A/N - I made a very crude diagram of the TVA career chart that Miss Minutes talks about later on in the chapter, but this site hates posting links to other sites so:
i-m-g-u-r-.-c-o-m-/a/ibyLT7e
copy and paste this into your browser and remove the - dashes - . Enjoy!
L-63 and L-7 sat in rolling chairs across from the statue of Kang the Timekeeper. The Timekeeper sat at a desk just like the one in her room, except huge, with the olive green lamp off to the side. The statue was man-sized, and to her terror and amazement, it began speaking to them, though it was in some kind of gibberish language she couldn't understand. She glanced at L-7 for an explanation, but he looked deadly somber, bloody and sweaty, hanging on the statue's every word. He held a huge, chewed up pencil in his hand, gripping one end tightly, like he meant to use it as a weapon. In her own hand was an enormous pen. To her left, on the side of the room, was the door to her bathroom, with a bright, orange fire burning just behind the entrance. She wondered if anyone else was concerned about it at all.
The Kang statue's gibberish became… frightened. Anxious. It smiled at them, held out both hands, waiting for some kind of answer. Little cracks appeared all over it, glowing golden in the firelight, and he started to crumble where the fissures appeared. Pebbles of concrete scattered all over his desk and floor.
"I… I don't understand," she said sheepishly. "Can't you just tell me what you're trying to say?"
Suddenly, the statue scowled at her. "Grow up, weirdo!" he snapped. "Grow up!" He smashed his hand against the desk, which sent bits of concrete flying everywhere.
She started in her chair, growing more and more frightened that this awful, monstrous thing was going to harm her.
The Kang statue relaxed, then pulled out a little plastic figure of Miss Minutes from his desk, scooting it to the front. He leaned over his desk until he was practically laying on it.
L-63 blinked at the little figure. She didn't know how she knew, but it was a mockery. A lie. It wasn't really Miss Minutes. The statue was trying to trick them. It had hurt her before, though she couldn't remember what it had done, and it was going to kill them both, if she didn't stop it.
She had to end it.
L-63 jumped out of her seat and leapt toward the statue, meaning to bash it to bits with her pen, but L-7 stopped her, blocking her with his pencil.
"I have to kill it!" she yelled at him, but he pushed her away, speaking urgently in his own gibberish language. "Don't touch me!"
She pushed him off, then they smashed their writing utensils against each other, fighting with almost impossibly elegant, powerful movements.
L-63 broke away from him, ran for the statue, but as she wound her pen back to smash it across the statue's head, L-7 suddenly appeared in front of her. She pulled her swing a millimeter away from his neck.
"Sixty-three, stop!" he shouted. A shudder went through the room, as if L-7 had actually slowed down time. The fire crackled slower, the surprised statue crumbled more, and the pebbles from it fell in slow motion.
"Stop," he said again, putting up his hands placatingly. Another shudder, and the fire slowed more.
"Stop," he said one last time, now placing his hands on her shoulders. The fire froze entirely. Chunks of the Kang statue hung suspended in midair.
Confusing, conflicting emotions completely overwhelmed her. She wanted L-7 by her side, for some reason, but hated him for getting in her way. His eyes filled with tears, too.
"I've been where you are. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to cheat." She could understand him perfectly. His eyes glistened in the frozen firelight. "I just want you to be okay."
Tears streaming down her face, she let out a pout, dropped her pen, brought his face close and… L-63 wasn't sure why she felt the desperate need to press her lips against his, but it felt cathartic as she did. There was only one thing to do, then, and she felt terrible for it.
"But I'm not you," she told him. An elevator appeared behind him, opened its doors, and she pushed him inside. Before he could get to his feet, the doors slid closed and the elevator dropped down into the floor.
She turned slowly, the crumbling remains of the Kang statue letting out a nervous chuckle. With all her might, she pushed the desk out of the way, sending the lamp flying.
L-63 grabbed on to his shoulder, drew back her pen, and with one last thrust-
"L-63! Hun, wake up!"
She jolted awake, hitting her head against the headboard and letting out a yelp. Miss Minutes stood next to her on her bed, eyes huge with panic, pupils small and beady, hands up to her mouth in surprise.
L-63 sat up straight and glanced around the room, sweat trickling down her face. Everything was… normal. No statue. No fire. No giant writing utensils. No L-7.
"Where… where did everything go?"
"Sweetheart, what are you talkin' about?" Miss Minutes replied, concerned.
"The statue… it was at my desk, and I couldn't understand what it was saying. He was yelling at me. And my bathroom was on fire-"
"You had a dream, L-63," said Miss Minutes, though the look of concern didn't leave her face. "I was afraid it may have been a seizure. You were tossin' and turnin' and floppin' like a fish."
"What's a fish?" L-63 whispered.
"Somethin' they serve in the cafeteria, hun," she replied, with a wry little grin. She jumped over L-63 and landed on her desk, where a food block lay untouched on a plate. She crossed her arms over her chest. "This wouldn't have happened if you had eaten your supper, missy."
"I wasn't hungry." The prior day's events started to come back to her: how stupid L-7 had poked her in the throat, and she'd shoved him over and run to her room and cried her eyes out, and cried even harder when she realized-
L-63 stopped breathing. Her book. Her supplies. She'd left them on the elevator. She hadn't done her assignment.
"L-63?" asked Miss Minutes, tilting her head to the side and lifting an eyebrow.
She opened her mouth, but she couldn't make the words come out. If she told Miss Minutes, she'd surely get in trouble, maybe get a demerit. Or two, one for losing her bag and another for shoving L-7. Or even three, for not doing her assignment on top of that.
"Uhh…" L-63 stalled, frantically racking her brain for something to say. "I… I can't go to class today, Miss Minutes."
A scowl formed on Miss Minutes' face. "And why not?"
"I'm sick. I don't feel good. My throat…" she touched her bruise, which still did truly hurt, and coughed theatrically.
"It's not possible for you to be sick," she said, shaking her head. "Y'all have been quarantined away from the rest of the TVA and given all your vaccinations. If it's about your bruise, then once again, eating your supper last night would have helped."
"But-"
"I know you're upset from your bad dream," she steamrolled over her, "but that's no excuse. None of the trainees are allowed to miss a day of class. Every single one is important, no make ups." She nudged the plate on L-63's desk with her foot and spoke to it. "Now go on, get!"
The plate floated into the air unsteadily, with a little puttering noise, then flew upwards and vanished into a hole in the brightly lit ceiling. Another, identical plate floated down from the hole and landed on her desk. This food block looked especially greasy, and more brown than green. L-63 could practically smell it.
"Here's your breakfast. It's got a double dose of vitamins and minerals in it, since you skipped your supper." She let out an annoyed sigh. "I spent so long trying to get you up that you don't have enough time for a shower. Eat your breakfast, get dressed, brush your teeth, and then you might have just enough time to get there. And you are going to be there, L-63."
"Yes, Miss Minutes," she mumbled back. She felt as if she was going to burst into tears again. She didn't ever want to look at L-7's dumb face ever again, much less sit next to him every single day. Why would she dream about putting her lips on him, of all things? The idea was unbelievably gross.
Miss Minutes took one last glance around her room, then made a dissatisfied grunt.
"L-63, where are your supplies?"
Her heart froze in terror. "Um… I… in the closet."
"The closet?"
"Uh huh!" L-63 smiled as brightly as she could, trying to placate Miss Minutes, but she didn't look impressed. She rolled her eyes.
"Why in the world did you put 'em in there, hun? You've got a perfectly good desk."
"Because… I didn't want anything to happen to them. I thought they'd be safer in the closet. Plus I can't forget them if I see them next to my clothes, right?"
L-63 was sweating again. Please don't open the closet. Please don't open the closet…
Miss Minutes stared at her for an uncomfortably long moment, then closed her eyes.
"Okay. Fine. But next time, put them in your desk. That's what it's for. Seven minutes, L-63."
She nodded enthusiastically. Miss Minutes finally disappeared and she let out a sigh of relief.
She jumped out of bed, dressed sloppily and in record time, buttoning her shirt wrong and making an uneven knot with her tie, then picked up her food block. The smell of it hit her before she could put it in her mouth, making her pause and gag. It smelled like a greasy rectangle of mildew and dust, held together with dirt.
L-63 held her nose with one hand and forced herself to take a bite. She nearly spat it out, but forced herself to swallow. Despite all the grease, it was somehow dry and even crunchy, in parts. She decided the only way to get it down was to stuff it all in her mouth, so she did so, regretting it instantly.
Don't barf, she thought to herself. Just chew and swallow.
Eventually, L-63 was able to force it all down her gullet, though it felt even more disgusting than dreaming about touching L-7's lips. She rushed to the bathroom and loaded her toothbrush with a double squirt of toothpaste, brushing until her mouth foamed a light green color. She drank water directly out of the sink for good measure, but the greasy, grimy aftertaste still lingered.
Hurrying down the hall, no book bag in hand, she arrived at the terminal with a small group of stragglers. She didn't look around to see who was there, and didn't care at that point. She was trapped either way: if she stayed there, she'd get in huge trouble for not going to class, and when she showed up without her books and assignment, she'd get in more trouble for not having anything. Maybe she'd get four demerits, an extra one for lying to Miss Minutes.
Despite the anxiety, for some reason, her body started to relax, when in the bedroom she'd been as tense as a wound-up spring. It wasn't as if she didn't care, but her breathing slowed to normal, her fluttering heart calmed down almost instantly. She touched her throat lightly and, to her surprise, felt nothing at all. Pressing down a little harder only made it sting slightly, whereas she would have screamed in pain only a few minutes before. She realized, too, that she didn't even feel the instinct to press herself against the wall so she could see the whole room. It must have been all the vitamins.
L-63 rushed into the next open elevator. More trainees began to file in behind her, but S-10 held out an arm to stop them, giving her a suspicious glare.
"Don't get on with her," he said, pantomiming a whisper, but obviously loud enough for her to hear. "She'll beat you up."
L-63's heart sank and she turned away from the staring trainees so they couldn't see her face turn red. Fine. Let them think what they wanted. Let them be afraid of her. She didn't care about any of them, anyway. Maybe she was a weirdo, like L-7 said.
"Wait!" cried a voice running through the terminal. "Hold the elevator."
To her chagrin, L-7 came charging through the group, pushed S-10's arm away, and hopped onto the elevator. The doors closed with only the two of them on board.
She could have screamed, if the vitamins from breakfast hadn't made her feel so comfortable. Good for him she felt placid… otherwise she would have punched him right in his smug, stupid, handsome face.
L-63's brain froze for a second. Handsome? What was wrong with her?
"Hey," he said, a respectful distance away from her, this time, catching his breath. To her astonishment, he held out a book bag for her. His own was slung against his back.
She didn't reply, didn't move. L-63 wanted to grab her bag from him, but she couldn't give him the satisfaction.
L-7 rolled his eyes. "It's yours. You dropped it on the elevator, so I grabbed it. I tried to give it back but you ran into your room."
"Likely story."
"L-63, come on," he pleaded. He looked apologetic enough, but she still didn't trust him.
I don't want to hurt you.
His words from the dream came back to her. That didn't necessarily mean anything. Her dream hadn't been real. But then, why would he say that, even in an imaginary scenario in her head?
She snatched her bag away, searching through it to make sure everything was there.
"What did you do, scratch out my notes? Draw nasty things in my book?"
"I didn't touch your notes at all," he said, with a self-satisfied air. "I didn't even copy them. I did give you a present, though."
L-63 stopped rummaging and gave him a suspicious glance. It was probably some kind of trick.
"Look in your book," he said, a little grin forming at the corner of his mouth.
She flipped to the first chapter of the Employee Handbook. If he'd damaged her book, even drew one stupid picture in it, she'd-
L-63's train of thought crashed to a stop when she saw the assignment page at the end of the chapter, all filled out, with her number at the top. She scanned the answers quickly.
"Well… most of these are right," she murmured.
"I only made one of your answers different," he replied. "You see, I made mine all correct, I think, but if we had the same answers, then I thought Miss Minutes might be suspicious, so I changed one of yours. So I'll get a perfect score, probably… and you'll get ninety percent. Probably." He smiled at her, obviously proud of himself.
She stared blankly at him, astonished, and still a little mad. It was still technically cheating, just… nicely.
"Why did you do that?" she asked quietly.
His smile vanished. "Because… I'm sorry for what I did yesterday. I just really wanted to talk to you, and you seemed like you didn't want to talk to anybody."
"Then why did you call me a weirdo? Why'd you poke my bruise?" she said, trying not to let tears come to her eyes. She wouldn't let him see her cry again.
He let out a long sigh. "I don't know," he shrugged, shuffling his feet. "I guess I wanted a reaction from you, or something. It was stupid. I'm sorry. I don't really want to hurt you."
L-63 blinked up at him, amazed, eyes wide. Did he know she'd dreamt him saying nearly that exact thing? Did he have that dream, too?
"I guess it's okay," she mumbled, putting her book back in her bag and holding the bag across her chest. "Just… don't call me that again, or try to cheat off of me. Promise?"
"Promise."
Just then, the tunnel cleared and they could once again see the amazing city of the TVA before them, with that gigantic Kang statue staring out over the scene. They both moved to the back of the elevator to watch it pass by. It all looked exactly as it had the day before, but L-7 seemed just as entranced by it as everyone else had been yesterday.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing that statue," he said, a look of wonder on his face. "It's just incredible, don't you think so?"
L-63's heart sank a little. He couldn't have had the same dream as she did, otherwise he wouldn't be so enamored with that stupid statue.
"Yeah, it's pretty incredible," she answered halfheartedly. She kept her eyes on the lower floors, afraid to look up to the Timekeeper's face, lest it suddenly spring to life and stare down at her. She stole a glance at L-7, instead, while he was distracted by the TVA. He did have really nice cheekbones, and his green eyes were kind of beautiful, she supposed, if she had to judge.
"You… you don't really think I'm a weirdo, do you?" she asked him.
He gave her a mischievous grin. "You're a little weird," he said with a chuckle.
L-63 tensed again and clutched her books tightly. He was still an asshole, she knew it.
"Don't get mad," he said, still grinning. Even his stupid smile was gorgeous. She hated it. "Weird doesn't mean bad."
"Yes it does."
"No, you're just… different. I think I like different," he added absently, taking one last look at the TVA before they went into the other tunnel.
Despite all the vitamins in her system, her heart skipped a beat.
The doors opened and they both hurried to the end of a queue filing quickly through the doors of the training theater. As they got close, she peeked in front of her to see where it was going. There was a narrow hole in the wall near the back that everyone fed their worksheets into, then either a green light or a red light would flicker on, and the hole would spit the paper back out within a few seconds. She took her book and carefully ripped the page out along the perforated edge. L-63 prayed that L-7 had gotten enough answers right on her assignment. She smirked to herself. He'd purposely gotten at least one of hers wrong, to make himself look better. That felt like him, somehow.
He gave her a little smug glance as he fed his paper into the machine first. It sucked it in, the green light came on, but L-7 frowned at his paper when it came out.
"Seventy percent?" he said. "That's all?"
L-63 sucked in a breath. He'd screwed her over. She'd get lower than that, which might not be enough to pass the assignment. There was no turning back now, though. It was better than not having it at all. She fed in her paper, waited, and to her amazement, it blinked green and spat the paper out with her grade marked at the top.
"Eighty percent," she told L-7, with a smug grin of her own.
"But that's not possible!" he whispered indignantly as they made their way to their seats. "Maybe I mixed them up when I was doing them?"
"Or, you accidentally gave me another right answer," she said, leaning back in her chair. "Thanks. That was a lovely present."
He huffed and rested his head in one hand, leaning against the desk, ego deflating like a balloon. That look gave L-63 the most wonderful sense of satisfaction she'd ever had.
S-10 and the rest of the stragglers from BQ6 ran in the door just before it closed behind them. Panting, S-10 sloppily ripped out his worksheet and fed it into the hole. The light blinked red, he tore the paper out, glowered at his grade, then crumpled it up into a little ball and shoved it back into his book bag.
That was the second most wonderful sense of satisfaction she'd ever had.
The lights dimmed, everyone shushed each other, and Miss Minutes appeared at the front of the room.
"Good morning, class!"
"Good morning, Miss Minutes," they all replied, as they'd been trained to do yesterday.
"I hope we didn't find the first assignment too hard," she said, holding her hands behind her back, "because they'll only get progressively more difficult from here."
Most of the students seemed unperturbed, but L-7 shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and S-10 all but groaned out loud. L-63 knew if she'd done the assignment herself, she would have gotten a perfect score. She didn't know, however, if she would have done the same thing L-7 had done for her, had their situations been reversed. That took some courage, even though it was the wrong thing to do.
"Now that we've learned about the formation and broad mission of the TVA," Miss Minutes continued, "it's time to get down to the nitty-gritty of the different careers the TVA has for y'all."
As everyone took out their notebooks, she saw L-7 surreptitiously studying her from his seat. He took out his notebook, too, and tried to look interested in the lecture. L-63 was kind of glad they'd met, in an odd way, even though he'd caused her so much stress. He'd made life interesting, at least… as long as he didn't start acting like a bully again.
A diagram appeared on the screen, with about a dozen different career names arranged in four layers in a sort of tree, with arrows pointing from the bottom to the top.
"Here at the TVA, we're one big, happy family. And like a family, each of us plays a different role to keep our family goin' strong. There are a plethora of different careers to be placed into, each of which has its firm position in the TVA hierarchy. It's important to understand where you exist in that hierarchy: who reports to you, who your peers are, and most importantly, who you take commands from."
L-63 counted the number of careers in the diagram again, just to make sure she didn't miss anything. Eleven. There were only eleven careers for almost a million people. That didn't seem like a plethora, to her.
"Let's start at the bottom," said Miss Minutes, jumping once again into the projection. The bottom label, 'maintenance', stayed orange, while the others became grayed out. A long stick magically appeared in her hand and she pointed at the word as she lectured.
"Maintenance might not be the most prestigious job here at the TVA, but it's certainly the most important. Without maintenance, all our laundry would be dirty, our uneaten food would sit and rot, our toilets would break, and the pipes would clog from here to kingdom come. Maintenance does just as the name suggests: they maintain the most basic functions of the TVA. They spend the majority of their time in the sub-basement of the TVA, which the employees have nicknamed 'the Viscera'."
The students murmured to themselves as an illustration of the Viscera appeared on the screen. It looked dank and frightening… a tangle of pipes and gargantuan, scary looking machines, huge cogs grinding away, claustrophobic and without rhyme and reason, unlike the spacious interior of the TVA they could see through the elevator window.
"Maintenance employees do have the ability to move up in the ranks to the next tier of the hierarchy, through consistent hard work and recommendations from their supervisors."
L-63 caught the neighbor to her left whispering to someone else.
"I hope I don't get put in maintenance."
"Yeah, it looks gross. I don't want to unclog toilets and touch other people's underwear."
She jumped from the bottom to the next tier, and the second level of jobs lit up in orange. "The next tier is where most of the careers are, and where the vast majority of y'all will be placed. Runnin' the technical side of things are the analysts, archivists, and technicians. Analysts keep a close eye on the chronomonitors… we talked about those yesterday… to look out for temporal spikes on the timeline, which could indicate a branch beginning to form. Archivists are in charge of all the files…"
L-63 was starting to drift off. It was harder for her to take notes then than it had been yesterday. Either it was the lack of sleep from her bad dream, or the extra vitamins making her super relaxed, or a combination of the two. She'd nearly fallen asleep when a little balled up piece of paper smacked her in the head, making her jolt upright.
L-7 nodded at the crumpled up paper. Of course he was the one who threw it. She opened it, struggling to read in the low light.
It read, "You're drooling."
Sure enough, she wiped her mouth, and her arm came away wet. L-63 was mortified. She hoped no one else but L-7 had seen, or cared. She jotted down a single word, "Thanks," and flicked the paper back over to him. Miss Minutes' voice droned on, and L-63 tried the best she could to keep herself alert. All she wanted was her nice, soft bed.
"Now we come to a special category," she said, pointing to the word 'medic' in the very middle of the diagram. "The medics are a small group in charge of the physical health of all TVA employees. Since their work is so specialized and takes several Null-units to learn, they aren't allowed to move up to the third tier, but they still hold a very important place in the TVA, helping everyone from judges to maintenance."
L-63 didn't think she could handle people sneezing all over her if she had that job. From the corner of her eye, she saw L-7 desperately scribbling something on the same piece of paper she'd thrown back to him.
"On the enforcement side of the career tree, we come to the guards and hunters. These employees are strong, tough, and hard to faze. They can handle any dangerous situation with professionalism and courage. What's the difference between them? Hunters go out into the field and catch variants, sometimes under the direction of an agent, and the guards keep them in line once they've been brought into the TVA's custody. They're also expected to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity."
The little wadded up paper ball rolled back in front of her. She groaned. She wasn't drooling again, was she? This time, L-7 had drawn a crude picture of Miss Minutes, head over heels, rolling down a flight of stairs.
L-63 couldn't stifle the giggle that came out of her before clapping her hand to her mouth. L-7 lowered his head and chortled, too.
"Is something funny, L-63?"
She gasped. Miss Minutes hadn't jumped out of the projection, but stared at her from the front of the room, tapping a foot impatiently. The whole class turned to look at her. She laid her hands flat over the piece of paper.
"N-no. Sorry, Miss Minutes."
"All right then. No more distractions, L-63."
"Yes, Miss Minutes."
"Let's continue."
The third layer became orange, with only two careers in the tier: engineer and agent.
"From this point on, the paths are clearly delineated into 'technical' and 'enforcement' careers, and can't be deviated from. Any of the second tier employees can move their way up to one of these careers, but sometimes, a new trainee will be placed in a third tier career, if they show exceptional promise."
L-63 wondered exactly what 'exceptional promise' was supposed to mean. She'd probably already bungled her chances of getting anything higher than a second tier career, and none of them looked terribly interesting.
Meanwhile, L-7 was etching something into his desk with the metal part of his pencil eraser, which he'd already destroyed. Yeah, L-7 probably didn't have 'exceptional promise' either.
"The engineers are in charge of fixing the more intricate devices in the TVA, and building new parts of our grand institution, under the direction of innovators, who we'll get to in a moment. The agents have especially exciting work. They have to be as tough as a hunter and as smart as an analyst. They get assignments from judges to go out into the field every day and look for clues, which will lead them to find more difficult variants that hunters can't handle on their own."
As Miss Minutes was talking, L-63 had given up on her notes, instead adding a top hat, mustache, and crossed eyes to the drawing of Miss Minutes L-7 had made. Satisfied with her work, she flicked the paper back over to him, but he was actually engrossed in the lecture, to her surprise. He chomped down on what was left of his pencil, then wrote a single, huge word into his notebook and circled it several times… "AGENT".
L-63 rolled her eyes. There was no way he'd get that job. She tried to picture him at a desk job all day, though, and only succeeded in thinking about him rolling himself around the room in his chair as fast as he could, like a madman. That almost made her laugh out loud again, but she kept it down this time.
"The fourth and final tier of the career hierarchy can only be reached by employees with wisdom, intelligence, and several Null-units of experience under their belts. They can give orders to anyone below them, in any career path, except for the medics. Innovators make new technology, improve on the designs of existing equipment, and design new parts of the TVA. Judges decide the fate of the variants brought into the TVA and work with agents to figure out the best way to nab the more difficult variants.
"There you have it!" she continued, jumping out of the screen. "Let's see what you've learned."
Great, thought L-63. Another test. She could barely keep her eyes open, and had taken a pathetic amount of notes. The lights came up and everyone shuffled around.
"This'll be a little different this time. You're going to work with a partner for this assignment, then turn it in with both your numbers on it. You may use chapter two of your book as a guide. You and your partner'll share the grade."
A narrow hole, just like the one on the wall that they'd put their worksheets into, appeared between every other seat in the class, with one sliding open between herself and L-7. A piece of paper printed from it with a harsh, grinding noise.
"You have fifteen minutes to complete your assignment. Please slip the worksheet back into the hole in your desk when you're done. You may talk quietly at your desks, and study until the time is up if you finish early. Now, get to it!"
L-63 and L-7 looked at each other, L-7 lifting an eyebrow.
"I guess you're my partner, neighbor."
She scoffed and tried not to smile at him. Oh well… if they were going to get middling grades on this assignment, too, they may as well do it together. They scooted their chairs next to each other and leaned in to look at the paper. He came so close that she could feel his body heat, which made her cough nervously. She read the page out loud.
"'In your own words, write out the function of each career to the left, then draw a diagram in the space to the right and sort the careers into the correct tiers.'"
"I can draw the diagram!" he piped up. "But you can fill it out."
"You're not getting off that easy. That doesn't count as working together."
"Well, I should be rewarded for giving you that present earlier," he retorted, rocking back and forth in his chair.
She snorted at him and a smile broke loose on her face. She couldn't help it. He was completely incorrigible.
"You gave me that present by accident, genius. But thank you again, anyway. I really appreciate it. But don't do it again."
"With pleasure."
He started to write his number on the top of the page with his gross, mangled pencil, then the smile fell from his face.
"Man, you look really, really tired, L-63. Are you okay?"
She yawned as she answered. "I didn't get lots of sleep, so I had to eat an extra gross breakfast with lots of vitamins and stuff. I don't know what it's supposed to do, but I don't even really care, anymore."
"Why didn't you sleep?"
She stared at him flatly, and she saw the realization come to his face.
"Oh. Right. My fault."
"Yeah. That. Also I had a… what did Miss Minutes call it?... a bad dream, too."
"What's a dream?" he asked in the middle of sketching out a crude diagram.
"A dream is like… when you have thoughts in your head, but they don't make any sense, and you have them when you're asleep. They feel real, too."
"Weird," he whispered. She gave him a sharp look, and he backpedaled, hard. "I mean, you're not weird for having a dream. It just sounds like a weird thing to happen."
"It was. It was scary, too."
His eyes opened wide with excitement.
"Ooh, tell me! Tell me what happened."
She held her breath, not knowing how he would react to dreaming about him… and about touching their lips together. Her stomach tightened.
"Um… it-it was too scary. I can't tell you," she said, putting her head down and pretending to work hard on filling out the answers.
His beautiful, mischievous grin grew wider. "Come on! Please?"
She finally sighed and gave in. "Okay. So, we were in a room together…"
"This room, or your room?" he said, with a little twinkle in his eye.
"No! Oh my god, if you don't shut up I won't tell you anything ever again!"
"Okay, okay!" he giggled.
"We were in a room, and the Timekeeper's statue was there too, talking to us…"
"Uh huh."
"The bathroom was on fire off to the side, and nobody seemed to care. And the statue wanted us to do… something… but I couldn't understand him, all I knew was that he was bad and I had to smash him to bits."
L-7's expression changed. "You think the Timekeeper is bad?" he whispered.
"No, I don't. I just imagined it while I was asleep."
"But why would you think that?"
"I didn't!" she said, trying to keep her voice down. "You can't help what you think about in a dream. They don't make sense."
"O-kay," he said incredulously.
"Anyway, you and I started fighting, and you had a gigantic pencil and I had a huge pen… you were trying to stop me from hurting the statue. And then…"
She trailed off. Nope. There was no way she could tell him about the lip-smooshing thing. Not in a million years.
"Then, you stopped me. And that was the end of it."
L-7 made a dissatisfied grunt. "That's it? That wasn't a very exciting ending."
"Dreams don't have exciting endings all the time."
"They should, if they're in your imagination. Yours was pretty good, at first. If I had a dream, I would make it really exciting."
"Would I be in it?"
The words fell out of L-63's mouth before she could stop them. She froze, absolutely humiliated, and stared at L-7, who looked just as astonished. A weird, uncomfortable little grin started to form on his face, and his cheeks flushed. He let out a breathy chuckle, ran his fingers through his black hair.
"Uh… I mean… maybe…"
They locked eyes, and seemingly neither of them could look away. His eyes. They were the same shade of green as hers, and they were sharp, beautiful, warm and cold all at the same time. Hypnotizing. A deeply intrusive thought cut through the fog in her brain. He was close enough for her to put her lips on him again, just like she had in the dream. Would it feel just as satisfying in real life? She inched forward, ever so slowly. He didn't budge, as if he knew instinctively what she would do, and welcomed it.
"Ten minutes!"
Miss Minutes' voice jolted them both back into reality. She hurriedly took out her book, flopped it on her desk, and opened to chapter two.
"We've got to do this assignment," she grumbled, pretending to scan the page, but not reading anything.
"Yeah. Yeah," he muttered back, taking the worksheet and carefully drawing the diagram.
They didn't say another word about dreams for the next ten minutes, instead frantically scribbling their answers into the spaces on the worksheet. There was no time for weird thoughts and strange dreams, and L-63 didn't particularly want to bring them up again, either… even if the lip-touching thing was starting to make her feel warm and fuzzy inside instead of gross.
After lots of erasing and rewriting and redrawing, there were less than thirty seconds left on the timer. She was pretty sure everything was correct, and started to feed it back into the hole it came from, when L-7 grabbed her hand.
"L-63!"
She stared at him again, blinked.
"You forgot to put your number on the top."
She breathed a sigh of relief and laughed to herself.
"Oh. Thanks."
She wrote her number, slipped it back in just in time, the light next to the hole turned green, and it came back out with '100%' stamped at the top.
"Time's up!" said Miss Minutes, appearing in the projection again. "Most of y'all did very well! I'm impressed!"
"Do you want to keep the paper?" asked L-7.
"No, you keep it… you need it to study," she replied with a smile. He took the worksheet and put it in his bag, but never left her side. They'd both sort of… forgotten to go back to their desks. She didn't mind.
"There's only a few more things to go over before the end of class," Miss Minutes continued. "Let's talk about TVA etiquette. Once you're placed in a career, keeping your workstation neat and orderly is priority number one. A dirty desk is a job poorly done. Keeping yourself neat and orderly is priority number two…"
As Miss Minutes rattled off rules about showering every day, not shoving people, staying in line, and not raising your voice too loud, L-63 felt the touch of L-7's pinky just barely brushing hers. She held her hands flat on the table. L-7 was studiously taking notes with his right hand, all while inching closer and closer to her hand with his left, eventually raising his pinky and putting it over hers.
She hoped he couldn't see her blush bright red.
"This is a big one, y'all, so pay attention," said Miss Minutes. Two cartoon TVA employees appeared on the screen, smiling at each other. "Making friends at the TVA is a wonderful thing! Friendship is important, and encouraged for employees' mental well being. But don't let friendship become something else."
The cartoons began acting goofy and silly, with little hearts floating around them, eyes wide and cheeks blushing pink. L-63's fuzzy feeling started to wear off. That's just how she felt. L-7 looked concerned as well, but squeezed her pinky tighter instead of letting go.
"Intimate employee fraternization can lead to improper behavior in public and private, and almost always results in reduced job performance. Here are some rules to keep you on the straight and narrow. One: no hand holding. Pats on the back, handshakes, and brief touches above the waist and away from the chest are fine."
L-63 tried to slip her hand away, but L-7 pressed his hand on top of hers and grabbed it tightly. L-63 nearly panicked. What if someone behind them saw? Or Miss Minutes? Was L-7 trying to get them in trouble? His face looked determined. Angry, even. It was such a stunning difference from the easygoing, almost goofy expression he normally wore.
The two cartoon TVA employees grabbed each other around the back, pressing themselves together and rocking back and forth. They looked content, happy. Why was it wrong?
"Two: no hugging, even in greeting or parting. That's what handshakes are for."
A couple of robot clamps came from either side of the screen and pulled the two cartoon employees apart, to their chagrin. Determined, they slowly snuck back together again.
"Three:... and this is the most important one, folks… no kissing. Ever."
The blushing cartoons looked deeply into each other's eyes and pressed their lips together.
"Whoa! Make room for me, y'all!" Miss Minutes floated down from above and squeezed herself between the two cartoons, pushing them away from each other with exaggerated arms that only grew longer and longer.
L-63's heart froze in terror. That's what it was called… kissing… and it was wrong. Her dream had made her think about bad things, things she should never, ever do.
L-63 ripped her hand away from L-7's grip and pressed both her hands between her knees, then scooted back to her desk. L-7 gave her a sad, desperate look, as if he felt betrayed. It didn't matter. She couldn't think about kissing him ever again, and if it meant not looking him in the eye, or talking to him, or doing anything with him, then that's how it had to be. Her throat tightened. She wasn't bad. She wasn't.
"The reason why I bring etiquette up today is because tomorrow's class will be very special. Instead of class, we're going to be taking a field trip… a tour of the TVA!"
The whole class exploded with excitement… everyone but L-63 and L-7. She was still reeling, she didn't care about going on a stupid field trip.
"Simmer down! Simmer down, y'all!" The class did its best, but the room still buzzed. "You'll still need your notebook and a pencil, but don't worry about your Employee Handbook. Leave it in your desk tomorrow. I have a feelin' this is gonna be fun! For all time…"
"Always!" Only about half the class answered. Everyone seemed much too distracted by the thought of going outside.
L-63 practically ran out the door, with L-7 following close behind into the foyer.
"Hey, wait for me!" he said. She didn't. She couldn't. If he started talking to her again, then she might start thinking about kissing, and it would only make everything worse, forever, and-
L-7 grabbed her by the arm, making her spin around. His face was flushed, not with exertion or embarrassment, but with anger.
"All that stuff that she said, about-"
"No," she interrupted him, shaking her head. "I don't want to talk about it."
"But L-63…"
She'd already taken off, slipping through an elevator door that was about to close. She thought she'd lost him, but his hand came through the door, nearly pinching his fingers, then opening for him. L-63's instinct to press herself against the wall came back, but that didn't stop L-7 from sidling up next to her. He was restless, brimming with emotion, a scowl on his face just like the one he'd worn in her dream.
"It isn't fair," he muttered under his breath to no one. "Those rules are stupid. None of it's wrong. She just wants us to do what she says. It's… it's dumb. It's stupid!"
He barked the last word, making the rest of the elevator stare at him and giggle. His face was bright red, now, surprising even L-63.
"We have to do what she says," she replied, disheartened and resigned. "She told us why it was wrong. It affects our job, or whatever."
"I don't care," he hissed. "It's the dumbest rule ever made."
His fists were clenched with rage by his side as he pressed himself against the wall of the elevator, just like she liked to do. He was taking it even harder than she was. It dawned on her, then, the only thing that could mean.
"Why do you think that?" she ventured, giddy and terrified at what he might say.
"Because… I mean… if you and I…" he stopped, the scowl vanishing from his face. He glanced down at her then quickly looked away. Crossing his arms over his chest, he huffed and made the glower return, more to save face than anything, she reckoned.
"It wouldn't affect my job performance," he said coolly. "It's just touching. They act like it's worse than stabbing someone."
She chortled at him, despite her despair. "Stabbing isn't against the rules. She didn't say that. You can stab whoever you want."
Another sly grin spread slowly across his face, and she couldn't tell if he was seriously considering it or not.
The tunnel opened up once again to the TVA, with the Timekeeper's statue staring out above them. L-7 stared back, his gaze just as stoney as the statue.
"I bet he made that rule," he mumbled.
It gave L-63 some satisfaction to know that he had a reason to distrust that statue, too. It still made her uneasy to look at. Maybe her dream wasn't just a jumble of disjointed thoughts. Perhaps it had been trying to tell her something?
On the other hand, that didn't make sense, either. If she needed to think about something, then why wouldn't it be clear as day, like her conscious thoughts were?
While L-7 was distracted, she scooted very close to him, until she was pressed against his arm. He whipped his head around to look at her, stunned, opened his mouth, but L-63 stopped him before he could speak.
"We're touching above the waist, away from the chest," she said, matter of factly, with a grin of her own.
"She said 'brief touches'."
L-63 shrugged. "How long is brief supposed to be?"
His smile grew wider, and he slid himself even closer to her, brushing the back of his hand against the back of hers. They didn't dare grab each other's hand, but their fingers gently fondled each other, rubbing slowly together, the tips of their fingers lightly touching. It was so strangely intimate and exciting, even without kissing or looking at each other, like a hidden act of rebellion. L-7 brushed his thumb against the palm of her hand, near her wrist, and a chill ran down her spine and settled deep, deep in her gut.
L-63 didn't want to be bad… but she decided she didn't particularly want to be good, either.
The elevator dinged and they exited to the BQ6 terminal with the other students, breaking apart from each other, with a little disappointment. She turned to go to her room, but L-7 spoke behind her.
"Hey, um, L-63?" he asked sheepishly. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Do you think maybe we could… I don't know… study together sometime, after class?"
She couldn't help the big, dumb grin on her face from growing even bigger.
"Yeah, we could do that. Which hall are you in?"
"Three."
"I'm in two."
"I know that, silly, remember?"
She laughed, covering her mouth with the top of her bag, feeling like she was going to start floating around, like the hearts in the cartoon.
"How about after the field trip tomorrow?" she asked.
"Sounds good. See you."
"Bye."
"Bye…"
They both stood in the terminal, now alone, staring at each other, neither wanting to make the first move. Finally, she took a big step backwards towards hallway two, and he took one towards hallway three. It was like some kind of game, to see who would steal the last glance at the other before disappearing into their hall. L-7 lost, as she peeked her head around the wall to hallway three to watch him walk away.
He has a nice butt, too…
The thought made her burst into a fit of giggles. L-7 turned, but L-63 was already around the corner and running down the hall. She pressed the button to her door, dropped her bag, and jumped, face first, onto her deliciously soft bed.
The fuzzy feelings in her gut mixed with the soothing vitamins in her breakfast gave her a rush of beautiful dizziness. She couldn't stop giggling into her smooth, white bed sheets, no matter how hard she tried, until a huge yawn stifled them for her. After all the excitement, she'd forgotten how tired she truly was.
L-63 slid off her shoes and let them fall to the floor, then crawled into bed without even changing into her pajamas. The comforter and pillow engulfed her completely, like a cocoon, the weight of the blanket instantly allowing her body to melt into the bed. She was snoring even before she'd completely lost consciousness.
The sheets… a familiar smell came back to her, like a ghost calling out. Flowers. They smelled like flowers.
Just before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep, she wondered what flowers were.