Jericho sipped his coffee. It was his second cup that day, his third most likely to come if he continued to be impatient. He blinked his eyes and stared at his cup in disappointment. He yawned, slapped his cheeks, and cursed to himself. The coffee was not working at all. He groaned. Did he develop a tolerance already? Or did he simply have to wait for the coffee to kick in? He hoped that it was the latter because a coffee tolerance would hinder his progress.

“Are you okay?” A girl asked.

Social interaction? Jericho thought. With a girl especially? His heart fluttered immediately. “Y-yep!”

“Oh, good!” She went back to typing on her laptop.

The girl aggressively tapped at the backspace button, sighed, and the way her head slumped over made his heart skip a beat. Although, it was probably his coffee or a heart condition causing such palpitations. He should probably get that checked out.

“Are you okay?” Jericho said, the words casually leaving his mouth.

“I’m writing an essay for my philosophy class,” she said. “I don’t think I’m even responding to the prompt.”

“What’s it about?”

“I’m supposed to write about what society would be like without a class of abilities,” she said. “We were taught that abilities are merely amplified manifestations of humans, so I’m trying to figure out which one would be the most problematic to live without.”

Jericho nodded pretending to understand until he did. “Oh, the different classes?”

“Yes,” she said. She continued to type and bobbed her head as she talked. “There’s not really a common class system, but we have all sorts of abilities. Strength is the most common, but we have so many more. It’s hard to classify things when most people just have strength, but I think that’s because that’s the most visible. If a person can lift a car, then they have strength, but if someone were to have sharp ears or a keen nose, then you wouldn’t really be able to tell.”

Jericho sipped his coffee, and to his dismay found that he was running out of sips, which meant that if there were any awkward pauses in the conversation, he would not have a go-to filler action.

She continued, “I mean, I could easily just write about the trivialities of humans not being so strong and call it a day, but I’m sure everyone else in class is doing that too. I don’t want my professor to get tired out from that— actually it’s the TA reading it, but still. You know?”

She turned to Jericho. “What ability do you have?”

“Don’t have one,” Jericho said. He was prepared to throw the answer out.

“Really?” She frowned.

“Yes, really,” Jericho said. He was taken aback, but because the frown appeared different. It was not because he did not have an ability; this girl knew something was up, or perhaps it was his paranoia. Could she read minds? A telepath would cause him trouble. He did not want another Dr. Yohan in his life. “What’s yours?”

“Interesting,” she said. “I don’t have one either.”

“What?” Jericho said.

“I’m generally cautious when people aren’t open to sharing their ability, which I get, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell you mine when you’re secretive yourself.”

Jericho smirked. It had been a while since he had this type of conversation. He used to go for this exact excuse but found it did not help him much from escaping harassment.

“That’s good though,” she said. “It’s nice to have secrets. You can’t spill your entire life story to strangers.”

Jericho took another sip of his coffee. A couple of sips remained to keep him at ease, although he was having a pleasant conversation so far. He felt that he did not have much to worry about anyway.

“If I had to guess, I’d say you have strength.” She pointed at Jericho’s bandaged hands. “Are you a fighter?”

Jericho did not want to say anything that would clue onto his ability, but he felt intrigued to amuse her. Branching off her question, he asked, “Are the people with superstrength really the only ones that can fight? What would be your second guess?”

“You look like you could read minds,” she said. “You look like you’re aware of your environment.”

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Usually what happens when randoms bother you for no reason. Jericho thought.

“Nope, wrong again! Let me guess yours,” Jericho said. Jericho thought about an ability unlike his own, and one that would throw her off a bit. “You look like a marksman able to hit your target.”

“Not even close.” She laughed. “If I had perfect aim, I wouldn’t be in this coffee shop. I’d probably be in some competitive sport, or even fighting in wars. That sounds like it would be a waste of my talents.”

Jericho tried to joke, but he came off as more of an ass. “It sounds like you have a boring ability. What are you studying that would leave you here?”

The girl rolled her eyes at Jericho. He pretended to not notice and took a sip of his coffee. She said, “I’m taking general education classes. I’m undecided for now, but my eyes are set on becoming a forensic analyst.”

“Forensic analyst?”

“Yeah,” she said. She slid the palms of her hands against her cheeks as if she were embarrassed to declare the statement. “It’s more of an interest currently. My observation skills are okay for what they are, but nothing a little schooling and experience won’t perfect, right? I’d also consider a career as a detective or even a PI.”

“Is that something you want to do?”

“I don’t really know what I want to do,” she said. Jericho could tell her mood was plummeting, but he could also tell that she wanted to talk about her situation as well. “What do you study?”

“Oh, I’m not in school,” Jericho said. “Like I said. I don’t have abilities.”

“That’s bullshit,” she said. “I bet your ability is embarrassing and that’s why you don’t want to share it. Can you inflate your head twice its size or something?”

“Fortunately no,” Jericho said. “Use those observation skills of yours to figure it out.”

She played along, up for the challenge. The girl with short, dyed blonde hair examined Jericho as he took his final sip of his coffee, any more and he would be sipping air. She rested her palm on her jaw, pretending to be deep in thought. Her lips pulled in and moved to the side, unsure of what she thought of Jericho and his ability.

“I’m clueless,” she said. “Usually detectives have clues and evidence, and I’m not working with much.”

“That sounds like it would be a common occurrence in that career,” Jericho said. “You sure you still want to pursue that?”

“I like challenges, so I don’t see why not,” she idly answered, although Jericho could tell she was still trying to figure out his ability. She had yet to give up, rather, she was only getting started.”

“No ability, huh? I’d say you’re a liar about that, but I sort of believe that you’re not in school. But if you’re not in school, then you should be in the military, and none of the trainees should be home yet, except for the older ones. How old are you?”

“I recently turned 19.”

“I feel like I’m grasping at straws,” she said.

“You’re headed in the right direction,” Jericho said. “There’s still more information to collect.”

She nodded. “You also have those bandaged hands, which should be a good clue. Now, that doesn’t help at all, since now the possibilities are endless. Do you control fire or electricity? Are you able to harden your hands? Do your hands have a strong grip?” She shook her head as the ideas poured out.

“Are you sure you want to be a detective?” Jericho said. He playfully laughed as she struggled. “Most cases go cold, and nowadays we just have Lances that act as judge, jury, and executioner. Sorry if it discourages you, but there’s really no need for detectives. Assassins and spies, though? That’s a field that implements those skills.”

Her eyes perked up as if Jericho said something brilliant, but Jericho turned to see what had caught her attention. She waved at a girl with long, black hair. A radar pinged in Jericho’s head; he thought he recognized the girl from somewhere.

“Leona!” The girl Jericho had been talking to called the unknown girl over. A longer glance and he swore he knew her.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“True! Well, you know how it is,” Leona said. “Who’s this?”

The girl turned to Jericho, “Oh, well I never actually got his name.”

“Jericho,” he said. He lent out a hand, unsure of why he was being so formal with a handshake, although it felt suitable for the situation.

“Jericho, this is my friend Leona. I’m Tristen.”

Jericho noted the two names, but he was sure he would forget them if he were to ever meet these two again.

“How’d you get out of the house?” Tristen said. “Your dad is usually strict, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Leona said. She slowly pressed her hands down in the air. “Let’s have this kind of talk another time.”

“Oh, right,” Tristen said, her voice now considerably lower.

“It was nice to see you,” Leona said.

They hugged and said their goodbyes and Jericho was left with Tristen again.

“What were we talking about?” Tristen said.

“I forgot.”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I remember now. I was guessing your ability.”

“Right.”

“I think you might be a healer,” she said. Jericho tried his best to act coy. “You ignored my question and didn’t answer whether you had strength or not, and I think I was wrong based on how fast you decided to transition to that question of yours. It makes sense to be secretive of an ability such as that. I’m correct, aren’t I?”

At this point, Jericho had let his guard down. He humbly obliged to answer the question, perhaps persuaded by how pretty this girl was. He said, “You’re right.” Seconds later he regretted his slip-up of dialogue.

“Yes! I got it!” She was loud enough for others to take notice of the sudden outburst, but not loud enough to turn heads.

“What about you?” Jericho said. He sipped into his cup of air violently, unsure of what to do now. His mind went back and forth between thinking about how much he was overreacting, and how he should just chill out.

Tristen pulled up her sleeve and glanced at her watch. Notification after notification pinged on the screen. “Damn it. I didn’t realize how much time passed.” She pleadingly stared at Jericho wanting to talk more, although Jericho failed to acknowledge such a thing. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’ll meet you here.”

Jericho snapped out of his confusion. “Huh? What?”

“Tomorrow,” she said. She scrambled to gather her belongings and put her laptop in her bag. “Can we meet up again? The same time?”

“Sure,” Jericho said.

I should ask for her number. I better not screw this up. Jericho thought.

“Hey, what’s your—”

She slipped on her backpack and hurried out the door. She called out, “Sorry! Just meet me here tomorrow! I’m late for—” and she was out the door.