FSE

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The kitchen light was on.

She hesitated for just a moment. The person inside, if any, would ask what she was doing up so late--on a school night. She chewed her lip. Act sleepy. She told herself. You woke up cuz it's hot, and you're thirsty.

Her eyelids drooped. She let her cheeks sag a little, too. Her shoulders slanted downward. Her feet gained a pound in weight, and her knees could barely lift them. She dragged t across the floor toward the light, letting go of a big yawn.

"Well hey there, Foo Foo. What're you doing scoopin' up the field mice this late at night?"

"I'ss'hot." She grumbled. "'D'irsty."

Her brother chuckled. "Having nightmares is thirsty work--especially if you're awake through the whole thing." He smiled as her face professed how caught she felt. "You've never been good at acting fake-sleepy," he remarked with a smile of sympathy.

Her posture made a subtle change from her fake-sleepy weary to up-too-late weary. Not much changed except the puffiness in her cheeks was discarded and the slump was more in her neck than in her knees. She was truthful about the thirst, however, and made her way to the fridge. "What're you doing up so late?" She questioned, a draft of cold air brushing her nose, whiskers, cheeks, and the tips of her long ears.

"Research." Her brother replied, leaning slightly away from the table and spreading his hands over the array of thick books and loose, aqueous-coated papers.

She pulled a single chocolate milk from the side of the fridge and glanced over as she shut the door. Her eyes pulsed. "What the heck subject is that for?"

"It's called: Life Choices," he said. "It's very tricky. No matter how hard you study for it, you can never be truly prepared to take its tests." He watched as she relaxed her expression, her lips closing.

She looked down at her bottle of milk and, in one motion: tore away the seal about the neck, popped off the lid, and swallowed the entire bottle-full. All in just a few seconds. A bit that dribbled from the corner of her mouth was wiped onto her wrist with the same hand that held the bottle. She looked at her brother, mouth hidden behind her hand, and then lowered her arm.

"You're doing that philosophical thing again, aren't you?" She asked dryly.

At first his lips dropped in a bit of genuine surprise, exposing his oft-concealed bucked teeth. Then, after only a couple seconds of his thoughts, the right side of his mouth pulled up into a smile.

"And you're doing that rhetorical thing again," was his response.

She shuffled to the sink and rinsed the empty bottle of residue, laying it upside down to dry for recycling later. Then, she walked toward the table, wringing the water from her hands and rubbing them on her baby-blue sleep-shirt to dry them fully.

She rested on one leg as she sat in the chair adjacent to her brother. A large, thick, paperback book was in front of her. It had a picture of a pristine-looking building, taken at a three-quarter angle shot. A row of windows lined an upper level, and the near corner jutted out with a support beam that rested inside of an immaculately trimmed circular bush. The picture itself took up only half the cover, as nearer to the spine the picture was interrupted by a circular trim that transitioned into a yellow background with a blue and purple banner running parallel to the spine.

She reached for it with both hands, wedging her fingers beneath. She could barely get a comfortable grip. She tried to heft it; lift it up as high as she could. It was surprisingly heavy, and made her arms tremble to just get the far edge six inches off the table. She let it down with a huff.

"No textbook should be that heavy!" She declared, sliding her thumb into a random gap in the pages and pulling it open.

"It's not actually a textbook."

The page she unveiled had a large chart on the left, with dozens of color-coded boxes and twice as many arrows. The text in the boxes was barely big enough to read, and the colors were so dark in some that the low contrast made it nearly impossible.

On the right was some kind of checklist, which had all kinds of cryptic looking numbers and symbols. A large portion of the bottom of the page was dedicated to an illegibly tiny blob of text that she wouldn't even begin to be able to read without a microscope.

"What the heck kinda book is it?" She asked, flipping to more pages with daunting amounts of text that made her want to run and grab The Very Bad Bunny for picture-book comfort.

"It's called an 'Undergraduate Catalog,'" her brother replied.

"Okay..." She commented, closing the book and looking back at him. "So... what in this gazillion-ton brick are you doing research for?"

"All of these," he said, pointing to the other gazillion-ton bricks on the table, "are the Undergraduate Catalogs of a university."

She panned her eyes to each of the half-dozen books on the table. She then went back to her brother. "Grown-up school?" She translated.

"Mmhmm," he nodded. "It's called 'college,' in general."

She shook her head. "I still don't get it." She admitted. "I mean, you have to go to school the whole time you're a kid. Why do you have to do it again as a grown-up? Isn't once you're done with high school you're done-done, forever-ever?"

He chuckled, closing the few books in his reach and moving them away to clear the space between them. "Yeah, I guess it does sound kinda silly when you put it that way," he admitted. "But grown-up school is a little different from kid school." He reached up, stretching his arms over his head while keeping his eyes on her as her eyes went from cover to cover to survey the pictures. By now, in their conversations like these, he could tell exactly what she was thinking just by the subtle, unconscious movements of her expression.

There.

Her nose twitched to the left. Explanation in three... two... one...

"Like how?"

He smiled. "Well, I guess it's easier to start with how it's kinda the same. It's a lot like high school, where you go to different classrooms rather than the one classroom all the time. But, the teachers do, too." He leaned forward, his hand rolling as he came up with more examples. "We still get homework; but, sometimes the homework isn't graded. Sometimes it's just optional."

She giggled with surprise. "Wow! I wish all my homework was like that..."

"Well, it may be optional but ya gotta get graded somehow, right? Some classes, you might only get graded on a few tests. So, you have to do really well on those tests or you might fail."

"That's not fair." She scoffed, crossing her arms. "You at least get make-up tests, right?"

He shook his head. "Can't expect make-up tests in grown-up school. See, some classrooms are actually kinda like movie-theaters that all look onto a stage, and hundreds of people all take that same class. Can you imagine if Ms. Hupp had to grade hundreds of assignments all the time?"

She cringed. "I still don't get it. Why go to grown-up school in the first place? You already did kid school and learned a whole lot about everything."

"That's the big difference between the two," he said, reaching across the table to touch his finger to her nose. "In kid school, you learn a little about a lot. In grown-up school, you learn a lot about a little."

She rolled her eyes. "Philosophical, again..." She warned.

His bucked teeth peeked out again. "In grown-up school, you get to pick and choose the classes you want to take--the things you really want to learn."

"Like how I get to pick electives next year?"

"Yeah. Except the other classes you take are picked out and scheduled for you. In grown-up school, you have to pick all of your classes; and you might not even get to be in some you want to. You can try again another time, though. You get lots of chances."

"But no make-up tests?"

He shook his head. "No make-up tests." He reached for the nearest catalog and flipped through it. Now and again, as he searched for a specific page, he glanced at her.

Her pupils went whizzing to try and catch what was on the page, and her ears wilted further and further apart as she was faced with the horrors of endless blocks of boring bold black block-faced lettering.

"Here we go," he stated, turning the book to her. "See this?"

She nodded. The check-list looked a little different in this book, but it was similar enough that she knew it was related.

"These are all classes. They have funny numbers. Grown-up school likes to make things really confusing by using numbers instead of names for everything. But each of these numbers represents different classes. And actually, what you do in grown-up school is you pick what's called a major, which is the 'little' that you want to learn a 'lot' about. You pick the classes that have to do with your major, among some others."

"So... a major is... what? Like gimme a few."

He nodded. "Well, what subjects are you taking right now?"

She shot out a puff of air as she thought. "Math. Science. Social Studies. P.E. Music..."

"So in grown-up school you can be a math major, or a science major, or a history major--that's Social Studies. Or, you can be a kinesiology major--that's a really fancy word for P.E. Or, you can even be a music major."

"Oh." She giggled. "So all the subjects in kid school match up to majors in grown-up school?"

"Mmmm-kinda." His head bobbed. "There's a lot more majors. And even in those majors, you have lots of different kinds of majors." He pointed at the page. "Like, see... this is the list of required courses for a history major, but it has to do with American history all the way from Christopher Columbus up to the Civil War. And..." he turned a good size of pages. "This is American history from the Civil War onward. And, there's even one..." he flipped back, "for ancient history. So, like, the Greeks, the Romans, the Egyptians--"

"Egyptologist!" She exclaimed with excitement.

That look of surprise came on his face again, and that same curl of the right corner of his lip. "Right. An Egyptologist--"

"Is someone who majors in the study of Egypt!" She finished, a big grin on her face. "I get it, now."

He smiled. "I knew you would!" He said with pride, closing the book. Then, he folded his arms and leaned inward. "But... what exactly made that particular major pop into your head?"

She fidgeted with her shirt sleeve. "Well, Ket's grandpa was an Egyptologist. He said so in his 'Get-To-Know' at the beginning of the year." She sat back. "I guess I actually paid attention, darn it." She said sarcastically, a bit of a smug twitch crossing her cheek.

"It's funny how little connections like that happen."

"Yeah." She kicked her feet. "So... what are you going to major in?"

He nodded. "Well, that's partly what I'm researching. But..." He reached out and pulled two of the catalogs between them. "I'm ninety-five percent certain I want to major in... let's just say psychology."

"What does that mean?" She asked; "Psychology?"

"Let's see... the easiest way to explain it is... The study of how people think."

"Okay... and what do these two books have to do with it?" She said, referring to the catalogs.

"In grown-up school, you can pick what school you go to, kinda. You have to apply, and they have to accept you. This one," he said, tapping the book on the left, "is probably the best one that I can get into--realistically."

"So... go to that one?" She suggested, shrugging her shoulders.

"I might be able to. But there's a problem."

Her ears swiveled back. "Which is...?"

He ran his thumb along the edge of the pages with thought. "If... If I wasn't..." He looked up. He took in an audible breath though his nose. "If I wasn't here... How would you feel?"

Her lips fell apart just a bit. The air suddenly felt heavy. "I'd... be really sad." She admitted, turning her gaze. "I'd miss you." She watched from the side of her eye as he leaned back, looking up at the chandelier above their heads. "What's the problem?" She asked, her nerves showing through in her voice.

He looked back to her, and smiled. "There's no problem." He replied, and got up.

She followed his hands with her eyes as he started stacking one book atop the other. She shifted warily. "Did I..." She started.

He paused.

"Did I... do something wrong?" She questioned with worry.

He plopped the second-to-last book onto the stack, and leaned over. He smoothed her ears aback as he planted a fraternal kiss on her scalp. "Nah. In fact, you helped me finish my research."

"I... did?" She replied, confused.

"Mmhmm." He said, and picked up the stack of books. "Can you carry that last one for me?" He asked, flicking his ear toward the last book right in front of her.

She reached for and hefted it. It was a bit lighter, but still pretty heavy. She slid out from her seat and huffed as she clasped the catalog against her stomach. Her brother smiled, and began to walk.

"Come with me," he instructed.

She followed him, watching the tower of catalogs he carried with a wary eye, dreading the way they threatened to fall off and clatter to the floor. But, they made it to the front door without any problem.

"Can you get the door, please?"

She padded ahead of him, snuggling the book she held beneath her chin to keep it supported as she let go with one hand to quickly unlock and pull down on the door-handle. It crunched, and she negotiated it open for her brother, shuffling slowly.

They stepped into the symphony of crickets outside. He paused, allowing her to shut the door.

The night was breezy, but when the air was still it felt clammy and hot. The glow of the city shimmered off of the low-hanging clouds that concealed the moon above; its light fought to be seen through the haze, glowing an ethereal blue-white.

She huffed the thick air as she tried to keep in pace with her brother's stride. She followed his lead toward the recycling bin set out at the curb.

He wavered a step or two, correcting for the incline of the driveway. Standing before the recycling bin, he reaffirmed his hold on the stack of books. "Get the lid?" He asked, his voice indicating the weight of the books was taking a toll on his endurance.

She hastily went to the side of the bin, and tried to open it. She was not quite tall enough, so she had to use one hand and jump up. She thought she had used enough force, but then it clattered back down. With a huff of frustration, she repeated her actions, but this time nearer to the hinge, and made sure it went past the point of no return.

It thumped, recoiled, and thumped again against the back of the bin.

Her brother let the catalogs fall in, spilling forth and splaying open as if flailing in desperation to escape their fate. The last few he chucked in one at a time, and emitted a sigh of satisfaction. He went to go close the lid, when his sister tugged on his pant leg.

"What about this one?" She asked, proffering the catalog she had carried.

"Keep it." He said, holding up his hand. "It's the one I need."

She looked down at it, holding it so that their porch light caught the cover. She noticed, only now, that it was one of the two he had distinguished to her as a school he wanted to go to.

It took her a moment before she realized that, of those two, it was the lesser one.

* * *

Her phone chirped.

Her hand snatched it off the nightstand. At first, she was angry. This was the third time it went off in the wee-hours. She was going to have to remember to shut it off. She was tired of getting insurance claims for whoever "Roger" was.

But, in her rousing haze, she saw the name, and hastily answered.

"Better late than never, I guess," she chuckled. "Were you that worried I'd get mad? It's four in the morning."

On the other end was labored breathing.

"Hey... are you okay?" She sat upright, her nerves tingling. "C'mon, say something."

"I--" A gulp. "S--sorry--"

"Don'tyoudarehangup," she had to say fast; she could tell, just by the sound of his voice, that that was what he was going to do. "If you hang up, I can't call you back, or I'll wake your mom up. If you hang up on me, I'm going to be so upset with you." She waited a few seconds. "You'd better tell me what's wrong, right now." She tried to mix her tone to be that perfect inflection of stern, yet caring.

"I--I just..." he collected himself with a breath.

It eased her shoulders, too.

"I had a stupid dream. I didn't..."

She lied back down. "Tell me," she urged.

"No... it can wait; I didn't mean to call."

"If you don't tell me," she said, once again using that perfect inflection, "I'm going to worry until school starts, because you hardly ever 'don't mean' to do something."

He sighed again. "I just... had a dream."

"Tell me," she urged again.

"We were... walking home and you forgot the code to the gate. There were these ducks in the pond..."

"Aww," she interrupted with a coo, "you must be really tired. That stuff wasn't a dream. There were duckies, and you told me about the geese."

"Well... I dunno, maybe I dreamed it too. But... I left, and then you tried to turn the alarm on but it wouldn't do anything, so you left it off. Then you went to make Insta-Mac and your computer wouldn't turn on while you were waiting. You went back into the kitchen and..."

She sensed the hesitation. "And?" She urged.

"Well... Beck was there, eating the Mac."

She raised a brow. "Okay... then what?" She moved her phone to the other ear, genuinely curious.

"Um... well... Th--they got you--"

"Who?"

"I... I guess... Virgil... Draub, Goren; I dunno."

"Wait... was..." She thought how to ask. "Was the 'ring-leader' there, too?" She could hear him gulp on the other end.

"Y--yeah."

"Keep going," she spoke evenly.

"...I don't know if..."

"Keep going."

He took some more collective breaths. "Th...they... he... They held you; like... they held your arms and legs. And he... started to..."

"Keep going," she urged again, after a pause.

"I just feel..."

She allowed the moment of silence. Then, in the softest way she could, she said: "What did they do?"

"They... s--started... taking off your clothes..."

This time, the moment of silence was needed for her.

"I... I know, it's weird and gross and--"

"Ket..."

"And I'm sorry for calling you and telling you."

"Ket."

"Look I'll--I'll try not to have dreams like that, I promise."

"Arkethius Cicero Rachaun," she stated; though she wanted to say it loudly and sharply, she could not. So, she opted for the softest, most weather-conversation tone she had. She could tell the surprise on the other end of the line, just by the way his breath crackled in his throat.

"How...?"

"How what?" She asked innocently.

"How do you know... my middle name?" He questioned. "I... I never told you that."

She moved the phone to the other ear, half-rolling to get more comfortable. "We girls have our ways." She spoke cryptically. "But that's not important." She took a moment to think of what to say, and settled on: "Don't have those kinds of dreams, okay?"

"I'm sorry..."

"You don't need to say sorry. It's just... I mean... If anything, I'm supposed to have that dream. ...Don't go having my nightmares for me... If that's cuz you understand what love is and I don't--or whatever--then... then I don't like that."

"I'll... I'll try not to," he replied.

She chuckled, and spoke to him in a reassuring voice: "I'm in my room. Safe and sound. I set the alarm after you left--in fact..." She huffed, tossing the sheets off of her.

"In fact what?"

"Shh," she shushed, slowly opening her door. She crept out into the hallway, her bare feet tamping on the carpet.

He could hear her claws ticking against the tile of the kitchen. It went away for a moment, replaced by the carpet again.

"Mmm..." she whispered; "Yep. Alarm's armed. The light's red."

He couldn't really tell what he was supposed to say. "Good," he managed to mutter.

"Don't be so worried," she chuckled. "Thanks for checking up on me, sweetie."

"I... I forgot to call you, didn't I?" He grumbled.

She giggled. "It's okay. I called later on when your mom was home. She said you went to sleep... have you been sleeping this whole time?"

"...I guess so..."

He sounded tired, still.

"Hmm... would you like me to stay up and talk with you?" She offered.

"No!" He hastily replied, "I shouldn't've even called... Are you gonna be able to get back to sleep?"

"Sure," she said. A white lie, but she didn't want him to feel guilty if she couldn't.

He groaned, as if he knew she was fibbing.

"Gemston, by the way," she stated.

"Gemston?" He repeated. Then, he put it together: "Emeral... Gemston Brillian?"

"Don't you dare tell anyone." She threatened, as convincingly as she possibly could. It didn't quite come out that way at all, though.

"It sounds pretty," he said.

"Yeah, well... I don't like it. But, I guess you got used to me calling you Arkethius, so..."

He chuckled.

She smiled, plopping back down on her bed. "You get back to sleep, too, okay?"

"Kay."

"And hey!" She said that a little louder than she meant to, but she wanted to make sure to get his attention. "Don't be afraid to wake me up if you have another nightmare, got it?"

He didn't want to reply.

"If you don't," she said, "I'll get angwry. And you won't wike me when I'm angwry..."

He sighed. "Okay, okay..."

Maybe he was white-lying too.

"See ya tomorrow."

"G'night..." he said, only afterward realizing how silly it sounded since morning was just a couple hours away.

She smiled, and kissed the phone. "G'night." She closed it gently, and set it down on the nightstand. She did try to go back to sleep, but only managed to fall into it just ten or so minutes before her alarm went off.