Neith was really here
– standing opposite Mr Miles Flynn, leaning against the former props table,
while he leaned against his desk, the schoolroom empty of children.
“The village – it has
a council.” She knew this, but
appreciated he had a place he wanted to begin.
“They convene fortnightly, or when a matter’s raised.”
“I’m guessing I was a matter.” Neith’s hands gripped the table, one at each
side of her torso.
Mr Flynn gave a small
smile. “Yes. The council members go home and hold family
councils – so everyone can have their say.
The council comes back…”
“What did they say, Mr
Flynn?”
He drew back at the
perfunctory, formal title. “Miles,
please.”
“What did they say, Miles?”
She still liked the name and feared her tone revealed that private
thought. Neith also liked the way Miles
was talking with his hands as well as his words. Explaining Nydia’s democracy seemed to have
invited a return to the persona she’d first seen in him. She was glad for it. She was also impatient. What
did the people of Nydia say?
“They said no.”
“What?” He’d called her here. Neith was confused. Was this a mean trick? Get the girl’s hopes up, send her a note to
come to the school, dash aforementioned hopes asunder?
“You rushed me! There’s more.
The answer is no. But my answer, and a few others’ answer, is
yes. We came up with a compromise.”
Neith stepped forward,
eagerly. “Yeah?”
“I think you have a
right to learn. And Elle, Koro, Jamin,
and a few others – they agree. They
don’t see the City’s mistakes as something you should pay for. They also all
agree you have had plenty of time to prove your being here is harmless. The rest – don’t want you spending time with
their children, away, out of their sight.”
“Yes…?”
“So you can come here,
after school is out. Those with
permission – that is, the kids whose parents voted in favour – they are free to
stay. It could kind of be a club.” Miles hunched his shoulders on the last
part. Neith felt all of her resolve to
contain her excitement dissolve.
“Really?! So, I can meet more people, and ask
questions, and learn, and…” she hesitated, not daring to hope, “the books…?”
she swivelled to face the effulgent nook the Senior students had nestled in
that afternoon.
“Yes, yes, and yes to
all of those. After school.”
“Thank you!”
“Thank your
guardians.”
Neith suddenly felt
small. This didn’t dampen her zeal; more
books, more Nydia!
More delaying a
decision of what her next move would be.
“There are
conditions.”
Neith turned her body
back to face Miles and backed up to lean again on the student table. “Name
them,” she said.
“You are still not to
be left alone with any student. I always
need to be here, in the room.”
She was stuck with
this guy. She hid her inward thrill by
frankly agreeing, then adding, “You said conditions, plural.”
“I did.” His smile triggered heat-transfer issues
again – this time she felt like her upper torso was melting. What
was happening? Last time, with the
sweaty palms, this time, with the chest-melts.
Was it the nerves? Or was she
that desperate to relive her childhood, only with a much more attractive
conveyer of knowledge?
“You’ll still need to
help with the community garden.”
“Done.” Was it really going to be this easy?
“That’s it. After school, chaperoned, and no shirking of
your current duties.”
Hmm. Neith was alight, in spite of the term chaperoned. “Well, I’m sorry that I’ll have to miss your
lessons.”
“Really?” Miles looked, nervous? Amused?
“I’m still waiting to
hear about how some dude called Mawee?
attempted to steal the sun…”
Miles laughed. “How long were you standing out there,
exactly?”
“Long enough to know I
grew up with a very different curriculum!"
That’s right, I am a grown-up, in
spite of all of the giddiness you saw relating to the books.
"How so?!"
She described her
overly-censored, lonely lessons. Miles
met this with eagerness. He seemed to
want to hear everything she had ever been taught in the City. Neith tucked her hair behind her ears. Her cheeks tightened with an unleashed
smile. She described finding Grace,
their shared love for Old World cinema, and what she valued.”
“That explains your
pin.” Miles pointed to the Star Trek insignia on her jacket.
“Yeah.” Neith brushed her fingers over it and
struggled to gather her thoughts. She
did. She told Miles what most people valued was quite
different. She told him how lessons were
smattered with regular emphasis on maintaining a healthy weight and diet –
constant reminders they were walking wombs.
She briefly defended her two favourite teachers. She felt so alive talking about them and
Grace. Miles was captivated.
“So basically: add,
subtract, read, oh – and your body is a birth-temple, you’re lucky to be
here. Take your supplements and smile,
would you? You’re only carrying the
future of the species on your shoulders.
That sort of thing?” Miles raised
both eyebrows.
“Precisely.” Was she flirting?
Was he? “Charming.”
She was pretty sure
they were flirting. All of the stories of Mr Flynn recounted at
the garden plot hummed in the background of Neith’s mind. She felt the magnetic pull of a community
favourite before her. They still leaned
on two desks, metres apart, but she felt an invisible string of fascinated
curiosity bridging the gap between them; mutual interest. “Very few of my
tutors were charming, sadly. It wasn’t the tutors’ fault, I’ve realised –
they were what an aging, despairing population had to offer. How could they possibly be jazzed about
that? Let alone be charismatic…” She realised her implied compliment after it
was out, risking the journey across the string between them like a
tightrope.
Miles was quiet, but still
smiling. It was too late, he’d heard the
compliment. “We should go. It’s getting dark.”
Neith whirled to see
the rows of windows had turned to black squares. Right; home.