take.

He scripted:

But as I speed, as I fly, I follow the wind straight and forward. I could go this way or I could go that way, but I will simply speed and soar and find my way as I go, but not go this way or that way but follow with harmony, to find harmony.

And continued to the end of the page.

He filled out the form for the school, and had all the necessary material prepared, but he didn’t send anything in to the school just yet.

He had consulted with Lena, through their messaging, about whether he should continue to higher learning and told her that he was beginning to look at schools and preparing material to apply.

She messaged him back with:

I hate school! You’re very lucky to go to an arts school. I wish I had done that. I’m not interested in higher learning, but that’s good that you’re applying. Hope I don’t sound like a downer. I really am exited for you. I hope you get accepted!

Whenever Orien read a message from her he could imagine her voice, remembering it from when they were youths, and how her voice sounded last time he had seen her at the North School.

It would almost seem with each message that she still knew him and that they were still friends, despite how many years it had been and she had scripted, ‘I really am excited for you.’ And it made Orien’s heart jump with harmony.

◆

Orien met up with Dug at the front of the Main House at Penhaven Arts, after his classes on the afternoon before Dug’s scheduled visit to the Bringham school. Orien had already told his father where he would be and what he would be doing. He had been given a small amount of paynotes, in case he needed them and so he asked Dug if he wanted to get a steamee.
“I suppose,” Dug said as they stepped down and began walking to the lot across the path where Dug’s jet was halted.

They crossed and Orien followed Dug, who glanced at Orien and asked, “Where did you wanna stop at? I was thinking get some food at the emporium.”

“I suppose,” Orien said, “I wanted to check out the expedition though, and have a steamee.”

“Right, then,” Dug said as they reached the green jet and he opened up his door and got inside.

Orien opened up the co-pilot side and got in. The jet rose of the ground and began to move as Dug steered them away. They turned down the path and were on their way to the Expedition bookshop.

Orien felt his comm. vibe and buzz in his pocket and was curious to know who would be paging him, but assuming it was his father.

He took the device out of his pocket and unfolded it. The name, ‘Steflana’ was flashing on the screen. Orien put the comm. to his ear and answered.

“Will you be riding home with us today, or no?” the voice on his comm. asked.

“I’m with Dug,” Orien answered, “I’m not riding the port today. We’re going to visit a higher learning school tomorrow.”

The jetcar was turning into the front lot of the bookshop.

“Oh,” Steflana said, “We didn’t want to leave without you. That’s good, then, I hope you like the school. You should page me and tell me if you like it,” she said.

“’Right, then,” Orien said.

“Page me, right?” Steflana repeated, hopeful.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Oh. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Steflana.”

“Goodbye, then.”

Orien pushed the red button, folded his comm. and put it back into his pocket. He undid his safety restraint and opened up the door, letting himself out of Dug’s jet.

“Who was that?” Dug asked.

“You remember Steflana?” Orien said on their way to the door and as they reached the door Dug was trying to search his mind to remember, but couldn’t.

“She’s from Callaeope,” Orien said, “has an island accent…? Sometimes she stops and talks to me at lunch…?”

“Oh, her, yes,” Dug said, suddenly remembering, possibly he recalled Orien talking about her on his birthday, “She likes you, right?”

“I suppose, she might, but she’s only fifteen,” Orien stated, stopped and changed the subject to ask, “Do you want to meet in the parlor in a bit?”

“Sure,” Dug said, “I’ll browse some of the music recordings.”

“I’ll be looking at the pulpbooks, and we can meet in about twenty chimes.”

“Right, then.”

The two friends parted in the bookshop, with Dug browsing the shelves of music discs and Orien reacquainting himself with the pulprack, reminding himself of the days after school in his second year, when Anya worked at the expedition and he would pull out pulpbooks of Justice Crusader stories and read them in the lounge, daydreaming about Bianca, while Kiley Lavahl and Stef Cohl played on the radio.

He wondered if Lena was interested in the Justice Crusader books, or if she had seen the reel shows. Orien in his nostalgia, once again began thinking about Willo and the day he went to see the Justice Crusader Pt. II. Rather than think about how she hurt him he found himself amused remembering his pitstink problem, and it was no wonder she didn’t want to be near him.

The thought didn’t make him feel heartbroken, because at least Steflana paid him attention and her friend Dora and that boosted his confidence. Lena was beginning to enjoy their correspondence too and that made him brighten up.

Orien leafed through a collection of illustrated panel stories, featuring a spy adventure hero named Brax Agley, stopping to look at illustrations of Brax, undercover as a suave scoundrel, flirting with beautiful ladies and let himself get caught up in the adventure, even imagining himself flirting with Dora and Steflana-it made him think back to a day-set ago, when Ellen stole his classwork planner from his shoulder bag and her and Dora began concocting different wild dates that he would go on with Dora and writing them in his calendar. He’d consider every scenario, if it weren’t for the fact that Dora, like Steflana was only fifteen. 

Orien finished browsing and daydreaming, just in time according to his clockpiece, which he took out of his pocket.

He put the pulp book back and put his clock back in his pocket and turned down the aisle to walk to the corner to the steamee parlor and where Dug was waiting.

They both ordered a steamee and sat at a table. Dug sipped and asked, “What other schools are you applying to?”

“Barrington,” Orien said.

Dug gave Orien a questioning look from his mug and said, “You need high marks for that, more than that, you need highly impressive AEA scores, achievements, honors…”

“They might take a chance with me, you don’t know, if they think I’m brilliant enough.”

Dug smirked as if humoring him and asked, “How will you prove that to them?”

“Well, they asked for an essay on the subject of metaphor and I gave them one/my entire essay is a metaphor.”

“How? What do you mean by that-?”

“It’s about going down a path, having many directions to go, but just letting yourself fly away and have the wind decide your direction.”

“hmm,” Dug said, “that’s a very basic metaphor.”

“I suppose, but I chose to be different, maybe they’ll think of me as chancy.”

“I suppose they might.”

Dug sipped his mug, Orien sipped his and the subject was dropped as Orien couldn’t think of anything more to say to convince Dug that he would be accepted into Barrington. Orien, truthfully, didn’t even know much about the school aside from the fact that Bianca was applying-and if they both were accepted, Orien would have a chance to be close to her, maybe start becoming closer friends knowing that they were applying to the same school, and maybe once they got in they would both attend as companions, which for him would make higher learning worthwhile.

Orien and Dug took in a reel show at the West End Market-a descent thriller about a lady seeking vengeance for the murder of her companion.

After the show, the duo went back to Dug’s house to smoke a pipe of herbs on the back porch while Dug’s parents were out for the night, and after, they settled in the lounge for Dug to practice his piano piece for the head professor of music at Brigham, while Orien listened on.
Dug ran a projection of a spy thriller in his bedchamber that the two watched over a few berus and then Orien settled in on the cot in the guest chamber, waking up the next morning to the sound of Dug’s surprised parents.

“I will take Orien to the village center,” he heard Dug’s mother say from the kitchen, “and his father can pick him up.”

Orien creaked open the door and saw Dug sitting at the kitchen table looking as if his parents were reprimanding him. Both his mother and his father were standing in sleep-robes sipping steamee.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Dug said.

“Does Orien have an appointment with Administration? Or with the professors?” Dug’s mother said.

Orien entered the kitchen just at that awkward moment.

“It’s only a tour,” Dug said, “and he wants to see the school to see if he wants to apply.”
Dug’s father walked up to Orien gave him a pat on the back and said, “It’s good to see you Orien, I’m glad to see you taking an interest in furthering your schooling.”

There was a pause before he continued, “But you should make arrangements with your dad on your own time, this is an important day for Dug.”

“Why can’t I bring a friend along for support?” Dug asked.

“They’ve already made sleeping arrangements for you to stay overnight,” Dug’s mother said, 
“and now they’ll have two prospective scholars to make room for. You won’t be making a good impression.”

Orien sat at a stool in the mini bar, and sat silent. He felt unwanted, though normally Dug’s parents were not the type to show pride over someone of Orien’s class, he was starting to feel as if they thought Orien’s presence would harm Dug’s chance of school admittance. That couldn’t be what they really thought, though, as they had always welcomed him into their house and had him over to share dinner during school breaks.

Dug’s sister, Shela, walked into the kitchen within a few moments and asked what the commotion was about. She tried to settle the matter.

“You’re making Orien feel so low, right now,” Dug said to his parents.

“Page the university,” Shela said, “and see if they’ll make arrangements for Orien. If they can’t make arrangements we’ll find a way to get him home.”

Dug left the room, to page the school, while Orien’s mother’s attitude changed and became more welcoming, offering Orien biscuits and steamee, which he accepted, sitting at the table to join Dug’s father who started up conversation.

“Are you interested in the reel production program at Brigham?” he asked.

“Yes,” Orien answered, though he was not aware of what programs were offered at Brigham, 
“my goal for when I become elder is to be involved in the making of reel shows.”

“It’s a lot of hard work, are you planning on working in the production houses in the west territories?”

“I may just go on my own in Tietopus.”

“There’re some schools up there as well. The Art Academy in Tietopus has an intensive hands-on program. Are you looking at other schools?”

“I thought about the Tietopus Art Academy,” Orien replied, although he had only just heard about it that moment.

Dug’s father finished his steamee, gave a few words of encouragement and got up from his chair as Dug’s mother put a plate of biscuits in front of him.

Dug came out of his bedchamber, fully dressed, ready for the ride to Brigham and said that arrangements had been settled and it was fine for him to bring Orien. Orien ate his biscuits quickly and washed them down with steamee.

“Mom says you need to wash up,” Dug said to Orien, who was laying his empty plate down by the sink, “we both need to make a good impression. Be quick, you only have about fifteen chimes.”

Orien washed up under the shower stream, in haste, came out of the washroom and Dug was hurrying him along. Orien grabbed his luggage-case from the spare bedchamber and followed Dug out the door, to warm near-bloom weather and into the green jet, which started up and soared away for a long journey, through the sun-filled morning, that would last about a toll and a half.

The disc-player in Dug’s jet played symphonic ballads from ‘the Harman Troupe’ while Dug talked about the group, about a show he went to with his friend Theo and slipped in some talk about Reann.

 “I thought I knew where things were going with us,” he said, “but, not sure, now, maybe she just wants to be friends, not going to talk about that now, though-hey just listen to this solo, that’s Ogden Frye, just listen, he’s the best bassist there is alive today.”

Orien would disagree with that statement. He’d be more likely to name a bassist from his father’s generation of hardened music.

Dug had control of the music through the entire ride as Orien never spoke up, believing it would be rude to suggest he wasn’t enjoying the music.

Passing through the border between Mansington and Fortingham colony, the jet soared off the speedway and entered a small village just before Brigham, where Orien and Dug stopped for lunch at a McKay’s sandwhich shop, filled up the fuel tank in the jet and continued through a valley, passing plains of grass and reaching an archway, leading to the main house at Brigham school for Higher Learning.

Dug purchased a ticket from the attendant at the gate and followed the path leading to the lot to halt the jet. All around were emerald green fields and hills, with housing for scholars, and tall manors that scholars attended their classes in.

The two stepped out at the halt of the jet in the dirt lot, which was like a giant ditch, but far larger, holding a great number of jets for scholars, professors and visitors. 

They craned their heads up and around on the way to the main house, to check in, and they observed droves of university-aged ladies and boys, with shoulder bags and books, chatting with each other and laughing on their way to their classes, trekking up hills, avoiding patches of near melted snow.

Orien noticed a couple of companions sitting on the steps at the main house, with their arms around each other, watching the sky, sharing a moment looking up at the sun. Orien felt a longing, to be in that moment himself, with Bianca, or Lena or even Steflana or Dora, as he passed the companions on his way up with Dug.

Orien wondered if he were accepted into the school, if he might meet someone. He had the same feeling when he toured Penhaven Arts school before his first year, thinking Helena-Liz was one of the most beautiful brown-haired, green eyed ladies he had ever met.

The morning procedure was a bit of a challenge, as the scholar who had been assigned to guide Orien and Dug around the campus had not checked in with administration. Given Dug’s interest in music, a replacement was eventually found in the music program, and Orien and Dug attended their first class, at Jenway music hall, with a dark haired lady named Bella.

The instructor of ‘Healing through Music’ was rather eccentric. Orien listened and observed along with other fellow scholars gathered round his piano, as the man with the wild gray hair and glasses banged on the piano keys with his elbows, his forearm, his foot, and created a unique melody, which had a precise harmony that helped cure depressiant thoughts and the affects of negative fog, he claimed.

After the ‘healing through music’ course, Bella gave the two the option of following her to her next class or simply observing the grounds unescorted (to which she would perfectly allow though it was not typical practice for a shadowed tour).

“Where are the reel production classes?” Orien asked.

“Up on Bluebird Hill,” Bella said, in the hall, “where the visual art buildings are, it should be on your guide…” 

Dug took the folded map out of his shortcoat pocket, and the two looked for Bluebird Hill and stepped out of Jenway hall, down the steps and began, attempting to find Bluebird Hill.

Orien liked the idea of walking around the grounds more than he liked the idea of actually having to attend classes, and doing regular class assignments. He almost had a worried feeling about this. Once he got to Penhaven arts after the tour, he made it his home, but still had to put in the work and it was a struggle at first, until Lydia was able to pull a few strings and give him leeway. Brigham School would be different, and maybe he would not be ready for it, or maybe he would learn to be more disciplined. 

There was a great mansion on top of Bluebird Hill and down past it was a rustic cottage, similar to the art house at Penhaven.

They looked around both places, at some of the paintings and sculptures on display in the halls, but their time was cut short when Dug looked at his pocket clock and said they had to start back to the Main house.

They were asked to check back with the admittance desk at the twelfth toll, so they began the walk back.

Once they got to the main house, their legs were very tired. Walking around a University campus all day was quite a strain and it must be for scholars.

Their guide had finally awoken and checked in with administration, they had been told. Dug and Orien were escorted to their guide’s housing unit and told his name and where to find him. 
Once at his unit, they followed the steps up to the second quarter and stopped at a door with the name Blake Priore.

 There was female giggling from behind Blake’s door and when Dug knocked, they heard a lady shriek.

“This is Dug,” he said to the door, “we’re supposed to meet for a shadowed tour…”

“Just a moment…” said the voice of the boy from behind the door.

Orien looked around the hall, in an attempt to lose himself in his own thoughts, and to not listen to the female cooing and enthusiasm beyond the walls of Blake Priore’s door, where a lady seemed to be receiving some sort of pleasure or stimulation, from Blake, naturally, who eventually opened the door to let Dug and Orien in and revealed the innocent sight of a lady eating a coco pastry on his bed, though it wasn’t likely that the coco pastry was what had been giving her pleasure.

Orien felt uncomfortable and didn’t want to think of it. It made him very awkward to be in the presence of Blake and his mate.

Blake was using his dayshirt, which was a wrinkled mess, to wipe his glasses, as he talked to Dug. He returned his spectacles to his face, wiped his sweaty forehead and ran his fingers through his matted hair.

Orien wasn’t listening to their conversation; he kept looking at Blake and then to his lady-friend and back, with a squeamish feeling in his stomach.

Orien squirmed when she gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek before she departed.
The remainder of the evening was not particularly any more eventful than when it began, save for a concert that Orien, Dug and Blake attended and then at the end of the night, Orien and Dug slept in the guests’ bunks at the main house, where Orien had a lot to think over, and sleep did not come easy.

Orien was unsure what he felt about the school. It was a fine place to visit, but he wouldn’t want to stay there, and yet it was far better than staying at his father’s cottage in Hilliar. At Brigham, he would be around scholars, of many different types, artistic and creative and meet friends, having romantic relations, possibly. But then, it might not be that simple, to make friends and he may not find common ground with the other scholars. The scholars that he and Dug had came into contact with did not seem the type that Orien saw himself as getting along with, though maybe perhaps they were like Dug, more proper, with more wealth and since he got along with Dug just fine, it was possible he would get along with the scholars at Brigham.

Orien decided it was at least worthwhile to take a chance and apply to the school. If he were accepted, he would take it or leave it.

When they awoke, they were allowed to leave campus for breakfast and so they got into Dug’s jet and drove out a ways to the village shops.

“I don’t like how far away all the restaurants and shops are from school,” Orien said on the way.

“But we’ll be busy doing classwork” Dug said, “and attending classes, anyway, there won’t be time to explore the village, except on the end-days.”

“But even then, I won’t have a jet,” Orien said.

“But you’ll make friends,” Dug said.

They ate at a small diner and then made it back to the school in time for their appointments, or rather for Dug’s scheduled appointment with the head professor in the music program and Orien’s last moment interview with the chief of regular admittance that had only just been scheduled the day before.

Orien sat on a bench by the door of a small ballroom, in the main house, listening to Dug play his piece for the professor, and after several moments, the two came out of the room, shook hands and Dug joined Orien up the stepway to the administration branch. Again Orien waited on a bench while Dug talked to the chief of regular admittance for several chimes until he was asked himself to come inside the office chamber and talk.

Orien felt overwhelmed walking into the chamber.

“Have a seat,” the lady in black and gray formal wear said and Orien sat on a soft red couch, while the lady-chief sat at her chair and began asking questions.

“I’ve been told you heard about this school through your friend Duglus, is this correct?”

“Yes, that is true,” Orien answered, very nervous, “I really think it may be what I am looking for in a school for higher learning. I do like it…”

“We don’t have your application on file, yet-which is fine,” she smiled, “the deadline for late admission is still six day-sets away and I don’t want to rush you, but don’t hold out on it for too long, we only let so few scholars in at a time, it’s a very selective process.”

“I understand, but I’m confident. I’m not a worrisome person.”

“I respect that quality,” the lady-chief said. There seemed to be something about her, that Orien wasn’t sure he liked, as if she had an air of pompousness, but then he suspected that was normal for those who worked in university administration.

She asked him why he had waited at the last moment to schedule an interview for admittance, and why he hadn’t made his own arrangements for a visit.

“I wasn’t interested before in any further learning/but then my brother was applying/and my friend Dug/that’s when the idea started in my head that maybe I could/and I really liked the sound of this school when Dug told me about it/now that I’ve seen the school/I can see myself here/I do like it…”

The lady-chief paused, in thought and then adjusted herself and moved in a little closer in her chair, “I’d like for you to tell me a bit more about you, and what it is about his school you like most, above others.”

“I don’t know too much about the other schools, but about me/I suppose/I can say/my main interest is in the theatre arts/I am interested in a program in reel production.”

“We have such a program here, though, you would probably also benefit from Tietopus University’s program, if you’d like to check in to that as well, though we’d love to take you here of course.”

She smiled again. Orien continued to tell the lady-chief about some of the activities he was involved in at school. He mentioned that he had trouble at first in his studies, but straightened up in his last two years, being referred to often as a top scholar, by the school’s deputy administrator.

“It sounds like you have a great interest in the arts,” the lady said, stood up and extended her hand to shake, “we’re looking forward to reading your application,” and as an afterthought added, “I would like to encourage you to continue your search for other schools, though, as I said in the beginning, we are very selective, and it’s very competitive.”

“I understand,” Orien said.

She bid him good luck and the meeting came to a close.

The long two-day tour had come to a close and Orien followed Dug out of the main house to the green jet for the long ride back to Mansington colony, listening to the same ‘Harman Troupe’ music disc.

It was a long journey home before reaching Hilliar, as Orien would be let off to meet his father in the lot behind the Penhaven Showhouse, after riding in Dug’s jet for a toll and a half, to ride in his father’s jet for forty chimes.

“There’s a letter waiting for you at home,” his father said on the way.

“I haven’t sent in any applications,” Orien said, confused.

“It must be from a friend of yours.”

“No, that can’t be. Don’t think anyone knows my address.”

The silver jet halted at the cottage, Orien stepped out and dragged himself up the steps, in exhaustion, to let himself inside, shake off his longcoat and unlaced his boots, as he did so, his father brandished a yellow envelope with the name Orien, but no address or post stamp as if some admirer had simply dropped it in the box. Orien got out of his boots and rushed into his bedchamber with the letter, broke the seal, and opened up the sheet of paper, which had slightly sloppy scripting that said:

I don’t know if we’ll get to meet up soon. I’m so happy to be hearing from you and for us to be friends again, but it’s such a difficult time for me. I’m sorting out things with an ex-companion, there’s a lot going on with my family. I won’t bore you with detail, but I’m not up to meeting for right now, so I’ll just keep sending you letters and we’ll keep in touch that way and we can share more than if we just continue comm. messaging. Right, then?
She drew a heart with her name, Lena.

Orien thought on it for a moment and decided it might be a sign, as if to say, that he had grown apart from Lena, as he knew, and therefore also Hilliar which was not his home. He had made Penhaven and the arts school his home, but he was still unsure whether Brigham should be his new home. He thought about Tietopus and the Art Academy and new ideas surfaced in his head to explore.

He knew that Hilliar was not his home, though and he couldn’t stay there, and shouldn’t stay there, with no museums or bookshops to visit, no restaurants like the island cuisine place, ‘Sunside Delights’, that he went to with Dug. There was nothing for him in Hilliar…
Orien drifted to sleep. It had been a long two days and night had already come.

Bianca

Orien watched the clouds in the blue sky from out his window in his bedchamber, some days after his visit to Brigham. He was sitting at his typing desk, and he had a folio in front of him, with a draft of the stage show, ‘Romen’s Story, that he scripted within his first two years at Penhaven Arts. He had paused from reading as a ray from the sun hit him, and he looked out as a cloud wisp passed in front of it.

The grass outside was wet and the snow was in patches still, gradually disappearing with the passing days. It was something to observe, for Orien to behold as he gathered together his papers to be mailed to Brigham School.

He had debated on whether to include a part of ‘Romen’s Story’ in his application to Brigham, but upon reading the first page, he rejected the notion. He couldn’t help continuing to peak, still, and he read on.

ROMEN
I’m scripting a story. It’s what I do instead of the classwork.

DORAWEN
You don’t like the classwork?

ROMEN
I forget to do my classwork most times. I’m far too busy creating stories and story ideas. I suppose people think I’m lazy.

Orien read and looked back up at the window and the flowing fluff of the cloud-work. When he paused again and was lost once more in his own thoughts, he remembered why he scripted what he had scripted. 

Orien had a far lot of pride, maybe too much, in his work, creating stories and performances, which he had preferred to be wrapped up in rather than his class assignments. It was his escape in those years, and a way for him to have a voice.

In his seventh year, he was a slow learner and he struggled, he supposed, which may have been why he was not doing his class work and why he was asked to see a specialty medic, why he had been assigned a tutor, why it had been determined he had focus and anxiety problems.

Orien closed up the folio in his lap. He didn’t feel the need to read anymore, yet, he was curious to return to the story at a later time, and decided to slip it into his schoolbag, rather than returning the folio to the bookshelf in his bedchamber, along with the other folios and loose paper books of poetry verses and first chapters to stories that never had second chapters.
Orien tied up his schoolbag, with the folio secure inside it with his other books and decided, with the drawings, the story, and the small reel-tape snippet, he had enough of a showcase of his talents to include in the package he was sending to Brigham School.

He told his father later that night that his applications were all finished and ready to be mailed to the schools. He was only sending out to three schools. With each application he needed a fee and to pay for postage, to which his father only had so much to give, but was more than willing, as always looking out for what is best for Orien.

Orien attempted to leaf through the folio containing, ‘Romen’s Story’ on the ride to school, but became dizzy quickly, from reading while in motion as the transport soared along. He gave up the attempt after only reading over a page, and decided to put his headset on and listen to his diskplayer.

Orien would get a chance to look back at the script and remember, in study support, just after his body relaxing class.

He walked out of the shack by the woods, at peace from his breathing exercises, passed the art house, went up the hill and waited at the crossing with several other scholar, including a petite lady in a red daydress, with a woolen shortcoat, a violet ribbon in her sun yellow hair, and a pair of the most beautiful green eyes Orien had ever seen. 

Her name was Livia, she was a year below Orien, but had been introduced a year ago as a friend of Bianca’s.

“What class are you on your way to?” Livia asked and at the crossing signal, they walked across the path together and Orien answered, “Study Support, but I just came from body relaxing.”

“I wish I had taken that, but I already have a dance class for physical health.”

They walked slow down the path and talked as they walked. Livia recalled a Friday performance, where Orien had shared a poem on stage, which she thought was very good and lovely, in her words.

“I love poetry verses,” she said, “But I could never script something as beautiful. You’ve got a talent for it, it seems.”

“A poem is simple enough to create,” Orien replied.

“You use words so beautifully though.”

“Well, you find beauty. You look around and you think to yourself, it’s a bloom season day, near chilling, but just warm enough, and you look at the blossoms and you may think… to be passing by the blossoms, scarlet and shining from the sun on this bloom day, and to walk with a lovely lady, with eyes green like the grass, is a fine way to spend these moments… and that could be a poem.”

Livia and Orien had stopped. Livia was looking deep into Orien’s eyes and he felt a flutter in his heart, but was unsure of what he might do next.

“I have to go around, upsteps,” she said, “To the physics classchamber.”

It seemed to be an ideal moment for Orien to ask if she might want to go to the last dance formal, but as many thoughts and fears entered Orien’s head, he hesitated, opened his mouth to speak and much too afraid to ask the question on his mind, he simply said, “Thanks for walking with me to class, Livia.”

She answered, “Thank you,” and gave a small wave as she walked away, toward the side door of the West House and Orien walked up the steps to the front entrance, to start down the hall, turn and enter the study support room and sit down at a table.

Orien had no class assignments to complete. He stuck with his plan, passing time by reading through ‘Romen’s Story’.

He lingered over one particular passage for a long bit:

Romen is scripting in his journal.

ROMEN (to himself as he scripts)
I thought about asking Dorawen out before. When I think about it, it seems simple, but then I look at her and think, “I can’t do this.” And I almost get mad at myself for not being braver. It almost brings me to the point of tears, because I like Dorawen and I would do just about anything to be with her.

He stared at it in remembrance, feeling once more what he had felt. It was as he had expressed it, with Bianca in place of ‘Dorawen’. His longing to be close to Bianca, at that time, had been a terrible ache in his heart, but he found himself able to be brave, when he paged her at home, but the fact that she was so far off from him, so far from his cottage in Hilliar, made it seem near impossible for him to ever reach her. There was that, and merely trying to form sentences, to find things to talk about, was far too difficult.

Orien thought of Livia and he knew he should have asked her to the formal dance. He shouldn’t have been afraid. He had approached ladies before, and faced rejection, like with Gabrielle and Jazmine. If he had done it before, he should be able to do it again.

He had faced rejection, from Willo, he thought and it was that memory that destroyed him inside, like solid stone swallowed down from his throat straight to his chest and his eyes burned as if to form tears, but he breathed, concentrating, much like he had done in his body relaxing class and he continued on reading the script.

He found himself grinning at his imaginary romance with Bianca, on the page as a romance between Romen and Dorawen.

ROMEN
Are we in love?

DORAWEN
I suppose, we are. I’m in love with you, I know it, when I look into your blue eyes and you look into mine and you tell me about your stories.

ROMEN
And I am in love with you, too, Dorawen.

Orien held in a chuckle, and snorted, loudly and said, “Sorry…my/my allergies/this time of year…” as the lady sitting in front of him looked up from her book.

That last bit, was about as much of ‘Romen’s Story’ story as Orien could take in. He shut the folio, eager to toss it in a wastebin, but rather, he returned it to his shoulder bag.

Study support class came to an end soon after that and Orien slung his bag over his shoulder and headed out the door to join his fellow scholars on the walk to the main house, for lunch break, and to a meeting in Maggie’s class room, with the rest of the fourth year scholars, to discuss the formal dance, the completion ceremony, and absent senior scholars day.

Bianca had been chosen as a chairperson for the meeting and stood in front of the chalkboard with her actor and actress friends close by. Orien stood with Dug, Maxen, and the comic troupe players, while the musicians where gathered together in the group next to them. Helena-Liz, Alene and Wendy were standing together. Reann stood with her friends. Malia and Lysee were in a group and spread about were various loners, who may not fit into any one group, but had their share of friends within each cluster.

Bianca was waving her hands about to maintain order as everyone was chatting amongst themselves, whispering, “Are we all getting together for absent day?” and, “Who are you going with to the dance?”

“Can we focus, please,” Bianca said, “My friends, fellow scholars…”

There was still some whispering, while most people had their focus on Bianca.

“Everyone shut yourself and listen to Bianca!” shouted Bianca’s actor friend, Ceddi, and most people quieted down after that, except for Orien who was not whispering but speaking loudly to Dug, exclaiming “It’ll be the best time we’ll have all year!” 

“Sshh!” Bianca said, looking directly at Orien, smiling and putting a finger to her mouth.

“Sorry,” Orien said, but didn’t look embarrassed at all. He returned a smile back to Bianca, who was in bright spirits, and not the least bit annoyed.

“No need,” Bianca said, “we appreciate your enthusiasm. We’ll get to our little day off, in a bit, and a few of us are going to get together all as a group, we’re hoping to get most of our year…firstly, though, let us talk about the formal dance, and I’ll open the floor to Shayla, the chairperson for the planning committee…”

Shayla and Reann stepped up to the front of the classroom and began their speech.

“You will need seventy-five notes from your parents for tickets,” Shayla said holding up a lightweight card with the word ADMIT and the title LAST DANCE FORMAL.

“Reann and I will be at a booth in the art house,” she continued, “during lunch break, to collect payment. As it will be a sit down meal, you will have a form to fill out for meal requests. 
Everyone will have the choice of a meat or a vegetable dish…”

There was some murmuring over Shayla as people whisper about, who they would be taking to the dance, some people wondering if blistonic drink would be allowed to which that question would be answered with “No,” by Shayna, “not even for the scholars of age eighteen. There will be no blistonic drink available,” and this caused some loud grumbling, but she explained, “This is a rule set by the colonial school board of Mansington for all school functions, not by us.”

There were no further questions and once Shayna had finished talking, Bianca shifted the discussion to the completion ceremony, the chosen venue (The Penhaven Village Community Stage and Theatre), and the schedule for ceremony rehearsals.

The subject of absent senior scholars day came at last at the end of the meeting.

“Now, we’re all familiar with the tradition of the higher classman members taking a day off from classes during bloom season?” Bianca said and everyone nodded, “We’ve all agreed on the last Friday of this calendar block, and you may all do as you please, you may just stay home, or you may join your fellow scholars if you’d like for a little class activity…”

She turned her attention to a lady named April, who was standing with Malia and Lysee.

“There is a small creek,” April said, “deep in the forests on the west end of Penhaven, a few of us know how to get there, Bianca, Alene, Malia, Lysee… and we’re planning on as many people, hopefully everyone in our year, meeting and taking a hike, to gather by the creek, so anyone who wants directions on where to go, where to meet, you can ask me, or Bianca, or anyone else as word spreads…”

“What are you thinking?” Orien asked Dug, while Binaca gave a few last words to say that it was near ready for everyone to return to class.

“About what?” Dug asked.

“The hike!” Orien said, “we should go!”

“I suppose,” Dug said, though unenthusiastic.

All of the year four scholars in Maggie’s classroom began to gather their things, and were talking and planning as Orien talked to Dug and Bianca stepped in to ask, “are you going to be playing at rehearsal today?” addressing Dug.

“Do they need me there?” Dug asked her, “Jetro knows all the music and he can take my spot. I was going to leave early today…”

Orien was standing aside awkward, waiting to walk away with Dug and head to his next class. He felt alienated as Dug and Bianca talked about the Thebuek show, and how excited she was for their first performance.

“It’s a good show, I’m looking forward to it,” Dug said and began walking to the door.

Orien took a step forward and turned to join him, but was caught by surprise as Bianca said, 
“Hi, Orien, haven’t talked much in a good while, huh?”

“No/I… I suppose not,” Orien said, shaking and halted to his spot.

“What were you so excited about at the start of the meeting? Was it the dance?”

“Uh, yes,” Orien said, suddenly his heartbeat rising, expecting that perhaps Bianca was going to ask him to accompany her.

“Found someone special to go with?” she asked.

Orien felt himself breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating and unable to speak, to form words, much like Romen, in the stage performance he had scripted, but he had to be brave and he could.

“S-since you mentioned it/I…” he paused, gulped in air, “I d-don’t/I haven’t asked anyone, yet, but/do you/are you going with someone/do you have a date yet?”

“Yes, I do, actually,” she said.

Orien was once again, let down. He had made an attempt again, like with Willo, and again, he was defeated, but he breathed and tried to look and sound calm.

“I decided to take a second year boy,” she said, “A gentleman name Jamysen. We were in ‘The Magnificent Traveling Players’ together. He couldn’t go to the dance, unless a higher-class scholar could take him-So I said I would and be his date.”

“Hmm. That’s very sweet of you,” Orien said, bottling his hurt and his sorrow and pretending to be nonchalant, “You’re a very considerate person… and I do admire that about you… and I admire you a lot.”

“Thank you. I admire you.”

Orien’s mood changed slightly, to genuine delight, at that and his smile was real, but he wondered if Bianca was being genuine, or it was simply her generous nature. In his skepticism he asked, “Why… why is that?”

She said, “You are honest and you are true to yourself,” and lightly patted his back on the way out the door.

Orien strode out the door, to head to his next class, and felt peculiar, because his spirits had been lifted by what Binaca had said, and by her affectionate pat on the back, but she had rejected him, and he soon started to think on that again, and asked himself, why she had turned him down if she did admire him? She could have told the other boy, she had changed her mind and decided to go with someone in her own year, since Orien asked her-but she must not have wanted to go with Orien and if she did not want to than she was maybe not sincere when she had said she admired him.

The thoughts consumed Orien’s head during a viewing of Hel Fenrixe’s sophisticated drama, ‘The Fine Life of the Elite’, in Lydia’s ‘History of the Reel show’ class, to the point where he found himself unable to focus on the show.

Orien found some distraction in his last period of the day, helping put together the schoolyear album, though so far the only work he had done on the book, was in creating a page to showcase prints of the comedy troupe performing on stage. 

Placing flash prints together on a matte to form a collage, kept him focused and concentrating. Steflana was sitting at the same table working on a project of her own for the album, and looking over Orien’s work in approval.

They completed work by the finish of the schoolday and Steflana walked with Orien, meeting up halfway with Dora, the two ladies gossiped and chatted along the way to the main house, to board the transport.

“Hi!” Holli said, as Orien stepped into the port. Orien waved back and took a seat next to Wendy.

“What were your thoughts on the meeting?” Wendy asked, “You seemed excited about something,” again referring to Orien’s exclamation that “It’ll be the best time we’ll have all year!”, which no one knew to what he had been talking with Dug about.

“Orien’s excited about the dance,” Lysee said, sitting with Ellen, in the seat diagonal to them, “he must have a special date.”

“Do you really, Orien?” Ellen said, “and it’s not Dora!” she joked, “She was really looking forward to it!”

“I was not too much,” Dora said, in modesty, “It’s fine. I’m waiting for my last year.”

“I’m going lone,” Orien decided, “I’m not going to bring a date.”

The transport rose and began backing and turning toward the path, to follow out to bring the scholars home.

“I’m going lone, too,” Wendy said, “Or not really, I should say. I’m going with friends, but I’m not bringing a date.”

“Orien should bring somebody, though,” Ellen said, “You should bring a first year. There’re a lot of ladies in our year that would love a higher classman to invite them…you can take Steflana.”

“I would go with you,” Steflana said, excited, craning in from the seat in front, “You should take me!”

“I would prefer someone closer to my year, if I were to go with anybody, but I’m not bringing a date…” Orien said.

“Stop pestering him about it, everyone,” Wendy said, “Leave Orien alone,” but once a topic was brought up on the transport, with the long ride home and not much else to talk about, the topic would continue.

“Have you tried asking any one?” Lysee said.

“Yes, I have,” Orien said, embarrassed, clutching his shoulder bag in front of him tight.

“You’re so timid, Orien,” Lysee said.
The transport had halted to let Wendy, Arley and the rest of the passengers from Laurel village off.

“I asked Bianca,” Orien said, quietly.

“Oh,” Lysee said, “how cute.” 

“She said no,” Orien mumbled, still embarrassed and he got up from his seat to allow Wendy to get out.

“Why is everyone bothering him about it?” Wendy said, once again defending him, “he wants to be let alone.”

The transport was quiet and near empty after Laurel Village, with one more stop before Hilliar.

“You’ll find a lady one day,” Lysee told Orien, “and get kissed-“

“I have,” Orien interrupted, surprised at what she had said.

“Have what? You do have a companion!” Steflana said, “and you have not told us or anyone! But especially you didn’t tell any one of us!”

“I don’t have a companion,” Orien said, and he gave a nod to Lysee, “but I have kissed a lady at least/I have once.”

Lysee did not notice or respond to Orien’s gesture, but instead looked curious and asked, 
“Have you really? Who then?”

Orien didn’t answer. He stared at Lysee, saying nothing. The group took his silence to mean he was keeping it secret.

“Is it someone we know, in our year?” Lysee asked.

“Yes…” Orien replied, still looking at Lysee as if she should jump in and say something, but instead she asked,  “It’s someone on the transport isn’t it, that’s why you can’t tell us.”

“Yes!” Orien said, in anger.

“Right, then,” Lysee said, “We’ll wait till the rest are gone and you’ll tell me, right?”

Orien didn’t respond. A few chimes later, Gabrielle, Shana and Portia were let off, and once the transport doors were closed, Steflana leaned in from her seat, along with Lysee who said, “I have to know! Tell me, now, Orien, who was the lady you kissed?”

“You should remember.”

“I should remember?” she said, with a puzzling look, “Was I there?”

“It was you…at Trot’s gathering. You wanted us to play ‘Lady Traveler…’”

“Oh. Yes…yes, that is right.”

Steflana looked at her and said, “You kissed Orien-but you don’t remember!?” making Orien feel uncomfortable, and Lysee replied, “I was with this boy, Darin, but I was exploring options, I was younger…”

She looked at Orien and said, “I’m sorry I forgot,” though it didn’t help him to feel any better, he played off as if he was fine, shrugging and brushing her off and Lysee proceeded to tell Steflana more about Darin and her early days at the arts school while Orien kept to himself until the transport halted at Hilliar Grocery and the group stepped off.

Orien stood at the front of the shop doors, while the port rose and flew, starting its course out and behind it a battered black Commoner jetcar, was squealing as it struggled to crawl 
forward, and screeched as it halted, smoking at the bottom.

Orien opened the co-pilot hatch, took a seat, closed it and said, to his brother Alto, who was steering it out, “This still runs??”

“It shouldn’t…be running…” Alto said, “I made it this far without it breaking down, though.”

Hard to believe it possible, Orien thought, that it could even hover over ground, as the exhaust moaned below them, and the vehicle roared as it crossed the bridge.

“You should put it up for purchase,” Orien suggested.

“It should be scrapped for parts,” Alto replied, shifting the rod forward, as the commoner dragged up Mulinger hill, “Dad says it’s my responsibility to be rid of it, I just don’t know where to begin and he isn’t much help.”

They passed the boarded up and abandoned Tri-corner produce and general shop and turned down primary path.

“You can’t expect to get around in this when you move in with Auntie Greta,” Orien said.

“No, but that’ll just be for a very short time, until I start school and I can move into housing early.”

The commoner, and its riders, survived the expedition through Hilliar town and finally the vehicle rested, dropping abrupt, at the front path of the cottage on Emarldleaf way. Alto let himself out and lit a smokstik while Orien got out and headed to the front cottage doors, was greeted by Felice in the usual way, and as typical of any school day, he went into his bedchamber, and turned on ‘Starship Quests’ to listen to, while he typed up a letter to Lena on his portable scripter at his desk by the window.

“Captain, you’re being irrational!” the voice on the radio said.

“Follow my orders! Or I’ll have you in the brig for insubordination!”

Orien typed and told Lena all about his school meeting, the prospect of going on a hike with his fellow scholars for absent day, and the formal dance, mentioning that he decided to go lone-a part of him, was wondering if Lena might be interested in going to a dance at another school, but he didn’t bring it up, hoping if she understood his hinting and if she wanted to, she’d mention it in her next letter.

Orien thought long about what to type in his letter, carefully choosing his words, pausing and stopping. He had a page ready to send off to post, in that time, he had already listened to two episodes of the ‘Starship Quests’ radio drama, and the sun from out his window was beginning to set for the night.

His father knocked on his bedchamber door and Orien got up from his chair, tuned the radio dial, and opened the door.

“Have you eaten, yet today?” his father asked, but already knowing the answer, he didn’t wait for a reply and simply continued, “I’m making a pasta dish for you and Alto, join us at the table.”

“’right,” Orien said, closed his bedchamber door behind and headed to the dining room to sit with Alto.

It was interesting for Orien to be sharing a meal with his father and his brother. For the past few calendar blocks, he had been living off snacks, frozen prepared meals and takehome delivery that Alto would order. The last shared family meal Orien could recall, was at his mother’s on harvest feast with Alto.

“So, are you prepared for your AEA, Orien?” his father asked in between bites, while they ate.

“I’m sure I’ll do fine,” he replied. 

Alto asked if he had studied, to which Orien said he had plenty of time to prepare, as the exam was not until the end of the calendar block. Orien was then reminded of absent day and asked his father for permission to stay at Dug’s for those few days.

His father sighed and replied, “I can’t say that I didn’t take part in the tradition as a last year scholar in my own late learning/and I don’t want to say you can’t-”

“That’s just rubbish,” Alto said, “I know you would have told me I couldn’t! To be honest, I’m certain I recall you did say I couldn’t.”

“I can’t help you from wanting to spend time with your friends,” their dad said to Orien, ignoring Alto, “let’s just pretend I don’t know about it, and you can meet Dug at school and leave from there…”

“I suppose I could,” Orien said, “we leave school during lunch break most days and don’t come back.”

Alto grumbled and rolled his eyes, in frustration and disbelief.

“That isn’t something you should be telling me, really, Orien…” his father said.

“This is loads of rubbish,” Alto mumbled, his head back and his eyes rolled all the way up.

After the meal, Orien left the table to sit in the main living quarters and listen to radio, while Alto and his father cleared the table and took care of the dishes.

Alto spent the rest of the night in his room with Felice, ignoring Orien and their father, not joining them in the main quarters as he had been doing, to listen to ‘Talent Search’ and the medic drama, ‘Doc. Perkinsen’.

Orien turned into his bedchamber at the finish of their programs and stayed awake for a good amount of the night, while radio farces played and Orien thought about absent day, and how the plans were as rumored, to be as many of his fellow scholars, the people who were almost family to him in some ways, with the arts school being his home, to gather all together, including Bianca. It would be the best time they would have, all year, he thought.

◆

Time was passing fast, which made Orien both anxious for the end of the school year and nervous at what lay ahead of him after school. He still had his AEA exam to take, before any school could consider him for acceptance and he still had several day-sets to get through and he was also eager at absent senior scholars day, his plans being set.

The days passed quite quickly with Orien’s relaxed school schedule, walking to classes in the warm sun with beautiful young ladies and joining them on the transport.

Orien kept with his routine of scripting letters to Lena, after school, while listening to ‘Starship Quests’ and admiring the view from out his bedchamber window.

Lena’s recent letters had been quite short. She was looking forward to the formal dance at her own school, but she was secretive about whom she was going with and Orien did not ask. He wanted to keep the fantasy alive and did not want to be reminded that Lena may be spending time with boys that she may end up keeping companionship with. Orien didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to ask her about it and soon he stopped asking in his letters if she would want to meet up with him. What they had already was fine.

The days became warmer, and by the end of the third calendar block, when Friday approached, it was near respite season weather, and so Orien would roll up the sleeves to his loosely tied tan dayshirt and let himself breathe. 

He felt more liberated that year, than he had been at the start of his first year at the arts school. The stretches and breathing exercises he practiced in ‘body relaxing’ made him feel free, gave him confidence.

It didn’t seem to matter too much, anymore, to Orien, that he didn’t have a lady companion. He enjoyed the attention he got from Steflana and Dora, who were excited to hear about Orien’s participation in senior scholar’s absent day, and about what the higher classman were planning.

The morning of absent day, Orien’s mother let him off at Hilliar Grocery, according to routine, unaware of his plans and Steflana was surprised to see him step out from the red jet.

“I’m meeting Dug at the school,” Orien explained, “It was just easy this way.”

Orien felt odd, to be stepping onto the transport to take him to school, on a day when he wasn’t planning on going to school, and even with the freedom and loose school rules of Penhaven Arts their was still a part of Orien that felt rebellious as if he was pulling something off on his teachers, though they already knew what was going on.

Orien got of the port at the main house, and didn’t even bother to be discreet. He walked directly across the path, to the lot behind the community building, where Dug’s green jet was halted, and several other of his fourth year peers, were standing about, talking and smoking stiks.

“”Lo, Ori,” Dug said, as Orien approached him and Maxen.

“Does everybody know, where we’re going/how we get there?” Orien asked Dug.

“Bianca is going in Jena’s jet,” Dug said, “Maxen is going with Garth and Anton… and…they’re following Jena…come on in…”

Orien got into Dug’s jetcar and they waited for the purple pixie prime jet to elevate and start moving, and once it did, the rest of the higher classman followed in their jets, passing their peers, from the lower years, walking to their classes and as everyone passed, they sounded their alert horns stuck their heads out and cheered and whooped as if they were in a parade, in a celebration of being free.

Bolin and Lydia, the two founders and administrators of the school were standing right on the hill in front of the main house entrance, watching the parade. Lydia shook her head, while Bolin, grinned, in secret approval.

Dug’s green jet followed the parade down the primary path and turned at a crossing, to follow backpaths toward Penhaven Village’s West End. Orien had to endure listening to ‘The Harmon Troupe’ along the way.

“Now that you’re used to the music,” Dug said, “You have to agree it’s rather good. You like it, now right?”

“No,” Orien said. 

Dug eventually received the hint and took the disc out of the player, to replace it with something else, saying, “Here is something Bianca gave me to listen to…”

Orien looked at Dug as if suddenly jealous that he was talking to Bianca. He knew it was only because they were involved in the Thebuek show, but regardless, if he had been talking to her, knowing that Orien was taken with her, he should have put in a good word, but he must not have, or Bianca might have wanted to go to the formal dance with him.

“It’s good music, right?” Dug asked.

Orien hadn’t been listening, but he answered, “Yes, I like it,” since, if Bianca liked it, so did he.

He watched the jets in front of them, containing their friends, and they passed neighborhoods and farmland, and forests, and when Garth’s jet signaled that it was halting in front of them, Dug halted, and lowered the jet to the ground at a small lot.

The music stopped and Orien and Dug got out. Maxen, Anton and Garth stepped out. Jena, Bianca and two other ladies were waiting.

“We’re still waiting for Malia, Wal and the rest of their group,” Jena said.

“Alene and Wendy paged and said they’re nearly here…” Bianca said and as she did so, Helena-Liz’s pink jet was approaching closer, and Bianca and Jena waved them forward.

The pink jet lowered and halted and, Helena-Liz stepped out with Alene and Wendy. For a long while, everyone just waited. Orien listened as Dug told him about the upcoming reel feature by Sal Morgana, to pass the time, and once Malia, Wal, Hax, Joss, Lysse and Stef showed up and joined, everyone that had been expected to come had come.

Bianca and Jena led the way down a path leading to open forest. Orien could hear the hush of the river, but wasn’t sure how close they were to it. They trekked up a hill, and continued the hike onward it seemed for a good mile through what seemed to be a camping area on its off season and finally they crossed a bridge and reached a sandy beach area.

Orien sat with Dug by a rock and they talked to Tod for a bit. A few of the ladies undid their blouses to reveal swimwear underneath and jumped in for a swim.

Jena passed a bottle of Kinsey’s thequer to Dug and Orien and they each took in a swig and handed it back to her. Orien felt a rush and he felt the liquid burn in his throat.

“We should have brought swim pants,” Dug said.

“I don’t swim,” Orien said.

Dug got up from where he was sitting and began looking around, surveying the area. Besides the swimming spot, there was a corner for fishing and by the bridge was a small hill.

Orien couldn’t resist watching the ladies swim, being of the age that he was, though he tried to be discreet, tried instead to focus on watching the flowing water and the sun-filled sky.

He started to feel lonely, sitting by himself, without anyone to talk to. The ladies were talking among themselves. Maxen and his group were in a corner lounging.

Orien got up from the sand, to find Dug, whom he had seen follow a path up on the hill by the bridge, surrounded by bush. He followed the path and found an isolated setting, fit for a romantic scene and saw a couple, embracing under a large tree, in privacy.

He had found Dug, but he had also found Bianca-sitting in Dug’s lap. They were in an embrace and Bianca was looking up, looking into Dug’s eyes, while she brushed his hair. They seemed as if they might kiss.

Orien’s chest felt tight, and he was struggled for air, as he held back tears, while turning back down the path to beach. It was the same feeling he had experienced with Willo, under similar circumstances, but somehow it was much stronger, much worse.

Orien stopped and looked around the beach. He saw that there was a bottle of Simonsen’s sitting next to Alene’s shoulder bag, leaning against a rock, but Alene was in the river swimming with Wendy, Jena and Helena-Liz.

Orien walked toward the bag, took the bottle and opened the cap. There was a good amount left, but Orien was only expecting a swig. He didn’t think Alene would mind if he had one, especially if she knew why he needed it, if she knew what Dug had done.

He tipped the bottle, letting the thequer into his mouth, down his throat-he lapped it up like water. It burned from the start and continued to burn as it slid down further, but with what Orien felt in his heart at that moment, the harshness of the blis seemed to be the proper cure to dry up his tears before they’d come. 

When he took the bottle away from his lips, Alene was standing in front of him, with a cleancloth, drying and staring at him.

“Anyone else for some…?” Orien mumbled, waving it in the air.

“You drank the whole bottle,” Alene said grabbing the empty bottle and stared at him for a long while, not angry, but almost concerned, as if she knew something had been troubling him.

“I sorry/so sorry/Alena…how much wasit?”

“Twelve notes,” she said, very strait forward.

“Pay you back/here,” Orien said and he put his hand in his pocket, took out his money purse and gave Alene twelve notes, from the twenty his father had given him.

“You ‘right, there, Ori? You feeling fine?” Alene asked, taking the notes, but was still looking at Orien with concern.

“I’m unna be fine,” he replied.

It took several moments of staring into the water, watching as the rest of his friends were swimming and enjoying themselves, before he started to remember Dug and Bianca, and he started imagining things about them. He imagined them kissing together. He imagined them going back into Dug’s jet, to be more private, to do more things. He thought about Willo and the time she had cuddled together with her friend at ‘the quiet rest’. 

Orien had spent time with Willo, in Penhaven and got to know her and that had been fine, that had been enough. He had gotten over Willo.

He never got to get to know Bianca. It was much too difficult with her, and he was far too intimidated by her. He could not see her outside of classes, as she was much too far away. It always seemed near impossible for him to be close to her, but he had desperately wanted to be.

For Dug, though, getting to know Bianca was simple. He could be close to her and he did get close to her. He could continue to get close to her, but Orien would never get close to the ladies he wanted to be with. It would never happen, he thought. His love life was nothing more than one tragedy after another.

“Why?” Orien said, his eyes red with sadness, “It’s so tragic!” he said loudly.

Wendy swam up in front of him and asked, “What’s wrong, Ori?”

“All of it is! All of it! All of life’s tragic/Why’s it so tragic, Wendy, why’s it so tragic?!”

He was speaking very loud and trying very hard not to cry and embarrass himself in front of his friends.

“Sshh…” Wendy said in a comforting voice, “What is tragic?”

“I’m so lone/with nobody/once we all’re done with school/when it all ends it ends for good and I’m all alone and I won’t go to higher learning school and I won’t fall in love and find anybody. It won’t happen-“

“Oh, Ori, you’ll find love one day, and you will get into higher learning-“

“But I tried! I tried’ta find love. I tried with Willo/there wassa time when we were spending time together and we were spending a-bitta time together and I thought we would keep/but she didn’t have any feelings/I loved her/she didn’t love me/it’s all fine/but then there’s no one else, Wendy/and sometimes I just feel so alone, Wendy/I feel so alone!!”

“But you have all of us, all of your friends, here. We’re not going anywhere, except to University and we’re all gonna still keep in touch, aren’t we?”

“Ida know,” Orien said, “Yer all sofar away!”

“You can always talk to me,” Wendy said, “I’m close by Hilliar.”

“I suppose.”

With that Orien began to feel a slight bit better, but only slightly. Wendy resumed swimming. 
Orien sulked silently about his tragic life, sitting with his knees up clutching his legs to him, for a long while, until Maxen pulled him up and helped him to walk back along the bridge, through the trees. The festivities had ended, but most of it was a blur to Orien, and the next several events would be just as murky.

When the group reached their jetcars, Dug’s green jet had been gone and Orien said, loudly, “I came with Dug…I need to find out where he is…”

“You can come with us to Dixen’s diner,” Maxen said, “We’re going in Garth’s jet, come on…”

“I have to go with Dug,” Orien said, “I’m staying over his house tonight, I need to find out where he is.”

“He went somewhere with Bianca,” Maxen said, the words piercing Orien’s heart.

“What?!” Orien said.

“Him and Bianca left,” Maxen repeated, adding another stab to the heart.

“He went somewhere with Bianca?!”

“Yes!! They left!”

Orien lost his balance and fell backward nearly falling on the front-end of Garth’s jetcar, but Maxen caught him. Orien then rolled out of Maxen’s hands to lie face up on the jet. He looked up at the sky. He stared into the blue while voices spoke.

“I’m not taking him,” Garth said, “if he’s gonna be sick in my jet…”

“He’ll be fine,” Alene said, “take him…”

He felt a lady take his hand and pull him up. Harmoni? -He thought, but he looked and it was Wendy.

“Come on, Ori,” she said, in a calm, soothing, motherly voice, “you’re coming with me and Stef to the diner and we’ll try paging Dug and Bianca. I’m sure Dug will come back for you. We’ll take care of things if he doesn’t.”

Orien saw a green jet from over Wendy’s shoulder. It was approaching from far away and he watched as it made its way to the lot, to rest and halt.

Orien jogged to the pilot’s side of the jet, to berate Dug through the open windowshield. “Where were you?” he said, in an accusing tone, which Dug didn’t seem to notice.

“I wanted to get my swimpants,” Dug said.

“We’re all going to Dixen’s,” Wendy told Dug from behind Orien, “Orien’s coming with us and we’re going to Stef’s after.”

“’right then, we’ll all meet at the diner,” Dug said.

A blurred, hazy toll or so passed. Orien was taken to the diner, had a steamee to drink and sat and talked to Stef-telling her about his friend Lena and how he was exchanging letters with her. He was waving his mug, with a shaky hand, and slopped a bit of hot liquid on his thigh.

“Watch it,” Stef said, grabbing his hand, startled, and she placed it and the mug on the table, holding it steady.

“Oh no!” Orien said, with a jovial air, seeming to not mind the hot steamee burning his leg.

When Dug and Bianca showed up, Orien embraced them both in a hug, exclaiming that they were “Two of the greatest people I know/the smartest/two smartest people I know and great friends…”

The next series of events continued in a messy wave of confusion for Orien. He sat in the back deck of Dug’s jetcar as Bianca sat at the co-pilot chair and Orien was brought to Stef’s house, where he ended up in a bedchamber with Malia and Tod and Malia suggested they all strip down and to encourage all of their friends to be naked and liberated. She then grabbed Orien’s shirt string and tried pulling it-but Wendy walked in at that moment and said, “Ori… We’re…going on a trip to the grocery to get some food…come with us!”

Orien was then brought to a grocery shop, and then back again to Stef’s house, where they all helped cook in the kitchen, and the group-which included, Malia, Tod, Wendy, Stef, Orien, Dug and Bianca-all enjoyed a meal together.

Another gentleman arrived at Stef’s house and joined Dug, Orien and Bianca in Dug’s jet where Orien was then brought to a housing complex, and then the group snuck out to smoke herbs in a small wooded area behind the housing unit and then, Dug and Bianca cuddled up on a couch in someone’s basement, while Orien ate wafer snacks in a chair and they listened to music and then Orien fell to sleep in Dug’s jet and then Orien was brought back to Dug’s house and then Orien woke up in the guest chamber of Dug’s house, where he felt a tight grip around his brain in his head and his throat was on fire.

It felt as if the bed he was lying on was moving. He felt dizzy and something was hammering into his skull-it was from the door, because someone was knocking and that person was yelling at him “Are you awake now!!! Or are you not!!,” and it kept knocking and it became louder.

“Your father is paging you and I need to bring you to Penhaven!!” Dug yelled.

“I’m getting up!” Orien said back and he slowly rolled and propelled himself to a standing position. He walked forward and nearly fell. He took one step at a time and soon he found himself grounded and able to walk with ease. He opened up the door and his head was beginning to become clear again, though his eyes burned at the sunlight pouring in from the windows of the main living quarters of Dug’s house. He became conscious again and he spoke to his father on the communicator.

“Orien, you can’t stay at Dug’s,” his father argued, “You can’t reschedule your exam. Your scores need to be forwarded to the schools before the deadline-I’m on my way to Penhaven now.”

So, it was decided that Orien had to be brought back to Hilliar to meet his father at the lot behind the Penhaven Showhouse. 

His father brought him back to the cottage, where he rested before being taken to Hilliar South School to take his AEA exam.

◆

It had been a long two-day stretch and it ended with Orien sitting at his desk in front of his typescripter, though not scripting to Lena, instead he was typing up his personal thoughts as if in a journal or a log. He poured his heart onto the paper about the course of events, beginning with senior scholar’s absence day, recalling what Dug had done to him and recalling how Wendy was there to talk to and continuing to type to tell of his experience at the South School.

Orien had waited for a long time, in a cluster in the hall of the South School, which in his mind was filled with sadness and emptiness. It was crowded and full of echoes from voices and there were painted cabinets all along the walls for scholar’s books and belongings. There was no art. There was no life. 

Orien was taken into a classchamber with one other lady scholar (a very attractive lady with sun-yellow hair like Livia, which he had to keep from laying his eyes on in during his exam and losing focus). Due to Orien’s social anxieties, arrangements had been made for him to take the exam separate from the crowd. It didn’t help him much as anxities were the least of his problems, still recovering from the effects of the blis and herbs of the previous night.

Orien decided, and he scripted this in his log, on the paper in front of him, that he did not have an interest in the school setting any longer. He had been taken to Mansington University with Anya a few day-sets back and he felt the same cold empty feeling that he had felt in the hall of the south school, in every building. 

He didn’t like the isolation of the Univerisity from the shops, the pubs and the museums, or the idea of boarding in houses with other scholars and spending most of his time confined and doing paperwork for classes, when it didn’t seem nessasary to him to provide so much paperwork to prove to his instructors that he was learning. Orien almost felt that it would stunt his learning and hold him back further.

Orien decided the school experience was no longer for him and it didn’t matter that his AEA scores would be inevitably low.

Orien stopped typing once all of his thoughts had been projected onto paper and he looked at the stars out his window, while ‘Starship Quests’ played on the radio (he had begun to take a real liking to the program) and dreamt of being in a starship in space away from everyone on the planet below, maybe on a quest for earth, that mysterious historical world of his ancestor’s ancestors.

His communicator was vibing on his bed. He let it vibe for a bit, then got up, snatched the comm., unfolded it and answered.

“How did your exam go?” Dug asked.

“Not well,” Orien answered.

“I’m sorry to hear that… and how are you feeling?”

Orien paused laid down on his bed, and sighed.

“Not well,” he repeated.

“I’m in the same situation, myself, to be honest,” Dug said and he also sighed. 

“You didn’t have anything to drink, though” Orien said.

“That’s not what I mean. I met with Reann today, I told her about what went on with me and Bianca…”

“What went on with you and Bianca?” Orien asked and started to feel the heavy throb in his heart again, but he tried to be relaxed and be patient and listened to Dug as he confided in him.

“While you were at the diner, when Bianca and I went back to the river, to be together, alone,” he recounted, “We got caught up in the moment, she really got caught up and was kissing me very passionately, just kissing though…”

Orien had gotten up from his bed and was pacing, breathing, trying to find a calm state, before he finally sat down and looked out his window at the stars again.

 “I’d never kissed a lady, before,” Dug confessed, “so she was my first. Pretty nice for a first kiss.”

“Very nice. Sounds romantic,” Orien said in very plain monotones.

“That’s all that happened…but Reann I think has been jealous that I have been talking with Bianca, and now that I’ve shared time with her, I’d really rather be with Reann, that’s the way it should be.”

“I agree. That’s the way it should be.”

That put an end to any fears Orien had that Dug would continue his friendship with Bianca and continue to pursue a romance with her. It left things open for Orien, yet Orien knew Bianca would never be interested in someone like him, who was not as intelligent as Dug and who would not go on to higher learning. 

The time had come, though, for Orien to put those thoughts aside and relax. Dug suggested that they meet up in Penhaven.

 “Do you wanna see the Sal Morgana feature,” he said, “we should go to see that-It’s playing at the theatre in the West End market-but we’ll meet at the center-”

“’right, then, sure,” Orien said, and it was settled that the next day they would meet and go to see a show.

Orien could never say anything to Dug about how he had made him feel, what it felt like to learn that his best friend had been kissing, heavily and passionately, with the lady he had been taken with for the past four years. He wasn’t going to let anything come between him and Dug and so he would let it go, as if his feelings were something he were letting free, to fly off into the sky, like a starship.

Helena-Liz

Orien’s mom dropped him off at Hilliar grocery at the start of the next day-set and Steflana wanted to know the details of senior absence day, which he did not want to share. The only thing he said was that he had gotten a little too blist and that he would never have a drop to drink again, to which Steflana replied, “I don’t believe you a bit!” but, Orien insisted.

They stepped onto the transport, when it arrived and Holli greeted Orien with a wave.

“Hi, Orien,” she said. Dora echoed, “Hi, Orien.” Lysee waved and Wendy also greeted him and had a seat saved for him. 

Orien felt embarrassed as he sat, wanting to curl up and hide, holding his body straight, his legs stiffly together and clutching his shoulder bag in front of them.

“Lysee said you downed an entire bottle of Simonsens…” Dora said to Orien with excitement. 

“Did you really?” Steflana said.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” Wendy said, but Lysee ignored her and continued to recall the events of senior absence day.

“and then Maxen,” Lysee said, “had to carry him along as we were all hiking back and Ori stops and says… stop here a chime… and we thought he was gonna be sick, but then he went into the woods and relieved himself…”

“Eww,” Dora said. Orien turned red as everyone was laughing.

“It isn’t funny,” Orien said, looking at Wendy, who was smiling and giggling along with the rest of the group, but she explained, “It’s because, no one has ever seen you like that, it was the best thing about the day!”

“But, why?” Orien said.

“You never speak up, Ori,” Lysee explained, “you’re so timid, but then at the diner, once we got there you were talking to every one!! You made us all laugh, some of the things you said…”

“I don’t remember what I said. That part of the day I don’t recall.”

“You’ll start to remember,” Wendy said, “I’m sure everyone in our class will be talking about it.”

“I don’t think I want them to and I’ll never have a drop to drink again.”

Lysee smirked in disbelief and said, “Yes, you will…”

Although Orien didn’t care much for the attention he was receiving on the transport, he would find as the day progressed that the stories about his escapade, would spread, and he found that people were impressed and were beginning to see him as somewhat of a different person as if he knew how to have a good time, despite how timid he seemed on the surface. No one knew why he had gotten blistred in the first place and that would make it easier for Orien to forget about it-but not entirely.

With each school rejection letter that would come in the mail, over the next calendar block, Orien would feel let down, and think of Dug, who had gotten into Brigham and Bianca who had gotten into Bradsen. It seemed to be a confirmation that they were much smarter than Orien, which may have been why they were drawn to each other and why Bianca was not drawn to him and never would be.

Orien had a chance to prove himself wrong about his intelligence, however, when the day came for his academic ability assessment, which was given by a psychiatric medic professional in the north building of the school, to determine if he would need to continue to receive help and tutoring in school due to his focus and anxiety. Orien approached every question the confidence and gave his best answers, hoping to prove that he had exceptional intelligence.

The results to Orien’s assessment were discussed in a meeting, in the Respite and Counseling office, with Mabel, Orien’s parents, and the psych medic, a very upbeat elder lady with gray hair named Doc Betsey.

“Thank you for all joining, today,” Doc Betsey said with a bright smile, “it was a pleasure for the opportunity to talk and evaluate this young gentleman. I have to say, the level of confidence in Orien was quite impressive. His answers to verbal questions were precise and carefully considered…”

“Thank you,” Orien said, looking up from the report that he was holding in his hands. The first page of which for the most part contained the same statement as Doc had just said, in regards to Orien’s level of confidence and his approach to the assessments, stating that, ‘the results are considered and accurate assessment of his ability and a reliable estimate of his potential.’

Orien was tapping his feet nervously as he turned the page, to see his scores, and he was let down. There was a chart with various different categories that included verbal skills, memory and processing speed and in each category, his score was listed, and the scale of which he was measured in comparison to his age range, and after each category, in bold letters was the word AVERAGE.

Orien didn’t want to be average. He didn’t consider himself average, but rather he considered himself of exceptional intelligence and set out to prove it, but in the end he was proven to be AVERAGE.

Doc Betsey went over each page and each category of the assessment.

“As you can see, Orien’s scores,” Doc said, “are in the average range in most cases with some exceptions. His arithmetic and calculations are slightly poor and his speed for processing information is slower than an average scholar-however, he has very strong capabilities. Timed tasks simply do not reflect his overall abilities. Orien proved to give proper and correct answers to his verbal questions, though outside of the time range I had set. His essay was also timed and completed outside of the time range-but proved to be exceptional. Orien’s biggest strength is in his scripted word skills. As you can see on his chart, I estimated that Orien would be within the average range for his age, which would be 98. Orien scored 112 in the scripted portion of the evaluation, his essay showing proper facts, scripted in a concise and creative manner.”

At the end of the meeting, Orien’s mother gave him a hug and seemed to have a different response to the results than Orien did.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

“Why?” Orien said, with dejection, “The exam says I’m average, I’m no better at any of these skills than any scholar my age.”

“Not in scripting skills,” his mother observed,” You’re above average-“

But Orien shrugged and interrupted, stating, “That isn’t a difficult thing to achieve, though. It’s a simple thing to do and I don’t see that I am any better than any other scholar…”

Orien’s mother seemed upset at Orien’s lack of confidence in himself, but he couldn’t help think about Bianca and Dug and was sure that if they had been evaluated they would be above average in everything, including written skills, with Bianca, an expert in theatre scripting, and Thebuek, probably scoring a 120, far surpassing Orien’s 112.

Orien said goodbye to his mother and his father as he headed out the door of the West house.

“I’ll see you at the cottage,” His father said, “You did a good job. I’m proud.”

“Thanks,” Orien said with indifference and joined the scholars, all marching out and joining along the sidepath to walk to the main house and to join their friends on the field for lunch break. Orien walked alone this time, at a quick pace, thinking about the results of his exam, thinking about the scholars in front of him and the ones passing by, and of the ones sitting on the hill, that he observed as he crossed, thinking about what it meant to be average, when he had always wanted to be so much more.

The forth year class meeting was in Maggie’s class chamber again and so Orien walked down the hill and up to the art house, once inside stopping to order a slice of stuffed bread.

He brought his plate of food with him to the classroom sitting with Dug, Maxen, Anton, Garth and Hale and waiting for the meeting.

Everyone ate their lunch and chatted and once everyone had finished eating and chatting, 
Ceddi, their board of scholars representative, called attention to the front of the class, where he was standing with Shayla, Reann and the rest of the formal dance committee.

“Before we begin to discuss the completion ceremony,” Ceddi began, “Shayla and Reann would like to remind everyone, that the ‘Last Dance’ formal is this tomorrow night…”

“Thank you,” Shayla said, “We’ve sold so many tickets and we are very excited for this event. For every one that needs directions Gayle is passing out papers.”

Gayle, a tall dark haired lady that was among Shayla and Reann’s group of friends, began making rounds, passing the papers with the directions to the banquet hall where the dance was being held.

“I’m hoping that everyone can find the place fine-there is contact information if any one needs to contact me, if anyone needs help arranging for rides and such. For those that have their own personal comms., we can keep in touch the friend’s circle on our comms.”

Orien took the papers as Gayle handed them to him, and while Ceddi began the discussion on what days they would be having rehearsals for their ceremony, the cost of their robes and where the ceremony was going to be held, Orien was talking softly to Dug about the formal dance.

“What is our plan?” Orien asked.

“I suppose we’ll meet up in the usual fashion at the usual place, behind the Penhaven Showhouse-and we’ll go to Reann’s house in Adelyn, where we’ll meet Shayla, Gayle, and their dates, and we’ll all be going in my jet to Angeline.”

“Where is Angeline? I’ve never heard-“

“It’s a little village next to Adelyn-the banquet hall is a bit on the border between the two towns, I know where it is.”

As Orien and Dug whispered, Ceddi kept glancing at them coldly and impatiently, as if in hopes that they would cease whispering and focus on listening to him.

“I have forms for ordering your ceremonial robes, right here,” Ceddi said and glanced at Gayle and said, “Would you like to do the honors again…?”

Gayle nodded, accepted the stack of forms and began passing them around. When she stopped at Orien and Dug, orien brushed her off and said, “I have a ceremonial robe already. I have the one my brother wore, for his ceremony.”

Orien’s father had already spent enough on his ticket to the formal dance and for his formal wear and so Orien decided to give him a break and not have him spend any more notes, for a ceremonial robe. Alto’s robe was still in storage in the attic and he had no desire to keep it, so Orien was going to borrow it and then retire it.

“One last thing,” Ceddi said “I know this meeting has already extended into your last two classes of the day-and these meetings often will-we have one more bit of business, which is our group flash print for the year’s album, so let’s all follow out to the front of the main house, to have it taken.”

With that, everyone began gathering their papers together into their schoolbags, chatting and making their way to the class chamber door, through the hall, dropping their lunch plates in the bins, still chatting and lowly following out the door to the art house.

Orin followed Dug and ahead of them on the hill was Ceddi, Bianca and company, gesturing them forward to follow to the front of the main house.

“Let’s go in through the back,” Maxen suggested to Dug, “So we’re not as prominent-“

“Why?” Orien asked, “I don’t want to be hidden in the back…”

“I do,” Maxen said.

“I agree,” Dug said, “I don’t even want to be in any group image.”

They started up the back steps, Dug looking back to see if Orien was joining, but Orien ran ahead of the line, to join Ceddi and Bianca. 

There was an expensive looking quality flash camera set up on a stand some distance away from the steps, with Geryl, the West House office secretary and chief editor of the school year album, adjusting the lens as everyone gathered together.

Orien stood in the corner on the right and watched everyone get together with their groups. The only group Orien seemed that he could identify with or find company with was Dug, Maxen, Garth, Anton and Hale, who were hiding by the entrance door, hoping not to be seen. The dancers were all together in the front row and Wendy, Alene and Helena-Liz were among them. Bianca and Jena were among the actors and actresses just past their shoulders, Malia and Risa were standing with two musicians. A group of painters and poets were in the corner by them, and there were several other talented scholars scattered in a huddle of about eighty.
Orien stood alone in his corner, his arms folded, eyes fixed on everyone, especially Bianca. He didn’t belong with her group, but then, he thought, he didn’t really belong in any one particular group. It might have been because he was average, because he was a scholar of all arts but not a master of any, and so he didn’t belong with the dancers, the painters, the performers or the humorists. He belonged in a group of one-which was a little lonely and as he squinted looking out at the sun, his arms folded, he felt rather depressed.

The flash of the camera popped several times, further hurting his eyes, and in the last shot, he asked everyone to smile, show a fun pose and try to stand out. Orien did smile in the end at that and held up two fingers in a v, demonstrating and old earth hand gesture for peace.

Orien’s thoughts and emotions swarmed in his head, as was typical of him, still wondering where he belonged and as he made his way to the transport and sat next to Holli, he decided, he belonged everywhere and anywhere he fit in, as on the long ride home he would find everyone gathering together to talk about the upcoming formal dance and Orien was reminded that he got on well with Holli, a second year scholar and musician, and with Steflana and Dora, both first years and with Gabrielle, a third year. 

Orien decided, maybe being average was fine and maybe as an average learner, he wasn’t below any scholars in abilities or capabilities, nor above any others, and it seemed almost a good thing to share laughs and moments with a diverse group of people without belong in any one place.

Orien was an average scholar but not an average person. He was not a painting scholar, a performing scholar or a music scholar-but he was an arts scholar and he could be anywhere and be anybody to anyone at the Penhaven School.

◆

At the cottage, Orien sat at his scripting desk, not typing, but just sitting and daydreaming, staring at the black coat and pants, his father bought him at Gibsen’s, that was hung up on his wardrobe door on display. He imagined himself asking Bianca to dance-and possibly he would, but not a slow dance, as she would want to dance with her date. 

Orien was sure that he could find a lady to dance with, but if he did, he wouldn’t know what to do and the fear of that and all the nerves and anxiety built up in him made it difficult to sleep that night. He shifted in his bed, moving to the side and then the other and then lying onm his bed, straightening his head, shifting his head to the side and turning his body back to the side.
He saw the ballroom in his mind. He didn’t know what the banquet hall lookd like, but in his mind he imagined a the type of ballroom that he might see in a reel show, like at a dinner party at a mansion, like the ball scene from ‘Justice Crusader Part II’.

If he were to choose any lady, from school, from any year, to take the slow dance with, it would be Bianca. That’s the only way he would want it-but it seemed likesomething he would only dream happening.

Orien finally found sleep and awoke just a bit after toll 12 to have breakfast and steamee at the dining table. His father was out, most likely at Marj’s house.

Orien finished his biscuits and jam and gulped his steamee down as he heard a buzz…buzz…
Orien would have ignored the communicator, but if it were his father on the end, he would be able to tell him when he would be home and when he should get ready for the formal.

Orien got up from his chair and took the communicator off its cradle on the breakfast counter.

“He-hello,” Orien said, cleared his throat.

“Yes, I’m wondering If I can speak with an Orien Aro Sage,” the voice of a gentleman said.

“Yes, this is Orien.”

“Good afternoon, Orien and how are you this day?”

“I’m well.”

“My name is Jerohm Ferber, assistant director of admissions for the Art Academy, Mansington branch in Britten Town, and I’m paging in regards to your application and your request for more information in regards to the school.”

Orien had a sudden flash of memory, from when he was fourteen years in age, when he received a call from a lady scholar at the Penhaven school named Helena-Liz, whom he had called ‘pretty’ and she informed him that he had been accepted into the school…and followed by that was another memory of the shadowed tour he took of the school, when he met up with her again and still thought she was one of the most beautiful ladies he had ever met-having not met Bianca, yet…and on the first day of school, she greeted him in a similar manner as he would later greet Steflana…the memories flashed like images on reels of tape.

“I see you’re interested in our reeltape production program,” the gentleman said as if reading Orien’s mind and he continued, “would you tell me a little about yourself and your interests…?”
“Let me/uh/think/uh…”Orien said nervous as his hand shook holding the communicator, “I…When I was young/a youth/I was interested in shows/performances/my brother and I had our own projector for viewing tape-copies…”

“Wonderful, so you’ve had an interest since and early age?”

“Yes, I did, yes/I became interested in Merv Borgman and some of the more abstract reel show conductors when I was of age fourteen/but, then I’d learn more in late learning when I would be accepted into an arts school…”

“Yes, it says on your application, can you tell me a bit more about your studies in the arts, some classes you took…”

Orien told the gentleman on the phone about his independent work with Lydia on reel shows based from literature…and his honors project from ‘Protesting War in Literature’ on the reel show work of Franke Oliven…his brief attempt at learning stage performing…the short that he was involved in with his friend Dug…and his classes with Marco.

While Orien talked, his father walked through the door and entered the kitchen. He stopped, listening in to the conversation Orien was having.

On the other end of the communicator, once the interview had come to an end, the gentlmena on the comm., said, “Wonderful…it’s been wonderful talking with you, and you really have an interest in the arts, which is just what we are looking for…”

“So, I’ve been accepted?” Orien, said, surprised, excited, his heart pounding.

“Oh, yes,” the gentleman replied, “we’d be glad to take you, there is more for us to discuss, however about housing and fees. You’ll be receiving a package in the mail with all the information…and I will page you to make sure you have gotten the package and we will set an appointment for you to come visit the school.”

“Thank you,” Orien said smiling.

“I look forward to speaking with you in person Mr. Sage, have a pleasant afternoon.”

“Thank You!” Orien said again, and the conversation closed. Orien restored the communicator to its cradle and his father looked at him and asked, “So…”

“Yes?” Orien said.

“Who was that from?”

“From the Art Academy of Mansington, their sending me a package in the mail,” Orien said in a quick, excited breathe.

“That’s fantastic news Orien, how much are the fees…?”

“Oh, I don’t know, we’ll find out when they send the package I suppose.”

“Do they offer any programs to aid in funding?”

“Don’t know, I’m sure they do, though…” Orien said.

Later, in the washroom, under the shower spray Orien found himself humming, and dancing, as if in preparation for the night ahead and also in excitement to the news he had just received. 
Stepping out, he spritzed on a fragrance spray, and put freeze cream in his hair, to style it. He put on his black pants and tied up a fine white silk shirt.

He was just about ready to go. He sat on the couch in the living qarters, tapping his foot, with anxiousness, until his father asked him if he was ready and gave him to pink wild blossoms.

“Put on your coat,” his father said, “and I will show you where they go.”

Orien snatched his coat from the arm of the couch where it was draped and put it on. His father placed the two wild blossoms on Orien’s lapel.

“You keep one, and you give the other to a lady that you would like to ask to dance,” his father informed him, “Now keep dressed like that, I have a flash camera and I would like to get a flash image.”

His father than opened up the broom storage next to his bedchamber door, and reached on the top shelf for his camera.

“On the lot,” he said with a gesture of his head and Orien headed out the door to stand in the front lot, fully dressed in his black coat and pants, with the blossoms sticking out of his lapel. He squinted at the sun’s glare in the lens of the camera and his father asked him to smile, which he attempted to but it came out more as an awkward smirk. The camera popped and Orien winced, it then popped again and Orien kept flinching and blinking.

“’Right then,” his father said, “I think I got at least one good one in there, hehe,” and he smiled and chuckled with pride. He held open the jet door for his son and Orien took off his coat, 
draped it over his arm and sat in the jet with it in his lap.

The jetcar started, rose, and soared away on its course to the Penhaven village, with Orien sitting quietly, nervous at the night ahead of him and nervous about interacting with so many of his fellow lady scholars and about dancing.

“I went lone to my own formal dance,” his father said along the way.

“You didn’t bring Mom?” Orien said, keeping the conversation going.

“No, I didn’t. We were from different towns and different schools, but we were friends at that point…but nonetheless, I had a great time,” and he added after a pause, ”and it would have been fantastic with your mother…”

Orien felt strange in that moment, thinking of his parents, as being his age and being in their teenage years and not only dating, but also eventually marrying and therefore being in love at some time in their life. It was strange to think about, because the memories he had of them together, where early in his childhood and the memories of them together and happy, even seeming like they might have been in love seemed even further from his memory.

When the silver jet halted at the lot, Orien felt his heart beat with even more nervous intensity. He felt as if he might break out in a sweat, but he took the precaution of putting antiperspirant odorstik under his arms when he was dressing earlier, so his pits were just fine.

“Have a great time,” his father said, “remember what I said about those blossoms…”

“I will,” Orien said, making him even more nervous, reminding him of his task-because he knew he would ask a lady dance slow with him. He was determined, but he was also afraid.

Orien stepped out of the silver jetcar and Dug’s green jetcar hooked around the lot, turning to slow at where Orien was standing. Orien slid open the door and got in.

Dug seemed beaming with excitement, at meeting up with Reann.

“This is going to be one to remember, Ori!” Dug said and he tuned the radio dial, blasting the volume on the music to play on their way through several towns.

They passed by two small shopping market squares, including one with a little dessert shop called ‘The Sweetremery’, which Dug said he and Reann had been to at some point. Orien asked the name of the town.

“Angeline Village,” Dug said, “the Banquet House, where the dance is, is a little ways down that path close to the Adelyn border, but we’re going past that area first, to pick up Reann and her friends and then coming back…”

They passed a few houses and turned at a crossing, passing a pub, a park, and a brick housing community and kept going a ways, passing more cottages, turning down a hill and eventually slowing to a halt at Reann’s cottage.

Reann was waiting at the front lot talking to Shayla, while a tall gentleman in formalwear was talking to Reann’s mother who was holding a flash camera.

The tall gentleman was Shayla’s date, and Orien assumed he was from another school, or they would have recognized each other.

“Good to see you, Dug” Reann’s mother said, giving him a hug. She then gave Orien a hug and said, “and you, too, Dug’s friend.”

“I’m Orien,” he said, feeling awkward at being greeted in the manner that he was by someone whom he was meeting for the first time.

Reann’s mother then had the group line up on the lot. She straightened out the wrinkles in reann’s flowing blue gown and made sure her hair was neat and tight. She then adjusted Dug’s collar, and once more was uncomfortably close with Orien, parting his hair and attempting to make it look neat, adjusting his collar as well, and then moving on to the gentleman beside Orien and then to Shayla.

After Reann’s mother had finished fussing, she stood and adjusted the lens in her camera, flashed a few prints, and several chimes after it was finally time for the group to get into Dug’s jetcar and head to the banquet hall, which was not a long ride at all. The ladies chatted all through the ride in the back deck.

“Just wait until you see the way we’ve fixed up the place, Ori,” Shayla said, “Dug helped out a bit, too.”

“I’m excited,” Orien replied.

“Are you coming with us to ‘The Sweetremery’ after the dance?” She asked.

“Don’t know,” Orien said, “I suppose…” although he was not intending to hang around with the dance committee members after festivities. He was rather more interested in the big gathering at Colin’s house that everyone else was likely to be at.

Dug halted the jet along the side, behind a purple regal model jet, and the group got out of the vehicle with Dug escorting Reann, Shayla being escorted by her date, and Orien slowly trailing behind.

Several other scholars were getting out of their jets behind as Dug opened the banquet hall door to let his friends in and Orien paused to say hello to Garth and Maxen, who had also both arrived dateless.

“Weren’t you going to ask a first year?” Orien asked addressing Garth. 

“I would have,” Garth said, “If I had taken a liking to any of them…I really couldn’t think who to ask…”

“I didn’t really ask anyone,” Orien said, “or actually/I did/I asked Bianca/but she’s coming with a second year.”

“A lot of our fellow scholars are bringing lower classman,” Maxen said, “I don’t think many people brought dates, I think a lot of them gave their extra tickets away, so everyone could come.”

“That’s what I did,” said a lady’s voice behind them and it had come from Jena who had just come up the trail, with Bianca, who was wearing a velveteen black gown and walking arm in arm with a short, stout, boy with acne and bracework, that was showing as he smiled and Bianca held the door open for him.

Garth, Orien, Maxen and Jena followed into the music filled hall where several ladies and gentleman were already dancing and moving to the low playing music.

The hall was much smaller than Orien had imagined and though Shayla had made it seem as if her, Dug and the other committee members had spent a great deal of time decorating, there was no particular theme, just ribbons and bows of purple and black and string lights of yellow. 
Shayla was sitting at a table at the front, collecting and ripping tickets and Orien handing his off.

“It’s old time elegance,” Shayla said.

“What’s that?” Orien asked, as she handed him his half of the ticket.

“The theme of the dance,” she said.

“Oh.  I see,” Orien said and began looking for Dug and found him talking to Maxen, Garth and Tod.

Orien held out his hand to shake Tod’s and said, “Here’s the best dressed man here.”

Tod was not wearing a particularly formal piece, but rather a plain brown shortcoat over a basic vest and day-shirt. He was halfway formal and halfway casual-which Orien wished he had thought to have done.

Orien stuck with Dug as he chatted with Maxen and then followed him as he returned to the table with Reann. Bianca and Jena came over to their table to say hello and Wendy stopped and asked Orien to dance with her.

Orien got up from his chair and joined her. The slow, formal dancing had not begun yet. It was still light outside and the sun poured from the windows as Orien shook his hips along to the hard-style song that played from the soundboxes and Wendy smiled and danced along with him, her scarlet gown billowing around her legs.

 When the next song played a few other ladies joined in and then Wendy moved on to dancing with Garth and then with the next song after, Orien moved over to where Bianca was dancing with her date, to see if he could cut in, but ended up dancing with Helena-Liz and Alene, much like he had done with them at the holiday gathering.

Orien felt himself perspiring under the arms a bit, despite his antiperspirant, and his forehead was moist from it as well. Tired, he sat back down at his table, in the chair next to Dug, resting a bit and talking to Dug-but only for a short bit as a petite blonde haired lady with a bright sky blue gown approached him.

It was Livia and she was blushing, holding out her hand. Orien took it and she lifted him up. He moved his hips and feet along to the rythym of the music as she did the same, giggling at him, in complete bliss, which made Orien smile and blush in turn.

After Orien’s dance with Livia, dinner was announced. The music stopped and everyone sat to eat and chat.

Orien was too tired and winded from dancing to talk; he simply ate his fine roasted bovil loin and tato mash and listened to his fellow scholars.

Shayla announced the recipients for ‘Best Dressed’ (Bianca), ‘Best Couple’ (a lady couple named Silven and Haley), and other awards, which Orien won none of, being just average. Orien had put his name on the list for ‘Beau of the Ball’ but didn’t make the ballot-but, Dug did. The award in the end went, surprisingly to Tod. Shana, not surprisingly was named beauty of the ball, since everyone knew she wanted to be and there didn’t seem to be any reason to not let her be.

Soft music began-and Orien recognized the tunes from the first few notes as one from a reel-feature he had a tape copy of, that he watched on his mini-projector as a youth about a hero named Artor.

Couples stood up from their chairs and gravitated to the center of the hall to dance under the lights. Orien looked around feeling nervous, knowing he should ask someone, but suddenly fearing that because he did not know how to properly dance in a formal manner, once the music started, he remained seated and felt rather depressed as he watched Bianca dance with her date, Livia dance with Thanuel and Wendy dance with Hale and Reann dance with Dug.
Orien’s eyes were mostly fixed on Reann and Dug, listening to the music play a song that he imagined as a youth of about age ten, playing as he lead his friend Lena in a dance.

As Orien stared at them, he didn’t notice the lady with gorgeous straight brown hair standing beside him.

“Ori…! Please?” she asked, holding out her hand and Orien looked into the seductive green eyes of Helena-Liz.

“No, it’s fine,” Orien said, “I don’t need to dance it’s fine…”

“I want you to,” she said.

“I really don’t know how,” he said.

She grabbed his wrist and said, “Don’t care-you’re gonna learn. Please…” 

Her voice was so gentle and sweet and her eyes glowed spectacular like the glow from the light reflected in the green water glasses on the table and Orien got up from his chair, and held her hips, looked into her eyes and smelled her perfume.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing right now,” Orien said, but Helena-Liz giggled and said, “It’s fine, just move your feet…”

It was rather crowded with everyone dancing close together and Orien tried to move his feet, but then was afraid of stepping on Helena-Liz’s feet and so, he just let her sway her hips along-the hips he held. (He was holding her! -he thought with excitement). He had her body held close to him and it felt so exciting, he almost felt his eyes would tear up and he knew his cheeks, possibly his entire face had gone red as she began singing along to the music.

“I will see you again… Sorry…I really like this song,” she said, laughing, “And I’ll see you in my one dream.”

“It’s fine,” Orien said and then tried singing himself, and then they both chuckled at how badly it came out, but Orien thought Helena-Liz’s voice was beautiful.

“Because you are my only,” she sang.

“Because you are my one….” Orien sang and they both sang together, “You are my one dream.”
It seemed like so many chimes had been passing while the dance was occurring. It seemed to last long, until it ended and it seemed as if it didn’t last long enough.

The song faded and Helena-Liz kissed Orien’s hand and gave a small wave, smiling bright and returning to her table along with several others, as the formal dance part of the evening had finished, though several ladies and gentleman still remained.

Orien took a respite, going into the washroom, splashing water on his face and taking a breather and then going out for fresh air.

He looked up at the moonlight and stars and he heard flash bulbs burst in the corner and looked to see a tall boy with red-orange hair and glasses with thick lenses taking prints of his friends. 
All were dressed in a unique fashion, the tall one wearing a frilly dayshirt and a yellow blossom on his lapel that was the size of his fist. Orien didn’t recognize them, but they seemed to recognize him, most likely from being on stage.

The tall boy handed Orien the camera and asked if he would like to take a few prints of the group and so Orien did and after popping a few prints, he handed the camera back to the tall boy with the thick eyeglass lenses and followed along inside with the group of misfits.

Orien had intended to sit back down at his table, being much too tired for any type of dancing, but he spied Bianca, twirling about to the music, alone and he ceased the opportunity and joined her.

“I like your blossom, Ori,” Bianca said as they touched hips, referring to the wild blossom on his lapel and reminding him of it-and what his father had said.

 Orien wished he had remembered and given the blossom to Helena-Liz -but, he had forgotten and so he still had the second blossom and he snatched it out of his lapel and handed it to Bianca.

She gave a bright smile and tucked the blossom into her hair ribbon, blew Orien a kiss and then faded in the dark, possibly going off with her friends to Colin’s gathering.

Orien sat down at his table and rested as the night began to come to a close and people started grouping together to make their way out and to Colin’s gathering.

“You don’t have to stay with us, Ori,” Dug said, “you can go with Maxen and Tod.”

“No, I’ll stay and help take down the decorations,” Orien said.

He took out his pager and talked to his dad about picking him up. His father knew exactly where to go and said he would be there in twenty chimes, during which Orien helped take down the decorations.

Orien was exhausted and once his father arrived and he sat in the silver jet on the way home, he had no energy to talk, but he did his best.

“Did you find a lady to dance with?” his father asked.

“Yes,” Orien said, his first thought just of the formal dance with Helena-Liz, and then the dance with Livia and Wendy and Bianca, and he added, “A lot of dancing/and now I’m very tired.”

Just before going to bed that night when Orien took off his formal coat he saw the single wild blossom on his lapel and remembered to whom he had given the other one-and it seemed appropriate that he had given it to Bianca.

He undressed, got into his bedclothes and passed out on his bed and a reel of tape unfolded in his mind as he drifted into sleep- a reel of tape from his second year of arts school learning, timidly sneaking a blush blossom into Bianca’s shoulder bag, with an anonymous poem and approaching her with fear to tell her whom it was from.

Orien and Bianca’s dance together may not have been as close and as intimate as with Helena-Liz, but it meant just as much to Orien, maybe more and it seemed fitting that he had given her his blossom and it seemed fitting that it had been his last dance of the evening.

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