Page 45 of Self Studies

The students began shifting around me. Some sat in a meditative pose; others frowned at their hands in confusion. A short girl with frighteningly frizzy hair grinned at a flame dancing on her palm.

“I believe you,” I said quickly and quietly to Derek. “Your past doesn’t change our friendship. We can chat later, okay?”

Derek nodded before sliding onto the floor and bracing his wrists on his crossed knees. His face scrunched up in concentration. I wanted to remind him to relax, but I suddenly realized I didn’t know if it was the right advice. I shouldn’t be saying anything. Instead, I opened the textbook to page one.

‘The Most Common Ways to Access Magic: An Overview into the Line Between Physics and Imagination.’

* * *

I sat by myself and studied my phone at my little table in the cafeteria. Or at least, the table where I’d sat for lunch yesterday. Unsure how to charge it, I tried connecting it to the socket on my hip. A picture of a battery appeared on the screen, along with a large one percent in the middle. I wiggled happily.

My bookbag rested on top of the table. I scooted closer to it and slid my phone into a side pocket without unplugging it before turning back to my lunch. The soft wheat bread that came with my split pea soup dissolved in my mouth. I used it to thoroughly clean every last bit of green out of my bowl.

As far as I could tell from my morning classes, the Institute grouped us into three ‘levels’ Although beginners tended to be teens, on the cusp of puberty, a few older and younger kids were mixed in. Most students kept to their level, but a few were like me - filling in their education where they needed.

Yet another piece of wet paper slid down my hood. I ignored it. Most beginners couldn’t use magic yet. Even if they could, the use of magic outside of class appeared to be regulated somehow. Though Sandy used it to clean up a spill – so maybe it wasn’t. It could be fear of the Aptitudes which kept students in check; Saffron had said something like that.

I rubbed my eyes, wishing even one thing here could be simple.

A second piece of wet paper nailed me from the back. Spitballs and nasty notes seemed to be the best my younger peers could do at the moment. Some sticky substance now clung to my skirt, making it bunch up on one side. And, of course, they took pictures of everything on their little stupid working black boxes of hate.

My hand shook as I picked up my drink. I took a few deep breaths and forced myself to relax. Life was full of ups and downs. Even living in Damon’s happiness, I’d experienced this.

A happy little noise chirped from my phone when it got enough juice and began to power on. I unplugged it from my hip, settling my skirt back into place. I wrinkled my nose. Nurse Norah told me my socket was illegal experimental tech, it could be part of my evil, and I didn’t even know it. My list of things I needed to look into kept getting longer.

A light chime sounded as my phone hooked up to the Institute's network. I pushed my dark thoughts to the side and opened my text messages.

Beryl the Boyfriend: Good morning, my goddess.

Beryl the Boyfriend: Not even an emoji back?

Beryl the Boyfriend: Lunch?

The smile splitting my face almost hurt. Even my concerns about Beryl weren’t able to cut through the rush of excitement that flushed my body at his three simple texts.

Aphrodite: Sorry. Phone died last night. At lunch. Just finished eating.

Beryl the Boyfriend: Phew, I was getting worried. Lurking in a doorway ^_~ Don’t move, on my way.

I pulled my eyes away from the phone screen as someone slipped into a chair in front of me. I recognized Advisor Crowe’s student assistant. My smile fell.

“Not as excited to see me as what’s on your phone?” Ram asked.

I shook my head, which made Ram laugh. His massive curly-haired presence took over the table. He spread his long legs on either side of my knees. If I tried to move to either side, I’d brush against him.

“I can fix that,” Ram said.

He plucked my phone out of my grasp, pressing on the touch screen. “It’s been brought to your advisor’s attention that you’ve yet to open up Mêler.”

After tapping a few more times, he flipped the phone around. Hesitantly I took it back. He’d opened the app. A picture of me, taken from slightly above, sat at the top along with my name. My swipe card, nestled between my corset-propped cleavage, dominated the image. Under it, anyone could post whatever they wanted.

The textured black background didn’t change as I scrolled past a picture of me pulling my skirt up to try and get the goop off of it and a second of me straining to pick up my bag. I slowed at a blurring pic of me eating with the four girls last night. Although it looked innocent, the person posting it had added the caption: “disease spreading.”

I scrolled through what felt like hundreds of pictures students had taken of me, each with its own clever or not-so-clever caption. Someone had found a drawing of a skeleton. They’d badly photoshopped my head onto it and posted it with a poll: “Bones and well-juiced pussy, risk it? Yes or No.” It was about a 50/50 split.

Moisture blurred my vision I scrubbed my tears away, unable to stop looking at the version of me I’d not realized existed. Image after image of my overly thin, scantily clad body appeared. Even the picture Mercedes took in our dorm room had ended up on Mêler.

My stomach churned, threatening to expel my soup. The snickers and stares from my fellow students swelled in my memory. They’d all seen this. Some of them even adding to the awful collection. I paused in my scrolling. Neil Swarts had animated my profile picture, so a dick slid in and out of my cleavage. Complete with cartoon water drops.

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