Chapter Four

Down the Line

I see problems down the line

I know they're not mine

I see darkness down the line

I know it's not fine

"Winry! Hey, Winry! Win! Rockbell!"

Someone is shouting at me across the packed cafeteria, but it doesn't register with me until she comes into plain sight. She elbows me with an unfair amount of strength, causing me to double up and wheeze in surprise.

"Earth to Winry Rockbell," says Paninya LeCoulte in a more-than-slightly accusatory tone. "What's up with you? I haven't seen you since track ended back in June, and here you are, ignoring your best friend on the first day of school as well!"

I giggle at her mock-hurt expression, but I know that beneath it all, she's genuinely offended. I straighten out and throw an arm around her wiry shoulders, and I'm happy to see that she doesn't shrug me off.

"I'm really sorry, Paninya. I really am. I know it isn't a great excuse, but work really picked up over the summer, and Granny needed help in the shop. But you're right, I should have made time to see you."

She huffs and grabs me by the waist so hard that my toes lift off the ground. I shriek in surprise, and now she's laughing at me. She gives me a quick spin and releases me. I totter dizzily over to the nearest table and sit down heavily atop its plastic surface.

"It's okay. I know by now that all mechanics are absolutely, positively nuts for bolts." She comes to sit down next to me and drops a wink at me over one liquid-black eye. "I guess we're still friends."

"Just 'guess?'"

She ignores my affronted tone. "Let's compare schedules!" she exclaims, quickly gathering her dark cropped hair into a very short tail. We lean over the two slips of paper that hold our fates as seniors in their nonexistent hands.

Paninya's brow furrows as she quickly compares subjects, timeslots, and teachers. "Well, we have Calculus together… and Physics! Oh, I'm not in Computer Science, I took Shop instead. Wait. You have to take Physical Education?"

I sigh, looking longingly at the empty space on her schedule. "Yeah. I forgot to sign up for the summer credit–"

"Well, at least we'll be together," interrupts an all-too-familiar voice.

Ed. I shiver slightly, despite the intense heat of the noticeably-unconditioned air.

Paninya and I turn around in tandem, and I give him an once-over. He's wearing the uniform's navy dress slacks, which cover his left leg prosthetic, but surprisingly enough, he's rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, leaving his arm uncovered. It isn't drawing much attention – only Paninya looks truly intrigued by its presence.

"Wow, Winry! You did an amazing job on this!" Without asking, she reaches out to grasp Ed's prosthetic arm, stroking its smooth metallic surface. "It's so light!"

"Nice to see you, too, Paninya," Ed comments with just a hint of sarcasm. He watches her movements warily, and I feel just the tiniest bit bad for him. Paninya obviously means well, but his prosthetics have always been an understandably sore spot for him.

"Oh, yeah, hi," she responds distractedly, reaching for his hand and testing the flexibility of his pointer finger.

"Man, I wish my legs looked as sleek as this! This is absolutely stunning work."

"Hey, now, Dominic did a really good job on those," I counter. And there they are, reflecting the early morning light streaming in through the cafeteria's windows, just as conspicuous as Ed's arm beneath her navy and green plaid skirt.

Paninya lost her legs in the car crash that took her parents' lives nearly a decade ago. When she was hospitalized and fitted for replacement legs, the orthopedist took such a shine to her that he decided to adopt her. Today, she and Dominic live in Rush Valley, the next town over, but she commutes to Resembool County High because of its better reputation and runs track on a pair of fitted knee-to-foot carbon-fiber legs constructed by her adopted father.

"Yeah, but would you talk to him anyway?" she asks, dropping Ed's arm completely in favor of tugging on mine. "It'll be like two old ladies swapping recipes!"

"Yeah, that's exactly how it works," Ed mutters, casting a glare downwards at his arm. I frown slightly and turn to Paninya.

"I'm sure Granny would love to have you two for dinner sometime anyway," I say. "How about –"

With an astonishingly loud crackle and pop, the voice of an eternally bored high school principal filters over the intercom, cutting me off midsentence.

"Good morning, RCH. This is Principal Mustang with just a few notes on today's proceedings." There's an audible cough, and then he continues.

"The homeroom bell will ring immediately after this announcement. Please proceed in an orderly fashion to your assigned homeroom classroom. Freshmen, you will gather in the auditorium for a short presentation from Vice Principal Hawkeye regarding schedules, class expectations, and code of conduct." He sighs loudly then. "Is that it?"

I can practically hear Riza's eyes rolling. There's an awful sort of whine as she pulls the intercom telephone away from Roy. "Hello, students. I have one final note for the ladies in the building. Please remember that uniform guidelines are not suggestions, but rules. Your skirts are not intended to be worn like tiny miniskirts–"

"Tiny miniskirts?" comes a shout. "Every girl should wear–"

With another infuriated hiss, Riza's voice recommences. "Just – ugh. Girls, please take note that we will be performing routine checks on uniform throughout the warmer months, and getting a detention slip for wearing your skirt too short is just plain stupid."

Paninya snorts with laughter. "I love her."

"So, welcome back, RCH," Riza says with finality. "Homeroom begins in five minutes. Have a wonderful first day!"

With that, the line closes, and the steady stream of whispers that had gone unchecked during the announcements return to their normal, deafening volume.

"Where's homeroom?" Ed asks Paninya. Their surnames are close together in the alphabet, so they belong in the same one.

She consults her schedule, frowning. "It's in a tiny classroom near the black box theater… That's strange, though. We have a new teacher!"

"Who?" I ask, curious.

"Someone named Mr. Nevy."

"Never heard of him – wait! I have a new teacher as well!" I jab my finger at my schedule. "Miss Sult?"

Paninya's flat nose, dusted with a light spray of freckles, wrinkles. "Never heard of her, either." She shrugs. "C'mon, Ed, let's get this bullshit over with. God, I've always hated homeroom…"

I smile. "Have a good day!"

To me, Ed looks pretty pathetic as Paninya drags him away, chattering all the while. I can't help but laugh at his latest predicament.

Miss Sult is in fact a new teacher. She's also the most beautiful person I think I've ever laid eyes on. She wears her thick hair, even darker than Paninya's, in heavy curls that nearly reach her waist, and her large, expressive eyes are outlined perfectly with dark ink, giving her an overall dramatic and almost… I can't explain it, but her appearance is just so compelling. I feel as if I can't tear my eyes away.

She smiles at all of us, her deep red lips curling at one side as if she knows a juicy secret. I blush, still utterly confused as to why I feel this way. But I'm not the only one, I notice. All around me, my fellow students gape at her, clearly just as transfixed by her impossibly perfect appearance as I am.

"Hello, students," she practically murmurs in what can only be described as a sultry tone. I can only blink up at her and nod, utterly entranced by her presence.

"My name is Miss Sult. I'm RCH's new Advanced Placement Literature and Composition teacher, and I'm very excited to be here with you." The way she said 'you' made it sound like she's especially pleased to be with each of us as individuals.

"Let's take attendance," she says, and for the next half hour, my peers and I hang on her every word.

"I just had the weirdest experience," I confess to Ed later during fourth period. Because it's the first day, we don't need to dress out for P.E. class – Mr. Armstrong hands out locks and uniforms and then we're free to do whatever we want, so long as we don't leave the sweaty confines of the gym. "My homeroom teacher, this Miss Sult…Well, she was just so beautiful…"

Ed thumps my shoulder. "Changing sides, Winry?" he asks playfully.

"Oh, haha," I say as sarcastically as possible. "No. The point is, while she was talking to us, I couldn't look away. It's like… Okay, this is going to sound really dumb, but I felt like she put a spell on me. Or something."

"How much Shakespeare have you been reading, anyway?" Ed asks, but his amber eyes are suddenly very tight. I can't explain it at all. I nervously raise a hand to my mouth and chew at my thumbnail, a nervous habit that I've never been able to get rid of.

"Unfortunately, too much. But this isn't A Midsummer Night's Dream." I sigh, staring across the gym. On the other side, Mr. Armstrong is being typical Mr. Armstrong – his white dress shirt has been tossed aside for the sake of showing off his impossibly large muscles to a gaggle of highly intimidated freshmen.

"No," Ed responds thoughtfully. "It isn't. It definitely isn't."