From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Eight

Jules and Tristan sit arguing on the steps between Ham and Jam, Baldwin's bronze dogs standing sentry in from of the main administration building. They argue a lot, but never about anything serious. Either Tristan can't handle maturity that long, or solving the mysteries of the universe is sooo last millennium for geniuses like them. Who knows; maybe it's just a toss-up.

Sebastien and I have claimed one of the wide cement hand rails on either side of the steps, and are listening to the latest fluff subject as we all wait for Bronwyn and Drew to show. The six of us are congregating here at the front of campus before tramping up the hill to Hunt Dining Hall for lunch, gratis an invite from Dad.

"Prime has fewer superpowers than Superman, so Prime is clearly the inferior hero," Jules insists, examining her flawless manicure.

Tristan's eyes round larger in disagreement. "Powers aren't the only things that matter, missy," he blusters. "Optimus Prime has strength of character; Superman just mopes and sighs over Lois Lane all the time. Plus! Prime's animation royalty. He was an Autobot noble on Cybertron."

"You're forgetting about Kal-el being the crown prince of Krypton. Besides, Superman's humanoid design better enables children to emulate him."

Tristan snorts, then says, "Yeah, you call me when you find a kid who'd rather pretend to be a guy who accesses his super alter ego by tugging on a blue spandex cat-suit than one who Rubic's cubes into a kick-butt semi, and then we'll talk."

Bryn and Drew stroll up just in time to catch this final rebuttal. Bronwyn sighs and crosses her arms as across from me Drew throws one leg over the cement railing to mirror my own dangling-footed self. He leans in and drops a kiss on my cheek, the smell of him a wonderful mint and leather scent swirl, with something that makes me think of orange sherbert push-up pops.

"Comics?" he guesses, referring to Tristan and Jules.

"Saturday morning cartoons," Bryn suggests instead.

"Yuh-huh; gold star for Bryn."

Bryn shakes her finger shamingly at the two of them, making a "tsk, tsk" sound. "Come, come now, children. Mind your manners around the grown-ups. She snakes her hand between their heads and flicks her brother--hard--on the ear. It's strange, but for a second I think Tristan winces at the pain a second before contact, but that's ridiculous. He's probably just well-trained in his sister's discipline tactics.

It doesn't keep him down for long, though. The six of us are scrunching up around a table in West Hunt when Tristan grins at me like a loon and asks, "Why so glum, chum? You look wimpier than usual."

I groan, thinking of the rest of my weekend, which I will not enjoy. "Not so much glum as slammed. Gracie's got another test panel this weekend, I'm closing at the library both nights, and I have that big biochem test to study for. I'm not particularly looking forward to it."

"The hours of waiting at the hospital, the studying, or the test?"

I stick my tongue out at him. "All of the above, meathead," I say, dipping a huge tortilla chip into a cup of nacho cheese, and then shoving the whole thing into my mouth.

"Whatever will Jules do without her partner in crime?" Bronwyn wonders aloud.

"There's an open lecture here on veridical paradoxes Saturday, and I thought on Sunday I'd draft a letter to Senator Warner about some legislature coming by him soon."

Bryn skewers a cherry tomato from her salad, knocking aside a bit of green pepper trying to hitch a ride. "Would you like me to come along, since Joss can't? Make a day of it?"