Chapter Text

Chapter 8: The Pen Is Mightier

It was dim. 

Counselor Briar’s office shunned windows. The man himself seemed to have a vendetta against conventional light sources. A singular desk lamp burned tangy yellow, pointed downward at his cluttered desk. 

Counselor Briar tapped his black ballpoint on a small handheld notepad.

Ewen repositioned himself in the chair opposite his career counselor. The metal joints creaked as if to tell on him.

Red eyes glinted in the weak light of the desk lamp.

“Qualifying for the Exchange isn’t easy,” said Yuri finally. “Determination, good grades, and daddy’s money might bring you close, but it’s a high bar.” 

His hand patted a thick portfolio.

“And you clear it, just barely.”

Ewen breathed out slowly.

“But qualifying and being chosen to participate are two very different things. And the career you’ve chosen…” Yuri glared as if the kid had chosen the profession just to make his job harder. “Let’s just say there are… additional challenges.”

He carefully examined Ewen’s reaction: obvious discomfort, rigid body language, shifty eyes. 

Without a hint of sympathy, Yuri asked, “How do you feel?”

Ewen sucked in a deep breath and responded, “I expect I’ll have to work hard not just to get in, but to stay in.” He nodded somberly and forced a smile. “I’ve accepted that. As an Imperial Scholar, it should be apparent how committed I am to being an exemplary student at all times, sir.”

Yuri wagged a hand at him. 

“Yeah, you’re a real smart–” He coughed into his fist. “Smart kid.” 

Ewen anticipated a “But…”

“But perhaps too sentimental.”

Ice pumped through Ewen’s veins. He forced his teeth together to keep from speaking out of turn.

I’m trying not to be.

“You’re very close with your family, and you’ve been friends with–” Yuri held up a corner of the portfolio and read, “--Damian Desmond and Emile Elman since you were in diapers.”

Falling back in his chair, Ewen wondered, What does that have to do with studying abroad?

“Yes, sir. They all support me comp–”

“Your parents do.” 

No doubt about that. They had been pulling for their baby boy to be selected for the Exchange since his first day of secondary school. 

“I’m grateful to them, sir.”

Yuri leveled him with a dark look that said, “As you should be.” That, or “Nepo babies are bad enough, but their parents are worse.”

“Still, even with their money and influence, and your grades–” 

The ballpoint pen tapped the miniature globe on the corner of the desk. 

“--studying in Ruskva might be more tenable. However” –his tone sharpened– “it’s all ‘love and friendship with Ostania’ till the Reds got something to lose. At least in Anglan you’d know what to expect.”

Ewen instinctively sat up straighter.

“Then University of Lendun is still my best option?”

“Don’t get cocky, kid. And don’t jinx it.”

But Ewen was hardly superstitious. His passport had arrived in the mail over a month ago, loaned to him by the State on several conditions. Although, without an official exit stamp, it would remain a useless little booklet.

And Ewen would remain in Berlint.

“We’ve put enough time and resources into you, Egeburg.” With an air of authority that made Ewen sweat through his undershirt, Yuri said, “You better pay dividends.”

“I will, sir,” he responded immediately, confidently. 

Yuri clicked his pen. 

Ewen’s confidence leaped out of his body and fled the room. 

“You don’t mind being away from home for four years?” With false nonchalance, Yuri leaned back in his office chair. His pen did not stray from the notepad. “Away from family, friends, girlfriends?”

Ewen answered, “No, sir. I’ll come home for winters and summers, correct?”

“As permitted. Though your studies will be our priority.”

“Always, sir.” 

Our priority.

“Desmond and Elman…” 

Yuri leafed through a stack of papers, though Ewen wondered if it was just for show. To make him wait. Make him slip up.

“Any other close friends? Girlfriends?”

“Some old classmates,” replied Ewen.

Yuri waited. 

Clicked his pen once. 

Forger, supplied Ewen’s brain, unhelpfully. 

Silently, Yuri tilted his head to one side. 

Clicked again.

And Ewen felt compelled to fill the silence. 

“Anya Forger. We attended the same classes through elementary and middle school. When I started advanced–”

“You seemed close, before.” 

Ewen would rather forget that day. Chasing Forger around the Eden Dorms, being trapped in the car, getting kicked out just in time for the heavens to open with a sudden downpour.  

“We aren’t close, sir. We just happened to be working together–”

“Every day,” interrupted Yuri with a scowl.

“--that day, at the Dorms. When Forger got sick, or had one of her migraines, I guess, I helped her to the bus depot. That’s where you saw us… together… sir.” 

Yuri still looked at him as if he were the bane of his existence.

“Forger’s just an acquaintance,” said Ewen, his voice clear and, he believed, convincing. “She’s closer with Blackbell and Desmond than–”

Dark brows shot skyward. 

“Blackbell?” Yuri glanced at the portfolio. “Rebecca Blackbell?”

Why are you asking about her? Aren’t you Forger’s uncle? 

“She’s Forger’s best friend. Has been since the first day of first grade.”

Yuri squared his shoulders, leaning forward. 

The pen scratched the pad. 

"You've spent a lot of time together recently. You and Blackbell."

… Have we? 

“I’ve seen her in passing–”

“You were seen with Elman, Forger, and Blackbell at the Festival yesterday. Fourteen hundred to twenty thirty-six hours: Elman only. Twenty thirty-six hours: Blackbell and Forger arrive. Open-air concert near the junction of Platz Street and Third.”

Ewen felt the heat of the lamp intensely, though it was angled away from him.

Yuri allowed a beat of silence. It felt expectant.

Then, “You walked together for an hour and thirteen minutes. Twenty-one forty-nine hours: the group splits. You and Elman; Blackbell and Forger. Twenty-two eleven hours: you enter a light-blue four-door sedan. Presumably, you went straight home.”

“I’m not a criminal. Uh, s-sir.” 

Ewen figured pleading the fifth would make him look like one. So he went into some detail. 

“Blackbell and Forger are old classmates from Eden. We were somewhat close in grade school, less close in middle school, and I hardly interacted with them in secondary school.”

Inexplicably, Yuri asked, "How would you describe your relationship with Blackbell now? Close…? Somewhat close…?"

“With Blackbell?”

Not Forger? And not close at all!

To avoid being caught by surprise, Ewen always expected Anya to behave atypically. But lately, Becky had been acting erratically too. Giving shallow compliments, touching him by pretend-accident, flicking her shiny brown hair at him, using high-end shampoo that smelled divine.

Had they passed an invisible threshold and entered Bizarro World? 

No. Blackbell could be easily categorized and filed away. 

“Acquaintance. Former classmate. Fellow Scholar and Eden alumnus."

Yuri’s pen stilled. 

"That all?"

Ewen reeled, eyes blinking rapidly. Why do you expect more? 

Becky had expected more yesterday. From him. 

I can’t give more.

He leaned forward, removed his glasses, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Eyes flashing, he told Yuri sharply, “I’m not chasing girls. Especially not her. I’ve got enough on my plate already, don’t I? Counselor.”

For a tense moment, silence occupied the space between them. Neither man moved a muscle. Not a syllable passed over their lips. 

Ewen crossed his arms and shrank back into the metal chair. It answered with a shrill, protesting creak. 

“I’m committed to the Program.”

Yuri coolly deposited his pen and notepad to the side of his desk, directly atop Ewen’s portfolio. 

“Clearly, Mr. Egeburg.” He nodded toward his office door. “You’re dismissed.”