Interlude

Thursday, Sept 3rd

Surrat-Efrel Boulevard streetcar

About 6:30

Violet was nervous. OK, very nervous. She had gotten out of tennis practice and changed, but Tess turned out to be stuck with student council work until late, and Violet had felt brave enough to try coming home alone.

There had been a fair number of Queen Sara students who got on with her, but as the streetcar had gone along most of them filtered out, the car was now mostly adults and a few students from other schools. Two boys who’d come on recently kept staring at her. They were in a uniform she didn’t recognize, with grey collarless jackets.

She’d be glad to be off, and her stop was coming up. It was a little bit of a push to get from her seat to the door, and as she got off her nerves got worse. When she and Tess normally got off, no one else was leaving, but she heard people moving to get off after she did.

She didn’t look back and just started walking for home. Someone behind her called out “Etay tesaya,” or something like that; she recognized that it was Old Imperial but had never learned it. The voice was louder, and getting closer, “Jessit tesaya.”

Then one of the boys from train stepped around her, blocking her way. He said something else in old imperial. It was too quick to follow; then from behind her she heard, in strongly accented English, “What’s the matter, rich girl? Don’t understand us?”

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She tried to step to the side, not liking being stuck between two strangers. “No, I don’t speak Old Imperial.”

“She doesn’t speak Old Imperial,” said the one who’d been behind her. “My friend thinks your very pretty.”

She did not like the way either of the boys were looking at her. She was about to run, when another person stepped up – and in unaccented English, said “Are you two giving her a hard time?”

She looked up – he was taller than the two boys, and around thirty centimeters taller than she was – and thought he looked familiar, as did the blue track suit. The one of the boys who’d spoke English said, “it’s none of your business,” and tried pushing him. It didn’t work.

“I’m making it my business,” said man in the blue track suit, and he pushed back, hard enough to knock the boy down.

The other boy, who’d been the first to talk to her, said “kayjet,” then grabbed her bag out of her hands and ran. The one who’d fallen followed. The man who’d stopped to help said “watch this for me,” leaving something at her feet, and ran after. She looked down; it was a backpack. A moment later, she realized why the track suit looked familiar; it was out-of-season gym clothes from her own school.

She couldn’t quite see what happened about a block away when the man – taller boy, given that he went to her school – caught up to the two boys in grey, but there was some shouting, and then the third boy walked back holding her bag.

“Are you alright, miss?” he asked, giving her the bag.

She nodded, not looking up at him.

“You go to Queen Sara too, right?” he asked.

She nodded again.

“I’m Joel,” he said. “I think we’re actually in one class together.”

She looked up at him. “Oh! Yes, I think so. You’re also in Obdresti Literature?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s it.”

“Thank you for getting my bag back,” she said. “I’m Violet Conniello.”

“Good to meet you,” he said. “Are you going to be OK getting home from here?”