THRICE

11 -- Distractions

It was a blustery fall morning. Squall ran his hand down the railing outside the dormitory as he walked down the steps. The metal was cool and smooth, and if he brushed his fingers along it gently enough, he could almost convince himself that it was made of water. He wet his lips, and as his hand fell off the end, the illusion broke.

"Hey, wait up!" Monisha called, trotting down the stairs after him. Her voice was as bright as always, with just a pinch of attitude. Squall paused and pressed the button on the clicker in his hand, making a sound higher, sharper and more consistent than anything he could produce on his own. It spread in all directions, and a near-perfect snapshot of his surroundings filled his ears as the click returned. The road was empty, as it usually was this early in the day, aside from a few crows that he caught in the act of pecking cracks in the pavement.

Monisha was right behind him now, and she brushed his hand to let him know she was there. "I hope you weren't planning to go without me," she teased.

"I thought I might beat you there," he replied flatly, though something in his expression let Monisha know he was teasing her back. Hearing her footsteps recede, Squall followed her across the road to the GRAD building, still using the clicker every now and then. He spotted a pebble and kicked it away.

She opened the door for him and took his hand when he passed her. They were greeted with the low rumble of a few overlapping conversations in the lobby. Squall didn't recognize any of the voices by name, but there were several that he had grown used to hearing day to day, like the high and squeaky one, the even-tempered one with way too much flourish, and the low, nervous one that always made him worry something was wrong.

Someone in the lobby walked up to Monisha and chatted with her while they waited for the elevator, which was always slowest when you actually wanted to use it. Monisha nearly forgot he was there, but he stayed quiet, observing the room with the clicker. The elevator chimed, and Monisha said playfully, "It's earlier than usual."

They took the elevator up, and Squall's nerves started to get to him, but Monisha tamped them down just as quickly. "Maybe we'll find something interesting today," she said, rubbing the back of his hand. He nodded and smiled slightly. Everything was fine.

The next voices Squall heard were ones he could assign names to. He first heard Mrs. Duncan, the project leader. She usually sounded like she was close to falling asleep, and he couldn't begin to imagine how she'd speak when she wasn't excited about something. "Good morning, Squall," she said briskly. A pen clicked, and he used his clicker in reply as Monisha led him out of the elevator.

"How's that new clicker working for you?" Mr. Veen asked, taking a firm hold of Squall's shoulder and leading him to a chair he knew far too well. Monisha followed, still holding his hand. Arnold Veen's voice was gravely and uninviting. It was nails on a chalkboard given unneeded sentience.

Squall jumped at the touch. "Fine," he stammered when he had gotten his bearings. "The click could be shorter, though." He let Mr. Veen sit him down and waited while the man used his laptop. The wires hanging from Mr. Veen's hand tapped each other in time with his typing, as if they were echoing the keys.

"Well, we can't have it too short," Mr. Veen chuckled. His laugh was worse. It reminded Squall of a spray bottle. "We wouldn't want to startle people, would we?" Squall nodded robotically and tensed. Monisha squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Still, maybe it could be a little better. Duana?" he called suddenly over his shoulder.

"I'll put it on your list," she said. Her voice made Squall sigh in silent relief. It was stunningly average in volume and pitch. She was always to the point.

When it sounded like Mr. Veen was finished, Squall pocketed his clicker and offered his arm to the man. Mr. Veen knelt and took it. His shoes squeaked against the thick, slippery finish on the floor. "Remember," he said with a certain unsettling lilt in his voice, "you can stop us whenever you want. As always."