UNIQUE (A Powers Novel)

Three

By some miracle, I make it to the interview on time. Barely. The name of the restaurant, Lettuce Eat, gives itself away as a real award winner before I even walk in. It's not exactly a dive, but it's hardly the nicest place in Argon. The aroma of cooking vegetables hits me as soon as I walk in. My stomach grumbles.

A waitress smiles at me, making her way between tables like she could do it blindfolded. For all I know, she is a Somatic with muscle memory.

I almost turn around and leave as she approaches.

"Welcome to Lettuce Eat," she says, never breaking her smile. Ten years ago she might have been pretty, but a lifetime of waiting tables has worn her down. The name tag stitched on her shirt reads "Joan," and I can't help but think what an ordinary name it is. "Just you today?"

"Um, yeah," I stammer. Great first impression. "I'm Ugene Powers. Here for an interview for the busboy job?"

Joan's shoulders sag with relief. "Oh thank god. I've been bugging Harvey to hire someone for weeks now!" She shifts the tray, tucked neatly under her arm. "I'll go get him. Why don't you have a seat over there?" She points at a table for two near the window, then quickly weaves her way through the tables again to disappear through the kitchen door.

With awkward steps, I move toward the table and sit, hands folded together on the hideous tablecloth covered with pictures of various vegetables. Dome lamps shaped like what I assume to be lettuce hang above each table, coated in at least a year of dust. The patterned tiles on the floor are so worn I think I can almost see the baseboards beneath. Only two tables are occupied. At one table sit two Naturalists, judging by the way they touch the table absently with affectionate caresses. Only Naturalists feel objects like that.

The other table has four girls not much older than me, all giggling and talking. They've probably been here for hours talking about the entire history of their little worlds. And it's all so amusing to them.

"Mr. Powers?" The deep voice pulls me back to reality.

The chair scrapes the floor as I stand, drawing the gaze of the other patrons. A tall, well-built man strides toward me. His grip is firm as he shakes my hand.

"The name's Harvey," he says.

"Sir," I say, trying not to wince.

He motions me to my chair again and takes the seat across from me. Harvey sits sideways so his strong legs don't have to try and fit under the table. It also leaves more space for his broad shoulders. He fits the stereotype of Somatic. Paragon published a study almost ten years ago about how Somatics with Enhanced Taste or Smell are built like a Somatics with Enhanced Strength because of the way their cells develop.

"So tell me a little about yourself, Ugene," Harvey says, settling back comfortably. "I can call you Ugene, yes?"

I nod. "I graduated from Memorial High about a month ago. Been looking for a job ever since, but I haven't really found a clear focus, you know? I don't know what I want to do with my life yet." Well, that was a lie.

For a second, I think I might have said the wrong thing, but Harvey smiles at me. "I don't think anyone ever knows what they want to do with their life," he says. "We all just move from one thing to the next, searching." That seems interesting to me, but before I can ask he continues. "What was your core focus at Memorial High?"

That was the dreaded question. A core focus is a telling sign of what ability you possess. Each focus is broken into one of the four classifications.