Francis – Math, Talents, and Lunch

It was pretty clear that Karen had a talent for sigils. Most of her textbooks seemed to be about using text to affect your surroundings. People like her ended up as security specialists or in public relations for heroes. Francis had heard of one sigilist who went into costume design, stitching protective symbols into the warp and weave of the suits she made. Of course, most sigilists could only power one symbol at a time and were limited by distance, medium, and intent. Karen was by no means a greater power, but her ability to power a keep-away spell made in chalk while out of the building was fairly impressive. Francis spent her first week in school surreptitiously checking for hidden sigils in their room. Nobody likes being unduly influenced by chalk, but it appeared that her roommate was no longer interested in affecting her.

They mostly didn’t see each other during the day. Francis had worried that they might have the same lunch break, but it turned out that when she actually attended class, the other girl much preferred the smaller cafeteria since it was more convenient and featured the newest food bar trend: toast (everything you could possibly put on toast, a dozen different kinds of bread including English muffins, bagels, donuts, and gluten-free bread, and a coveted French toast panini option on Fridays). The only class they shared was Hero History, which was solid lectures with everyone struggling to take notes on important landmarks in Hero legislation and the far-reaching implications of Hero involvement in the Great War of 1906.

She quickly noted that she was one of the few students who owned a laptop. Since most of the students fell into the category of middle to upper class white kids, she was surprised by this, but she didn’t really know how to ask about it. Part of her just assumed that somehow laptops were old-fashioned and the younger generation was all about college-ruled notebooks.

Her second math class went much better than the first. Mrs. Hugo had, unfortunately, broken her hip while getting a snack at the vending machine down the hall. As a consequence, she had decided to finally retire from teaching. Professor Williams, her replacement, had no difficulty in believing that Francis was who she said she was. He gave a brief lecture on his syllabus, assigned some homework from the textbook, and then gave them the remaining class time to work through the problems.

Again, Francis found that she was the only one using a laptop. The boy sharing her table was arduously copying out the math problems into a thick notebook, green-eyes narrowed as they flicked between the textbook and his lined paper. He had a graphite smudge on his high forehead from brushing his vivid orange hair out of his face.

“What?” he asked when he caught her looking.

“Oh, sorry, you got pencil on your forehead,” she replied, hastily returning to her work. He rubbed his forehead with his palm, succeeding only in making his skin turn bright red. Francis pulled out her pocket mirror and passed it to him. He licked his thumb for a more serious attack.

“Thanks,” he said when he returned her mirror. “I’m Simon. Training to be a mage.”

“Francis. I’m a leprechaun.”

Simon snorted, but when he saw her face tighten he said, “Oh, sorry. I, uh, didn’t know that was a thing.”

“I didn’t know Mages were a thing, but saw no reason to laugh at you,” she replied tartly.

“Well, they aren’t, actually. My talent isn’t defined yet so I just kinda made up the term. Until my abilities present, I mean.” She watched a blush creep swiftly up his neck and into his face, immediately regretting her harsh tone. Most people’s talents presented at birth or at the onset of puberty. But it wasn’t unheard of for them to wait until full adulthood to manifest, either as weak abilities or (more often) unfortunate physical mutations. Before she could apologize, he waved the conversation away and gestured to her laptop. “I didn’t know Faeries could use modern tech.”

“Leprechauns aren’t like other Faerie types. Affinity for metals, especially gold, is built in. Oh, is that why no one has computers here?” It hadn’t occured to her that most of the students would be classed as Faeries, though it made sense. The college catered to mid-level abilities, either weak Hero skills or non-crime-fighting talents. That meant Faeries, Magic-users, Side Kicks, and Half-breeds, among others. Sensitivity to iron was typical among Faeries, with the most common side-effect being an adverse relationship with technology. She suddenly felt very stupid.

The bell for lunch rang before Simon could answer, so she threw her laptop in her satchel and hurried out. Not because she was embarrassed for not realizing something so obvious. She just hated waiting in line for her food.

Today, she indulged in the pasta bar, piling her plate with as much macaroni as she could and then layering on alfredo sauce, mushrooms, spinach, bell peppers, and pepperoni from the pizza bar. There was an empty four-top on the outdoor patio and it was just cool enough to make most people choose to eat indoors. The spindly-legged table was a bit wobbly, but it was much quieter outside. She was just digging in when Simon sat down across from her.

“So anyway, what can you do? If you don’t mind me asking.” He wasn’t looking at her, choosing instead to focus on drizzling ketchup over his french fries, baked potato, tater tots, and grilled cheese sandwich.

“I bring luck,” she said unabashed. The pasta was over-cooked for her taste, but at least the alfredo was good. “Mostly work with metal, like I said.”

“Fuck, Simon, could you find a smaller fucking table?” Another boy dropped his tray on her table and then scrounged a chair from another table, the metal legs dragged carelessly across the cement. He was wearing navy blue khaki shorts, a pastel pink polo shirt, and smelled strongly of Axe body spray. “Hey, I’m Chad.”

“Francis.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look like a Francis.”

“Well you look exactly like a Chad.” His smile was all straight, white teeth and for some reason, her stomach flipped when he winked at her. He was ridiculously good looking, all perfectly tanned skin and broad shoulders. Francis felt small and dark and ugly next to him, embarrassed that she was drawn to him since she was clearly unworthy. The warmth rolling off him made her very uncomfortable, all tingly and languid, so she turned her attention back to Simon. “Do Chads often follow you around? Is there some kind of repellent I could buy?”

Simon snorted so hard he nearly aspirated a French fry, though Francis wasn’t trying to be funny. She was simply over-compensating for the strong desire to rip his stupid polo off and ride him to the ground. Chad laughed heartily, one of those big, honest, gut-born chuckles then smacked Simon on the back with one of his broad hands.

“I like your girl friend. Very fiesty for such a little thing.” He had the nerve to wink at her again, charisma dripping off him like honey. Francis narrowed her eyes and then laid one hand flat on the table top. The swirling pattern warmed to her touch almost instantly and in her mind’s eye she followed the heat along the whirling path to where Chad’s hand rested.

He didn’t notice the subtle change in temperature, but he did notice when at the first bite his entire burger and toppings slopped out from between the buns and into his lap. He leapt up, swearing vehemently and Simon really did aspirate a fry.

After he stopped laughing, Simon offered some napkins from the sizeable stack he had on his tray. “Dude, you should know better than to try charms on women here.” Chad glowered at him and then snatched the napkins and began aggressively wiping at the mess of mustard and ketchup down his front. “Sorry, he’s a Siren,” he explained.

“He lures sailors to they’re death with his song?” She stared incredulously at both of them.

“No,” Chad interrupted. “I’m naturally enticing. I have to be an asshole or else people just fling themselves at me.” With that, he took his tray, dumped the contents in the trash, and went back inside to resupply. Watching him saunter away, Francis admitted to herself that had he been less of a dick, she would have happily thrown herself to sea for the sake of his backside.

“So that was self-defense?” she asked, still staring from under her lashes.

“Sorta. Most people don’t care how he treats them so long as he smiles,” Simon sighed. “Growing up with him was tough, you know? I had to be his conscience a lot because he never learned empathy. It’s a real handicap. But rudeness does help temper the attraction, so maybe it is a kind of self-defense. Though, I’ve never seen it work so effectively.” He chortled appreciatively and ate a few fries.

By the time Chad returned with a new burger, Simon and Francis were discussing their classes and dorms and the absurd obsession the school had with Jeffersonian architecture (does every building really need columns and domes?). By the time the bell rang for afternoon classes, Chad was cheery again and his effect on Francis’ libido had softened enough that she didn’t want to rip his shirt off, even just to treat the ketchup stain.