Note: hope you enjoy!
Chapter 2: throw()
That day didn't do anything for her popularity, especially with the Planners and anyone else out in the woods and field. Every time she wandered by, they grew quiet and stared at her until she was far enough away that she could only hear their smothered laughter.
She began wandering around campus again; but if it had been hard to stick with anyone before, it was impossible now. Groups were solidifying, and she spent long hours on the class terminal, querying desperately for any subject that might appeal to her.
All she needed was one Selection. She didn't even care if she found a second one; just one would be fine. One good reason to convince people she was worth being around. One good way to make people happy to be near her.
She began hanging out in the kitchen, on a seat at the far side. A couple Culinary students allowed her to play sous chef until she accidentally measured out salt instead of sugar; then they just let her observe, and pay her "rent" by cleaning up afterwards.
It wasn't that bad. She enjoyed putting the variety of spatulas in their right place, matching pots with their lids, labeling the assortment of powders and syrups and liquids. After she finished organizing the entire area, she was secretly pleased when she noticed the time students spent searching for beaters and skillets and flour decreased.
"We need more things to bake," someone sighed one day, "to practice," and before she could stop herself Sybil said, "Why not make things for people's birthdays?"
The students turned to her, one of them jumping, as if they had forgotten she was there.
"That's a great idea," someone else said, smiling warmly, and Sybil smiled back as others agreed.
"Yeah, I like it."
"I bet people would really enjoy it!"
"Who's coming up next?"
"Ken Tylar," Sybil said, almost immediately, and someone laughed.
"How do you know that?"
Sybil blinked, and then made what she hoped was a casual shrug. "Um, he said it the other day." Not to her — actually, he'd been saying it to Carlton Rayes, in the woods. Sybil would have heard more if she hadn't realized a moment later what they were doing there together and quickly fled the scene.
"He likes chocolate," Sybil added, hoping no one noticed her deep flush. She reached for a strand of hair and rubbed it between her fingers. "Um, so maybe you could do...chocolate cupcakes, with vanilla icing."
"Thanks, Sybil. That sounds like a great idea."
"Plain chocolate and vanilla is so boring though," Turner Ellegan protested, and Sybil started.
"I-it's…maybe it's boring, but —"
"What about strawberry?" someone asked.
"And maybe mocha, instead of straight chocolate?"
The debate went on and by the time Ken's birthday came around, they had settled on a small mocha cake with chocolate ganache and raspberries. They allowed Sybil to choose the plates and utensils and she set the table while students cooed over the glimmery frosting.
She stepped back and watched Ken Tylar's face carefully as he took a bite. His brow furrowed — and smoothed again, quickly. She watched as he struggled through a swallow. Cake crumbs were wedged in his forced smile.
"It's delicious," he declared, "thank you," and everyone cheered and began chattering and demanding treats for their birthdays too.
As the party went on, Ken ate only half of his first piece and discreetly passed the remainder to Carlton. Sybil pursed her lips in frustration.
They should have listened to her. He would have been so happy to receive chocolate.
:::
"So it was really your idea? The parties? And how the students interested in culinary arts began to organize events on their own?"
Why did this matter?
"Anyone could have thought of it," Sybil said, shrugging.
"That is patently untrue. In your school's entire history, no one ever has." He looked down at the terminal again. "In fact, your class is going to graduate with the most accolades of any in Cloudbank. That was due, in large part, to the incredible innovation and interaction your class demonstrated. You were the earliest class in your year to discover you could add unlisted features to your classroom. You were also the first students to begin working together on unassigned projects — like these birthday parties."
She huffed impatiently. This was getting ridiculous.
"So, what are you saying? That my Selection should be 'Throwing Birthday Parties?'"
He smiled at her, broadly. "Not quite."
:::
Birthday treats spread soon to the other classes. The kitchen students managed it mostly on their own, though Sybil always had to remind them that they'd promised she could choose the plates at serving time.
"It's done already, Sybil, it's fine," they'd argue sometimes, when the table was already partially set, but Sybil just gathered up the plates again and replaced them with something more appropriate. White porcelain for things with chocolate — pastels for vanilla — glass bowls for ice cream and puddings. Every time she fixed things just right, she felt a sense of relief.
Perfect.
It was just as it had been when she examined and piled up grains of sand in the sandbox — doing it, and having it just so, kept her mind occupied and unknotted.
It looks beautiful, a theoretical passerby would murmur in her brain, you're so talented, and Sybil would beam to herself.
It didn't mean, however, that she had any say in what the kitchen students decided to make. They liked preparing food for others, but on their own terms, much to Sybil's frustration. Tayla Markin received lime-and-pear tarts that were stunning but incredibly, in-edibly sour. Delanne Parvette cooed over fondant kittens that Sybil found later tumbling in the trash.
"Maybe there's a way you can make something that's pretty and tastes good," Sybil tried one day. And when the kitchen students all glared: "I...I mean...isn't it just a waste otherwise?"
"It's our Selection, Sybil," one of the students snapped, "let us handle it," and Sybil shut her mouth and continued to put away the dishes.
Lusia Panay's birthday was next, and Sybil wasn't sure what they'd do for it, because Lusia had stopped speaking to people after her dog died a couple weeks earlier. She wouldn't even respond to the Instructor (who didn't force the issue, just shrugged and typed notes into their terminal). Lusia vanished during free periods and even Sybil had no idea where she was until she stumbled accidentally into her in the woods. Lusia was kneeling down on the ground with a shovel, and after a while Sybil realized that she was making a grave.
"Are you sure you want to do that?" Sybil blurted, and Lusia jumped.
"Wh — what? Sybil? Is that you?"
"Yeah," Sybil admitted. Any surprise she might have felt at Lusia actually talking was washed away by her discomfort at being discovered. She sank behind a tree. And then, because she couldn't take it back anyway, she peered out again. "Um, maybe you shouldn't bury your pet here."
"Why not?" Lusia asked, bristling, and Sybil started.
"No, it's not like that, I don't mean that you shouldn't —" She stopped, took a breath, tried again. "It's just — you know — people might vote for something to put over it. Over the grave. And then it'll be destroyed."
"Oh." Lusia considered. "I'll just tell everyone not to."
"Oh, yeah. Good idea," Sybil said, noncommittally, twining her hair around a finger. The Civil Planners still made up the majority in their class, and she doubted they'd have any interest in leaving land untouched when it could be used for something they wanted.
"Well," Sybil said, "I guess I should leave you alone," and she started to back away.
"Wait," Lusia said, standing, and Sybil jumped.
"What? What did I do?"
"Oh — nothing. It's just...um." She shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Could you stay a little?"
"Why?" Sybil said in surprise and Lusia grimaced.
"I mean — you don't have to — but maybe — if you're not doing anything —"
"No! I mean, I'm not doing anything, I'll stay," Sybil said quickly, "sure." She walked forward, picking her way through fallen leaves and loose dirt. Lusia smiled faintly as Sybil stood beside her, and they looked down at the grave.
"I'm...um...sorry about your dog," Sybil said, feeling uneasy in the quiet. "You must have really liked it."
Lusia looked away. "I know it's stupid of me."
"Huh? No, I didn't mean — that is, you're not —" Stop, Sybil. "I have no idea what you mean," she said, finally, and Lusia just pursed her lips.
"Really." Her voice was flat.
It would have been impossible to miss the snickers and exasperated sighs that had started with someone finding Lusia sobbing in a bathroom and continued with her self-imposed silence.
"Why won't she say anything?"
"How weird. Was she in love with her pet or something?"
"It's been weeks already, when is she going to get over it?"
"Really," Sybil said firmly.
Lusia narrowed her eyes, then looked away. For another while there was nothing, just the sound of the breeze as it rustled the leaves. It lifted Lusia's dark, wiry hair so it tickled Sybil's arm, and it carried too a soft and pleasant sweet smell that might have been Lusia's shampoo. Or maybe something else, a scent that rose directly from her fawn skin. Sybil fidgeted. Lusia was pretty, much prettier than her.
"I know I should re-cycle him properly," Lusia said, finally, voice barely rising over the wind. "And I know I should get over it. It's already been...weeks...but I can't. It's hard. I barely even had him. He got a virus or something, and he was still just a puppy. I thought I'd have him for much longer."
"You can get another puppy," Sybil suggested. Lusia's fists tightened.
"I'm tired of hearing that! It won't be — the same. I just want Cable back," she said, and her voice broke. "I hate this. What's the point of having a pet or — or anything, if it will always just — end like this?"
"That's kind of how I felt about my sandbox," Sybil admitted. "It's — I mean, I know it's not really the same. But it's horrible, when something's taken away from you. I hate it."
Lusia sniffed. "I'm sorry that happened to you. I didn't vote for that, you know."
"Oh...thanks."
Sybil had run out of things to say. "I'm sorry," she offered again, as Lusia's shoulders began to shake. Swallowing, Sybil put an arm over her. Lusia pressed her face against Sybil's collarbone, and though Sybil hadn't been this physically close to anyone before, it felt natural for her to wrap her arms around Lusia's quivering body.
"I bet you're going to be a great Menagerist one day," Sybil murmured, chest aching. "Or maybe — maybe a Veterinarian, or something."
Lusia sputtered out a laugh. "That's a weird thing to say."
Sybil stiffened. "Is it? S-sorry, it's just — it's just obvious you really like them. Animals, I mean. If you care about them so much."
If only there was something that could break her heart this powerfully — then maybe she'd know who she was supposed to be. Thus far the worst that had ever happened to her was probably the loss of the sandbox, but it didn't seem likely she could extrapolate anything from that.
"Maybe I care too much," Lusia sniffed. "I don't know that this can be my Selection if it can make me so sad. I just..." She wiped her eyes. "I don't think I'll ever even be able to look at another dog again without thinking of mine. I know that sounds dumb."
"It doesn't," Sybil said fiercely. She tightened her hug, and Lusia squeezed back, and when the bell for their next class rang, Lusia finally laughed, softly but genuinely. She straightened out of her embrace, wiping her eyes. The place she left felt cold and Sybil rubbed her arms, smothering her disappointment.
"You're not too bad, Sybil," Lusia said, with what seemed to be a real smile. "And you give good hugs too. You should do it more often."
"Oh — okay," Sybil said, and and couldn't help a smile from breaking out across her own face, so wide that it hurt. She hesitated, then abruptly reached forward and hugged Lusia again. Her chuckle echoed in Sybil's ear.
"See? You're great at it. And — and thanks for listening."
"Of course! I'm...glad I could help. I m-mean, I'm really happy I could help."
They both gave the grave one last good pat, and then walked back to the class building together.
:::
"And then there's Case 2."
Sybil frowned. She felt herself sinking down into her chair. "I bet I know what that is."
He tilted his head, slightly. "Do you regret what you did?"
Did she? She only had to think for a bit.
"No." She straightened, shoulders bunched, knuckles white as they gripped the edge of her chair. "It's what they deserved."
:::
It was Lusia's smile that flashed across Sybil's mind when she realized what the kitchen students had planned for her birthday: red velvet cupcakes, crowned with marzipan. That would have been fine on its own, if it weren't for the fact the marzipan was thumbed into the shape of various dog breeds.
"She won't like them," Sybil said the moment she set her eyes on them, and everyone sighed loudly.
"Sybil, please not now, we're already finished with —"
"She won't like them," Sybil repeated, unsure if they had heard her properly, but now she was sure they had, because they turned to her with glares.
"Sy —"
"She doesn't even want to look at a dog right now," Sybil told them fiercely. "Didn't I say that earlier? Why won't you listen to me? Why do you only care about yourself?"
To her shock, their only response was laughter.
"Look who's talking!"
"As if you care about anyone else but yourself, Sybil. Or what's perfect."
"Perfect," Turner Ellegan said in a strangely high voice, "sooo perfect," and it was only after a couple repetitions that Sybil realized they were trying to mimic her.
"I — what? I don't say that," she said in confusion. Did she?
"Don't think we can't hear you," Turner said, eyes rolling. "You say it all the time. Or — or do you really not notice?"
"Whether I say it or not doesn't matter!" Sybil snapped, feeling her face getting hot. She pulled at her hair, coiling it into a stranglehold around her index finger. "The point is, you can't give those to Lusia. You're going to hurt her."
"Is she still going on about that? What's the matter with her?" Turner crossed their arms. "Didn't that dog die ages ago?"
"What does it matter when it died? She's still sad about it!"
"It's just — weird. Stuff dying and things changing is just how things go," they pointed out. "Not giving these to her isn't going to change any of it. Besides, everyone worked so hard to make these."
Sybil crossed her arms as murmurs of assent rose in the kitchen. "Don't pretend that you actually care about whether she gets over it or not," she hissed. "Or that you care about the effort you've all made, either. All you care about is making the next best pretty thing, not whether anyone actually enjoys it."
Turner's russet skin was reddening from their neck to their ears. "What do you know?" they demanded. "You can barely do anything. Unless they make Bossyness and Being Annoying official Selections, you're going to stay in this class forever. And that's only if they don't kick you out into the Country first."
Sybil growled at them, too angry for real words — her fists were so tight her nails were cutting into her palms — things were becoming red and blurry and her whole body was quaking. She couldn't be here anymore she couldn't be here anymore she couldn't she couldn't she —
She stormed off as Turner called, "And don't come back!"
She ran into the woods, more to burn off her fury than anything else. Lusia didn't deserve this. Lusia was kind and wonderful and didn't deserve this, those hideous marzipan dogs, and especially the crimson paper plates it looked like the kitchen students planned to serve them on.
I'm not going to let them I'm not going to let them I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT GOING TO LET THEM HURT HER I'M NOT —
By the time she made a couple circuits in the woods, she was out of breath, and the world had cleared up again. The sky was becoming burnished; it was almost time for Lusia's party. She walked back into the building, calmly, steadily, gaze unmoving as she passed as usual through the conversations happening around her.
"I heard Lusia's going to freak out about whatever the kitchen students made for her birthday —"
"Really? No way."
"If it'll make her say something, maybe we should go."
Sybil waited in the common room, frowning at the decorations — streamers and balloons in olive green and silver and cyan, a riot that made her head ache. Some of the kitchen students spotted her and one said, "Is it perfect, Sybil?"
"It isn't," she told them, "but I wasn't expecting it to be."
They laughed but she didn't see what was so funny.
The class gathered, Lusia scanning the room as she entered. She saw Sybil and smiled and gave her a small wave, and then — to everyone's surprise — gestured for Sybil to sit beside her. Sybil stepped forward, and the crowd parted for her. She heard them murmur her name.
"Sybil? Since when...?"
She ignored them. This position was better; it was much closer. She hugged Lusia.
"Don't worry," she whispered, "everything will be okay."
Lusia's brow furrowed, but she nodded acknowledgement.
Sybil was ready, she was ready. When Turner came out with the tray of cupcakes (on a baking pan — really?), they scowled at Sybil but said nothing else. Students craned to see the treat as they set it down in front of Lusia, and for an instant her eyes widened and —
Sybil grabbed the edge of the tray and flipped it over. The cupcakes tumbled off onto the table, and for good measure she shoved the baking pan upside down on top of them, smushing them completely.
The class, which had just begun to sing happy birthday, fell silent. Even Turner, who had a fat smear of icing and the remnants of a bulldog on their apron, was too appalled to say anything.
And then their shock turned into rage.
"Sy —" they began, and was interrupted by a sudden hysterical laugh.
It was Lusia. She was clutching her stomach, doubled over, tipping out of her chair. "Thank you," she managed in gasps of breath, "oh, Sybil, thank you." It was her first phrase to the class in weeks; she slapped the table, splattering frosting.
"Y-you're welcome," Sybil said. Until now she hadn't thought about how Lusia would react, but she definitely hadn't been expecting this.
"Lusia," Turner gasped, "but this — this is your —"
"I'm sorry, Turner," Lusia said, wiping her eyes, "but I've been dreading my birthday for weeks because of these treat things. They just — I'm sorry, but they just don't — taste very good."
"She's right," Ken Tylar chuckled from the back. "Wow, I thought I might have been the only one who thought that..."
"You definitely weren't! I couldn't even finish mine when I had it —"
"Who mixes cumin with cream cheese —"
"Culinary is my Selection," Turner snapped. They gestured around to the other kitchen students, who were all either pale or red. "Our Selection! If you don't like what we make, it's on you! You're the ones who have no taste!"
But the entire class was nodding and releasing helpless snickers, chattering to each other. Exchanging glances. Sybil felt something in her chest catch and swallowed, tugging at her hair.
She hadn't thought her heroic save out this far, but this wasn't good. Right? Sybil looked around but the only one not a part of the chatter was the Instructor, who had apparently snuck into the room sometime earlier. Their eyes met. The Instructor nodded at her — not an encouragement, just a greeting. Then they stared at Turner and began to type into their terminal.
"H-hey," Sybil said uncertainly, "maybe —"
"Look around, Turner," Lusia said, standing, slamming her hands down on the table, smushed cake and all. "Even if you don't think your baking sucks, clearly we all do. Who's the majority here?"
That was it. Sybil stood too. "It isn't completely bad," she snapped, and Lusia started.
"S-Sybil?"
"It's just — just —" The eyes were falling on her now — burning, boring. She took a breath. "It's their Selection. It's what they love. They aren't bad at it — they're just — more, um, creative. Lusia," she said desperately as the silence thickened, "for example, I bet you would have liked it if you had gotten cheesecake rather than — than —"
She waved over what remained of the puppy monstrosity. "Right?" Sybil begged. "Cheesecake, with strawberry syrup?"
"Yeah," Lusia agreed uncertainly. "I would have. That's my favorite."
"We can make that," one of the kitchen students said hastily, amidst nods, eager to climb out of scrutiny.
"Yeah, we could make that pretty fast —"
"No, there's no more cream cheese left, we used it all for —"
"There is," Sybil interrupted, "there should be, behind the jams on the left shelf in the fridge," and the students raced off to check, and called out confirmation. Sybil started cleaning up the mess, and soon others were pitching in. Plates (a thin, light blue ceramic) were laid out on a fresh tablecloth (butter yellow linen), and within the next couple hours cheesecake cupcakes had been made, and were a huge success.
Afterward, while cleaning up yet again that day, a shadow fell across the soapy counter in front of her.
"Hey," Turner said, and Sybil whirled around.
"What?" she demanded.
"You were out of line, ruining our hard work."
"I don't care," she told him, turning back and pushing so hard on her sponge that it disgorged a foamy tsunami. "I told you it would hurt her. And that your baking tastes bad. I warned you. You should've listened from the beginning."
"Yeah," they sighed, to her utter astonishment. "I should've."
After a pause, they muttered, "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. About you being bossy and annoying. And…and thanks."
"You're welcome," Sybil said with surprise. They patted her shoulder and she jumped.
"Oh — sorry," they said, withdrawing.
"No, it's...it's okay," Sybil told them. She bit her lip, then stepped forward and hugged them. Now it was Turner who jumped, but then they laughed a little and patted her back again.
"You know," they said cheerfully as the two of them pulled apart, "I think this is the first time anyone's enjoyed anything we've made so much. Maybe the first time anyone's enjoyed it at all, I guess."
She wasn't sure what to say to that. "Maybe," she ventured.
They grabbed another sponge and began to help her clean the counter.
"By the way, how did you know what dessert was Lusia's favorite?"
Sybil shrugged. "She must've mentioned it sometime."
"And you remembered?"
"Yeah."
"So…do you know what other people like too?"
"Yeah."
"Like who?"
Sybil frowned. "Do you really want me to name everyone?"
"Uh...um, no, I guess. That's fine."
Silence, for a while. The sponges squished across the counter. The sink rapped as they wrung water into it in fat droplets. Then Turner leaned their back against the counter, eyes bright.
"So...what dessert do you think we should make for the next party?"
:::
"I understand Turner Ellegan has been doing a fine job in Culinary."
"Of course. They always had the talent. And they always loved it."
"Perhaps. But after this — after your Case 2, that is — Ellegan excelled."
Sybil nodded. "They've been accepted into their concentration school already."
"Thanks to you."
"Wh-what? No." Sybil sat on her hands again. "They made everything on their own. It must not say this in the compilation, but I never helped with the baking. I'm horrible at it. I just cleaned and set the table."
The man stroked his beard. "Do you really believe that?"
What was he talking about? What else should she believe?
This was turning into a strange, uncomfortable conversation. All the interviews her Instructor had set up for her before had ended with forced smiles and encouragements to find something else that she was meant for. This was the first time one had lasted so long. And they hadn't even discussed the man's Selections at all.
What was he trying to get out of her?
What did he think she had to give?
