Black Mist: Seedling

8. A Thousand Pies

And so, the first few weeks of November were spent joyfully. Rose felt the unselfish joy of making another happy, while Alastair felt the bliss of a lost love found, even if he was mistaken. It's amazing how enjoying life makes it go by faster, and in a blink it was Thanksgiving, the cool, wet autumn dried up into a frosty early winter.

Rose wasn't sure what was going to happen for the long Thanksgiving weekend. Unlike the rest of the kids, she didn't have family to go home to. She hadn't seen or heard from Walter Avery since he dropped her off in front of the school back in August, which, she guessed, was something to be thankful for. She would not go to his apartment for Thanksgiving, but she also wasn't sure whether she could stay at school alone.

The Monday before the long weekend, Dean Whitley announced a sign-up sheet for students remaining behind for the holiday. When Rose went to the SO room, she saw that quite a few students were staying. Out of 250 students, around 30 had listed that they would be at school for Thanksgiving, which included little ones. Rose added her name to the list, glad to see she wouldn't be totally alone.

"You're staying here, Rose?" the dean asked, stepping out from her office.

Rose pointed at the list in answer. Dean Whitley nodded, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame.

"Dr. Fitzhugh's family in Maine has a huge Thanksgiving celebration. He's heading up there Wednesday night." Who?

Rose gave a tight-lipped smile in response and turned to leave.

"He has asked me to see if you would like to go."

Without stopping, Rose shook her head and went down the stairs.

She didn't even know this guy. She could think of a thousand things she would rather do than spend the holiday with Dr. Fitzhugh and his huge family. Stab herself with a steak knife, take a bath in acid, spend time with that jerk Tommy and his friends. Any of these would be preferable to a weekend away with a teacher and his family. Especially one she didn't even know. Too weird.

««•»»

Alastair looked forward to going home for a few days, sleeping in his own bed and spending the holiday with his mom. Thanksgiving was not a feast in their household. They didn't have enough money for that, but it was nonetheless a favorite holiday for the Silvers. So, Wednesday afternoon, Alastair joined the majority leaving campus. He took the train south, transferring at 14th street to cut east, the same old route he had taken for more than a decade now. He carried his book bag, art kit and portfolio, and a small duffel. Even though this was a holiday weekend, he still had a ton of work to do. The end of the quarter was just a few weeks away. He planned to get most of his work done right away if possible, so he could relax for the weekend.

As he rounded the corner at the top of the station steps, Alastair bumped shoulder to shoulder with someone.

"Sorry, man." He looked up and saw a girl dressed like a punk. Like a punk from the seventies. She had short black hair, light olive skin, torn black clothes, and combat boots.

"You don't remember me, do you, Silver?" she asked, smacking her gum.

He tipped his head to the side, trying to figure out who she was.

She rolled her eyes. "I went to Whitman. I graduated three years ago."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, I--"

"I'm kidding," she laughed. "I mean, I did go to Whitman, but I don't expect you to recognize me. I've changed a lot. Keira. Keira Ortiz."

"Oh, yeah," he said slowly, nodding. "You were in my Arts class. Wow. You've 'changed a lot.' That's an understatement."