I don’t know enough about the long-term effects of sleep deprivation to tell you all of its symptoms, but I know for damn sure irritation is one of them. After reading the note Naomi apparently slipped me yesterday—ignoring the fact she was in the car with me the whole time—I have been a paranoid and sleep-deprived wreck. This sucks especially bad for me because today is the day Sydney and I are meeting up to unwind after everything that happened, and I’m going to be coiled like a spring the entire time.
I don’t even know what “it reacted worse than it ever has before” means in this context! What has it previously reacted to? The New Tide? Your toast burning? If you’re going to prophesize doom, at least give me the sort of scale I’m working with here!
Pressing my palms against my eye sockets, I subdue my frustrations. She’s an emotionally unstable kid whose powers only encourage more instability. If I were sixteen, saw the future, and could make other people forget about my existence at a whim, I would also not be in a great place. I force myself to stop thumbing the note still in my bag, its edges already crinkled from the abuse my nervousness has been putting on it.
A thought courses through my mind: What if she made it all up to get some weird, petty revenge on me? She did say “can’t forgive” in the note—no, nope, you need to pump the brakes on the paranoia, Brooke. She’s a good kid, and—my phone buzzes from my bag, interrupting my thoughts. It’s from Sydney; she must be here already.
Sydney: “You look like you got in a fight—and lost.”
I look up, my eyes meeting hers as she sits on the bench adjacent to mine. I text her back instead of walking over to her, refusing to acknowledge that I was too distracted to notice her arrival.
“Before it got to me, I heard my phone killed the dinosaurs.” I send, adding a phone and a meteor emoji for effect. She snorts as she slides closer to me, her blond hair hanging on either side of her head like a Cocker Spaniel's ears. “I was going to try and scare you, but reconsidered based on the week you’ve had.” She says, humor thinly veiling her concern.
“With the amount of sleep I got last night, I might have just keeled over if you did that.” I say, laughing, but only realize what a bonehead move joking about my death is after I’ve already done it. I break off my laugh, worriedly checking her expression, but she seems more amused at my own reaction to the statement than upset.
“Never change, Brooke. And if you’re feeling rough, why don’t we just take this to my place? There’s a new Vanguard in the Washington bubble that’s making these super high-tech board games, and I managed to nab one last shipment.” She elbows me, miming wearing a trench coat as she mentions the board game, like it's some kind of contraband.
The Vanguard part of the comment catches me off guard, and I try to play off the surprise as I speak. “No chance; the only way I’m going home today is after I’ve had one of those ice cream parfetti things that look like animals. Last time I was here, the guy who makes them said that he’d figure out how to make a raccoon one for the next time I came by.”
She raises her eyebrows at that, clearly wanting a story, but can’t resist correcting me. “Parfait, you mean? I heard from Dom that they didn’t taste super great.”
My flat look is enough to make her giggle before I even speak: “I wouldn’t trust the taste of literally any of Victor's friends. Least of all Dominic.” A few people glance at us as they walk by, heading further into the outdoor mall.
“Isn’t that a self-diss since he’s totally into you?” She asks, smugness dripping from her tone.
I don’t say anything, just pinching the sides of my “Become Ungovernable” Raccoon shirt to make the text more visible. The shirt was very specifically chosen for today, as it’s the same one I wore last time I was here.
“Point taken. Let me know if it gets to be too much for you though, okay?” Her hand sets itself on my shoulder, but I brush it off and pull her into a hug instead. “Don’t worry, I won’t overdo it. We should also still do the board game when we’re done here, it sounds like you’ve been wanting to for a while.”
I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job of hiding my stress, though just getting to see Sydney again has melted some of it away regardless. We find ourselves walking through the open-air complex, the huge ceiling of darkened glass panes keeping us shaded as we walk between stores. A vast majority of them are small restaurants or shops that sell things like accessories or Vanguard merch, though not much to my taste.
Usually, when I want to shop for something, I have to have it custom ordered since there simply aren't enough people left like me for it to be worth mass producing. I shed an imaginary tear for my lost comrades as I drag Sydney into a candle shop.
She grimaces as the overpowering smell hits her nose, but I inhale like it's the most wondrous scent in the world. It’s terrible, obviously; there’s no way a hundred smells of such different varieties could make something truly appealing, but it's still nostalgic to me. And I love the scrunched-up face she makes; it might be the best part.
“Green Envy, huh? That’s a new one.” I say as I pull it down from the shelf. The stoned-looking employee decides I was talking to her as she responds, “That’s the second candle of our new product line, ‘Diluted Emotion.’ It’s a fan favorite.
I sniff it, and even though it's probably one of the worst candles I’ve ever had the opportunity to sniff, I don't react, holding it out for Sydney to try instead. Completely trusting me to do right by her, she inhales deeply from it, getting the full power of what jealousy apparently smells like. To give her some credit, she doesn’t react immediately, but her earnest attempt to invalidate my prank still ends with her coughing at the truly terrible candle
I still wind up leaving with a mint candle; for some reason I’ve been craving the smell, and the store got it close enough that I can’t complain. Too much.
“Oh shit, what’s a Vanguard doing here?” Sydney asks, and dread floods my gut; Naomi’s letter on the forefront of my mind as I whip around, expecting the worst. Instead, I’m greeted by the sight of Revision bent over in his massive suit of armor, helmet on, and hands busy signing the back of someone's shirt with them still in it. I relax, though not before Sydney sees me act like a woman possessed.
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“Brooke, you said you’d tell me if you weren't doing well, and that was not what I’d call well.” She pouts, her concern returning with a vengeance.
“I mean, I said I wouldn’t overdo it, and... yeah, alright, I could be feeling a bit better right now. I just didn’t expect to see a Vanguard here, is all.” I try to refute her, but her expression grants no quarter to my semantics. “I’d like to at least go to the parfait place before we go.”
“I’m not making you do anything, Brooke. You just look like the world's out to get you, and that’s on top of the black eye.” she says, before looking past me. “I’m also pretty sure Vanguard Revision is waving at one of us."
My shoulders stiffen, dreadfully unprepared to have my secret revealed to everyone in the mall around me. I fix him with a glare, and while he had already stopped waving, he turns away entirely now. A few people give me an odd look—those who saw most of our exchange trying to find a connection between us.
I do my best to not give them enough time, pulling Sydney along with me to “Whiskers and Creme." I know the parfait shop has closed booths for privacy, and I could use a lot of that right now.
“You can stop pulling on my arm, it's not like anyone’s following us, she says, and I pause, looking behind us. Not only did no one follow us, but I’m probably drawing more attention by acting like this. I let go of her arm, and she rubs it a little. I was definitely gripping too hard. I don’t even get a chance to apologize before she speaks again: “Don’t worry about it; I can tell something’s eating at you real bad. Just promise me you’ll tell me everything.”
I nod, having already planned on it, just not quite at this moment.
“I promise. We might be here a while, though.”
We enter Whiskers and Creme, both sides of the door guarded by porcelain cats made out of chocolate chip ice cream. The floors are a pretty checkerboard pattern, and the walls a pleasant beige with animal silhouettes spaced along their borders. I hold Sydney's hand, her presence keeping some of the panic away as I calm myself.
We make it to the front of the line, and the same older Japanese man as last time peers over the counter.
“Animal and Flavor.”
Sydney asks for this really appealing-sounding caramel and graham cracker one in the shape of a dog's head, and if I hadn’t come here with a purpose, I might have copied her.
“Cookies and Cream with a Raccoon, please.” I ask, trying to make my shirt’s design as visible as possible without actively touching it.
He glances down at my shirt, his wrinkles shifting around his eyes as he recognizes me.
“I remember. My wife worked hard to design this one.” He looks almost giddy at the prospect of getting to serve it. “Come this way, the far back booth is open.” Without a second glance, he heads further into the restaurant, his young son immediately taking over the desk.
I look back at Sydney as I follow, though she doesn’t seem to be quite as excited as I am—which is fair. I was hoping the idea of something sweet would make her less nervous about our talk, though I suppose food isn’t quite as much of a motivator for her as it is for me.
I grab her hand again, gently this time. ‘Sorry if I’ve got you nervous; I didn’t mean to make everything seem so suspicious. I promise it isn’t anything awful; I’m just kind of stressed about it.”
I figure from her expression that she’s unconvinced, but she holds my hand back a bit tighter, which I take as a good sign. Mr. Takahashi—I read his name tag—opens the cute double doors to our private booth, the tiny wheels at the bottoms of the doors squeaking as he does so.
“Your order will be out shortly. If you require anything else, use the tablet on the wall.’
He shuts the door behind him, and I’m left with Sydney, who has decided that resting her hands on her wrists and staring at me is going to make this easier. I know there isn’t going to be enough time to tell her everything before our food gets here, so I tell her that.
“So. There are technically two things I want to talk to you about. Unfortunately, the one I’m this worked up about requires the context of the other one, and neither are short stories to tell.”
The sigh she lets out is simply devastating, and I’m about to try and tell her it all right now before she speaks: “If your life isn’t in danger, just tell me after we get our orders.”
I purse my lips, doing my best to word this in a way that won’t worry her. “It shouldn’t be.”
“What.”
Shit. “It shouldn’t be in danger. Like, very very low likelihood of anything happening!” I try, fully aware that every word I say is digging a bigger hole.
“What does that even mean?! You can’t just drop something like that and expect me to—” Her rant is interrupted by a knock on the door, the noise silencing us both.
“You gals doin’ awlright in there? I’ve got your orders, but I can come back if it ain't a good time.” We hear from the other side of the thin doors, her accent jarringly southern.
“Oh, uh, no, it's fine! Sorry for the noise!” Sydney eventually pipes up, looking even more surprised than I am. The doors slide open and reveal possibly the most country woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Freckles line her slightly wrinkled cheeks, and her red hair is tied up in a braid that simply couldn’t have been done alone.
“Greetings to ya both! I’m Missus Takahashi, the one who makes these darlin’ things here.” She says, setting the tray down and putting our drinks out in front of us. She turns to me, eyeing my shirt. “It’s a good thing you took so long to come back, if it had been a week earlier, I wouldn’t have puzzled this fella out.”
She spins the glass mug around, and the most adorable raccoon I’ve ever seen looks back at me. His ears are both strawberry halves, dipped in dark chocolate to match his pattern. She surrounded his chocolate syrup eyes with a mask of cookie crumbs, and gave him little grabby chocolate fingers that wrap around the spoon.
“You like him?” She asks, holding the tray the drinks were on to her chest.
“I love him, thank you so much!” I respond, barely able to tear my eyes from it.
Her face creases into a smile. “That’s great to hear. If you need anything else, just call on the tablet.” She says, before leaving the room and starting to close the doors. “And I know it ain’t none of my business, but I wanted y’all to know that friends only fight cause’ they care about one otha’.”
The doors close behind her, but her words stick around in our heads. I don’t know how to start the conversation, but I also don’t want to ruin the parfait by eating it, so I’m stuck just sitting in silence.
Sydney breaks the silence for me.“Sorry, I know I got a little mad there. I just… I nearly lost you once recently, and now it feels like you’re treating your life being in danger as a joke.”
That gnawing feeling of guilt rises in my stomach. “You’re right, and I know how that kind of thing gets to you. I’m sorry too.” I take a deep breath, preparing myself as I meet her eyes. I have to trust that our relationship will remain the same; it’s too late to back out now.
“Do you remember that super cheesy Vanguard film we watched the year we met? And how we jokingly promised that we’d tell each other if we got superpowers?” Her eyebrows hike up on her forehead, and I form my hair into a halo as a demonstration.
“So I’m apparently a Vanguard?”