Rainy Mornings

[TonyTwoFingers]

Okay, quick little introduction is in order, I suppose. If you've dropped by the IRC in the past few days, you know me as TJeffy, the annoying guy who never shuts up.

Anyways, I just kind of decided to write this as a writing exercise for myself, and as a way to pass the time. Sorry, it probably won't be very long, will be packed to the gills with purple prose, and will be in serious need of editing. Don't judge me. Names are placeholders.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Section I: Found below

Section II

Section III

Section IV

Section V

Section VI

Section VII

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I wake to the soft beat of raindrops on glass.

My eyes slowly open, still heavy with sleep.

Gunmetal grey light filters through the window blinds, casting soft shadows on the hardwood floor. Through the crack beneath the doorway, light.

The walls are depressingly bare, littered with only a few sticky notes with paper due dates scribbled on them in shorthand.

The analogue clock on my nightstand ticks dutifully away, always six minutes faster than every other clock in the school. Turning my head toward the window, I pull back the blind.

The light tree cover on the school's quad dances in the stiff wind, blowing a leaf loose every odd second or two. Beyond, fluorescent lights spark to life in other dorms. I run my other hand through bedhead, and yawn loudly. In a swift motion, I throw off the comforter, and walk in a half-daze towards my closet. I grab a towel, my robe, some fresh underwear, and a comb before making my way out the door.

The hallways in the dorms feel like Christmas. Warm yellow lamps lined both sides between each room, and the old-fashioned short-haired carpets tickled bare feet. I sauntered down the hallway towards the communal showers, feeling decidedly less chipper than the environment around me. Alarm clocks sound behind closed doors.

The communal showers were like something out of a Sharper Image catalogue. The polished white tile flooring led down a row of about ten or so individual shower stalls. From a stall downway, someone whistled a familiar tune. Chopin maybe? Bach? I tried to piece the notes together in my head, while opening a stall door.

I step out a few minutes later, decidedly more awake than I had been. My friend the musician must've arrived long before I had - he left only a few ticks after my arrival. Shame, it was Nocturne No.2. Chopin.

Wiping the condensation from the lengthy mirror, I drag my comb through my hair, coiffing it left like my mom used to. I squint, rubbing my imaginary facial hair thoughtfully. Satisfied with my grooming, I push my way back into the hallway.

I'm not the only one up anymore - other students stand in doorways, their eyes sweeping over the front page of The Inquirer, the student run newspaper. It really isn't bad. There are some fluff articles, but it's mostly solid journalism.

Alrik stands in front of my door, shuffling his feet with his hands in his pockets. Alrik has a funny way of looking guilty of something awful, even when nothing is wrong. He's skinny as a beanpole, with shoulders so narrow you can see his collarbones through the school uniform. Messy blond hair sits on the top of his head, reaching about halfway down his forehead. His eyes narrow as I walk up.

"Morning Alrik."

"Erik, do you know if that History paper was due today?"

"Uh, I can't really say for sure. What was it supposed to be about?"

Alrik holds up his left arm in front of him, like he's about to read the time. Instead, he pulls back the sleeve, revealing an entire essay question written out in ballpoint pen. He squints, trying to make out the blurred text.

"In what ways, and to what degree, did the Renaissance period influence the Industrial..."

"Oh, that one. I don't know, come on in, I'll let you know."

And with that, Alrik pushes his way into my room, just barely grabbing the handle on the backswing to keep it open for me. By the time I've walked inside, Alrik is already pulling the sticky notes off the wall. He turns his head to me.

"You know that like, three of these papers were due last month, right?

"Yeah, I just forget to take them off the wall most of the time."

I walk towards my closet, pulling the school uniform off of it's hanger. Alrik continues to trace the sticky notes with his finger, until finally tugging one off the wall. He flicks it with his middle finger. I've already started on the uniform, just putting the finishing touches on the tie.

"Looks like it's not due 'till Friday."

"Well, that's good to hear, I haven't even started it yet," I say, now working the slate slacks over my boxer shorts. "Have you?"

Alrik offers an unenthusiastic "uh-uh", and tosses a number of outdated sticky notes into the garbage.

"You gonna be much longer Erik?"

"I'm almost done! Just hold on a sec!"

Alrik cracks a small smirk before walking out the door. He speaks in an outrageous falsetto:

"Well Erik, you look deathly pale. A little rouge on the cheeks never hurt anyone!" And with that, the door clicked shut.

[scopedknife]

I've read purpler. The formatting threw me a little, I'd suggest cleaning up the stanzas and formatting it into paragraphs (i.e. remove some line breaks).
All in all, great start. Reminds me somewhat of waking up in the mornings at the boarding school I went to - it seems real. I eagerly await more.
Side note: I'm not sure Alrik is a real name... ^^"

[TonyTwoFingers]

The formatting threw me a little, I'd suggest cleaning up the stanzas and formatting it into paragraphs (i.e. remove some line breaks)."

Thanks for the tip. I get what you mean - too many line breaks can ruin the flow of a piece of writing. In the future, I'll try to merge lines together into paragraphs where preferable.

Other than that, glad you liked it okay.

Oh, and I think you're right - I don't think Alrik is a real name either. I probably just thought of Olrich from A Knight's Tale, because I had just watched that movie. Funny how stuff like that happens.

[Fuin]

Oh, and I think you're right - I don't think Alrik is a real name either. I probably just thought of Olrich from A Knight's Tale, because I had just watched that movie. Funny how stuff like that happens.

Alrik (or Alaric) is real. It's an old Germanic name that means "all-ruler".

[TonyTwoFingers]

Alrik (or Alaric) is real. It's an old Germanic name that means "all-ruler".

I meant to do that.

[scopedknife]

Olrich from A Knight's Tale

Olrich von Liechtenstein <3
Heath Ledger <3

[TonyTwoFingers]

Hey guys,

Because I got a pretty positive response last time, I wrote a new section. Who knows, maybe I'll keep writing the things. Winter break is coming up - so who knows?

Criticism is expected and appreciated.

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I step outside the door, looking for Alrik. He’s nowhere to be found. I sigh, locking my door and jiggling the handle.

I reach the lobby of the boys’ dorm. There are a few of my classmates huddled around a laptop in the corner. They snicker at something on-screen, glancing every now and then at the security guard, who has fallen asleep with his feet propped up on the half-wall in front of his station.

I push my way through the heavy glass doors of the dorm, greeted by a blast of cold air and the spray of rain. I dig my chin into the collar of my jacket, and jam my hands into its deep pockets. It’s a nice jacket - an old-fashioned peacoat that used to belong to my dad. Its heavy wool keeps the cold out well. Plus, it still smells like him.

It’s a pretty short walk to the science building, and I manage to get there before getting too drenched. Nobody wanted to have a science class first thing in the morning. The classrooms are all freezing, and outfitted with fluorescent light sticks that hit you like a ton of bricks in the morning. Not exactly the best place to catch a nap.

Shifting my messenger bag on my left shoulder, I make my way to the stairwell just down the hallway. I begin the slow ascent up the stairway, only to bump into Renée Baum on the second floor landing. She’s totally awake - typing away intently at a calculator that could probably outplay Bobby Fischer in chess. Our eyes meet briefly , and I nod hello. She offers a quiet “Hm” before returning her focus to more important matters.

I finish the climb to the third floor, and cross the threshold into the physics room. Mr. Kingsford sits behind a long lab desk, reading over a messy stack of papers with a red pen in hand. He nibbles at its end thoughtfully, before crossing something out on a paper. He’s a man of about sixty-five, with short cropped salt and pepper hair. His thin-rimmed glasses perch themselves on a nose crooked from being broken a few too many times. He owns more sweater vests than most people would feel comfortable admitting.

I’m not the only one in the classroom - a handful of students line the column of seats nearest the windows, most of them gazing emptily into the rain. The physics room had one of the schools better views. It overlooked a grassy meadow that was used by the school for all manner of things, although there had been talk of building a new sports facility there. I pull up a seat towards the back of the room and check my watch. Only a few minutes until class starts.

I fold my arms on the desk and drop my head into the impromptu pillow, hoping to grab a few moments of rest before beginning the day. More students shuffle in quietly, picking seats next to their friends. I pick my head up and look around. Most of the students have clustered in the back rows, where they can best get away with passing notes in class, leaving about two rows of chairs between Mr. Kingsford and the bulk of the students. But, sure as rain is wet, Renée has seated herself in the front row, but offset a few chairs to the left. Being front and center calls for too much attention.

Not too long afterwards, the first bell of the day rings. Mr. Kingsford stands out of his chair, clipboard in hand, and begins checking people off his attendance list. Students shuffle in their seats, getting out spiral bound notebooks, pencils, and erasers. One student near the windows is drawing race car decals on the side of his eraser. I fish out my own notebook, and grab a pen from a small compartment on the side. I couldn’t stand writing with pencils - they dull too quickly. By the time I look up, Renée has already gotten her stuff out, organized it, and begun copying down the equations on the board, almost as fast as Mr. Kingsford can put them up.

Eventually, Mr. Kingsford turns around, and claps his hands together.

“Okay class, so today we’re going to be working on a lab about rotational motion. You can split into groups of two or three, and move on back to the lab stations. The instructions are pretty self-explanatory, so come grab one off the table, and you can get started. Anything you don’t get finished today should be done tonight for homework.”

My classmates all stand up, catching each others eyes and pairing up without a word spoken between them. Alrik didn’t have this class with me - he’s down on the first floor right now, taking Chemistry. He told me the school put the chemistry rooms on the bottom floor so that they don’t leak any chemicals into classrooms below them. I was never sure when to believe that guy. I snap out of my daze to look around, and get a sinking feeling in my gut. Everyone had already paired up. Was I going to have to be the kid that worked alone? Or worse - with the teacher?

A gentle tug at my left sleeve catches me by surprise. It was Renée. She almost jumped when I spun around to see her. In her hands are two lab packets.

“You and me?” I ask. She motions to the packets in her hands. “Mmhm.”

“How about the desk over there? By the fire extinguisher?” She leads the way, and places down a lab packet for me before sitting down on the opposite side of the desk. I pick it up, and read over it. It looks somewhat challenging. Simple concepts, but complex applications. I know that Renée’s somewhat of an astronomy buff, but I don't know if this'll make sense to her either.

“Okay, so for number one, how do you know if the ice-skater’s rotational speed increases or not? His mass isn’t changing as he spins.” Renée looks up from her paper, and cocks her head to try and read my paper upside down. Deciding that doing so is more trouble that it’s worth, she instead walks over to my side of the table. She takes her pencil and begins to draw a diagram.

“Think of it like the solar system,” she says, drawing three orbs on the paper, one much larger than the other two.

“The distance between the planets and the sun is like a radius,” she draws two dotted circumferences around the sun, representing the circular orbits of the two planets.

“Even though their mass stays constant, planets closer to the sun have a greater rotational speed around it.”

“So, a shorter radius means a faster rotational speed?” Renée nods.

“Provided the objects rotating have the same mass.”

Renée may be quiet, but she’s actually surprisingly good with words. She picks them deliberately, with a great deal of thought. Maybe that’s why she’s so quiet - she can’t choose her words in time.

We work away on the lab busily for the next hour, when the bell rings. There’s not much left to do on the lab, but it’s enough to be homework.

“Hey, uh, Renée, physics really isn’t my thing. Could we work on this in the library later today or something?” I don’t know why, but I’m nervous for some reason. I can’t think of why I am, though. I’ll have to ask Mr. Donnelly in Psychology.

Renée shifts her eyes up briefly, thinking to herself.

“Okay, how about five-thirty?”

“Five-thirty in the library?”

“Mhm.” And with that, Renée walks back to her desk, and out the door. I’m going to be late for my next class.

[scopedknife]

Great continuation! Renée is a very interesting choice of character, and I'm really liking your characterization of her :3
The chapter is well-paced, and less "liney" than the previous, though there are still a couple of points where I might have paragraphed things together.

There were a handful of sentences which, while the intention was clear enough, didn't make sense or were missing words.

an old-fashioned peacoat that my father used to be my dad’s

Our eyes briefly, and I nod hello

I know that Renée’s somewhat of an astronomy buff, but I’m not this is up the same alley

All in all, rather minor gripes. I'm sure that's evidence enough that you're doing a great job. Keep it up ^^

[TonyTwoFingers]

There were a handful of sentences which, while the intention was clear enough, didn't make sense or were missing words.

an old-fashioned peacoat that my father used to be my dad’s

Our eyes briefly, and I nod hello

I know that Renée’s somewhat of an astronomy buff, but I’m not this is up the same alley

All in all, rather minor gripes. I'm sure that's evidence enough that you're doing a great job. Keep it up ^^

Hey, thanks for the feedback. Quickly edited those mistakes you'd seen but I hadn't. It was one of those times when I knew what I wanted to say, so my brain glossed over the holes in the writing. Good eye.

Glad you liked it. As always, I appreciate the feedback!

[TonyTwoFingers]

Hey everyone,

Winter break is here! That means that hopefully I'll be able to do a bunch more writing now. So buckle up, because I wanna take you on a journey. Not an actual journey, though. Let's be real. Gas is expensive.

Here's the newest section of Rainy Mornings. I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it! Criticisms are expected and appreciated!

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Although I’m late to Psychology, Mr. Donnelly doesn’t notice me slip in the door a few seconds after the bell rings. He’s busy writing something on the board as I quietly slide into a desk towards the back of the room. Mr. Donnelly is a heavyset man with thinning blond hair and a thick, full moustache that he scratches as he thinks. On the board, I see that he’s scrawled Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. As he drifts into a lecture about psychological needs, my thoughts begin to wander.

Renée is an odd sort. I know that she likes astronomy, and hangs out with Jeanne Lefevre from time to time. But other than that, I don’t know much about her. She seems introverted, but then again, so many students here are. She’s like a ghost, she shows up where and when she pleases, and you don’t know she’s there unless she wants you to. I can’t make heads or tails of her.

Mr. Donnelly continues his lecture until the final bell. My notebook is filled only with doodles and 3-D cubes. I should’ve paid more attention. I walk out into the hallway of the Social Sciences building. Given the nature of the school, it’s one of the less popular curriculum areas. I guess most of these kids have enough of these problems in their own lives, they don’t have to read about them in textbooks.

I walk outside, where I am greeted by damp, cold air. It hasn’t warmed up since this morning, but at least it’s stopped raining. The sun sits low in the sky, bouncing flares of brilliant orange off the puddles littering the cobblestone walkways. Girls walk past, bundled in scarves of all colors and sizes, whispering and giggling with one another. Boys clamor in small groups on the quad, animatedly retelling stories of the day’s events. I inhale deeply, and start walking towards the library.

It’s still about two hours until I have to meet up with Renée, but I also need to gather sources for the essay that Alrik had reminded me about this morning. The library is the oldest building on campus, predating the school by at least four decades. Built in the Gothic style, its defining feature is the prominent spire jutting out of the east wing. I trot up the granite staircase that funnels into a large oak double door. Columns of desk line the corridor that runs down the spine of the library. Countless shelves of print are pushed against the walls, with small plastic stools scattered around their bases.

I make my way to the cluster of shelves labelled “900-”. I drag my finger over the volumes, taking in their titles and authors. I round the corner a bit too quickly, and just narrowly avoid colliding with someone headed in the opposite direction. After a split second of registering the situation, I turn apologetically towards my (almost) victim. Katja Böhm, a girl I knew from Trigonometry, stares back at me, eyes wide with surprise. She’s a shorter girl, whose eyes are about level with my shoulders. Her strawberry blonde hair flows loosely over and behind her shoulders, reminding me of the sun setting just outside. She has a smile that could melt the icecaps. At first glance, most people wouldn’t notice the eyepatch strung over her right eye.

“I’m really sorry, I must’ve given you a heart attack!” Her shocked countenance melts into a warm smile.

“No, no, I’m fine.” Her voice sounds like a china doll - like it’ll break if not handled with the utmost care. I pause before responding.

“Are you sure?”

She nods, brushing a rogue strand of hair from her face. “Mhmm.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

We stand awkwardly for a few brief moments, until I feel compelled to break the silence. “So, what kind of book are you looking for?” I ask, resuming my walk around the history section.

“I’m actually looking for a biography on Maria Callas. Have you ever heard of her?”

“Can’t say that I have, actually. Who was she?” Katja nods understandingly before responding.

“She was an opera singer, a soprano.” her face absolutely lights up. “She had some of the most impressive range of any singer I’ve ever heard!”

“Huh. What do you need the book for? Music class project or something?” To this, Katja smiles sheepishly.

“No, actually, it’s independent research.” Now it’s my turn to be taken aback. The only people I had ever known to do independent research in the library were people like Alrik - high strung, Type A personality. Although I don’t know Katja very well, she doesn’t seem like that. She has a laid-back attitude about her. Being around her is like drinking warm tea - there’s an indescribable sense of comfort and warmth that’s almost impossible to articulate with words.

“Really? Interested in that sort of thing?” I wish I had taken the time to come up with something smarter to ask. She giggles a bit.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I sing in the choir. She’s kind of an idol.”

“That’s pretty cool, that you would go through the trouble to learn so much about your idol.” Katja tilts her head.

“Isn’t that normal?”

“I haven’t heard of too many people doing it before. It must be nice to have something you’re so genuinely interested in.” Katja blushes at my comment.

“Thank you, that’s nice of you to say.”

We peruse the shelves for a bit longer. As I pull down a few books about the Industrial Revolution and the Renaissance, Katja does the same for books on Maria Callas and other various singers. By the time we walk to the librarian’s desk, we each have a sizable stack of books in our arms. After checking out the books, we walk together toward a table near the entrance. Renée would be here soon. Katja speaks as she slides out a chair.
“Do you have any idols?” I open my mouth to respond, but find myself at a loss for words. I prop my head up on my hand, looking for the answer to be written somewhere on the table surface.

“I know this sounds weird, but I don’t really think that I do.” Katja bobs her head thoughtfully to one side.

“That’s okay,” she offers, although avoiding eye contact. “It can be hard to find someone whose work resonates with you.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, and as Katja pores over her book, I think about idols. Why don’t I have one? Can I not find someone who I respect and identify? Or is it that I don’t want to? I check my watch absent-minded, remembering that Renée would be here any minute upon seeing the time. It strikes me as rude to not invite Katja at this point. Who knows, maybe she could use the help. “Hey, Katja, you know Renée Baum?” Katja looks up from her book. “Yes, I think I have English with her.”

“She’s gonna be coming in in a few minutes to help me work on a physics lab, do you mind?” Katja smiles widely, twirling a strand of her hair.

“Not at all, I could use some help in physics anyways!” We spend the next few minutes talking about anything and everything, until Renée walks through the large doorway. I stand up and wave to her from the table. Renée slowly makes her way toward the table, eyes frozen on Katja, who is doing her best to seem approachable. Renée reaches us, and slides out a chair on my side of the table. Katja smiles.

“Hi Renée!” Renée nods back, suddenly flashing a 10 megawatt smile eerily like Katja’s. “Hi Katja! It’s lovely to see you here!” I stared in amazement as the two girls volleyed small talk. This wasn’t at all like Renée. All of a sudden, she had become some sort of social butterfly. It's like having two Katjas.

[scopedknife]

She nods, brushing a rouge strand of hair from her face.

The only little nitpick I could find in this. Assuming you meant rogue ^^"

Being around her is like drinking warm tea - there’s an indescribable sense of comfort and warmth that’s almost impossible to articulate with words.

I love this sentence. It inspires feelings of softness and warmth perfectly.

This wasn’t at all like Renée. All of a sudden, she had become some sort of social butterfly. It's like having two Katjas.

Great way to end the chapter, and to foreshadow coming character developments. Excellent work

All in all, brilliant stuff. Can't wait for the next installment. Hope you're having a great Christmas, if you celebrate it (or even otherwise lol) ^^

[Gloom]

As the one actually writing the Katja route for Missing Stars, this chapter now's been very interesting for me to read. So far, most fanfiction on this forum focused on original characters, for the obvious reason that so little is known at this point of the canon ones. Don't let any of that scare you, though! Your version of the characters is as interesting as any of ours - and who knows? Maybe it's surprisingly close to the "truth"...

I will be eagerly waiting for the next chapter.

[TonyTwoFingers]

Hello everyone, and happy Christmas!

Firstly, let me thank everyone who has continually checked in with my story over these past two weeks! Your continuous outpour of support has been both inspirational, and motivational. I haven't written this much in years!

Secondly, let me thank all of the fine people at Somnova Studios who have been really good sports about my "participation" in the community. Their kind words of encouragement and frequent companionship warm the cockles of my heart.

Cockles. There's a word that would get a chuckle out of a middle schooler.

But, I digress.

I plan on continuing writing until the tale has been told! Or until I'm asked to leave. Whichever comes first. Regardless, hopefully a new section'll be up by Friday!

Again, I'd like to thank all of the people reading this, the staff at Somnova, and the Academy. Here's section four of Rainy Mornings. Enjoy!

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After the two have finished their idle chatter, Renée produces from her backback a rather thick three-ring binder labeled “PHYSICS” in huge block letters. Frayed papers peek out of the top. At the same time, Katja removes a legal pad from her worn leather messenger bag.

Renée and I begin chipping away at the lab while Katja takes notes on the opposite side of the table. Somehow, Renée seems distracted. She’s making careless mistakes. A few of the questions genuinely stump her. Before long, mounds of eraser shavings are strewn over the tabletop.

Time passes, and it’s not long before it’s completely dark outside. The days have been getting progressively shorter as winter draws near. Students wave goodbye to one another, each going their own way. We finish the lab, but it takes longer than we had expected. Katja stretches and lets out a fierce yawn as Renée and I pack up.

“So where are you guys headed now?” Katja asks, slipping her notes back into her bag’s largest compartment. My stomach growls loudly. “Probably to the dining hall, to grab some dinner,” I offer sheepishly. Renée pipes in, “I’ll probably just head back to my room. It was a long week today, if you know what I mean!” Katja smiles, nodding at her before offering her own plan. “I’ll probably head back with you. I’ve got a bit more homework that needs doing, and I’ll just eat in my room.” The two head toward the door as I finish packing up. Katja turns around and waves to me on her way out, and Renée offers an uncharacteristically cheery “See you tomorrow!” before starting the trek to the girls’ dorm.

I finish stuffing the assorted papers in my backpack, and check my watch. The cafeteria’ll be open for another hour and a half, I have plenty of time.

I pass through the grand doorway of the library, flipping up the collar of my jacket. It’s bitterly cold, and flashes of my breath fade into clear night sky. The stars are shining brilliantly, and I can make out quite a few constellations. Street lights illuminate the well traveled walkways of the school.

I begin the hike to the cafeteria, avoiding the freezing puddles along the way. It had certainly been a strange day. The cold stings my face, so I nestle my chin as far into my jacket as far as possible. It helps a little. The normally swarming walkways are empty, with most of the students having retired to their dorms or moved into the cafeteria for dinner. Incandescent warmth radiates from dorm windows, frosting up slightly.

For a while, my only companion is the wind. It whistles through tree branches, most of which are now bare. Wet leaves whip at my ankles, staining the hems of my slacks. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn sounds. Its echo reminds me of how removed I am. It reminds me of the long, winding driveway to the school’s front gate at the top of the hill - of the brick and iron fence that encloses the school grounds, patrolled at night by security guards with flashlights.

For a while, I think of home. I think of my mother lying awake in bed, gently nursing a mug of tea, flipping through the pages of a novel, television glowing silently from the corner. I think of my little sister, pretending to be asleep, but dressing up her doll by flashlight beneath her blanket. I let out a heavy sigh, and finish my walk in silence as the wind dies down.

The dining hall is a large two-story building with primarily glass walls. The bottom floor serves as a sort of lounge where snacks and light food stuffs are served, with three-dozen or so small circular tables scattered about seemingly randomly. Small televisions are affixed to various corners of the bottom floor, always tuned in to a local news channel, with subtitles crawling along the bottom of the image. The second floor is a more traditional canteen, with about two-dozen cafeteria tables organized in a neat grid in front of the serving area.

I push through the glass doors into the dining hall. Some students huddle together around the small tables, snacking on sodas and chips while watching the evening news. A local baseball team will be going to the regional championships, it seems. I walk up the flight of stairs to the sound of murmuring students and clattering trays. On the second floor, I find a number of students eating a late dinner. I grab a somewhat lackluster preprepared meal from the serving area and look for a place to sit. Alrik, sitting at one of the far tables, waves for me to join him.

I clatter my tray on the table and sit down across from Alrik, who wastes no time launching into discussion. “So how’s it going Erik?” he poses, taking a short breath to lift a spoonful of lentils to his mouth. “I’m alright. Weird day, though.” Alrik sips from a straw while focusing intently on a “Missing Child” alert printed on his milk carton. Speaking from the corner of his mouth, he asks “How so?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s not really a big deal.”

“Okay, suit yourself,” he responds, shrugging.

I fork some of what appears to be chicken pot pie into my mouth. It’s cold, but I’m starving, so I eat it anyways. Before long, Alrik speaks up again. “Erik, do you ever think about really dark stuff?” This time, it’s my turn to put down the food and respond. “Depends what you mean by really dark.”

“Like, let’s say I’m driving on a highway. I’m cruising along at a pretty good clip, I’ve got my slow jams going...”

“I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

“Just hold on a second. Like I said, I’m doing some highway cruising, and all of a sudden, I feel like swerving into oncoming traffic and plowing head-on into a minivan. Nobody could stop me from doing it. One little tilt of the wheel and me and four other people are dead.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty messed up, Alrik.”

“I didn’t ask if it was messed up, I asked if you ever thought like that.”

“I guess, from time to time.”

“Thank you.”

We sit in silence for a few more minutes while I finish my dinner and Alrik cleans up his. After finishing, we resolve to head back to the boys’ dorm together. The walk there is considerably more tolerable with company. Alrik and I walk into the lobby together, where a new security guard sleeps at his post, and the group of boys from this morning snore around the still glowing laptop.

We part ways on the third floor, Alrik’s room being the closest to the stairwell. I walk through the warm hallway to the sounds of student nightlife. Electric pencil sharpeners whir away a melody above the choral drizzle from the shower room. I approach my bedroom and walk in. It’s depressingly cold in here, compared to the snug toastiness of the corridor. I flick the light switch, bathing my room in an artificial sunlight. Crumpled sticky notes from Alrik’s morning visit still sit in the corner garbage can. I let my backpack slink to the floor, bending over to grab my History notebook from its depths before moving over to my empty desk. For a few minutes, I try to outline my paper on the Renaissance and Industrial Revolution, but I can’t focus. Somewhere, on the floor above me, someone is crying. It’s not the frantic weeping of a griever, nor is it the wailing of an immature child who hasn’t got their way. Rather, it is a deep, lamenting sob that is barely audible above the nocturnal activity of the rooms around me. Against my better intentions, my eyes grow heavy, and the boy’s sobs blend together, forming the notes of a lullaby.

Nocturne No.2. Chopin.

[TonyTwoFingers]

Hello everyone,

Here's section five of Rainy Mornings! It's my longest yet, and one of my favorites. Enjoy!

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After several uneventful days spent dozing off in English and History, indulging Alrik and his indescribably enthused banter, and throwing together a paper at the last minute, the weekend has finally come to the school. Even without a calendar, anyone could tell from the lively chirping coming from the quad. However, I am not chatting away with friends, watching the school baseball team, or listening to the school choir perform. Rather, I am stuck in the physics room doing mandatory extra-credit work with Renée. Turns out, our lab hadn’t been as well completed as we’d thought - so in order to avoid getting the 65% we had earned, Renée and I will be spending the early hours of Saturday doing supplemental worksheets.

Mr. Kingsford has fallen asleep behind his desk, so Renée and I keep our voices soft. Renée seems much more focused and sharp today than she had been when we were working with Katja, as though she had been distracted or something. Maybe she had just been tired. Not overly concerned with her re-found sense of oneness with the world of physics, I mostly follow along on the worksheets, nodding supportively where I can. Before long, all of the worksheets are done. We’ve barely broken an hour spent in the classroom, and it’s a mandatory two-hour attendance. The school doesn’t like to call it detention because it has adopted the new-wave “everyone gets a trophy” mentality of educating. No matter what they like to call it though, it’s detention.

Renée stares blankly into the whiteboard. It was really odd seeing her act so... effervescently with Katja the other day. It was so out of character. I don’t really want to press the issue, but I can’t help but wonder if that’s why we did so poorly on the lab. Maybe Renée has some sort of attention deficit disorder? She wouldn’t be the first person I’ve met during my stay here who’s had trouble focusing. A few minutes of silence pass, before I decide I’m no longer comfortable watching Renée watch paint dry.

“Hey, Renée?”

“Shhh!” Renée shoots me down with an authoritative hiss and an outstretched finger across her lip. She unblinkingly points toward the whiteboard before asking me, “Do you see it?”

“See what?”

“There’s a spider on the whiteboard!”

My eyes follow the imaginary beam emitting from Renée’s index finger, and, sure enough, a small brown speck is making its way across a capital “R” written in dry-erase marker. For a moment, I am transfixed by the uniform complexity of the spider’s motions. Each leg moves independently of another, yet they move so smoothly and cohesively... and, then I remember, I’m looking at a spider. I prepare to turn my attention out the window, when Renée quietly stands out of her chair and begins walking towards the whiteboard. Nuh-uh. There’s no way. Yet no matter how hard I try to disbelieve it, Renée has worked her way to the front of the class, and has her nose mere inches away from the spider. I instinctively bite my knuckle, the air caught in my throat stuck somewhere between trying not to wake up Mr. Kingsford and between squealing at Renée’s surely impending doom. I do not like spiders. I never have, and I never will. As far as I’m concerned, Noah could’ve left those two spiders to drown with the rest of the world, we would be no worse off without them.

Renée pulls her nose away from the whiteboard, and for a moment, I breathe a sigh of relief. However, instead of returning to her seat, Renée scoops the spider into the cup of her hands in a swift, clean motion. She begins to walk back to her desk, and I am awestruck. She sits down, and opens her palms over her desk. Out falls a tiny ant. Again, I am relieved.

“Renée, I thought you said that was a spider?”

“Mhmm,” she nods, eyes still glued to the spectacle before her. “It is.” I lean over to get a better view, yet I am sure that Renée has an ant on her desk, not a spider. Sensing my confusion, Renée explains. “Some spider species mimic ants in their appearance. Some do it to help them hunt ants, others do it as a defense mechanism.”

“So that thing’s actually a spider?”

“That’s right.”

“... How common did you say these things are?”

“They’re not, actually. Especially in this part of the world. It probably escaped from the zoology lab.” Renée again stands, allowing the spider to momentarily roam free on the desktop before she returns with a plastic cup, which she overturns, trapping the spider. She turns to me, explaining: “I’ll take it down to the zoology lab after we’re done here.”

We sit in silence for a while longer, watching the spider crawl about the inside of the cup. Before too long, Renée breaks the silence. “Isn’t it kind of amazing?”

“Isn’t what amazing?”

“This guy. He looks exactly like something that he’s not.”

“So? A lot of things are like that,” I respond, coming across as more curt than I meant to. At this, Renée frowns and turns to look at me for the first time in a few minutes.

“Sure, but this guy doesn’t have a choice. He looks this way because he has to eat, and he’s afraid to be eaten. It’s like he’s not even a spider anymore... he’s not himself anymore, because he’d die if he was.” We spend the few remaining minutes of our sentence either watching the spider, or watching the clock. As the hour hand passes over 10, Renée and I slip our completed worksheets in front of Mr. Kingsford, who wakes with a startle only to wave us out of the room.

Renée and I walk out of the classroom and out of the building together. The day is cold, but the brilliant sunlight makes it a bit warmer. “So, have you got any plans today Renée?” I ask, more out of genuine curiosity than anything else. I have a hard time imagining how a person like Renée would spend their Saturdays. “Oh, I’m being interviewed by Lena Forst in just a few minutes. She want’s an ‘inside scoop’ on Saturday morning detentions.” Lena Forst. There’s a name that I’ve mostly seen, rarely heard. Lena’s name almost always graced the front page of The Inquirer, only being knocked back to page two to facilitate school announcements or menu changes. A heavy hitter, her interviews were quick, dirty, and brutal. Rumors have it that she once got the captain of the football team to cry and confess to running a cheating ring that, turns out, didn’t actually exist. She’s that good.

“Why does Lena need to interview you? What ‘inside scoop’ is there to get?” Renée shrugs, indifferent to what most would consider a moderate to severe hassle. “I don’t really know. I think she said something about sexual harassment rumors...”

“Mr. Kingsford? Sexual harassment?” Again, Renée shrugs. “Do you mind if I come with you?” I ask, realizing that I had no plans myself, and watching a “Forst of Nature” go to work might be a somewhat entertaining way to spend a Saturday. Plus, I’m actually kind of concerned for Renée - she’s kind of delicate, and the last thing I want is Lena railroading a confession out of her for something that didn’t happen. Again, Renée offers one of her signature shrugs. “I don’t see why not. We’re meeting in the library in twenty minutes.”

“Lead the way, madame,” I prod with a flourish, dramatically sidestepping and bowing deeply. Dead serious, Renée offers an equally deep and dramatic curtsey, before shuffling on ahead.

By the time we arrive at the library, Lena has already found a seat, begun jotting down a preface to the interview, and constructed a large spread of interview equipment, including a tape recorder (complete with microphone), notepad, and camcorder. Honestly, the only thing she’s missing is a trilby and a wiseguy photographer. She has sharp greenish-hazel eyes that narrow on whatever she looks at, gifting her with a famously penetrating glare. An imposing figure, her shadow looms over the table like nightfall over a plain. She lifts her eyes to meet us as we walk in. She stands up and gives Renée a firm handshake. “Hello Renée, glad you could make it today. Who’s your friend?” She asks, nodding her head in my direction. “Oh, that’s Erik. He was wondering if he could stay and watch the interview?” Lena’s face sours slightly, as though she’s smelled something foul. “Well, normally I like to conduct interviews on a one-on-one basis. Slims the chances of bias. But, I suppose I could make an exception this time...” Trailing off, Lena leans in close to me, her breath whistling through the openings of her Hannibal-Lecter-style half mask. “But if you interfere with my interview, so help me god...” I back off, leaning against a bookshelf as the two get started.

Lena flicks a bright-red rocker switch on the tape recorder, which responds with a loud clunk. At the same time, she pushes a button on the camcorder, activating a small red LED just beneath its lens. Renée squirms a little as the camera comes on. Pencil in hand, Lena sets the stage for the interview, scribbling in shorthand as she speaks. “The date is November 24 at 1034, and I’m seated here with Renée Baum. Say ‘hello’ Renée.”

“Uh, hello...”

“Thank you. Now Renée, is it true that you just spent a Saturday morning detention with Mr. Kingsford in the physics room?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Did Mr. Kingsford make any unwanted sexual advances towards you?” Renée, obviously flustered with the surprisingly straightforward and terse questioning, stutters before responding. “N-no, of course not.”

“Did Mr. Kingsford make any wanted sexual advances towards you?” Renée turns beet-red, and I momentarily pull myself off the bookshelf before Lena shoots me a death glare. I lean back against the bookshelf. Renée, regaining her composure, responds: “No, nothing of the sort. Mr. Kingsford has never made any sexual advances toward me, nor has he made any advances toward people I know.” Lena stares for a moment, sweeping her eyes over Renée’s perturbed countenance - looking for any facial tic that might suggest lying. “Hm. Well, I suppose that’s good to hear...” she says under her breath. “Isn’t it?” Renée responds somewhat sternly, which, for a moment, catches Lena off guard. It’s an unusual venom out of Renée - quite unlike her. After a few more softball questions, Lena begins to pack up. “Thank you for coming in Renée, honestly, I appreciate it. And I hope you understand none of what I said was with malice. It’s just my job.” Renée nods understandingly. “Of course, I understand.” To this, Lena actually smiles. She then turns to me, her face hardening a bit, but still somewhat friendly. “And it was nice to meet you, Mr...”

“Eh, call me Erik, please.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Erik.”

Renée and I leave the library before Lena does. Neither of us speak as we walk along the walkway together. What’s with Renée? She really hasn’t been acting like herself, lately. First with Katja, now with Lena... it’s confusing. Something must be bothering her right now, but I can’t press it. It’d be rude. Renée interrupts my train of thought. “Um, Erik?”

“Hm? What’s up Renée?”

“I um... I’d like to go to my room, now.” I am suddenly painfully aware of where we are - directly in front of the girls’ dorm. I must turn a funny shade of red, because Renée giggles, and I can’t find words. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay Erik?” And with that, Renée floats into the building, leaving me alone. I barely croak out a “goodbye” as the heavy door clicks shut. Without any plans, I head to the dining hall to get some breakfast. I haven’t realized how hungry I am, given the morning’s hectic pace. The sun seems unusually far away this morning, taking up much less sky than it normally does. The shadows cast by buildings and trees are harsh and long. The atmosphere feels desaturated - not that there are many colors left, this time of year. Seemingly overnight, all of the trees on campus have turned bare, shed of their blazing leaves. My thoughts again turn to Renée. I don’t quite understand it, but even though it feels as though we had grown closer these past few days, she still seems as distant as a stranger.

What do I really know about Renée? I know she’s quiet, likes astronomy, and likes spiders. That’s everything I really know about her. I don’t know why she’s here at St. Dymphna’s, I don’t know how she feels about me, Katja, Lena, or anybody, and I certainly don’t know everything that I’d like to. She’s a walking enigma, yet she is not a book to be read, nor a puzzle to be solved. I just want to know who she is.

[Leotrak]

I most definitely want to read more of this tale :3

One nitpick I have to make straight off (there might've been a few others, but this one tickled my funnybone):

Columns of desk line the corridor that runs down..

Pretty sure 'desk' needs to be plural here

Overall, though, you're doing pretty damn good ^_^ Kinda felt like you had to get into the rhythm of the story first, but with the last two parts, that's no longer an issue. In short - keep em coming :3

[Tom Lyon]

Whenever the speaker changes, you should start a new paragraph. Other than that, I like this. It's simple, a refreshing break from all the angst stories I've been reading on the Katawa Shoujo forums.

[TonyTwoFingers]

Hello everyone,

Here's part six of Rainy Mornings. Enjoy!

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The dining hall is crowded with people by the time I arrive, and the intoxicating smell breakfast foods wafts through the air. Because St. Dymphna’s places such importance on “fostering a multinational identity”, the food it serves is extremely varied - I could eat eggs one morning and Siri Paya the next. The system is designed to make students feel at home, and many of them appreciate the effort. Nothing quite feels like home like a familiar breakfast.

The bottom floor is already full to capacity with students taking in the weather forecast, so I make my way up the flight of stairs to the second story. Throngs of people are seated at every table, the whole cafeteria pulsing with life and energy. The food line is almost out the door. I stand for a few minutes with my hands in my pockets, waiting for the line to move up. But it doesn’t. A few more minutes. Still nothing. At this point, I notice the irritated faces both in front of, and now, behind me. I decide to do a bit of rubbernecking and get up on my toes to find the issue - and it’s not hard to spot.

A girl about my age, wearing clothes several times too large for her, is stocking up her tray with just about every scrap of food that’s available. Most notably, she has a stack of French toast you could build a fort out of. Odds are that she would hear the quiet protests of her peers, were she not wearing a pair of high-end headphones that are evidently playing something, as she gently sways her head to an inaudible tune. Her hair is messily cut, with bangs chopped to a uniform length and swept to either side of her head, just barely clipping the corners of her royal blue eyes that hurriedly scan the spread before her. Someone finally taps her on the shoulder, and she turns bright red before scurrying down the line and into the crowd.

The line picks up steam rapidly and before long, I have my food, but no place to sit. As far as I can tell, Alrik isn’t in the crowd, and many of the students are already comfortably chatting away with friends. Just when all hope is lost, I pick out headphone-girl sitting with one of her friends at an otherwise empty table on the outskirts of the room. Making my way over to the table feels like more and more of a mistake with every step, but before I know it I’ve crossed the Rubicon, as headphone-girl’s friend turns her head and spots me coming. We hold awkward eye contact until I’m within speaking distance.

“Hi, my name’s Erik. Do you mind if I sit with you?” Headphone-girl hasn’t noticed I’m there, so her friend responds alone.

“Hello Erik, I don’t see why it would be a problem. My name is Jeanne Lefevre, and this is my friend, Annaliese Koell.” Jeanne is a stocky young woman who wears glasses not all too dissimilar from my own. Behind them, sleepy eyes of frosty-blue sparkle in the cafeteria lighting. She wears her jet-black hair cropped short, coming down to around her shoulders.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, sorry for the intrusion, there’s not many places to sit today...” Jeanne smiles and nods her head understandingly.

“It’s no trouble,” she responds, tugging at Annaliese’s comically loose sleeve. Annaliese looks back from the window and jumps slightly at my unexpected presence. She peels off her headphones apologetically before extending her hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m Annaliese. I missed your name?” We shake hands, and I’m surprised to find that she has a firmer grip than I do.

“Ah, I’m Erik. Erik Wilhelm.” I take my seat and begin eating as an uncomfortable silence reigns. Annaliese is back to staring out the window, listening to her music, while Jeanne reads over an article about astronomy printed-out from an email. Jeanne catches me glancing at the article, and explains.

“My friend Isolda sent me this. It’s all about dark matter. Have you ever heard of it?” I remember hearing about dark matter once or twice back in my old school. Even years later, trying to understand it makes my head hurt.

“Bits and pieces, and nothing I could understand.” Jeanne laughs at this before launching into a complex and in-depth discussion on this hypothetical matter. My head is swimming seconds in. After a few minutes, the discussion has really gotten going. Even Annaliese is chiming in every once and a while, lifting one headphone before speaking her piece. Eventually, our conversation turns to music. I point to Annaliese’s headphones as she momentarily hangs them around her neck. “So what do you like to listen to on those things?” She takes a moment to think before responding.

“All sorts of things. I probably listen to Son House more than anyone else, though.”

“Son House?” Annaliese’s face lights up at the opportunity to explain, and begins speaking quickly and animatedly.

“He was an African American bluesman who lived during the Great Depression. His work is really emotional and soulful, and it’s really easy to connect to him. Here, you can listen to him, if you’d like,” she offers, extending her headphones across the table for me.

“Sure, I’ll give a listen,” I respond, slipping the headphones over my ears. Annaliese fiddles with her mp3 player for a moment before the music starts. What follows takes me by surprise. Rather than being hit by a wave of sound, there is only the voice of one man, and clapping. At first, I question the wisdom of listening to such simple music on such high end equipment, but the man’s emotional, woeful singing draws me in. Every drop in pitch, every wavering note, every half-beat carries the sadness of a man dominated by adversity. It is both beautiful and hard to listen to at the same time. The song ends and I hand back the headphones back over the table, which Annaliese grabs delicately with both hands.

“So what did you think?” She asks, wrapping the headphones back around her neck. Jeanne bites into a piece of toast as she listens in.

“It was good. Definitely a unique sound.”

“Uh-huh! Son House influenced a lot of later blues players, too.” Jeanne sets down her toast before jumping in to the discussion, and we spend the next hour talking about music. By the time the girls have to leave, the shadows on the quad are short, and the sun high in the sky.

“So where did you say you guys were headed?” I ask, thinking about making plans with Alrik later today. Annaliese has her headphones back on, and is clicking her heels together as her eyes meander around the cafeteria.

“Annaliese and I are headed back to the girls’ dorm,” Jeanne answers instinctively, not waiting for her distracted friend to notice the question. What is it about the girls’ dorm that makes it so popular? Are there parties being held there? “What about you Erik? Any plans?”

“None yet. I may make plans with friends later. Have fun doing your thing, though.” Jeanne smiles and waves as she and Annaliese exit.

“We’ll be sure to!” And with that, the door clicks shut. I hadn’t noticed how fast the cafeteria had emptied out until just now. Only a few slow eaters from the original sea of clamoring students remain, and some of them have moved on to an early lunch. Even the first floor, with its ever-popular televisions, has emptied out considerably since my arrival. I leave the dining hall and wander aimlessly, half trying to find Alrik, and half not - plus, what if he already has plans?

Maybe I’ll pay Renée a visit.

[scopedknife]

Yet another splendid chapter, Jeff ^_^

This might just be me, but that first paragraph felt more like it came from St Dymphna's advertising pamphlet than from Erik's head... is that a weird thing to say? xD

"Have fun doing your thing, though.” Jeanne smiles and waves as she and Annaliese exit.

“We’ll be sure to!”

[Leotrak]

the intoxicating smell of breakfast foods

Fixed that for you

Other than that, I have no comment other than to restate one I said before - keep em coming :3

[TonyTwoFingers]

Hello everyone,

Let me apologize for my recent lack of activity. Frankly, my writing didn't feel quite up to par, so I took some time to work out the kinks. Practicing is a pain, but it's important. Thank you for your patience, and enjoy section seven of Rainy Mornings!
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It was silly to think that Renée wouldn’t have plans. It was even sillier to think that I’d somehow manage to run into her by sheer happenstance, seeing as welcoming myself to drop by her room uninvited would’ve been rude to say the least. Dejected, and frustrated by my lack of foresight, I start to walk to the boys’ dorm, only to be ambushed by something rustling in a nearby bush. “Hey Erik!” Alrik salutes in a shouted whisper, springing from the shrub like an extra from a bad ninja flick. Startled, though not necessarily surprised, I choke on my own words. “No time to explain. In the bush,” he commands, pulling me in by the sleeve.

“Alrik, have you gone nuts?” I seethe, desperately trying to wipe the grass stains from my pants.

“Of course not!” he shoots back without conviction. “I brought you in here for a reason!”

“What reason could there possibly be for dragging me into a shrub?” Alrik pauses, crumpling his face in deep thought, before retrieving some gold nugget of an idea from the darkest recesses of his imagination.

“Acoustics.”

“... Acoustics?”

“Yeah man! Acoustics! The leaves dampen sound around us, like... like... like a cone of silence!”

“What would we need a cone of silence for anyways?!” I demand, admittedly surprised at how well the leaves absorb the noise. Alrik’s face turns deathly serious, and I find myself regretting asking him a rhetorical question.

“Silence, of course. Not just anyone can hear this, you know.”

“Would you just spit it out?”

“Alright, alright, just listen! You know those two Russian girls in our grade? The twins?”

Every member of the male gender at St. Dymphna’s knows of the Holm twins. Natasha and Natalya are undeniably popular, and it’s not really a secret why. Not only are each the manifestation of the prodigal teenage boy’s “knockout girl” - being blonde, starry eyed, and buxom - but between Natalya’s legendary baking and Natasha’s uncanny ability to sneak booze past campus security, they’re also the toast of any social event. The two are inseparable to an extreme, often refusing to make any decision without the consultancy of the other. Or at least, that’s how the stories go.

“Yeah, I know them. What about them?” I ask, ready to jump at the first ridiculous proposition out of Alrik’s mouth.

“They’re planning something. Something big.” I burst up out of the bush, attempting to exit the situation as fast as humanly possible. Unfortunately, my jacket gets tangled in the growth, slowing my escape just long enough for Alrik to follow me. At this point, a number of students are looking at us oddly, and I can’t really blame them. “Erik! Okay, okay, okay, we’ll ditch the cone of silence. Would you just listen to me?” I point to my watch in an exaggerated fashion.

“You have exactly ten seconds.”

“That’s not nearly enough time...”

“Nine.”

“Okay! Sheesh! I saw them moving a bunch of boxes out to the meadow! Big boxes! Heavy looking!”

“Those two? Lifting boxes? Maybe we’re thinking of different twins...”

“They had help, but I only had ten seconds to tell you,” Alrik pouts indignantly. “Maybe if I had more time to explain...”

“Fine. I apologize.”

“Say it like you mean it,” he teases. I don’t respond. “Right. Well, these two twins were supervising something. They had a few other students out there with them, wheeling out hand carts and stuff. Boxes. Collapsable tables. That kind of thing.” For once, Alrik may have actually come up with some good information. Saturday night? Tables in the meadow? The Holm twins? Something’s going on, and I’ve got nothing better to do than find out. Alrik stares at me, waiting for me to react.

“Come on Alrik, we’re going to do some investigating.” His face lights up as we walk towards the meadow, leaves still in our hair.

Alrik hadn’t been lying. Nestled in the heart of the meadow, just where the hill wanes to a plateau, a number of large collapsable table have been set up, each stacked with several boxes. Oddly enough, nobody’s in sight. I step off the walkway, starting towards the peculiar spread. “C’mon Alrik, let’s check it out!” Alrik bites his lower lip apprehensively, the two sides of his brain having some sort of debate. I can practically see the sparks flying from his ears - so I pause. “Coming?”

“I dunno, Erik. What if we’re not supposed to know about it?”

“If we’re not supposed to know about it, they should’ve picked a better place to store everything than a wide open meadow, right?” He looks unconvinced, but eventually buckles to the pressure, sighing heavily.

“Fine, let’s take a look. But just a quick one!” The meadow is still cold and damp with dew from this morning, soaking our shoes and socks. But I push through the unpleasant sensation - this could be interesting. Each table has a number of what appear to be laminated pieces of paper taped to it. Unfortunately, the pages are blocked by stacks of large cardboard boxes that Alrik had been telling me about - all of which are unlabeled.

“Hey Alrik, let’s check out what these papers are.”

“Look man, this is more than I signed up for. I came here to observe and report!”

“Come on, it’s not like anyone’s going to care if we just take a look at some papers! What could they possibly be that would get us in trouble?”

“Hm, let me think for a minute. Secret death ray schematics, list of social security numbers, a series of embarrassing photographs of myself...” As Alrik lists off his numerous imagined fears, I clear off some of the heavy boxes - just enough to make out a single laminated sheet. It’s a printed handout detailing Ursa Major - regional nicknames, component stars, and a whole mess of other incomprehensible data. Alrik peeks over my shoulder. “Oh. That doesn’t look like a revolutionary manifesto...”

“Can we help you?” A voice rings out from some distance away. We both nearly jump out of our skin, scanning the meadow in search of the speaker. “Up here!” The voice calls, back from the walkway Alrik and I had come from not five minutes ago. Natasha and Natalya Holm, each touting a box identical to the ones of the table - they’d probably seen the whole thing. Behind them, a third girl heaves a number of the unlabeled boxes, knees buckling from the strain. Our faces are the same shade of tomato red - caught in the act. Alrik looks as though he is literally choking on his own tongue, so I speak on our behalf.

“Sorry for the intrusion. We were just curious about the weird setup.” The shorter of the twins speaks as the group walks down the hill.

“Ah, right, right. We’re just helping our good friend Isolda here set up for the Astronomy Club’s stargaze!” The girl in the back, who must be Isolda, whimpers from behind her load.

“Could, uh... someone, if it’s no trouble, please...” Alrik runs up to the stuggling girl, taking the top two boxes from her quivering arms. The girl’s face is flushed red and beaded with sweat, though clearly relieved by Alrik’s intervention. Hey chocolate bangs are frizzy with exertion - the rest of her hair tied into a loose ponytail with a yellow scrunchie. “Thank you,” she wheezes, moving the boxes over to the table. Alrik clears his throat, and giving his best Brad Pitt impression, asks “So, what’s in the booooooooxes?” It cracks him up. That makes one of us. Isolda, not sensing the joke, doesn’t miss a beat.

“Telescopes. One per box.” Alrik’s jovial mood is broken by such a straightforward answer.

“Erm, right.” We stand awkwardly in silence for a few seconds before the taller of the twins speaks.

“So, we’re almost done setting up. As long as you’re here, would you mind helping? Many hands make quick work, and all that?” Alrik opens his mouth and holds up his finger in preparation to excuse himself, but I cut him off.

“We’d love to.”