Chapter Four: A Helping Hand | Part 5
Seerla and Thirtyx had scarcely moved the sign-up materials off their banner before Rhea came jogging over. “Thirtyx, if I knew you planned to stay, I wouldn’t have made you ask Seerla, and you would have saved me a lot of anxiety!” she snapped, but before he could answer, she’d snatched the sign-up sheet from his hand. “How’d we do?”
“We got 15 prospects.” Thirtyx gestured between himself and Seerla. “And I didn’t plan to stay, but Seerla threatened to imprison me under the table if I tried to leave.”
Seerla put a hand on her hip. “I stand by my threat. Over half of the people we talked to put their names down. We make a decent team, if I do say so myself.”
Thirtyx deftly deflected the compliment. “That’s probably better than what you got for DHS, isn’t it, your eventual highness?”
Rhea scowled. “Half the people who showed up have never expressed a fleeting interest in magic, and the other half didn’t know it was a merit-based club. You’d think that information would have scared the little suck-ups to Benn’s table instead, but I guess the threat of physical violence is somehow still worse than writing essays and getting recommendation letters about a subject you’re not even good at.”
Seerla chuckled, but she stopped abruptly. “Oh no, I almost forgot! I blew off my crafting circle friends for this, and I should probably catch up with them. I hate to leave you guys to clean up, but—”
“Go,” Rhea insisted. “You’ve done plenty. And besides, since I did all the real work at the DHS table, I made everyone else clean up.” She gestured toward the volunteers in question and pretended not to notice them glowering at her.
Thirtyx and Rhea met Benn in the gymnasium storage area, and they caught an early dinner together. The relief of a full day spent in the presence of other people had Thirtyx feeling almost normal. He didn’t realize he’d slipped into a feeding torpor until Rhea snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“Hmm?”
Rhea rolled her eyes. “We were asking how your first day was.”
“Well, you were with me for most of it.”
“Yes, but we haven’t had a full debrief!” She set down her fork to give Thirtyx her undivided attention. “Alright. Scale of one to eight—how was your day?”
Thirtyx sighed. “I’ve used my brain enough today. I’m not doing homework for you, too.”
“Well then we’ll count it up,” Rhea said brightly. “Let’s see… you’ve got four classes with me or Benn, so that’s a score of four right off the bat.”
Thirtyx pretended not to be amused. “I don’t think that’s how rating things works.”
“No one called you ‘Venmy’ today—not while I was with you, at least,” Benn offered. “That’s worth another point right there.”
Thirtyx folded his arms. “Great, so you’re both doing this now?”
“Oh, the 15 people who signed up for volunteer club are worth another point, don’t you think, Benn?”
“Well, if we’re counting all that, why don’t we count the fact that Seerla tolerated me for four straight bars so we could get those signatures?” Thirtyx said.
Benn scoffed. “I don’t know why that surprises you so much. You’ve never had a problem with Seerla, have you?”
“I haven’t had a problem with a lot of people who still wouldn’t put up with me for four bars if given the opportunity.”
“Yes, but Seerla loves everybody! It’s kind of her schtick.” Rhea gestured toward a large table where, as if on cue, a mingled group of Devils and Dragonfolk erupted into laughter. Seerla was there in the middle of them all, two tables down from the trollish crafting circle she’d entered with earlier.
Thirtyx wasn’t convinced, but it was easier to humor them than to argue. “Well, if she has decided to tolerate me, she might be a good ally in our capstone class. Dexerro did call me Venmy, by the way, so you can knock that point back off your count.”
More chatting, then homework, then bed. Thirtyx never realized how much he missed the routine until it was back. As he stared at the ceiling before falling asleep—indulging in his own recap of the day, free of Rhea’s rating system—he acknowledged that he’d survived his final first day at Wydewood. He’d made it through 10 full years at this place, and now just a little bit more. What was the remainder of the term in comparison?
Just under a year left. He could make it—he knew he could.
Calley Jones 