Lumia

Everything ached. Lumia had been splayed on the cafeteria table for many minutes now. How many? Too many! Her stomach was growling so violently she was certain it would grow teeth and eat the school whole.

Getting here had been a struggle. She’d been carried by Raphael and, to her surprise, Morgan. That was after they’d carried Lumia to her room and dumped on the floor. She’d then had to peel off her clothes, letting out enough groans and whines that if she were a tower everyone around her would flee in anticipation that she’d collapse, then dragged herself into the shower.

After that came putting on her uniform. Oh, what a disaster that was! The moment she tried to bend her legs, the cramping transmuted into agony. After a number of failed attempts to get her bottoms on, she'd had the brilliant idea to say aloud, “I wish I had four hands.” That had summoned the exohelper. The horrible little gremlin had snuck up silently on Lumia. She’d screamed so loud she’d thought the building would topple. After an ill-conceived attempt to drag herself across the floor to escape, the exohelper began stuffing her limbs into clothes holes. That wasn’t half so bad once she’d calmed down, but when the robot had grabbed her legs with its four-pronged pincer hands and yanked them, Lumia issued another wave of screams.

After that ordeal, she hadn’t the time to brush her hair. At this point she was beyond caring. Her uniform was a complete mess: her dark grey skirt was more creased than pleated, her blouse had picked up half the fibres from her room’s carpet, and she’d connected the magnetic buttons of her blazer incorrectly so that it bunched in the middle. She decided to deal with it after she’d eaten.

As though her thoughts had summoned them, Class Euripides arrived with six trays between them. Energy sparked in Lumia and she shot up straight, eyeing the tray with her mouth watering.

“And yet she told me off,” Morgan shrieked, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. “Me! I was not even talking.”

“That was unfair,” Raphael agreed, taking a seat at the far corner of the table, on the opposite side to Lumia.

“She had it out for us, definitely,” said Alan. He plonked himself directly opposite Lumia. He placed his tray down gingerly, then tapped one of the corners to spin it so that it lined up perfectly with the edge of the table.

“I swear,” said Morgan, “if she does that again I will be going straight to the Educators.”

Morgan placed herself beside Lumia, while Leo hooked around the table and sat on the other side of the her, placing Lumia between himself and Morgan. The black-haired girl didn’t so much as glance Lumia’s way. Under any other circumstance, Lumia would have felt awkward, but now she only had eyes for the spare tray in Tock’s hand.

“Sorry for taking so long,” Tock said to Lumia.

“Oh, it’s no problem,” she replied in a rush. The sooner formalities were out the way, the sooner she could eat. Except Tock still held onto the tray, scowling at it.

“Yeah, it’s not my fault. There was an argument about what we should get you.”

“As I explained to you,” Morgan chimed in, clicking together a pair of chopsticks to emphasise her point, “if she eats something too heavy now, she will get sick later. When it comes to nutrition, there is nobody in this school more knowledgeable than I.”

Raphael glanced at her without expression, then went back to his meal: a healthy portion of everything.

Tock huffed and practically slapped Lumia’s tray onto the table, sending the contents dancing around on the tray for a heart-stopping moment. Lumia let out a sigh of relief when everything settled into place without spilling.

“Well, enjoy your boring steamed vegetables,” Tock spat, then lumped herself down next to Alan.

There was nothing boring about what lay before Lumia. Reds and oranges and greens and whites were piled high, all separated into their own colour-coded clumps, and rested on a mountain of white rice. Lumia couldn’t remember the names of any of the vegetables, but they smelled so sweet, and each flavour mingled together so as to wake her from her lethargy. Mechanically, she snatched up the pair of chopsticks beside the bowl and started scooping. Every mouthful was bliss.

“If I were you,” Leo said softly, “I wouldn’t bother complaining to the Educators.”

Morgan paused to swallow her food. “And why is that?” she intoned.

“They’re going to take Ising’s side. We’re new here, and she was in charge of our class. Besides, some of the Educators are looking for excuses to punish us.”

Morgan opened her mouth to speak then closed it again. She toyed with her food for a bit—root vegetables in a thick brown broth, which despite being so plain looked thick, hearty, and filling. Morgan growled, “Maybe some people are fine with accumulating demerits, but I am not.”

“Demerits aren’t that bad,” Tock chuckled. All heads turned to her, except for Lumia who was completely engrossed in her meal. “They’re more to stop you from getting credits, so you can’t go buying anything for entertainment. It’s supposed to keep you focused on your work and nothing else. But where they really become a pain is when you get in big trouble. It’s like,” she stabbed at her plate, which housed stacks of orange innards and pastry, piled high and topped with melted cheese. Lumia’s ears perked up. She wanted to absorb as much information as possible, so as best to learn the ins and outs of school life.

“So, say you failed a test. If you have no demerits, the Educators won’t care too much. They’ll give you a lecture and tell you to try again. But if you have a heap of demerits”—she slammed her chopsticks into her food with a wicked grin, causing everyone at the table to jump. “You can get expelled straight away.”

Morgan swallowed. “Have you seen that happen? A student getting expelled after failing a single test, on account of demerits? Outside of King’s College, of course,” she clarified. The school’s reputation was yet to be put to the test, so they had all assumed it to be the case that any failure would lead to expulsion.

“Yup! Our last secondary school, United, is the largest in Plato. You get all types there. Thing is, the demerits aren’t there to punish you, but more to tell Educators how to think about punishing you.”

“Stop covering it up,” said Alan tartly. “You also had a bunch of demerits.”

Tock’s jaw dropped. “So did you! Your uniform was always a mess.”

“Yeah, but I had way less than you. I didn’t repeatedly refuse to cut my hair.”

Perhaps wishing to derail the argument, Raphael cleared his throat and spoke up. “Lumia, this is your first time eating most of those vegetables. What do you think of—oh.”

Stolen story; please report.

Lumia shovelled a fluffy green thing—broccoli, she believed—into her mouth, chewed a couple times, then swallowed. She’d been eating so rapidly that she was struggling for air. When she glanced up to answer Raphael, huffing as though she was back on the running track, realisation struck her like a club.

Not only Raphael, but her entire class was gaping at her. Perhaps staring at her in complete shock, or disgust even. Lumia didn’t know what to do or say. She’d never embarrassed herself like that before.

Is there food on my face? she panicked. I can’t feel anything, but there might be and I haven’t realised it. How can I check without making it obvious?

“Wow, she’s just vacuuming it up,” Tock said.

“Yeah, it’s kind of gross,” Alan added, which earned him a sharp jab in the side from Tock.

Her heart sinking, Lumia dropped her chopsticks and bowed her head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so so so so so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so ashamed of myself. I—”

“Yes, we understand,” said Morgan, who was glaring at her bowl and stirring the broth with a spoon.

Lumia’s shoulders hunched up. She was expecting another lecture from her, but surprisingly it never arrived.

“It is your first day of school, after all, and you had a pretty hard time during morning training. As such, you should eat as much as you need. Just try not to overdo it and,” Morgan grimaced, “try to slow down a little.”

Her mouth twisting in a wry smile, Lumia put her head down and resumed her meal, this time with more etiquette. It still tasted as amazing as when she had been scoffing it down, but now the flavours no longer exploded together in her mouth by virtue of Lumia not stuffing them all in at once. Maybe next time she would try mixing all the ingredients together before eating. Either way, she was both mortified yet grateful. That whole event could have been far more embarrassing for her.

“We might want to hurry up,” Leo said, checking his meus. “We need to be at the Elizabeth Theatre in less than twenty minutes.”

“We’re the guests of honour,” Raphael said with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Everyone went quiet at that. Even Lumia paused her meal, now feeling a little queasy. The first day of school was going to involve a ceremony of sorts. Every student was to be seated in one of the many halls and open spaces that King’s College sported and would… actually, Lumia wasn’t too sure what they were supposed to do. All she had been told was that Class Euripides would not be in the crowd, but on stage.

She recalled that terrible memory which had leapt onto her during yesterday’s test, where she and her sister were made to witness a man being—Don’t think it; it’ll only make you miserable. Either way, Lumia did not like being singled out, made to watch. In her experience, the person alone was the person most vulnerable.

Alan leaned in and broke the silence. “Hey, did anyone else notice that everyone’s staring at us?”

Maybe it was because she was so hungry or fatigued, but for the first time that morning Lumia took a proper look at the cafeteria. There were dozens of evenly spaced tables and assigned chairs, divided up by indoor plants that created natural screens between tables. Students seated at any table could only see a few of the other tables, the rest cut off from sight. From every point in the cafeteria, one could make out the school’s emblem plastered high and proud on one of the walls. Along one side of the room was a series of clear chest-high screens where food was served from. To Lumia’s complete astonishment, there were no people behind the screens. Rather, the kitchens and stalls were manned entirely by robotic arms that worked with unnerving efficiency.

Despite the limited lines of sight between cafeteria tables, the students that could see them were passing glances over at Class Euripides. Lumia’s self-conscious heart leapt to the conclusion that they were staring at her due to her embarrassing display, but upon a second look she noticed that most eyes were spread evenly between herself and Morgan, while the rest passed over the remaining members of Class Euripides.

Lumia put her chopsticks down, leaned in, and whispered, “Did we do something wrong?” And by “we” she meant “I”.

Leo huffed dismissively. “They’re sizing up the competition.”

“That’s a lot of attention, though,” said Alan. “Like, is that normal?”

“We’ve only been in that class for a day,” said Tock, phrasing the stand-in for Class Euripides like some filthy secret.

Leo pointed his chopsticks at Tock. “Exactly.”

Frowning into his tray, Raphael spoke, “Because they’re taking an interest in the honours class, right?”

“Nope!” Leo swept the chopsticks across the room, addressing the school. “Think of it like this: there’s a slice of delicious cake sitting on the table, and hundreds of people all want it. Now, realistically, only a few people will be able to share it between themselves. Spread it any further and it becomes pointless to eat it. You’ll be eating crumbs, and since there’s so little you’re not going to get any of the flavour.”

“So only a few people can eat,” Lumia chimed in. She was mesmerised by the prospect of this cake. “Or perhaps a single person will want to take it all for themselves.”

Leo poked his chopsticks at her. “Exactly. Let’s say that someone—the Principal, maybe, was going to give away this cake. The Principal doesn’t explain how or why they’re giving the cake away, just that they are. Then they explain that only a limited number of people will be able to have it, but the exact number is unknown. What would people do?”

Tock raised her hand, then answered without waiting to be called. “Everyone will try to figure out how to win the cake and do what’s needed to win. But since they don’t know how many people will win, they’ll probably step over each other to get it.”

“Right,” said Leo. He planted his chopsticks into his bowl of plain white rice with a minimum helping of vegetables. “But let’s say you guess the reasons incorrectly. What happens then?”

Tock raised her hand again. “You look like an idiot!” Everyone chuckled at her response, which produced a broad smile from Tock.

“That’s one way to look at it. But another way is that, seeing their ways don’t work, those people will feel cheated. They’ve spent all of this time and effort to get their cake and got nothing instead. So let’s spice this up. Say that, before the cake is handed out, the Principal puts up a list of the most likely candidates and you’re not on it. What then?”

“Then the natural response,” Raphael spoke, looking up from his meal, “is to get rid of the most likely candidates for receiving the cake.”

“And that’s the logic,” said Leo with a mischievous grin.

Alan’s eyes darted back and forth between Raphael and Leo. He’d abandoned his meal, which was oddly divided into colour-coded quarters. Only three quarters of each partition had been eaten. He leaned in and spoke in a murmur. “Wait, are you saying that they’ll try to hurt us or something?”

Leo shook his head, then picked up his chopsticks and scooped up some fluffy rice. “Nah. Most likely they’ll just try to make us look bad. Spreading rumours, finding flaws in our methods, or just bullying us into leaving the school. Anything to give them a chance to eat their precious cake.”

“But why? What’s the connection with cake?”

“Resources. Attention. Praise. Rank.” Leo shrugged. “We get extra classes in Euripides, so we get more opportunities for earning a higher rank come the end of the semester. I guess a lot of that could be avoided by keeping scores private, but…” he picked up his chopsticks and flipped rice around in his bowl. “They think people won’t try as hard without a bit of spite and jealousy.”

Intrigued, Lumia watched Leo. He always presented himself as approachable, but when Lumia really looked into his eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a hint of bitterness, as though whatever light had once shone within them had been snuffed out, leaving only embers.

She’d sensed this before, when he was panicking before the first test. It was as plain as a bullet wound that he was hurting, but from what, she had no clue. From that context, his actions last night, striking out at Morgan, made a lot of sense. He was in pain and lashing out like a cornered animal. Lumia only wished he would open up about his problems so that she wouldn’t have to see that deadness in his eyes.

But who am I to question other people’s problems?

She watched him shovel food into his mouth with little expression, like his arm had transformed into one of the robotic arms that served at the kitchen—beings who would never know the taste of the food they made. People were supposed to be happy when they ate.

“What would you do if you were offered the cake?” Lumia asked quietly.

Leo’s chopsticks froze in place. He drilled the bowl with an intense stare. “I don’t like sweets,” he growled, then he resumed his meal.

Tock sighed. “I wonder if I’ll ever get used to this kind of attention.”

Morgan had been surprisingly quiet during their conversation, stirring her broth around and again until it had become tepid. Without looking up, she spoke, “You won’t. It never gets easier.”

She put down her chopsticks and stood abruptly. “Now if you will all excuse me, I need to use the bathroom. No need to wait for me.”

With that she left, abandoning half her meal. Lumia had a mind to try out her leftovers but she figured that would be far too impolite.