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“The weirdest class was probably Superdating 401: Saving the Date.”
“There’s no way that’s real.”
“Oh, yeah. We had to keep weekly logs of our dating lives. …It’s worse when your dad is the one teaching it.”
Years and years of hero school, but nothing ever really changed for Obsidian.
She was a semester away from graduating. One more semester of classes she knew all the answers to, parties that she never received an invite for, snickering of other heroes behind her back. The days dragged on like molasses, and even with her super endurance, her resolve was beginning to crumble.
Dad was the one who suggested taking the class. She wanted to take the next level of the bomb diffusing course, but Granite, in all his wisdom, said she needed to get out more. It was only once a week anyway. So, here she was, twenty minutes early to the first lecture of Superdating 401.
Ten minutes of silence passed before other teen heroes started to file in. Geostone, Diorite, Amethyst… the three of them sat in the back, eyes passing over Obsidian like she wasn’t even there.
A bubble seemed to form around where Obsidian sat. Most people just don’t like the front row, she reasoned. She told herself this every time.
When Granite strolled in, late like he was for every class, the chatter was silenced in an instant. Everyone sat a little straighter, the wires in their spines tightening at the beckon of his hand. Obsidian’s grip on her pen tightened involuntarily.
He stood in front of the main desk, directly in front of Obsidian, though he stared above her to get a better look at the students behind her. “Good afternoon, class. How is everyone today?”
A mumble of “good” and “fine” rippled through the room. Granite chuckled, shaking his head.
“You’re all going to have to be a bit more outgoing than that if you want to do well in this course.”
He went through the song and dance of introductions, each student having to say their name and a few fun facts. It was hard with the secret identity aspect of it all. There was a delicate balance between “fun fact” and damning evidence to anybody who could be listening. At Obsidian’s turn, she boredly told the class that she was good at Mario Kart.
“ And your father is the defender of Elowyn City,” Granite helpfully added, ruffling her hair. Someone in the back of the class was laughing and hiding it poorly. Obsidian considered throwing herself out the window.
She drew a long, winding loop-de-loop across her page as Granite described the syllabus in painful detail. He had no Powerpoint, which only Obsidian knew was because he was so tragically inept with a computer he couldn’t possibly get it to work. She offered to help, as usual, but he had waved her off. So, everyone was passed a printed off sheet of schedules and expectations for the class.
“Your first assignment,” Granite said, his stick of chalk squeaking cursive against the board, “is to go on a date with any hero of your choosing. Write an entry about it in your notebook, which will be due next Tuesday. Remember: no civilians. We have an image to uphold. Class dismissed.”
Everyone scrambled to get out as fast as possible, the chatter resurfacing gradually as they filed out in groups of two or three. Obsidian waited until she and Granite were the last ones before finally starting to pack up her things.
“Dad?” She started, zipping her backpack closed.
He turned slightly, not really looking at her. “Yes?”
Obsidian averted her eyes to the floor, wringing her hands. A part of her was desperate to tell him how nervous this assignment made her. She wasn’t sure how to begin, what to say, how to act. As she opened her mouth, though, all she could picture was Granite’s apprehension at her starting in hero school to begin with. Any crack in her resolve would be indicative of her not being prepared for this. She was ready. She had to prove that to him.
“Nevermind.”
“Alright,” Granite said. He paused at the door. “Just be yourself, Obsidian. Good luck.” The door clicked shut behind him.
Seemed easy enough.
—
The dining hall was nothing short of Obsidian’s worst nightmare. Maybe it was because she spent so much time eating at home, or maybe that habit was a byproduct of her disgust, but the room was simply terrible on enough levels to drive her away most days. Today, however, was a rare exception.
Obsidian was glad she didn’t have Stratum’s super strength, otherwise the empty plate in her hands would have shattered by now from how hard she was clenching it. She wove through the lines of people, the loud conversation static in her ears.
Like any mission, it was imperative she keep away from distractions. In the heat of a battle, anything drawing her mind away could mean life or death. She took deep, meditative breaths as she dodged the shoulders of young heroes walking the other way.
Next, she needed a good target. Someone friendly, nice. Attractiveness would be a plus, but it wasn’t necessary at the moment. Anybody would do. Her eyes scanned the hall, making a mental note of each seated man, taking into account body language and who they were with, the energy around them, what their powers were if Obsidian knew them. Finally, her eyes landed on Mesa. Perfect.
Mesa was a little younger. He said hi sometimes to her in the hall. He was smart and driven to do well in class, going so far as to ask the occasional question and even sometimes go to office hours. There was nobody better. Obsidian approached, careful, cautious.
Be yourself, be yourself.
“Hey,” she started, immediately cringing at the way it sounded as it left her mouth. “Hi. Mesa.”
Mesa turned, stopping with his slice of pizza halfway to his mouth. He smiled, his teeth nice and shiny. “Hey, Obsidian. How’s it going?”
“Great.” she emphatically said, nodding for emphasis. Mesa’s friends were starting to stare. Heat crawled up her neck. Is this romantic tension? “Um, could I talk to you for a minute?”
“‘Course.” He abandoned his friends and lunch and walked a few paces away, following Obsidian’s predetermined path. “What’s up?”
“I—well, I was wondering, would you—uh, I don’t—” she took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Would you be interested in getting dinner with me?”
Mesa blinked. “Oh. Sure!”
“You can say no.”
“No, that’s actually great. I’d love to.”
Obsidian barely contained her sigh of relief. “Awesome. Seven, tonight? We can meet on campus, I’ll get Chinese.”
“Cool. It’s a date.”
Mesa walked back to his seat. Obsidian stood, staring blankly at where he used to be as it all began to set in.
The panic was quickly overwhelming. She dropped her plate off at the nearest flat surface she could find, walking out as fast as she could, shooting Morgan a text to head to their apartment ASAP.
—
When Dianne got home, hero clothes stuffed into her backpack, Morgan was already sitting on the couch, pulling a thread out of the armrest. He perked up when the door shut behind her, scrambling to his feet.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay, are you hurt?”
“No.” Her bag hit the floor with a resounding thud. “But I need your help.”
“Villain stuff?” She shook her head. “Dad? Training? What??”
“Morgan. Calm down.” Dianne took a seat on the couch, knees up to her chest. Morgan followed suit, his gaze worried and imploring. It was almost too embarrassing to say. “...I have a date tonight.”
The clear train of mounting catastrophe running through his head seemed to abruptly crash into a wall. He blinked a few times, opening and closing his mouth like a dorky, flannel-clad tuna fish.
“...Huh?”
“I know.”
“You’ve never—”
“I know .”
“...Okay,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, recalibrating. “Okay.”
“It’s for class,” she clarified. “I’m just—I don’t really know what to do.”
Morgan nodded. “Superdating?” She grimaced. He laughed. “ So glad I got out of that one.”
A surge of jealousy rocketed through her. “Not helping.”
“Sorry. Who, uh…?”
“Mesa.”
“Oh, damn. Not bad.”
“Focus. I’m supposed to be dating him.”
“Of course,” he said, a nervous laugh bubbling up in his words. “Um. Okay. Walk me through your plan.”
Dianne sighed, wheeling over a whiteboard from where it stood in the corner of the room. Stephanie brought it in to help when mapping out her cold cases. More often than not, it got used instead for stupid shit, not unlike this.
She started scribbling out her vision, the hot pink marker in her hand labeled STEPHANIE DAVIS which she ignored. She drew two stick figures, a box of takeout, and a picnic table.
“For a date to be successful, it needs to meet a few certain requirements. There should be food, entertainment, and both parties should walk off satisfied and planning for a later meeting. A goodbye kiss is optional but recommended, I think. I’ve got the formula down, but I don’t really know what to say.”
“Just be yourself,” Morgan said, unhelpful. Dianne glared at him, but made a note of it anyway.
“Dad already told me that. Are you sure there’s nothing else?”
Morgan shrugged, considering this. “Get him to talk about himself. His interests, hobbies. People love that.” Dianne wrote ASK ABOUT HIM on the board. She looked at him again, expectant. “I dunno, Dianne. It’s not really an exact science.”
“It could be. You don’t know that.”
“I am so sure it isn’t.”
Dianne glowered. She put the pen down, erasing the board with her sleeve, her movements jerky and uninspired. “Whatever. I have to go get ready.”
“You’re gonna do great,” Morgan said. He gave her a thumbs up. She rolled her eyes, storming off with her bag in hand.
I really hope you’re not wrong.
—
Mesa showed up with flowers.
“Hey,” he said, taking a seat across from Obsidian.
“What are those for?” She asked, worried for a moment that she had missed something important in her research.
“You. Duh.” He slid the small bouquet over to her side of the table. “You’re not allergic, right?”
“I don’t think so?”
He smiled. Why did he look so strained? Why was this already going badly? Why were they both being so quiet? Obsidian pulled out her notepad, writing down a few details.
“...What did you get?” He finally asked.
“Vegetable lo mein and some General Tso’s… uh, tofu.”
“Vegetarian,” he observed. Obsidian eyed the way his lips curled downward.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I—my brother’s preference, it’s a habit.”
“It’s fine,” he said, carefully concealing his grimace as he poked the tofu with his chopstick. “I didn’t know Stratum didn’t eat meat.”
“Yeah.” Obsidian pulled a seemingly endless noodle from the lo mein box. It stretched on like a silence. It took a moment of searching to remember Morgan’s advice. “Um, tell me about what you do for fun.”
Mesa began talking about swim team and badminton and psychology club and whatever other extracurriculars he had the ample time for. His voice kept slipping into nothingness, Obsidian losing the fight of focus. She absentmindedly tore the petals from a rose in the small floral bundle, a red pile growing before her.
She went through her checklist. There was food (not that Mesa was eating any), the entertainment of conversation (despite the awkward pauses)... but was he enjoying himself? Obsidian nodded at his monologue to facilitate listening. He was smiling, sure. Morgan may have had a point about getting him to talk about himself. Obsidian made a note.
She checked the clock. 8:05. A few minutes later than intended, but she had to account for schedule changes, she supposed. There was a list of easy transitional phrases she had written down to end things at the proper time. She waited for the end of his impassioned explanation on common badminton techniques before using her finishing script. “It’s getting late,” she said, getting up just as rehearsed. “I should probably head home. Thank you for coming. I had a lot of fun.”
“Thank you, ” Mesa said graciously, getting to his feet as well. “You’re a great listener. Do you want a walk home?”
She grimaced, having not accounted for him offering that. “No, but thanks. I’ll see you later?”
“Can’t wait.” He winked. Obsidian smiled, the expression fitting awkwardly on her face.
When she walked home that night, her bag was heavy with the weight of all the leftovers.
—
Obsidian tore the edge of her paper in little strips, trying not to listen to her classmates murmur about their respective dates. Diorite had gone out with a nice girl and it went so well he didn’t go home after ( If you catch my drift, he said, becoming the worst person in the room within an instant). Amethyst finally got the chance to go out with a guy she had been ‘crushing on’ all of last semester. Meanwhile, all of Obsidian’s flowers had died because she had forgotten to put them in water, and she still hadn’t texted Mesa back.
She wasn’t sure what happened. The second she had gotten home that night she had only felt terrible. It wasn’t supposed to be that way—anytime Morgan ever came home from a date, he was always so smiley and flustered. She knew something was wrong, but wasn’t sure what. Mesa seemed to have a good time. All the requirements were met. Why didn’t she feel anything?
Obsidian didn’t write any of this in her dating log, of course. She wrote about the idea of the date, the smiles, the badminton. There were some strategic omissions, but it was mostly the truth. It would keep her grade up, she justified.
Class continued, but she couldn’t find it in herself to pay that much attention. The whole lecture felt like a Cosmo article that she had probably already thumbed through when pre-researching for the course.
It was supposed to feel different. She was sure of it. Why didn’t it feel different?
Mesa was perfect. He was nice and smart and had the foundation for a perfect resume with his education and extracurriculars. Hell, he brought flowers. Morgan had been very impressed when she told him about that.
Was it because he wouldn’t eat the tofu?
Maybe she had to broaden her horizons.
That night, she turned to the whiteboard.
She had written down several variables, fixing the names of possible suitors on slips of paper to the board with a few magnets. Morgan sat on the couch, drinking orange juice from a shitty mug. Dianne tapped Stephanie’s marker against the board, mostly just wasting ink at this point. “Do you think I’m gay?”
Morgan hacked up his juice, white shirt rendered orange with his startled coughing. “ What? ”
“Do you think I’m gay.”
“I heard you. Why are you asking?”
“I tried Mesa and didn’t feel anything. You’re supposed to feel something. Maybe I like women.”
“I don’t know if it comes down to a maybe. ” He walked into the other room to change into a new, dry shirt. Dianne’s eyes didn’t leave the whiteboard. She had narrowed it down to Amethyst and Pyrite. Amethyst had already mentioned going on a perfect date, whether such a thing truly existed or not. Regardless, Pyrite was looking like the winner.
“Not that Dad would appreciate that,” she muttered, moving Pyrite’s name across the board.
Morgan’s bitter laugh could be heard from the hall. “Tell me about it.”
She wrote down a few details in Pyrite’s favor. She was very pretty: dark skin, striking eyes… she was trying out a new hairstyle recently, braids that faded into purple, and it looked nice. On top of that, she was popular and a positive force to be reckoned with.
Morgan walked back in, slumping into the couch. He craned his neck to read the board, raising a doubtful eyebrow. “I think you’re going about this wrong.”
“How else would I do this?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Like a normal person?”
She huffed out a breath. “What does that even mean? This is normal. This is how people do it.”
“It really isn’t.”
She gripped the marker, a sudden flash of angry embarrassment ricocheting through her. “Morgan—”
They both stopped in their tracks when the front door jiggled open. Dianne raced to turn the whiteboard around and stick it back in the corner.
“Heeeeeyyyyyyy!” Jamie called. “It’s me and Ricky! Can we come in?”
“This isn’t over,” Dianne hissed, pointing at Morgan. He raised his hands in surrender. “Come in,” she called, haphazardly draping a blanket over the whiteboard.
Ricky and Jamie poked their heads in through the kitchen doorway. Morgan made room on the couch. Dianne did not sit down.
“Cold in here,” Jamie commented. Their eyes hit the odd, draped mass in the corner. “Can we use that blanket?”
“No,” Dianne said fiercely. At Jamie’s half-hurt expression, she recalibrated. “...Sorry. I’ll grab one from the closet.”
“...Alright,” said Ricky, awkwardly clasping his hands. “Well. What’re you two doing today?”
“Not much,” Morgan said, feigning nonchalance. “Dianne’s working on a project.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dianne dropped a different throw blanket into Jamie’s outstretched hands and sat down on the floor. Morgan nudged her with his foot, as if apologizing. She pointedly didn’t look his way. “Mario Kart?”
“I thought you’d never ask!” Jamie reached forward for a controller, taking Player 1 and handing Player 2 to Dianne. “Ricky? Morgan? Don’t be lame.”
Morgan and Ricky exchanged a glance. “We have a training session later,” Ricky said. “Not enough time.”
“He’s just mad I took Bowser,” Dianne said. Ricky smacked the back of her head, eliciting a laugh from all four of them.
“I’m not. I definitely wanted Waluigi.”
“Waluigi is ugly as hell,” Jamie said, eyes on the screen as they selected the first map.
Morgan nodded in agreement. “Purple is a bad color.”
“Purple is my favorite color, you assholes!”
“Strong words coming from King Boo and Luigi,” Dianne snarked, causing both Morgan and Jamie to erupt into overlapping arguments about why their character of choice had the coolest design. The distraction was just what she needed to get Jamie with a red shell.
“You bastard,” they gasped, now denounced to second place.
Dianne cackled, going down another shortcut to lengthen the distance between them. Through the corner of her eye, she could look past the TV to see the flowers Mesa had given her, wilting on the table. Her glee dampened instantly.
There wasn’t a single point during that date where she had felt happy like she did now, playing Mario Kart with her friends.
Why was this so much easier?
Further experimentation was necessary.
She would find someone she truly liked if it was the last thing she did.
—
Pyrite was another bust.
For this date, they took a walk through the park. They did it at night as to not disturb civilians, a point that would certainly get her extra credit in class for efficiency and proper planning.
Overall, things went better than they did last time. Obsidian brought flowers this time, which Pyrite found very flattering. Since they shared an interest in cooking, they had a lot to talk about. The air was nice and cool, and although light pollution made it difficult, the two were still able to pick out a few glimmering stars in the sky.
Things shouldn’t have taken a turn the way they did. It was odd, really. Obsidian’s fault. She wasn’t sure what came over her.
When Pyrite leaned in to kiss Obsidian, she was met with a swift, dismantling punch to the gut.
Pyrite groaned, the sound echoing in the air. “What the hell?!”
“Shit,” Obsidian said, her hands covering her mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to–”
Pyrite looked up from where she was doubled over, mask accentuating her clear anger. “Get the fuck away from me.”
Obsidian clamped her mouth shut. She knew a clear order when she saw one. Without another word, she ran in the opposite direction.
None of this went in her log. She was already planning to write as if she had gone on a second date with Mesa (knowing how Granite treated Morgan and his romantic preferences), but the amount of omitted content was… substantial, to say the least. She wrote of the pretty stars, the soft grass. When she thought of the botched kiss, she slammed her notebook shut, ignoring the thrum of disgust in her heart.
She changed back into civilian clothes in an alleyway before making the rest of the trudge home. The first thing she did once she was inside was take Pyrite’s name off the whiteboard and throw the paper into the trash.
“I take it you aren’t gay?” Morgan asked from the couch, pausing his show.
“Not for her, at least. Which is a real shame, because she seemed to be really enjoying herself for a bit there.”
“Well, what changed?” He questioned. Dianne hoped her expression spoke for itself. “...That bad, huh?”
She nodded, sliding into place next to him with a long sigh. “That bad.”
Morgan hummed, giving her a comforting side hug. “Sorry. You’ll find someone.”
“Will I?”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling confidently. “You’re a great person. I’m shocked people aren’t taking down our door at a chance to date you.”
Dianne smiled, but her stomach twisted at the thought. “Sure,” she tried.
“Plus, if anyone can logic their way through romance, it would be you.” He turned back to the TV, unpausing his show. It was something soapy, passionate. Two characters clutched each other in a lusty, emotional embrace. Dianne could only last a minute before retreating back to the whiteboard, sick of the display.
No time for frilly stuff. She had to get serious.
—
Obsidian felt the air get squashed from her lungs as she was slammed into the box office of the Starlight Theater. The gangly teen worker inside had been miraculously conscious enough to dodge moments before being crushed, and was now cowering on the floor looking up at Obsidian with big, petrified eyes.
“Sorry,” she gasped, picking a chunk of glass from his ginger hair. “You should probably get out of here.” He nodded mutely, scrambling to his feet before running in the first direction with a door. “Nice shot, Genesis,” Obsidian called to her opponent, deadpan.
“I know! Aren’t I the best?” Genesis said, puffing their chest out. They continued on with some villainous ramble, but Obsidian couldn’t care less. For a moment, she sat distracted by the ticket prices displayed on a little sheet next to the register. Fairly cheap for midnight showings. That was a good date idea. Privacy and minimal communication. How had she not thought of that? She was too busy writing it down in her notebook to see Genesis coming closer, their arms folded irritably.
When Obsidian didn’t look up, Genesis loudly cleared their throat, startling Obsidian enough to fumble with her book. Genesis, quick as ever, snatched it from her hands. “Wait—”
“Why are you writing instead of fighting ?” They questioned, holding the book high in the air. They were short, Obsidian could easily reach it, but they were fast, too. Slippery. “What even is this? Your screenplay?”
“Genesis, come on. Put it down.”
Genesis flipped to a random page, eyes scanning through it. Obsidian’s heart sank. “What in the world…?”
“It’s for class. It’s not important.” Obsidian reached for it again, groaning in frustration when Genesis swiftly moved out of reach.
“Are you… trying to get a date?”
Her whole body seemed to lock up, face flushing. “It… it’s harder than it looks.”
Genesis nodded, finally closing the book much to Obsidian’s relief. “I didn’t know you were into that stuff.”
Obsidian’s lip curled in revulsion. “I’m not.” Genesis’ expression was shocked, as if that was the wrong answer. “Or—I am. Everyone is, obviously, I just—”
“Not everyone.”
Her train of thought halted suddenly. “—What?”
“Of course not.” Genesis set the little notebook down on the table. “A lot of people don’t feel anything romantic at all. I thought you were…” they trailed off, gesturing aimlessly.
A sense of panic was beginning to build under her skin. Her endurance for this was waning. “No, no. I’ve gone on a few dates. The people I was with had fun.”
“Okay. But did you ?”
Obsidian opened her mouth, a prepared, indignant response rising in her throat. Then she thought about it. She closed her mouth again.
“Yeah,” Genesis said. “You see what I mean?”
“...Seriously?”
“Aromanticism. There’s a word n’ everything.”
“You’re kidding.”
“For once, I’m not.”
Obsidian paused, looking at her reflection in the fractured glass. “...I’m hardwired to fail?”
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, your preference is perfectly normal and valid—”
“ Yes, I know that. M– Stratum is always saying shit like that. I…I have to date. For class.”
Genesis blinked. “Oh. …For real?”
Obsidian buried her face in her hands.
“It’s okay,” Genesis said, a little awkward. “Maybe your teacher will understand…?”
“Maybe,” she muttered. Finally, everything was beginning to make sense, but understanding didn’t come with the sense of peace she was desperate for. Only more questions. More ink on the whiteboard.
Genesis sighed. When they began to speak again, their voice was quieter than usual. “...Look,” they began, Obsidian cracking an eye open. “When I first started considering I was queer, I struggled with it a lot. It’s common to start out not accepting yourself, or trying to fit yourself into what society wants you to be, but you can’t let them do that to you. You’re probably a wonderful person, and your identity doesn’t change that.”
Obsidian’s face twisted. “Funny, coming from a villain.” For a moment, though, Genesis wasn’t really a villain anymore. Not to Obsidian, at least.
“Well.” Genesis said, smiling a little sadly. Obsidian looked again to the reflection in the glass, the two of them standing near each other, and suddenly their masks didn’t look all that different.
“Genesis…” Obsidian met their eyes through the glass, particularly unsure of what to say. They smiled, seeming to understand.
The spell of camaraderie was broken in an instant, though, at the sound of Arlo calling for a retreat. Obsidian could see him outside, hair ruffled, shirt askew. Stratum walked over, chest puffed in pride. Obsidian couldn’t help but roll her eyes.
“Shit. Just—think about it, okay?” Genesis said, scrambling to climb out the window. “See ya. Or, I mean… we’ll be back!”
“You haven’t seen the last of us!” Arlo added theatrically, helping Genesis out. Obsidian, seemingly the only person in Elowyn City who was clear in the head, used the door. She stood next to Stratum, watching the two villains run.
Stratum held out a fist. “You alright?”
Obsidian bumped it, no emotion behind the movement. She didn’t stop watching the others as they faded into the distance. “Yeah.”
—
Class seemed to drag on much longer than it usually did. Obsidian knew it was only because she was anxious, preparing to tell her dad the discovery she had made about herself. She wasn’t going to mention Genesis’ help. She didn’t even tell Morgan about that, making it seem as though she had come to the conclusion all on her own. He was supportive, of course. She only hoped that Granite would react the same way.
When the endless class finally came to an end, Obsidian sat perfectly still, watching the other students leave, talking amongst themselves. She made a conscious effort to keep her hands at her side, to not wring them, to not run them through her hair. She couldn’t allow any possible crack in her resolve. Not now. Not ever.
“Dad?”
“What is it, Obsidian?” He wasn’t looking at her, busy with putting papers back in a folder.
She swallowed thickly, eyes drawn to the floor. “I… I think I’m aromantic.”
The sound of shuffling paper stopped abruptly. Her shoulders raised minutely, whole body tense. The feeling was reminiscent of the simulated torture sessions she had to go through in other classes.
“And that is…?”
“It means I don’t feel romantic attraction to anybody. I don’t like dates or—or kissing, or any of that. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Obsidian watched Granite’s dark shoes turn to point her way. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. “Obsidian…” he started, the glimmer of hope within her seeming to tighten around her lungs… “That isn’t real.”
She let out a breath, a blustering sigh of botched relief. “—What?”
“I’ve been reading your dating log. Your dates with Mesa seem wonderful, but if you’re not feeling the way you should, you just need to try with a different guy. How about Diorite? He’s nice.”
“No, Dad. I tried, I didn’t feel anything.” She finally looked up, helpless under her father’s cold gaze.
He shrugged. “I think you haven’t tried hard enough.”
Obsidian kept her mouth shut, worried she might curse him out or burst into tears or both at once.
“It’s okay, Obsidian,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shut her eyes. “You’ll find someone. You just have to be yourself. I have to get to another class. I know you can do it!” He patted her back, quick to leave.
“Turn off the light when you’re done,” he added. The door clicked shut behind him.
She folded her arms, burying her head into them. A shuddering sob escaped her, muffled under the layers of her uniform.
—
Dianne didn’t go on any dates that week.
She considered calling Mesa, but thought better of it before she could type in his number. She couldn’t do that to him, not when she wasn’t interested.
She stayed in, mostly. She didn’t touch that dumb notebook or that dumber dating log. It remained on her bedside table, taunting her. The morning before her next Superdating class, though, she was forced to stuff it in with the rest of her textbooks and folders.
She was just about to put on her jumpsuit when she heard the door to the apartment open.
“Jamie, Ricky!” Dianne heard Morgan practically yell down the hall, giving her a clear warning. “What’re you guys doing here?”
Dianne quickly hid her hero clothes, muttering a curse under her breath when she looked at the time. At this rate, she was going to be at least a few minutes late to the start of class. That hadn’t happened in her four years in hero school. Granite would never let her live it down.
Despite herself, she left her clothes and bag under the blanket in her room and poked her head out to see Jamie and Ricky sitting in the living room.
“Hey guys,” she said, taking a seat at the end of the couch. “I have class. I might have to leave in a minute.”
“That’s cool,” Ricky said, nonchalant. “No worries.”
Morgan came in through the kitchen with a few cups of water. Jamie took one, swishing it so the ice would clink against the glass. “You’re always busy, Dianne. We haven’t hung out for real in, like, weeks .”
She sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest. “It’s this class. It takes a lot of my time.”
Morgan frowned, taking a seat on the floor. He gave her a caring glance which she promptly ignored.
“Maybe you should take a break,” Ricky said. “You seem a little… worn out.”
“I can’t take a break.” Dianne let her head hit the back of the couch, visually tracing the ceiling. It gave her brain something to focus on that wasn’t so upsetting. She kept Granite’s words out of her mind, half inclined to plug her ears as if that would do anything. “I’m busy. I have to keep my grades up.”
“Private school sounds deadly,” Jamie said. “Are you sure you can’t miss one day?”
“One day…” Dianne echoed. You just need to try with someone else. You haven’t tried hard enough. You just have to be yourself. A sense of dread sat heavy in her throat.
They had fun.
Okay. But did you?
Jamie was right. So was Genesis, as odd as it was to admit.
You’re probably a wonderful person, and your identity doesn’t change that.
She looked at her hands.
“Maybe I don’t have to define myself by my proficiency in a class I don’t even like.”
“ Yes, ” Jamie said, exasperatedly fond. “We’ve been trying to tell you that for years.”
Ricky nodded enthusiastically. “One day won’t hurt. You can go back to the endless grind tomorrow.”
“All you need to worry about right now is kicking our asses in Mario Kart,” Morgan said, waving a controller in front of her.
Dianne hesitated. She thought of Granite, his stern face, the grating sound of his disappointment. But then she returned to the moment, her friends and brother around her, smiling expectantly.
They didn’t care who she liked. Here she was actually herself, pajamas and odd posture, her formal language, her intelligence. At school, she was always putting on more masks than she needed to, but here… she was Dianne. Funny, smart, determined, strong, even aromantic Dianne.
She took the controller. Everyone cheered, and everything felt a little lighter.
She didn’t go to any classes that day. She silenced her phone, ignorant of Granite’s scolding texts.
That night, she dropped her dating notes down the garbage disposal. Mesa’s dry, crackled flowers went with them.
It was like breathing clearly for the first time.