18. She kept in contact with Jeremie the most (even if Aelita was the more persistent).
When they'd first become a team, she hadn't known what to expect. She hadn't thought it would last as long as it did. She didn't know the things they'd see, the monsters they'd fight. When she's feeling particularly maudlin, exhausted but unable to sleep, she'll ask herself if it was worth it. Did she regret it. And the answer, no matter how bad the insomnia is, no matter how bad the guilt or the dreams, is always the same. She did not regret it, it had been worth it.
Those first days, weeks, had been spent getting to know the boys. Her new teammates. The people she would depend on to have her back. Somehow she had found herself drawn to the quiet bespectacled boy. Jeremie Belpois. The youngest in their group, almost two years her junior, but with old eyes and a way with computers that made her envious.
Jeremie wanted them to be in contact, always. Anything that seemed odd or suspicious needed to be reported immediately. He would text them periodically with updates or requests for training sessions on Lyoko. The boys joked and played around but Yumi understood.
Yumi found herself looking forward to those quiet moments, where she and Jeremie sat in the factory, talking about school, Lyoko, or just listening to his technobabble. She wondered if it would change, once they got Aelita freed and on Earth. Would they still have these moments? There would be no need for the factory anymore.
She wondered if she would miss it.
. . … . .
In the early days, back when they were still feeling invincible but checking over their shoulders just in case, she had typed her number into Aelita's new, bright pink phone. "In case you need anything," she had told her. "All you have to do is press the three and it'll call me."
"Do you think this will be necessary?" Aelita had questioned. "Jeremie already put his in for number two." Yumi wasn't surprised, she'd guessed Jeremie would want to be the first point of contact. He'd always insisted they contact him first if anything seemed X.A.N.A.-y.
Yumi had shrugged and tossed the phone to Aelita. The younger girl caught it effortlessly. "You never know. And sometimes it might not be X.A.N.A.-related," she replied.
Aelita had grinned then, bright and looking too-young in her bare dorm room. "So, I can call you anytime? Not just if it's an attack?"
Yumi had been surprised, had shrugged again and offered her own modest smile. It felt modest, something tiny and worn, compared to Aelita's brightness. "Of course," she answered. "That goes for any of us."
. . … . .
It wasn't that she didn't talk to the others, she did. Odd had a proclivity of sending lame jokes and mindless observations, particularly in the even earlier days, when they'd been trying each other out.
Monsieur et madame ENFAILLITE ont une fille, comment s'appelle-t-elle?
Mélusine
Get it ?
Mets l'usine en faillite
Come on, ur French isn't THAT bad
She hadn't deigned to respond until she walked onto campus the next day. "Jeremie won't like that one," she had told him.
Odd tilted his head back, studied her through calculating green eyes. "Good thing I didn't send it to him, huh?" he asked. His voice was bright and bubbly, but his look was still considering. Yumi wasn't sure what he was looking for, but she had shrugged and hitched her satchel higher on her shoulder.
The years hadn't changed much, really. Odd still sent clips of songs he found interesting, silly puns that she smiled and rolled her eyes at. Then, a year after their first mistake, a simple im here greeted her when she woke up. Again it was there the next year. And again after that horrible night, their second failure.
She'd spent two days crying, two days unable to sleep. She hadn't meant to respond, just like most of his other messages. She had never responded before. But two days of no sleep weighed on her, hung heavy like a noose around her neck.
Meet in town in 20?
His reply hadn't been instant, but it had come faster than she'd expected.
L'Orange Café
C u soon
She wondered, as she got ready, what he would say when she laid out her plan. She picked up her wallet, checked her reflection. Her head pounded, her eyes were outlined in red, shadowed in blacks ad purples. She squared her shoulders. Somehow, she felt he would understand, he would help.
She had been right.
. . … . .
Did you have Monsieur Hugo?
For history?
Yes.
He's terrible.
Compliment his stupid ties.
He likes thinking he's cool.
That seems like cheating?
He plays favorites.
D'accord.
/
"Did the others tell you we have a new headmistress?" Jeremie asks.
It's their weekly Wednesday night check-in. Yumi settles by the partially opened window and nibbles at a croissant she picked up at work. "No?" she replies. "How is she?"
"Too early to tell, I suppose," he says. He sounds long-suffering. "Her accent is terrible, she's from Switzerland."
Yumi laughs, surprising herself at the loudness. "What's wrong with the Swiss?"
"Nothing," Jeremie replies. "I love Switzerland, but have you heard them speak French?"
"Come on," Yumi says, taking a bite of her croissant. "It can't be any worse than mine."
"There's a difference," Jeremie insists. He's quiet for a moment. "They put her in Delmas's old apartment."
Of course they did. Yumi knew they had cleared out the apartment weeks ago. Aelita had texted her to say Sissi and Ulrich had spent the weekend cleaning it out. Yumi wasn't sure where everything went, wasn't sure if Sissi had other family or not. She'd debated calling Ulrich, after, but hadn't known what to say. Sissi had never been an easy topic for them.
"How did…?"
"Surprising well," Jeremie replies. "She got called to the office in class today, I guess the new headmistress wants to get to know her or something."
"Or something," Yumi agrees. "How's the robot coming?"
"Still a way to go with her, but I doubt there will be an issue beating Herve this year." Yumi smiles, settles back to stare down at the busy streets below, and listens to Jeremie wax poetic about his robot. It almost feels like when they'd sit and chat in the factory during maintenance or programming.
She's missed it.
. . … . .
Those early days had been hard, trying to keep Aelita safe without being suspicious about it. It was a crash course in everything Earth. Bands, movies, TV shows, music, clothes…they all had a role to play in getting her up to speed. Jeremie had taken over technology, Odd music and familial history, Ulrich television and movies. Yumi had been left with clothes and books, and apparently reassurance.
What if someone asks me to speak Norwegian?
No one here speaks Norwegian, don't worry.
What about pictures? Will they want to see pictures?
That movie had the new girl show pictures.
Yumi hadn't been sure what that movie was, but the fix seemed simple enough.
Get Odd to give you some of his photos.
Maybe Jeremie can photoshop you into them?
Yumi was exhausted, mentally drained before they'd even had Aelita face the general populace. She told herself it was worth it, told herself that Aelita was nervous, told herself that Aelita just didn't know. She still winced when her phone buzzed. It seemed like she'd traded Jeremie's calm direction for Aelita's whirlwind questions.
She wasn't sure which she preferred.
. . … . .
Jeremie got into Sciences Po.
Really?!
Don't tell him I told you. He's very excited & won't stop smiling.
That's exciting! Have you applied?
Aelita?
He's going to tell you tonight.
Remember I told you NOTHING.
/
Yumi has just finished telling a riveting tale about running for the subway in the rain and almost sliding into a group of American tourists when Jeremie clears his throat. "I have news," he says, voice tight and a little high.
"What has Odd done this time?" she asks, voice light and mocking. She adjusts the flame on the stove and sets a pot of water to boil. "Is he up to his old tricks again?"
"Uh, no, no," Jeremie replies. He coughs once, twice, clears his throat again. "I've been accepted to Sciences Po." His voice is serious, deadpan. Yumi grins at the pot beginning to simmer.
"Really?" she asks. "That's great, Jer!"
"I'm quite happy," he agrees. She can hear the pleased, embarrassed note to his voice and she smiles wider.
"I'm really proud of you. We told you you'd get in. Your brain's too big not to," she replies. "I imagine Aelita will be coming to Paris for school too?" There's a long pause. "Jeremie?"
"Aelita's decided to take a year off," he says finally. His voice is cautious now and she knows she has to tread lightly. He doesn't like telling other people's business.
"That makes sense," she says, even though it doesn't. Aelita is as smart as Jeremie, she could get in anywhere. "I guess she'll need to save for school since…" Since she doesn't technically exist.
Jeremie blows out a breath. "She could earn a scholarship, she's received dozens of offers." Another pause. "She wants to go to Norway. To visit Odd's family."
"Oh?" The water is boiling now, she throws the pasta in and tries to focus her thoughts. "That's interesting. What do you think about it?"
"I don't understand it," he says. There's a fragility to his voice that she's only heard a handful of times. "She says she wants to see the world, not more textbooks." The laugh that follows is hollow.
"Well, she has time to change her mind if she wants." She forces the information to the back of her mind to think about later. "You're going to love it here. I'll give you the grand tour. It'll be great, you'll see," she promises.
"I'm sure it will be, Yumi."
. . … . .
Her communications with Ulrich had been…different. She wasn't sure that was the best description, but it was the only one she could come up with. The early days had been mostly them texting times to meet to train, updates on X.A.N.A. attacks, and had slowly evolved into commiserating on Odd's sense of humor, Jeremie's single-minded drive, and other interests they'd discovered.
Ulrich preferred phone calls to texting, unless it was a short message. At first she'd found it odd, written it off as the expense, back before she'd known of his dyslexia. Once they'd become more, once they'd given that tension a try, it had continued with phone calls and late night texts. He was slow to respond, typed in shorthand, but she had found it sweet, the fact that he still texted her even though it was difficult. That had to mean he cared, right?
She wonders what it says about them that their messages never really changed after everything. After the hurt, after the moving on, after-after-after.
Hows Paris?
She'd had a million responses she could have sent. She typed and erased and typed again. She settled for: Quiet.
He'd called her five minutes later and she'd answered on the third ring. "No one's ever described Paris as quiet," he'd said in lieu of a greeting.
"Well, you didn't ask what everyone else thought," she'd retorted. She could hear his quiet laugh and behind it the soft rhythmic thud of something hitting something else. She pictured him sprawled on his back, tossing the hacky-sack against the wall or ceiling.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she replied, voice cheerful. She sat on her windowsill and stared out across the rooftops toward the Seine. She might be able to see Notre Dame from here, maybe. "It is quiet, no Hiroki chattering or parents fighting…"
"You said you wanted quiet," he reminded her, voice gentle.
"I did. I do," she replied. "I guess I just didn't realize how much different it would be."
"Hm," he hums. She hears the German burr in his voice, it's not something she notices often. "I could send Odd to visit, if you want noise."
"What did I ever do to you?" she exclaims, laughing.
"Alright, alright," he replies, amusement clear in his voice. "How's the apartment coming along? Still unpacking?" She groans and they fall into mindless chatter about upcoming classes and the goings-on around Kadic. It reminds her of the early days, when they were still getting to know each other.
A day later there's a knock on her door and Aelita stands there, grinning. It's Saturday, but she has a feeling there's another reason for her visit. She never asks, Aelita never says, but Ulrich calls her Monday night to ask how her weekend was and she knows she has her answer.
. . … . .
Is it better to fly or take the train to Norway?
Is there a train to Norway?
Direct, I mean?
Idk
I thought you were traveling with Odd?
Plane would be faster.
You could fly from Paris.
We could visit!
Of course :)
Maybe when Jeremie moves in
We could all visit you
It'll be so much fun!
And crowded.
We'll make room
This will be great!
I'll check with Jeremie & Odd!
/
"I've been accepted to École Polytechnique," Jeremie informs her. She can hear the quiver in his voice that means he's excited but trying to play it cool. It's the same one he got when he'd asked her, in fits and starts, whether she thought Aelita would be interested in going out with him. "I've accepted."
"That's amazing, Jer!" she exclaims. And it is. She knows he was content when he received the acceptance from SciencesPo, Aelita had called her, laughing, telling her how he hadn't been able to stop smiling all week. But she knows he'd really had his eyes set on l'X.
"It is, isn't it?" he asks, and she can hear the smile in his voice.
Yumi flops onto the sofa and stares out the rain-smeared windows. "Have you…have you thought about which sport you'll do?" She tamps down on the smile, tries to hide the teasing in her voice.
Jeremie gives a long-suffering sigh. "Not running," he says, voice firm. "Ulrich tried to teach me some martial arts…I'm not sure I'm suited to that either."
"I'm sure you'll find something," Yumi promises, voice warm. "You'll only be an hour or two away," she adds, mentally calculating the distance from the Latin Quarter to Palaiseau. She'd never visited l'X before, but she was fairly certain the RER B line would take her there. "I'm really happy for you," she adds.
"Thank you," he replies, a pleased note to his voice. She wonders how long he'll be grinning for this time.
. . … . .
Yumi's phone rings as she's opening the door to her studio. She fishes it out, managing to get the key out of the lock and not drop the mail while doing so. She's impressed with herself.
"I hate fencing," Jeremie says, not bothering with pleasantries.
Yumi laughs, kicks the door shut and slides the deadbolt in place. "Hello to you too," she replies. She drops her satchel on the chair, hangs her coat over the hook by the door. "What's wrong with fencing? You liked it last week."
"I liked it better than hiking," Jeremie corrects.
"Which you liked better than rowing."
"Anything is better than rowing," Jeremie protests. "I don't understand why we have to do six hours of sports a week."
"How else will you get oxygen to that big brain of yours?" she replies, smiling.
"You sound like Odd now," Jeremie grumbles.
"What's wrong with fencing?" she asks again. She flips through her mail. Bill, bill, advertisement, post card, post card, letter.
"The epees hurt," he replies. "The padding is a lie."
She laughs again, sets the bills aside and looks at the post cards. Both are from Aelita, one shows a cityscape, Prague written across the bottom. The other from Budapest. "You aren't supposed to get hit, that's the point."
"Tell that to my bruises." There's a frustrated sigh and then Jeremie's voice changes, becomes bright and besotted, the same way he does whenever he's about to talk about Aelita. "Aelita's back in civilization, I spoke to her last night."
"I just got mail from her," Yumi says. "She's in Hungary?"
"Yes," he agrees. "She's making her way through northern Italy, maybe the south if she has time, before coming back to Paris." Another pause. "I might meet her in Switzerland before that."
Yumi raises her eyebrows even though he can't see her. "Switzerland?"
"Geneva," he agrees.
She opens the letter, sees the picture from Aelita and the three pages of writing. "That'll be fun," she replies. "Maybe those hiking lessons will come in handy."
"Ugh, don't remind me," he groans.
She grins, pinning the post cards and picture to the corkboard in the kitchen. They take up space next to the other photos and post cards Aelita has sent, the ones Odd had sent while in training, the photos Ulrich sent from Scotland, trying to entice her into visiting.
"Think of it this way, with all those sports Aelita won't recognize the new you. Unless you get poked to death with a practice sword."
"I don't know why I talk to you," he grumbles.
Yumi laughs, flops onto the sofa and lets her feet hang over the armrest. "I'm sure Odd would be more sympathetic. Or Ulrich?"
"I can't wait until Aelita's back," he sighs.
She smiles, voice soft, "Yeah, me too."