They Be Ascended - Scene 2

Boston Takahashi runs into a friend. I assure you, for me, this is deceptively tame. Keep the word "deceptive" in mind when reading scenes.

“Wanna hang outside during lunch?” Blaire asked, while meticulously writing, copying notes from her textbook into her spiral notebook.

Boston wished she could say yes, but she couldn’t. If she skipped another ‘remedial’ Archery Club practice at the field house, Hannah, the club president, would be using her severed head as a soccer ball, promptly filling her neck hole with arrows after she was done kicking her head around. The state-wide archery tournament was coming up, and her shooting wasn’t ship-shape. Her vision was great and her ability to judge trajectory, wind speed, and distance was top notch. For all her physics knowledge, she didn’t have control over her nerves and anxiety �" which always seemed to be throwing a curve ball she simply couldn’t find the strength to bat away.

Shaking her head, she told her friend, “Sorry, Ginger Snaps, I’ve got to practice with Hannah the Hun.”

Blaire said, “No worries. Morgue, Jennifer and I can work on our World History project, I guess.” She smiled at Boston, momentarily tearing herself away from her notes.

Grinning, Boston hoped she was conveying how sorry she was. After all, they would be able to hang out soon.

Obviously understanding, Blaire went back to note-taking, looking happy.

The bell rang, telling the underclassmen it was time for their next class and the upperclassmen it was time for lunch, speaking its orders with a simple, drawn out chime. Blaire told Boston good bye and made her way down the corridor to search for Jennifer and Morgan, disappearing within the sea of gabbing teenage faces almost instantaneously. Boston watched her until she disappeared, turned on the bells of her feet, and headed the opposite direction.

She was in the Science wing, through the path leading to the only set of triple doors presented by the four-way intersection created by the Arithmetic wing and English wing, the freshman and the sophomore girls’ lockers. The halls and classrooms in the Science wing were empty. Her footsteps echoed as they successively stepped on the smooth, recently-polished wooden flooring. She turned a sharp corner, lost in thought, staring at the floor, and almost collided with Morgan, who was standing over a bloody-nosed boy.

Noticing her, Morgan looked away from the boy and ran her fingers through her black dye-streaked pale, rumpled hair. She turned to face Boston, looking smug. “Massachusetts, didn’t expect to get caught by you of all people.”

“Um, what’s going on, Morgue?” she asked, hoping to God Almighty she wasn’t seeing what she thought she was seeing.

“This is the part where I say the obligatory, almost cliché ‘Oh, this isn’t what it looks like!’ and you, against your better judgment, allow me to go off on a convoluted tangent, explaining the story so as to put myself in a better light �" which, we all know would be a lie. And this pathetic space-taker,” she said, pointing her thumb over her shoulder to the now-standing boy, “will claim I’m a liar and attacked him first. You’d wind up believing me. Yet, deep down, know I’m lying to you, but nonetheless buy into my s**t story because, well, we’re close. Instead of that dramatic mess, I’m going to let this creepy-looking mouth �" and inhaler �" breathing waste of matter, mass, effort, and time, go.” She nodded her head sharply, wordlessly telling him to get out of her presence.

Not meeting Boston’s eyes, he rushed passed, accidentally hitting her shoulder with his, causing her to stumble.

Walking up to her, arms crossed, Morgan said, “You’re gonna ask why I beat up that brat?”

Boston sighed, shaking her head, eyes locked and connected with the other girl’s. She noticed their pretty colors, her irises’. They were tan and, like her hair, streaked with a few black lines. Seeming cheerful, Boston thought they were, in reality, anything but. There was an underlying sadness to her face reaching the girl’s eyes. Maybe it was the way her smile felt forced, small and devoid of the dimples that indented her cheeks during a true, full show of joy, maybe it was the way Morgan met her stare as if solely to be contrary to her actual emotions., maybe it was the subconscious, self-conscious way she carried herself, moved, too aware and wary of Boston’s prying eyes. Whatever the case was, Boston saw passed the façade, the ill-fated game of charades the other girl unknowingly played.

So, doing the only thing she felt she could do, Boston hugged her friend tightly. “You have someone to talk to, always. God will listen, He loves you. I do, too, and if you don’t want to talk to Him, talk to me. I’m here for you…. Blaire is looking for you. She wants to work on your group project.”

-

“Takahashi, I thought Japanese people were supposed to be good at everything,” said Hannah Smith, worn down by Boston’s abysmal performance. She had managed to miss the target twelve times out of twenty - three over five percent in favor of misses. Her poor success rate, she couldn’t help attributing to the club president breathing down her throat. Her audience was a hostile one that only served to lessen the quality of the act. 

And then, it hit her - "act". She didn't have to be plain old nervous nelly Boston. She could be Robin Hood, Legolas. She could be a sharpshooter.

Letting go of all her inhibitions, she narrowed her eyes and raised her bow. Holding in a deep breath, she drew the arrow back to her shoulder, string taut, she quickly considered the angle, moving it up just a smidge, fully aware of the power pulling the string so tightly brought to the table. The angle she had the compound bow in was perfect to hit the target dead on, especially since there was no wind in the field house. She let go of the arrow and watched it soar through the air and hit right smack dab in the target’s centermost ring.

“Whoa, nice shot there, B,” Hannah said, patting her back.

Author's Note

Blaire, Morgan, and Boston are the first group of tritagonists. There will be another group, an opposing group introduced in the book's second half.