Reassurance
You shouldn't take being an agent m̶o̶r̶e̶too seriously.
It's n̶o̶t̶ a game, you know.
You t̶w̶o̶ work on your roller a̶n̶d̶ c̶h̶a̶r̶g̶e̶r̶ skills
In case you ever need them.
But you can't̶ always count on me
to get you out of a fix.
"Nice work today, Callie," says the director; Callie pulls her jacket on over her costume with a grin. "The choreography for the Octarian version of Bomb Rush Blush was great. Remember, though—"
"Method acting," Callie says along with him. Having her do Little Shows and dramatic speeches is half her job, now, a combination of trying to psych up Mr. Fish's troups and let the audience know that something Really Big is coming. "You're not even gonna give me a hintof what's coming in the season finale?"
He shakes his head, grinning, and Callie shakes her head right back and twiddles her fingers at him before taking off, though even outside she can hear today's soundtrack of bells and synths. The script for the latest episode discussed the Octarian War, and out on the street, with no one paying attention to her, Callie digs in her pocket for her phone. She settles onto the bench and makes a call.
One ring. Two rings. Oh, please...
Five rings, and it picks up. "Callie! How's my favorite grand-daughter?"
Callie's hearts squeeze. If anyone would remember Mary, tell her she's not crazy, it's him. And she knows he's probably speaking Octarian for good reason, but she doesn't want that. Not for this. "Gramps," she says, "I didn't expect you to call me by name." The Inklish feels strange in her mouth; she's been speaking nothing but Octarian for days.
"What else would I call you?" He chuckles, switching languages to follow her. "And what, no 'I'm your only grand-daughter' this time?"
Callie bites her lip. She knows this is risky, he must be distracted and in dangerous territory, but... "Captain Cuttlefish," she says, "this is Agent 1. How—"
Gramps laughs. It startles Cal so much she stops mid-sentence. "I thought you'd forgotten all about that game we used to play," he muses. "The secret agents, the kidnapped zapfish, you and the others running around the yard with foam weapons and climbing trees to get to the secret base. I suppose—you told me your new job has you speaking Octarian, and I did use that to teach you. Must keep it fresh in your mind."
Game?
Callie's hearts squeeze.
"I, uh, suppose it does," she says carefully. "How's Agent 3? Are you back from your mission?"
Gramps chuckles again. "I haven't seen Agent 3 since Trina grew legs. I hear she's at Inkblot now."
Just a game? A childish game? "And agent 2?"
"She comes back to Calamari County every year for the festival," he says, "but... what was her name..."
"Mary," Callie says. "Her name was Mary."
"Mary, that's right. I think it's too late to make up for that nasty fight you had, when you won your grade's popularity contest." He sighs. "But you'll make more friends, and in the end, it doesn't matter."
When Callie won...?
She remembers, before she finished school and came to Inkopolis, running for student council. But she doesn't remember winning. Or any such fight.
"I suppose it's normal to remember this sort of thing," Gramps muses, "when you're doing new things. Remembering the old and nice and familiar is a way of keeping yourself grounded. Seen any cute boys?"
"Gramps!" Callie cries, startled into laughing. "No."
"Cute girls, then?"
"Also no." Callie rolls her eyes, but her hearts are calming. She's not going crazy. She's just... "Sometimes, those, uh, games we played feel more real than what actually happened."
"That can be the case when you're under a lot of stress," he says; around her, the music changes, to piano and chimes. The music, as much as the words, make Callie take a deep breath for the first time in forever. "It's normal. Don't worry about it."
Don't worry.
It's normal.
Callie's shoulders relax from around her ears, and she leans back. She takes a second deep, shuddering breath and rubs her hand across her face. "Okay. Okay. Thanks, Gramps."
"Now, I've gotta go kick butt at bingo," he says. "Show those whippersnappers how it's done. You need anything? Money, a—"
"I'm good, Gramps." Callie takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Thanks. I'm gonna convince everyone we need at least one set piece covered in glitter."
Gramps chuckles. "That's my favorite grand-daughter. I love you."
"Love you too," Callie says, but he's already hung up.
Callie lets her hand fall to her side, her phone gripped loosely in it, and leans back on the bench. She stares at the sky, gray and cloudy, darker by the second; she should go in. It's going to rain soon, and while it won't be dangerous unless she stays out for hours, the needle-like slaps of drops is never fun.
But she stays there, watching one particularly dark cloud bumble across the others, listening to flute and piano from somewhere make calm harmonies, and breathes in deep and slow and laughs a little on the breaths out, because she should've called Gramps sooner. There's no Octarian threat; the zapfish never got stolen. This is all normal, as normal as having your agent or movie director or co-stars help you write music, as normal as growing up.
Mary existed, Mary was her friend, and she must've seen her at the festival every year and been congratulated and maybe Mary held the certificate for her picture but they were never on stage together. But Callie's so stressed and lonely she made up something major and stupid.
Callie laughs some more. When filming is over, she needs to take a long vacation. Home to Calamari County. Spend a month ignoring all her obligations, turn off her phone, just go for long walks and talk with her parents and go to bingo with Gramps. Or maybe two weeks there and two back in Inkopolis, playing turf with—with any friends she has there she must have some who play turf, and talking with Crusty Sean and visiting his new food stall, and going to the museums and that park, what was it, Wahoo World that's supposed to open soon. Maybe even find Mary and apologize for whatever went wrong and try to be friends again.
Callie's relaxed now, well and truly, with tears on her cheeks she doesn't remember crying but it's okay. It's okay. She's fine.
Without thinking, she starts to hum. Ya weni marei...
The clouds flicker overhead, and beyond through and in them is stones and darkness. Callie's breath hitches.
"Girl, what are you doing?" someone demands, and Callie lurches to her feet to see a pregnant seahorse scowling at her. "It's gonna pour any minute, you should be inside. Don't you have a place to stay?"
Callie's hearts lurch. "Uh, yeah. Thanks. I think I... dozed off..."
The seahorse snorts and takes her spot on the bench, and Callie power-walks away.
She may still be insane. And...
Wait.
That seahorse spoke Octarian. Is that...?
No.
Callie's just imagining things.