Guzman's hiccups had gotten so sevier that during the pitch Ferdinand and the professor were pulling out of their ass he had to get up to leave the room. Samuel and Nadia shared a glance and attempted to capture the interests of Christian but he was still lost in his head staring out the window so the two former of the three excused themselves as well.

Ferdinand eyed his brother in curiosity as he left the room during such an important thing for him. Ferdinand was also very disappointed that Marina wasn't here but what do three students need to leave class for in such a way and it go by unnoticed like this?

Out in the hallway they passed the american exchange student. A bazaar but genuine fellow so wrapped up in his own journals that he never gave a chance to intrude on his life. Much less dictate how he navigates it.

"Amigo!" Samuel calls out as Guzman braces the wall, his attack growing more sevier.

For sure, they're friends but it's so faint. He's so rarely every there, like a spirit who just drifts in every now and again to quoate the perfect thing when all in the world feels it's about to crumble apart.

His crystal water eyes are hidden by that helmet of hair he has but he smiles with goofiness they all find endearing, "Donde Lu? Los sabias?"

Would he possibly know. The lad seems to pick up on even the smallest of details and always without judgement. They never considered him a threat because the dreams in his head are so wonderful to him he holds no value in anything they have to offer.

His expressions sank as if something absolutely dreadful just took place, "I'm sorry my friend. I wish I did. I fear she's found a place so few have seen let alone escaped. I wouldn't go looking for answers. You'll only find dust. I employ you, if there's another story to listen to it's far safer than that journey."

Then, just as spirits do, he drifts away. So simple, so to the point. After all this time even Samuel and Nadia know to heed his warning. Nadia, who holds her own faith, often wonders what his might be. This american who is so unamerican. So uneverything. So mystical. He makes a language used for far lesser important things come off like a spell but it's from it's from a place of warmth and honesty.

The hiccups stopped and Guzman could ease.

That's when Nadia made for the ladies room. They waited for her outside the door wanting nothing to do with a trip to the states. Then so suddenly these two boys had the same idea. It must have occurred at the same time for they both said the exact same thing in unison to one another, the name of the American exchange student.

"Jorden!"

Then Nadia is returning. On her lips is a complain, "Not one trash can! Can you believe it? We girls have feminine things we need to dispose of. This is rubbish!"

She holds out the wrapper in her hand.

Curiosity peaks in both boys. Samuel says, "When did you have time to shave."

Then Guzman's understanding settles in. He knows the wrapper. He knows the brand. He knows Lu and he's suddenly so uninterested in what happened to her that he's walking back to class in silence.

There they proposed a plan. One everyone agreed to. Even Christian pulled his vision away from the window to agree. They would bring along Jorden but that was the only way they'd go through with it. The problem was convincing him. He wasn't the one to go to parties or hook up in the locker rooms. Nor was he the type to be used unless it benefited the universes he was creating.

Nadia had her own issues though. How was she going to convince her father to allow her to go to America when Omar didn't come home last night? Where is Omar? Where is half their class? Five isn't exactly a big number but to the circle that doesn't exceed ten it's a foundation.

Now I can't tell you what's going on with Omar. That would spoil the story. I can, however, divert back to our friend Ander.

Poor fellow. it's not good...

He can see the outside from here. It's just through a massive hole that bleeds from the ceiling down into the top half of the far west wall. This room was massive but lifeless. It had no better use than an outhouse. Except for the fact that this person in the dark and scary clothes, drenched in the outside worlds rainwater who came with his own dark energy. Or her. Hard to tell at this point.

He thought the mold spores on the walls were what had him feeling sick. Perhaps even the bacteria coming up through the cracks of the warehouse, only no. His body was on a series of tubes and it was filling his stomach with honey and milk. His guts were bubbling. The scrubs they had him in were itchy and tight. His head pressed back against the slab they had him own was drenched with sweat and swimming with nausea. His heart raced a mile a minute and all he could think about was his father pressuring him every time he was out on the court.

It was days like this. That feeling. When he's out in the summer heat. Sweltering and over worked trying so hard to get it perfect. He would be about to collapse and still kept swinging. No matter how much bruising his arms took. No matter how much his legs quivered he didn't stop. His father's pride was everything.

Here, now, in the dark, with everything taken away from him. He felt abandoned. No one was yelling at him to try harder. The voice was in his head but it wasn't working. The machine wouldn't stop. His body got heavier and icky. Oh so icky. Chapped lips and a dry cat like tongue were so scarcely quenched by the droplets that oozed down from the tip of his nose. Then his tears fell and plopped down into his ear canal silencing the downpour and echoing the bubbling sound inside him.

I'd give him privacy but thanks to Polo we do not have that capability. He too is sweltering in the back of a carrivan of traveling circus folk. The infirmy does what they can but even they do not understand his sickness. The cool rags do nothing to help the fever. The violent twitching could be calmed with restraints but they don't use those here. The only medicine they have is marijuanna but he can keep nothing down.

He'll have to fight it through as we wind down bumpy roads and weave along the mountains to go higher into the sky. His ears pop and his skull rings as he throws his head back overwhelmed by the sensations that refuse to stop.

"CARLA!" He cries, "CARLA HELP ME!"

Oh but the purple fellow beside him can do nothing but watch the flickering firelight and listen to his cries.