Evergreen Mountain Academy

Chapter 4: Nothing to Offer

The trio had spent the next two hours running in and out of thrift stores and costume shops until finally the day was over, and the rest of the weekend flew by as if it was nothing.

Then the first day of ability training classes reared its daunting head.

Basil was unsurprised to find that in the third period right before lunch, her schedule bore no enhancement, manipulation, mind, divination, movement, nor shifting training. Instead, it commanded them to go to something called "CALF." She hadn't heard any mention of what that meant or where the class was, but thankfully it offered a room number, which she was pretty sure she could figure out its location.

Mr. Toastiboi's science class, which usually felt as if it dragged on for hours, could not have gone by faster, and they were learning about mitochondria and aerobic respiration, which Basil found about as interesting as the bottom of a shoe. Yet the bell rang out with a fur-prickling squawk after what felt like barely three minutes.

They found the classroom, a small door they almost mistook for a janitor closet, except for the open door and a single student seated inside. The afternoon sunlight streams into the room through a row of small square windows onto the opposing wall. It's noticeably undecorated in comparison to all of Basil's other classes, bare off-white wallboard with dull greenish-blue trim and twelve desks lined up in rows of three, only one occupied.

The student's ears perked up, noticing the jraxon edging around the doorframe. "Hello! Are you here for ADP?"

Basil's anxiety kicked into full gear, panicking about walking into the wrong classroom, and making her legs buckle. "U-um, no I'm looking for, uh, 'CALF'?" They took a step back out the door. "Sorry, wrong room."

"Actually, dear, I think you're right where you need to be," a high pitched, gravelly voice says from behind Basil. A petite muntjac, barely taller than Basil herself, steps around her into the room. "It used to be called 'CALF'; I requested they change it to a term that isn't outdated, ADP. But it seems they haven't updated the academy course list."

"Wait, Oh my yeenie beanies," the other student brightens, their voice sing-songy and enthusiastic, almost like laughter, pushing their chair back and standing up from their desk. "I get a new classmate? I got a new classmate! And it's a cute little freshie too— beanies, aren't you precious?"

"Basil, isn't it?" the muntjac asks. "I'm Ms. Nerium. Mx. Nerium works too."

"H-hi, yeah. Um... what is this class?"

"Ah, yes. Have a seat— anywhere you'd like, as you can see we are not short on space here," Mx. Nerium says. "I'll give you an introductory briefing before we begin, that is if you don't mind sitting through this again, Aaron."

The other student twiddled with their striped bangs. "It's no problem; 's been three or some years since I last heard it anyhow."

"Lovely." Mx. Nerium takes a seat on her uncluttered desk, hoisting herself up and crossing her legs. "ADP stands for 'Ability Discovery Program'. Several years ago, courses such as this were called 'CALF', or 'Class for Ability-Less Furs'." She grimaced. "Not only is that scientifically incorrect and misleading towards the nature of this class, but the acronym? You aren't fawns or kits. The infantilization of individuals who haven't figured out their ability is a major problem in our society." Her voice rose as she continued, growing more tense and fiery. "Sorry, I'm a bit passionate about this."

"Never apologize for passion, Mx. Ner!" Aaron proclaims, snapping their head up and sending their several ear piercings clinking. "You go girl!"

Basil's fur stands up from the phrase "class for ability-less furs." They never imagined they'd find themselves somewhere like this. Though, Mx. Nerium's other words ignited a spark of curiosity. "You said it's 'misleading towards the nature of the class'?"