CENSORED 19: GRADY

The library portion of the Registry is a sight to behold. There are sweeping shelves full of literature, rows upon rows ranging from theory to application, fiction to nonfiction, and all the crap in between. There’s even a full aisle of comics. It has everything. In the center are long oak tables, computer stations along the back wall by the window, and the upper levels have more shelves with separate seating options.

I spot Fiona sitting at a table with someone I’ve never met before. She spots me too and motions me over.

“Grady,” she begins, “this is Atlas, he/him.”

I wave, moving to sit across from Fiona.

“Ainsley’s brother,” Atlas adds.

Is he name-dropping on purpose? Does he want to gain entry with me or warn me away from his sister? Good luck with either, Buddy.

“Did you start the paper yet?” I ask Fiona, ignoring the name drop entirely.

“No,” she clinks. “I got sidetracked talking through light and dark applications with Atlas.”

“Oh?” I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I’m not about to readily admit what a dipstick I am, especially not with an audience.

“Yes,” Atlas confirms. “Like how you can essentially manage the same desired outcomes whether you utilize light or dark earth spark.”

“Uh huh.”

He furrows his brow, considering a way to relay the information so I might be more inclined to give a lick. Yeah, no. Not happening.

Fiona tries to help. “For example, a Light Earth Wielder might cover a bare patch of grass by creating new grass whereas a Dark Earth Wielder might slow the growth of all the surrounding grass so the bare patch has a chance to catch up.”

“Dark negates,” Atlas asserts. “Light creates.”

I headtilt. “Why would anyone ever choose to go dark then? I mean, isn’t that like a poop scooper position?”

“I suppose it could be considered janitorial. It definitely cleans up spark waste,” he agrees, “but it also allows for things like shielding. Shields can take the sound out of the air, remove the light from the room, thwart projectiles, or negate specific feelings.”

He keeps talking for an eternity. I try my best to listen while my eyes totally glaze over. Worst five minutes of my life.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…” I start, and Fiona squinches her brow. She’s worried I’m not house trained.

“You’d never have guessed I’m Ainsley’s brother,” he finishes for me.

This goober is boring as anything. She’s nothing like that. “No, not in a million years. Did you want me to go fetch her for you?”

Fiona looks ready to bolt if he says yes. I know I can get her to come around to the idea of Ainsley if she gives her half a chance. She’d never aim her horns at Fiona, but she’d use them for her in a heartbeat.

“Ainsley wouldn’t step foot in here if every building at the academy was on fire and this was the last one standing,” Atlas replies honestly.

“She’d probably be the one to start the fire,” Fiona clonks.

“I see you’re well acquainted with War Paint Ainsley,” he notes.

“There’s more than one?” she clatters.

“There’s quite a few, yes,” Atlas informs her. “War Paint is just the default setting, especially when she feels threatened.”

Fiona squidges up her nose. I really want her to see Ainsley like I do. Yes, she’s a bit extra, maybe even a bull in a china shop kind of extra, but she’d fight to her dying breath for both of us. None of her rage has been directed at us in any way. She’s strategically placed it in those responsible for her being here or any other spunkbucket who comes at us. Take Nick and Elaina, for example. She’s never lashed out at them. Why? Because they’ve never attacked us. They only want to help us. Even if Ainsley doesn’t give them pity blowies, that’s hardly the same thing as reacting violently.

“She’s a Pamplona princess,” I decide.

“I wouldn’t call her a princess to her face,” Atlas warns me. “Won’t end well for you.”

I wrinkle my muzzle. “Pamplona punisher?”

He shrugs, and I finally see a little of her in him.

“I’d rather we stopped running with bulls in general,” Fiona clanks.

“It’s not like we have a lot of options,” I yip.

“I think we just need to stop resisting,” Fiona squeaks. “Give our consent.”

“We’re already giving handouts,” I yap, “but not everyone’s so willing to throw tradition out the door.”

“I know.” She rubs her eyes like they’re super dry. She’s been crying again.

“She just wants to help us,” I assure her.

“I get that. I really do.” She draws a deep, steadying breath. “But…”

“But what?” My stomach clenches. “What happened?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Are you okay?” I whimper. “Did those spark suckers get you again?”

She squelches a sigh, looking over at the Earth Registry Guard by the door. When he notices her attention, he beams before waving enthusiastically. She blushes and waves back.

“What the actual heck, Fiona?!” I bay.

She closes her eyes, deciding whether to spill the doggone beans or not.

I soften my tone. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Something happened with my earth spark!” she squooshes. “It went haywire, and my alarm was squealing. I was freaking out and running down the hall. I thought I was going to die. But then Frank and Luke—”

“Who the heck is Frank?”

She points to the guard. “Frank saved me.”

“Saved you from going volatile?”

“Yeah,” she says sheepishly, “but it’s more than that. I didn’t resist, and it was just…just…it felt really good, okay? I liked it.”

She liked it. She liked it. I’m not even sure what to say, so I just sit staring at her. Did he trick her somehow? Do some whacked out mind mix to confuse her into thinking he’s some knight in shining armour instead of the spark sucker he is? Did he take advantage of this sweet girl in her state of emergency?

“I’ve never liked the idea of fighting,” she rattles on, “and if giving my spark willingly can feel like that, instead of the pain that comes the other way, I’d rather just let it go.”

“I don’t understand. They literally violate us, and you want to reward them for it?”

“We’re getting our plates smashed anyway,” she defends herself. “Shouldn’t we get something out of it too? Please try to understand, Grady. When I gave him my earth spark, I was suffocating from the weight of it. It was crushing me from the inside out. When it went, I was free, lighter, and more myself than I’ve felt since it ignited.”

“You really liked it?”

“I really, really liked it.” She blushes and looks over at Frank by the door. A new concern grows in me, one born of jealousy.

“Do you think you could talk to Ainsley about this?” Atlas butts in.

Fiona shakes her head. “She won’t want to hear that.”

“But she needs to,” he urges.

“She doesn’t appear to need anything aside from an endless ammo clip affixed to her hip,” she counters. “You should talk to her yourself.”

“She isn’t really talking to us right now.” His tone is resigned.

“Why the heck not?” I snap.

“She’s upset. We all voted for her to stay here,” he says quietly, “everyone but Archie, and I’m pretty sure the only reason he voted nay was so he wouldn’t have to curb his enthusiasm around her.”

“Why would you do that to her?” I bark. “I can’t believe you’d vote against her that way. You’re all she has! You should’ve fought for her!” My own frustrations with my mom may or may not be getting my hackles up more than is warranted.

“Because she doesn’t have a choice about this now. Her sparks are already awake. Running away won’t keep her safe. Keeping her alive is fighting for her, especially when it means having to suffer through being without her. We’re fighting ourselves for her sake.”

“So, you just turned on her like ketchup water,” I nip.

“Never,” he refutes me, his tone finally finding some emotion.

“Well, she’s right to be pissed at you.”

“She isn’t mad,” he dismisses me. “Our golden rule is we won’t ever go to bed mad, and she’d never break that. But I think she’s found a loophole around it.”

“What loophole?”

“Going to bed sad instead.”

Fiona frowns, considering that. I feel her opening up to the possibility of talking to Ainsley. She loves getting to the truth of things and marvelling at the tiny details that make up the whole, each little piece uniquely significant to the finished puzzle. She could chisel off the war paint to see what was under there. But I’m super skeptical about her spark release experience really being as positive as she’s letting on.

“Maybe I should talk to her,” Fiona concedes.

“No, I’ll talk to her.” I’m not about to let her mislead Ainsley without some basic fact checking. Nope. Not on my watch.

Fiona squint-eyes me. “You don’t trust me.”

Guilt gives me the tiniest ball flick, though it isn’t enough to change my mind. I want Fiona to connect with Ainsley, but that’s going to take a lot of work. With Ainsley’s family in the doghouse, she needs me more than she needs that hassle right now.

“Let’s just do our homework,” I growl.

“What’s the assignment?” Atlas is relieved to change the subject.

“A five-hundred-word essay on how we’d use our spark to stop a plane from crashing.”

“That’s vague.” Atlas crinkles his nose. “Are there Orderlies on the plane? Are you on the plane or on the ground? Are you the only one sparking in the area? Is it night or day?”

Fiona’s eyes light with the possibilities in those questions while I fight the urge to fake gag. I let my mind drift to planning out my evening. Who’s a task master? Me. That’s who.

Task one: a long chat with my mom. She will answer the doggone phone, even if I have to call her thirty-five times. She’d better, because task two might kill me.

Task two: surrender myself to my spunkbucket roommates…and give consent. Will I like it? Doubtful. Will I do it for Ainsley? Heck to the yes.

Task three: talk to Ainsley (if I survive task two). She’ll be getting at least one new idea for sure. Consent or not, she’s going to eat up the spark swap idea like candy.

“What do you think, Grady?” Fiona’s brown-grey eyes twinkle.

Like a dipstick who wasn’t paying attention, I blindly agree, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

I see the hulking guard bumbling toward me, prompted by her waving hand. What did I just agree to?