7 #2
‘Gross,’ Asta muttered to Gem around her mouthful of salad. He gave her a warning look.
Felix looked down at the table where Tess sat. ‘What an honor to take the stage after the incredible Tess Curie. How about another round of applause for a living legend?’
Asta begrudgingly joined in. Tess was her hero, not Felix’s. But she would always clap for that woman, no matter whose idea it was.
‘I will be brief,’ Felix said. ‘I know we’re all eager to dig into this wonderful food.’
Asta shoved a cherry tomato into her mouth and bit defiantly, barely able to contain the jet of seeds that burst from inside. Gem shook his head at her.
‘I want to extend my congratulations to all my fellow riders in this year’s Silverscale Grand Prix – you are the best of the best. No matter what happens this week, remember, everyone here is already a champion.’ Applause and cheers followed this.
Asta held firmly to her fork and glared at the remaining leaves of lettuce on her plate. He could take his pandering and shove it. It was easy enough for him to say they were all champions. He already had a Silverscale trophy sitting on his shelf at home and that prize money in his pocket.
Felix gripped the sides of the podium and looked out over the ballroom. ‘We often talk about the accomplishments that bring us to a day like today – the wins that paved the way. We are proud of those stepping stones. And rightly so. But tonight I want us to reflect on our failures, our setbacks.’
Asta put her fork down. She had the sinking feeling she knew where this speech was going.
‘Several years ago, in a terrible racing accident, I shattered my femur and suffered extensive damage to the tendons and ligaments in my left knee and leg. It wasn’t clear, for a while, if I would ever be able to race again. Hearing that news was the worst moment of my life.’
Gem nudged Asta under the table. ‘You okay?’
Asta set her jaw and nodded curtly. Was he going to stop there, or would he go ahead and tell the entire room that it was her fault? It wasn’t exactly a secret. Everyone from Pillar already knew.
But Felix kept the focus on himself. ‘I’m a Seraphin. And you can bet I didn’t let a little thing like that keep me from my destiny.’ He extended his hands as if to say, And here I am. I made it.
The audience chuckled.
‘That accident changed how I ride. It has changed how I understand myself. I will never forget what happened that day.’
Asta’s heart was pounding. She couldn’t forget either. The ambulance. The fear-stricken faces of her classmates. Her broken heart.
Felix was still talking. ‘Now, you might ask me, “Felix, how do you find a path to victory after a setback like that?” And I’m here to tell you that all it took was a little touch of magic.’
Asta lifted her eyes in surprise. His parents wouldn’t be happy to hear those words come out of his mouth.
The Seraphins lumped magicians, illusionists, and enchanters into the category of servicepeople.
It wasn’t that the Seraphins didn’t use magical services.
Everyone who could afford to did. But a Seraphin would never credit their success to magic.
‘Magic, as I’m sure you know, is the manipulation of perception,’ Felix said. ‘The illusion stimulates the nervous system, creating an image or sensation, which, rather than being a response to an external stimulus, is evoked within the mind of the perceiver by means of magic.’
Asta felt a perverse enjoyment watching perplexed looks cross the faces of the people around her. Finally, people would believe her when she told them what a colossal nerd Felix Seraphin was.
Ever since they were kids, Felix had been this way about magic.
He used to work up illusions for their little obstacle courses in the paddock, making the fences look like razor-toothed goblins, the water trenches like lava flows.
He even devised magic notepads – a cruder, simpler version of the magic-charged message boards throughout the Seraphins’ house – that he and Asta used to send notes back and forth across the valley between their homes.
He had tried explaining to Asta how the notepads worked once, but she didn’t understand and didn’t care.
The only thing that mattered to her was waking up in the morning and finding a message from Felix waiting for her, whether it was a stupid joke, a question about what they were going to do that day, or just a little doodle of the view out his window.
Peter and Sofia Seraphin had never praised Felix for his magic inventions.
If anything, they had seemed embarrassed by his enthusiasm for this workman’s trade, always changing the subject whenever he tried to tell them about his latest creation.
That might be why Felix usually kept this incredibly dorky part of himself hidden away.
Asta wondered how Felix’s parents were reacting to this speech.
She thought she could see the backs of their heads at one of the tables up front. Peter held himself rigid and still.
‘Critics of the magical arts say that magically influenced perception is a trick. Perception, they say, is not real. Now, if we’re talking about charms, I’d agree with you.
That kind of magic isn’t real.’ Asta snorted, knowing this barb was for his mother, who had a weakness for such superstitions.
‘But perception can shape reality. It can become reality. After my injury, all I could perceive was my failure. But when I changed my perception, everything changed. And that’s the magic that saved me. ’
Asta glanced at the faces of the others at her table.
They seemed enraptured, but the speech was total nonsense.
As if everyone had this miraculous ability to bounce back up when life knocked them down.
All you have to do is pretend it’s fine, like he did.
And if you can’t do it, it’s your own dumb fault.
But that’s bullshit; sometimes you don’t get back up.
The entire metaphor seemed to Asta like an excuse for Felix to geek out about magic in a semi-socially acceptable way.
And yet, look at these people, lapping it up.
You really could just put a Seraphin onstage and let him ramble about anything at all.
‘So when the hard times come – the losses, the setbacks, the pain – let’s apply a little magic to the situation.
Let’s change our perception and open our minds to accept these obstacles as part of our reality – part of our victory.
Thank you. Good luck to you all. Ride high!
’ Felix pumped a fist, and the room broke into applause.
Soon, it was all clattering forks on plates and swells of conversation.
The courses were removed and replaced, one by one, by the white-gloved hands of the servers.
Asta ate. She smiled when it seemed like she was supposed to and wished the other riders at her table good luck.
She wondered if Felix would try to talk with her again, now that Nat wasn’t there to chase him away.
But he stayed at his table all through dinner, shaking hands with a steady stream of well-wishers and suck-ups, and Asta stayed at hers.