Legends of Mirandis Academy

Excuses, Excuses

Kelam arrived at school the next day with an awful taste in his mouth. The first wave of sickness was usually the one he fell victim to, but it was surprising to see how quickly some people had gotten better, especially having seen them at what could be presumed to be their worst. Like Iridia.

She had gotten so upset, and the bitterness had sat in his throat for hours after mistakenly calling her by a name he didn't know was so hazardously off-limits. It wasn't mere annoyance; he had obviously crossed a boundary. He hadn't known it was there, but maybe if he'd actually looked, he would have seen it. Not even Luna called her that! But who was he to know that Iridia and Brielle were childhood friends like that; who was he to know that Brielle was family in her eyes?

"That's really only a family thing," she'd said. And then sharper, "Brielle is different."

At this rate, their only conversations were going to be him apologizing over and over again. He took a deep breath and strode into the workshop. The identity of its sole occupant was unsurprising; Kelam barely had to look to find her hunched over a table, tracing over a piece of wood with a knife.

"Hello, Iridia."

She tensed. "Is there something you need?"

"What I need is to apologize. Something I seem to be doing only more and more lately with you." He stood across the table from her with his hands awkwardly tucked into the pockets of his overcoat. "I'm sorry for the whole nickname thing. I obviously pushed a button I very much should not have."

"You did." Her exhale was shaky, he noted, and certainly not from any chill air. "I wish you would be more aware of boundaries. Maybe ask for permission every once in a while."

That one hurt, as if he had actually been impaled in the chest. She had yet to say she forgave him. He didn't know if she would.

"Kelam-" She paused, hands idle in front of her. "I like you, but I just need some time to figure my own things out, okay? I haven't known you since I was a little kid like I have Brielle. Things are different for different people." She never looked up at him, only patiently carved the small wooden pieces in her hands. He couldn't tell what they would assemble to yet. Still, his heart skipped a beat-even though she had every right to be as upset as she was with him-right there was his confirmation. Clear as day. She liked him too.

"Oh, hello Mr. Quincy. How are you doing?" Mr. Duval walked in carrying extension cords over his shoulder.

"Hello sir, I am doing well, thank you. I was actually just leaving, so I suppose I'll be seeing you both later."

"Okay," Iridia said quietly, as he turned to leave. He'd wanted to stay longer, but it seemed all that needed to be said was out, and all he could hope for was Iridia's kindness to smooth over the rigid aches in his chest. He'd really done himself in-he certainly couldn't ask her to go with him now, and time before the Winter Formal was winding down. He'd said what he needed to, he'd give her space, and then she'd come back to him. It was simple; it was just a waiting game.

"Well, that seemed to be a rather awkward encounter." Mr. Duval said, putting the new cords away in their designated bin.

"Tell me about it."

"I see you've switched to a new medium." He walked over to stand beside her and examine her project at hand. "Finally finished the little project?"

"Nope," she carefully sanded the thin slats. "Cosmetics."

"It's so delicate." He chuckled, "And clean."

"Even if she's never going to see it, I want it to be good." Iridia sighed. "And then it can sit on my dresser and endlessly remind me of how hopeless it all is."