"So, who is Sabine?"
My eyes naturally gravitate to where my phone has lit up before I roll my eyes and grab my phone. "You're almost a week late. That happened last Monday."
The three gray dots appear as I set my phone down, spear another piece of pico covered chicken and look back to my setup of my Comp Sci book, laptop and notebook spread out on my side of this booth down here in the Underground.
"I've been busy. You know this. Successful mission and all that, I'm sure you already saw that. Spill."
"She's from my first class, University Strategies." I reply. "Professor had us pair up on Day 1, been partners on every assignment so far."
Moving back to my book to double check my answer, I then type out the answer to my next question. "Computer Science is often divided up into three separate disciplines: Science, Mathematics and Technology."
Okay, next question…Really?
19. Denning's work group argued what? Answer fully.
Answer fully…give me a break. For a book that cost $130 it's not written that well.
I spear another bite out of my chicken bowl, topped with pico de gallo, guacamole an ancho chili on top of the standard lettuce, beans, cheese and fajita vegetables. "The food here is great. When you come down I'm bringing you to eat." I text Cayle as the three dots continue to taunt me.
"Peter Denning's working group argued that they are theory, abstraction (modeling), and design." I copy straight out of the book and plow ahead.
How did Eden parse out the differences in the two philosophies?
My phone lights up as I reach for my lemonade.
"Nice, you know me I'm always down for good food. And she's really pretty dude. Got her number yet? You are her 'partner'."
"No, I haven't. We're in the third week of August. I've got time." I text Cayle back, then type out my next answer.
"Eden described them as the "rationalist paradigm" (which treats computer science as a branch of mathematics, which is prevalent in theoretical computer science, and mainly employs deductive reasoning), the "technocratic paradigm" (which might be found in engineering approaches, most prominently in software engineering), and the "scientific paradigm" (which approaches computer-related artifacts from the empirical perspective of natural sciences, identifiable in some branches of artificial intelligence)."
Again, straight out of the book. Mindless regurgitation.
So far that's pretty much what all my classes have been. We're presented information, and are asked for answers that are in our books. Not much critical thinking. The main place where my brain's been tested has been Freshman Comp, and that hasn't been that tough. Just writing about fictional experiences I've made up, pulling out of my background.
It has been nice to weave a little bit of truth into the stories though.
"I guess you're right. And you're eating better than me. Just got back to the Temple. Club Sandwiches." Cayle texts me, then adds a blank faced emoji.
"Their clubs are good though!" I fire back before peeking back at the end of this chapter.
Five more questions.
21. Define theoretical computer science.
I flip to the back of the book, throwing a pen in the book to hold my spot and start skimming the classification section.
"Hey, is anybody sitting with you?" I hear in front of me, off to the right, causing me to pop my head up.
It's Sabine.
"No. Oh! Sorry." I apologize, then start moving my stuff to my side of the booth. "Hi, by the way."
"Hi! You grabbed Verde?" She smiles at me, setting a clearly full backpack down along with a cup of water.
That's…weird.
I look back to her and smile. "Yeah. You?"
"In & Out. I need carbs and I've been good." She weakly laughs at her own sentence then sits across from me, looking exhausted.
"You okay?"
Sabine nods, then gasps out a breath. "Just out of the gym. Weights today, then ran. It sucked."
Sounds like it.
"I bet." I nod, then take a bite out of my bowl.
"What is that? Looks really good."
"Chicken bowl. Fajita veggies, pico de gallo and some other stuff." I tell her, only for her eyes to bulge.
"Are you trying to burn your face off?"
I frown at her instinctively. "No…?" before a shout causes Sabine to glance down at her receipt.
"Be right back." Is her reply before she dashes to get her food.
How would I burn my face off? Yeah, some of the stuff I put in the bowl are spicy, but not that spicy.
My eyes follow Sabine as she walks up to the In & Out kiosk to collect her food.
"Guess who just appeared from nowhere." I text Cayle, then set my phone on my lap and shift around my stuff so that my food is now closest to me before glancing around.
One, two, three, four, five, six at least eyes on me. Why? I've kept a very low profile, as the Council ordered me to. Gone from my apartment to class to eat to sometimes the library, never for more than two hours before back home for the day. No extracurricular activities, no excursions off campus, how can my cover be blown already?
Or my cover could not be blown. I'm being paranoid with more than two people looking at me. But that doesn't explain why seven girls are casting looks at me. And now I'm arguing with myself, I'm going crazy.
I push my book aside in frustration as Sabine bounces back to her seat and I take another bite of my bowl. "Sorry I'm dressed like this."
"Why are you apologizing?" I ask her as she unpacks her food, setting each item; fries, burger, sauce, milkshake, ketchup and mustard all in its own spot.
"You've only seen me in the mornings. Most times I'm barely awake. And now I'm here as a grey sweatpants and sweatshirt blob." She insults her own outfit, gesturing to the identical grey "University of Southern California" sweatshirt and sweatpants.
I do my best to smile. "It's fine. Wear whatever you want."
I'm used to a uniform. It's kind of odd to be able to wake up and think "hey, what do I want to wear out in public today?"
"One day I won't be lazy. Might be awhile though." She jokes, causing me to laugh before my phone buzzes.
Cayle – 5 new messages
Oh geez.
"YEAH!"
"Get her number"
"And another picture"
"Study date!"
"Wait why's she there?"
I glance away from my phone toward Sabine, only to catch all six pairs of eyes looking right at Sabine and I.
Let's find out how blatant they are. People get self-conscious for staring if you stare right back.
Smiling to myself, I lean back in the booth and look right at a blonde who is sitting with three other staring contestants. After a moment I move to another group of two, who quickly start fidgeting and glancing elsewhere before I look back to the main group.
"Sorry…my friends. Think it's weird I'm not sitting with them. I told them not to be all weird…" Sabine says quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"You can sit with them." I comment, giving them all one last sweeping look before looking back to my phone. "I'll see you tomorrow in class."
Sabine instantly shakes her head. "No, no. I'm here, I'm sitting with you. They need to stop staring so much that you noticed."
Everyone feels eyes on them. Even if they're not trained to.
"It's fine. Not a big deal." I try to shrug it off, then focus on the text I'm trying to type.
"No, I won't take a picture. Her friends are staring at me because she sat with me instead of them. And I don't know why she sat with me." I answer Cayle, then set my phone down and move to grab a napkin.
And that's my last one. She might need a couple too.
"I'll be right back." I say as I get up before strolling in the opposite direction to the buffet of plastic utensils, napkins and condiments, only getting a passing look from the lady at the juice stand before she goes back to what she's doing.
I walk back to our booth and offer her a few napkins. "I'm messy, sorry." I joke, getting a laugh of Sabine.
My phone moved. It was face up and in a different spot. Now it's face down.
"No you're not. I've seen messy and you're practically a saint. A robot." Sabine giggles, and I laugh along with her as I check my phone's recently used apps.
Contacts, snapchat and messages. Well, let's see what she did. Messages first.
Ignoring Sabine's eyes, I sip my drink and read the newest text exchange between me and Cayle.
"Chill out bro. You're going too fast and make me un-tidy. Southern charm my ass."
"Wait, you're not Ezra. Sabine! Hi!"
"Bye bitch."
"HEY!"
"HEY."
I smile at the end of the exchange. "Nice."
"Guys are idiots. You're cool, just be smooth with it and not creepy like him. Picture! Question! A study date! Take her home!" Sabine says, moving spastically while maintaining a sarcastic look. "I know what he wants. Down boy."
"Sorry about him."
"You're fine. You were ignoring him, which doesn't go unnoticed." Sabine smiles gently at me as I flip over to my Snapchat.
I didn't post a story.
I flick my eyes up, only for Sabine to be looking at me before she nervously smiles, flashing perfectly white teeth and small dimples. "What?"
"Nothing."
"Exactly." She comments as I scroll to me story and see that she's posted a selfie of her, smiling like she does.
"Nice." I laugh again.
"The robot's broken. You've said that already." Sabine notes before stuffing multiple fries into her mouth.
I know what she did in the contacts.
"My programming only has so much capacity. I need to be installed with adaptive UI." I respond flatly, opening up my text chain with Cayle again.
"She got you." I text him as Sabine giggles.
"Are you good at…" She smiles shyly, then sips her milkshake. "Coding, robotics, that sort of thing? You mentioned a class but this looks…tough." She gestures to my open book, full of tiny print, formulas and very small pictures.
My phone instantly vibrates while I answer "I'm decent."
"That's the other classes you mentioned that day over breakfast. Comp Sci and Chem. Chem sounds awful."
"It's starting to be awful." I tease her. "Nothing awful yet."
"Not like posting to Twitter for quiz grades?" She jokes.
And the picture Cayle finally saw. Had to take the picture and follow each other. I don't know how Sabine got over 5,000 followers, but she's got them. Probably the popular girl, prom queen and all that. Might have played softball in high school. She does have an athletic build.
"Not really." I joke.
"Why can't every class be as nothingness as that class?" She asks me.
"Nothingness?"
She hits back with "It's a word."
"Kind of."
"Kind of is two words."
Oh get the hell out of here.
Impulsively, I grab a very small, crappy French fry and throw it at her. "Not funny."
"Lies! You think I'm hilarious." She laughs and grins at me. Somehow, before I can stop it, I laugh along with her. "Hah! I'm right! See?"
"You can be funny."
"I'm hilarious!" Sabine declares with a huge smile. "I win this round!"
"No, you don't."
"Well in my book I did."
I point to my Comp Sci book. "This is your book. No pictures, all words."
"All hard words. I don't even know what… technocratic paradigm is. Just saying it hurts my brain." Sabine winces at the word.
"It's not that bad." I reply, only to get an incredulous look back.
"Get the hell out of here."
I let my eyes scan the empty auditorium as I sit in my normal seat before staring back at my phone screen.
I know there's a mission in Cariocas, Brazil going on right now, meant to be peacekeeping. But somebody could die because somebody could always die.
Looking around the room again before I scoop out my tablet, sign into the Jedi Order's secret app disguised as an office tool using my personal sign in. Dutifully, a map of the world, with New York City, Beijing, Dubai, Cairo, Beijing, Delhi, London, Berlin, Xinjiang, Toronto, Shanghai, Belgrade, Palo Alto, Chicago, Brasilia, Bogota, Sydney, Lima, Casablanca and Luanda lights up, beacons against the blackened outlines of the rest of the continents of the world.
Ongoing Operations:
Flemish (ZA)
Brasilia (BRA)
Sichuan (CHNA)
Only three. That's good.
Flemish and Sichuan would be dealt with via internal agents so feathers aren't ruffled. The Council ultimately decides if intervention is necessary.
14,000 members, give or take a few hundred at any given time with a few thousand being trained at Temples around the world.
Growing, thriving. Guardians of peace and justice all around the world. Prosperity has spread all across the world, democratization of information, healthcare, wealth, water and food, all done in part due to the Jedi.
Favela.
I take in a quiet, deep breath and look around again, where the room is about half full of students before looking back to the app.
Mangueria.
The file pops on screen, ruin obvious just from a still on the left hand side of the screen.
Was it really seven years ago?
I guess it would have to be. Flipped at 14 but already one of the best in the Sith Empire long and illustrious history in turning problems into results and silencing those who got put in my next mission file.
57 men, 19 women. 22 children. The oldest really not being a child, but 16 or seventeen, like a few people here at USC. Obviously, being in one of the worst spots on the planet squashed his chances of likely future success.
"¡Tenemos un problema! Protege al consejero!"(A/N: We have a problem! Protect the counselor!)
"Ahora!" Somebody else yells as I march down the hall. "Ahora!" Another parrots the first campaign worker. (A/N: Now! Now!)
Keeping my footsteps deliberately brief, I float around the corner just fast enough for a very young looking man to turn around a corner in the back of the room, intending to protect my target with the assault rifle strapped to his chest. Without thinking a second about it, I quick draw him and put a bullet through his neck, causing him to instantly fall to the floor and for a woman to scream bloody murder.
"DIOS DIOS! Agente de mal viene!" A woman screams in horror as the boy hits the floor in front of her, causing her to run towards the back room. (A/N: Gods! Gods! Agents of evil are coming!)
Flushing out more of their security force.
Sliding further into the room, I pull out a dagger and rest it on top of my barrel, using it as a level with the red logo of the Sith sticking out to me and wait a second for a figure in full tactical gear to round the corner, spot me before dropping him too with a clean, precise head shot. Behind him, his comrade rushes in, attempting to catch me off guard and running right into a gut shot, forcing him to crumple.
"Ahh!" he screams, falling to the ground in agony.
"Tranquilo cobarde." I spit out. "Morir con honor." (A/N: Quiet coward. Die with honor.)
The man eyes me with clear disgust and opens his mouth to respond but I stab the dagger into his windpipe, ending the conversation there before cracking open his throat at an angle so that even if he does somehow manage to breathe, the blood loss is too severe to save him.
No. No No.
I was eleven.
Closing my eyes, the exact same mental picture pops into my head, of me now leering at the armed guard, blood seeping from his throat.
The angle is all wrong. I was way shorter, no muscular definition at all. That was the point. I looked like a harmless boy because I was one. But I wasn't because I was trained to wreak havoc. And that I did.
Even in my own head my voice sounds like mine now, after puberty. Much deeper, not the high pitched voice of a child.
Clicker. Not my voice.
Blinking hard two or three times, the classroom comes back into focus as students chat amongst each other about whatever this Friday has in store for them. What the plan is for tonight, what they think today's class will be.
Whatever.
Chancing a glance to my left, I see that Sabine's desk is still empty.
Tablet away, notebook and pen out. No book because I won't need the book. Haven't needed it at any time. All the answers have been on Google if I've even half looked into them.
I unzip the second compartment to grab my clicker, before the dagger jumps out to me again, just as visually striking as in my memory with the red logo leaping out at me. Brushing the thought aside, I scoop my clicker out and feel the back to make sure that the batteries are still inside.
Yup. Good. These small plastic backings don't always do their job.
A heavy thud beside me indicates that Sabine's arrived, and I see out of the corner of my eye that it's basically the exact same outfit that I saw her in hours before.
Guess today isn't really a new day after all.
"Morning." I give her a half smile without looking at her.
Her backpack gives off a loud unzipping noise before she answers "Morning."
I need to check if Spanish cancelled again. The TA in charge has had something come up the last two classes.
Pulling out my phone, I tap on the email icon, watch it load up then swipe downward so that the app loads up any new emails that have come in since I checked last night after I left the Underground.
"Morning class." Calhoun calls out, striding in right at the stroke of 9.
"Morning Dr. Calhoun." I say quietly, hiding my phone behind my notebook as the app successfully reloads.
"50% off sweatshirts at the Trojan Horse!"
"Women's soccer tailgate! Friday at 6 PM before your USC Trojans take on—"
"SPAN 1301: Class cancelled for Friday, August 19th—"
Figured we might get washed out again.
"Now please take out your clickers and answer today's question." Calhoun calls out to us, setting his coffee mug on the podium before a question flashes up on the projector screen. "Don't forget we are on Channel three, it being Friday and all…"
"What is a top five reason for Freshman struggles in their first semester of college?"
1/A: Money
2/B: Sex
3/C: Homesickness
4/D: Sleep/Lack of Sleep
All four definitely apply, but the answer is D. Sleep.
Pressing the button before feeling Sabine's eyes on me, I toss the clicker into my bag without another thought.
We never have more than one clicker question per class. It's how he takes attendance.
Mutters audibly float through the room as Calhoun sips his coffee and checks something on the computer while the 90 second countdown timer ticks down, inevitably to zero.
"Alright! And the verdict is…" The screen changes to the class percentages. "30% chose A: Money, 47% chose B: Sex, 19% chose C. Homesickness and 4% chose…sleep." Calhoun narrates. "CLEARLY…the reading was lost on 96% of the class. Answer's D, sleep." He says, dissatisfaction evident in his voice. "Keep your clickers out! New question."
Dammit.
I reach back over to grab it out of my bag, catching Calhoun's eye before he taps on the keyboard and the question changes.
"What is the ideal amount of sleep for a average college student?"
1/A: 5 Hours
2/B: 6 Hours
3/C: 8 Hours
4/D: 10 Hours
He's messing with our minds. It's D again. Repetitive Relationship Patterns. We talked about this is Psych.
One class into another. Huh. Almost like they block these classes together so that they can work together—oh wait they totally do that. It's part of their Freshman Core.
I hit the button for D, then slip my clicker onto the front page of my notebook before labeling it with today's date.
"Alright, let's see if we're awake now…" Calhoun taunts the auditorium. "Over 170 students in this class and four percent get a basic question correct."
"Oh get off it. Show the answer." Sabine mutters angrily.
I though she got it wrong.
"6% say A: 5 Hours, 4% say B: 6 Hours." Calhoun pauses to eye the room again before continuing. "Oh boy, 81% say C: 8 Hours. And 9% get it right at D: 10 Hours."
The room instantly groans and beside me, Sabine flings her clicker into her backpack. "As I've told you and I'm sure you're learning: High school lied to you. It's been lying to you ever since states such as Texas began funneling selective truths through the textbooks!" Calhoun pontificates. "And the quality of said education began dropping along with it. The more selective truths, such as Thomas Jefferson just wrote the Declaration of Independence and bought a ton of land for the United States of America. Oh, for those who know their history…"
Another one?
"How much did Jefferson spend on the Louisiana Purchase?"
1/A: $15 Million
2/B: $20 Million
3/C: $50 Million
4/D: $100 Million
Hah. Now he's purposely messing with our heads. Purposeful pattern deviation. A.
Calhoun lets the time tick down, and I glance over to see Sabine scowling at the projection with both of her arms crossed. When the clock hits zero, he taps on the keyboard and the percentages pop up.
Only 7% got it this time.
"Once again." Calhoun calls out. "Single. Digits. With the correct answer of $15 million that Jefferson used to buy the Louisiana Purchase. And if only single digits of you are awake…I guess we're done here." He says, picking up his coffee, slipping some notes back into his bag before walking right out the door he walked in through.
O…kay?
The auditorium is silent for a moment before people start turning to each other and start whispering, even though Calhoun's gone.
"Do we just go?" Sabine leans over and asks me.
I shrug. "I guess so."
Most everyone remains seated except for the few that never even bothered or got a chance to set up, who start out the door in an effort to get their Friday off to an early start. I drop my clicker back into its pocket then do the same for my pen and notebook before standing.
"Did you eat?" Sabine smiles nervously at me.
Wednesday we did this exact same thing. Calhoun lectured for the whole hour, but since Spanish got cancelled, I grabbed breakfast with Sabine.
"A banana, but I don't think that counts really." I smile as Sabine stands. "Lead the way."
"Do you mind the Underground again? I know we were just there, but I'm really in the mood for a Breakfast Sandwich."
Ooh. I heard about these online. If you get there at the right time, you can get a spicy chicken sandwich with eggs and cheese on it and apparently it's delicious.
I smile at Sabine and laugh to myself. "Of course not. Lead the way." Sabine laughs at me, then complies and leads us out into the warm, Southern California morning air, the sun still low enough to give off a bright glare.
We walk together, side by side for a moment before Sabine breaks the silence. "Calhoun was a jerk today. Did you get any of those questions?"
"Yeah." I nod, then confess. "I don't think he wanted to be there."
"Really?"
I nod again. "He used something I learned about in Psych last week. He set up a pattern then zagged when everybody though he'd zig."
"That's not fair. I've been busy doing other homework in other classes. I can't donate all my time to readings and BS like that. I do the most reading for this dumb class!" Sabine grumbles as we've broken away from most of our classmates, heading deeper into campus.
I don't know what to say to that.
I smile and shrug, then keep silent as we walk. "What's this dumb theory called?"
"Purposeful pattern deviation." I answer.
"I'm not even taking that until the spring. I think…" Sabine trails off. "I can't use something I don't know yet."
"It's how tests like the SAT work." I explain. "It's all over the place. Way before we got here."
Sabine's frown threatens to turn into a scowl. "Thanks Freud."
"Haven't gotten to him yet." I smile as we stop at a crosswalk near the back half of campus where the entrance circles around, allowing for friends, parents, guests and students to pick up and drop people off.
"You got all three right didn't you?" Sabine deduces.
I don't want to rub it in.
After a moment, she turns to me as the crosswalk signal turns from red to white, signaling we can walk. "You're the worst." She snaps, then shoves me playfully.
"Sorry!" I laugh, taking one unsteady step before righting myself.
"What do you want to bet that he's going to give us an online quiz due Sunday night?"
Of course he's going to do that. And all the chapters before that?
I groan at the thought of it. "Don't say that."
Almost as bad as the endless lines Master Windu loves giving out for sitting the wrong damn way.
'I Will Not Sit Like An Uneducated Peasant. I Will Not Sit Like An Uneducated Peasant…'
"You're helping me if he does do that. You know he will." Sabine says simply.
"I know."
"I know you know." She tongue twists. "And you'll have to text me about it. I'm busy all weekend—oh! That reminds me." She suddenly smiles deviously.
"Of?" I ask her before grabbing the door to the underground and holding it for her.
"Thanks. Of the fact that you didn't text me yesterday."
"Yeah." I nod. "Because I saw you at dinner yesterday, and knew I'd see you this morning. Lead the way." I ask her.
Sabine starts leading us to a booth with a small line specializing in chicken sandwiches with a 'Bojangles' sign. "So? You could always text me. Get the conversation going."
"I don't know what to talk about." I confess.
"Figure something out." Sabine answers.
I sigh to myself, getting Sabine to turn and look at me. "I'm bad at this part."
"Bad?"
"Awkward. Weird, whatever." I shake my head.
I suck at making friends. There's a reason why I only have two or three at the Temple.
Sabine suddenly smiles up at me. "That's okay. I am too. I don't bite. Only snarl and growl sometimes." She goes for humor, getting me to break and laugh. "They're trying to train me out of it. It's not quite working yet."
"I think it is." I smile, then glance at the menu.
I think what I want is off the menu.
"I'm serious though. Text me this weekend. Doesn't even have to be about Calhoun's stupid class."
"I thought you said you were busy." I turn to her.
"Just because I'm busy doesn't mean I won't answer. Might not be right away though. So don't freak out about that. That's such a guy thing to do."
I nod. "Getting in our own head."
"Exactly. Let's leave it there. Do you know what you're ordering?" She looks up at me.
"Yeah." I nod. "Read about it online."
"I thought that Bojangles was a Southern staple. That and some place called Popeye."
"Popeyes." I correct her. "And yeah it is. I just grew up having the usual staples. Some stuff is quiet though, and rumors. I'm curious if they'll let me do it."
"Why not try back home?"
"Nah. The folks back home push back, just tell us to order menu only stuff. Can't get fun with it unless you have a friend behind the counter." I shrug, getting Sabine to frown as we sidle up to the front.
Lies. All lies.
"What can I get you kids today?" The lady asks us energetically, causing Sabine and I to turn to each other.
"You first." I offer, and Sabine steps forward.
She's so nice. And friendly.
I hate lying to her.