Chapter 5 #2
“Seriously? Do you have to call me by my full name?” Zia snaps, and his gaze shifts back to her.
I had met him before in a competition. He’s Zia’s crush that she constantly talks about.
He turns my way, his eyes suddenly sparking. A single strand of blond hair drizzles down his face, and he flips it back as though in slow motion, staring at me, almost indignantly intrigued. “That’s Shantavia, your best friend, right?”
“Wow. You remember something I tell you,” Zia responds.
“No. I saw her win Nationals in Martial Arts Elective two years ago.”
“That’s some memory!” she says with a slight raise of an eyebrow.
“Yeah. I like a girl who can defend herself. And she made it out of Oblivion I heard, didn’t she?”
Zia opens her mouth in rebuttal, but Zavish heads off to take some books from his two friends, Jordan and Lin.
“So, anything else?” I join Zia and try to cheer her up.
She snaps at me. “Shantavia, stop with the prying! Like my mom always says: The deeds of the Common Wealth cannot be understood by the un-commonized mind. The coins of the Common Wealth must not fund an uncircumcised currency. It basically means what goes on in The Commons stays in The Commons. She doesn’t even give me any clues to Patron culture or any of that.
It is all a mystery. That’s what makes it so exciting.
They don’t train world leaders by giving out all their secrets. Oh my gosh, why is he coming back?”
I hope it’s not for me… Since Zavish and I had crossed paths that one time in Boston, at Math and Science Nationals, there were several rumors that he had a thing for me, to which I puked about a hundred and eighty-four times in my dreams at the very thought of a “thing” with the infamous aristocrat’s bloodline.
I have since learned that the Lumieres own half of everything Boston has, plus the biggest amusement parks, hotels, and casinos in Vegas.
And the biggest sense of ego I have ever seen. And I had seen a lot.
Zavish parades toward us, shoulders squared. He stops when he reaches us and begins to speak with the persistent, presumptuous pouting of his lips. “Zavish Lumiere the Third, you might have heard of me. We own everything in Vegas. Run everything in Boston. And you are?”
“Shantavia,” I say. “And no, I haven’t heard of you. Except maybe from Zia.”
“Right. Zia Zamafula’s mouth.” He turns in her direction with a slight disapproval in his gaze. “Everyone talks about me. That’s just the nature of being me.”
“Well, thanks for the introduction. But why are you introducing yourself to me… again?”
“The first time you didn’t seem to compute the manner of person who was speaking to you. So, I thought I’d jog your memory.” He smiles, eying me.
“Since you specialize in jogging, how about you run along and leave me be, Zavish.”
He chuckles. “Shantavia, Shantavia, I can’t believe you got in. What did you do? Sleep with a Patron?”
“What did you do to get in? Hand them a billion dollars to hand you a brain?” I respond with an innocent smile.
“Hmm… you were the smart mouth in Boston, weren’t you?
It’s a shame it won’t serve you well here.
You should heed my voice. I know the ins and outs of this system.
I may be a freshman, but word has it, I’ll be patronized soon, and it will do you well to be on the good side of Zavish Lumiere the Third,” he articulates, laughing in a cynical manner.
“Well, you’d have to have a good side for me to do that, wouldn’t you?”
Again, he laughs. Zavish is the sort of guy who delights in being Zavish. There is no greater honor for him than of himself and for everyone to come into this great enlightenment. “Feisty. I like it.”
The bell rings and we all instantly look at tosh.
Zavish eyes me, then nods to Zia. “Shantavia, pretend all you want, I know you love me.” He winks at Zia and struts away.
Zia stares at him like he is an idol, her mouth open and drooling at his every word. She looks as if she would chase him down, grab him, and shove her tongue down his throat... if she had that kind of confidence, of course.
Zavish is her dream guy. She’s wanted him ever since the first day they met.
But to Zavish, Zia is invisible. I mean, he notices her, obviously, but not like you do a love interest. Although Zia’s parents are almost as rich as Zavish’s, she is not as prideful.
I take all the credit for that. That’s a joke, but not totally.
At this point, I am getting used to Zavish’s narcissism. I simply let it run its course. I’m wondering if Zavish has a thing for girls who seem unattainable.
Zia turns to me with a peculiar look in her eyes. I know what she’s about to say.
“What?” I say.
“Nothing.”
“But…?”
“He’s most likely going to be a Patron soon. I mean, I wouldn’t be that rude to him if I were you.”
“Seriously, Zia?”
“What?”
“You know me, I don’t succumb to rich, entitled, mean boys.”
Zia shoves me. “Right. Unless their name is Patron Pesh?”
I turn to her instantly, shocked that she would suggest such a thing. “I do not like him.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she says as she leaves.
I walk to a white, foamy sack chair in a secluded spot. There is a wire attached from under the chair that is plugged into a switch and it reads on the side: Memory foam. Best chair to sit in the O Zone if you want to dream of what you read at night.
I hope that means what I think it means.
I need anything that will synthesize my thoughts back to me, so I sit here.
I stay still for a moment. I get an eerie feeling, so I stand up instantly.
I can’t sit on anything that will make The Commons think that I have something to hide or that I’m secretly staying up at night.
I walk over to an ordinary study desk, and I sit there instead.
I begin to read Mind and Heart Connection.
I read about focusing my attention on my internal state and being self-aware.
That’s great, I think to myself… I don’t even know what I want to major in and this thing is asking me to be self-aware.
But then I have another thought—maybe I am self-aware because if I am aware that I am not aware of certain things in myself, maybe that means I am self-aware?
I just confused myself. Shut up, Shantavia, and just read.
Just as I start to re-focus, a presence surrounds me, surging past me like lightning, sending shivers through my veins.
I know that was not in my head—I felt it on the hairs of my skin.
My head darts to the right to see a flash of blue through the books—a flash of emerald and then…
nothing. I remember who that was… that was that Patron…
Patron Lenon. It had to be. I’m in the Oratory layer.
Isn’t he the O Patron known for training celebrities?
My chest rises slowly. I try to control my breathing and convince myself that I didn’t just see him.
If I think Pesh is bad, Patron Lenon is the one who killed that student with the dagger in The Selection.
And I have no doubt that he will kill me should I piss him off simply by existing.
But why would Patron Lenon be in an O freshmen library? It can’t be him, I tell myself. Even if it’s him, it’s better for me to believe it’s not him, if I am to focus and pass the Cognitive Test tomorrow.
I sink back into the chair, cuddling up in my safe space in the library and I read about Jerkinos’ studies that showed that people who meditate or pray showcase a higher ability of self-control than people who did not.
Okay, this is an interesting concept. I do know how to pray, so this is not going to be a problem for me.
But what I do not know is how to freakin’ pray under the influence of Conzamine.
How am I supposed to figure that one out?
I’m sure that poses some kind of spiritual contradiction.
Then again, I am being forced to do it. I’m sure God would understand me trying to save my sister, right?
I continue to read. “Successful modulation of one’s own internal state can lead to improvements in cognition and reaction speeds.
Studies show that those who practiced prayer and meditation learned to focus on task-relevant thoughts and eradicate any thoughts that did not conform to their bubble of beneficial brackets.
” What on earth is a beneficial bracket?
I proceed to read, “A beneficial bracket is a parenthesis of thoughts a person wishes to meditate upon. For a period of time, such person can diffuse all other thoughts and tap into a realm of highly selective cognitive focus.”
Wow. That's what I need!
It is 7 p.m., nearly bedtime. I have less than an hour to read the other book.
I take a deep breath and try to collect my thoughts to focus on the relevant parts of this book for the next fifty minutes.
It mostly talks about controlling one’s imagination to become reality.
As I’m reading, I notice a movement in the library. The same one that I had sensed before.
My body becomes cold… I really hope it’s not who I think it is. I see masculine hands grip a book. I hid the first book in the last corner of the shelf in case I needed to review it again after the one I’m currently reading. Crap. He’ll see what I’ve done.
It has to be Patron Lenon, I’m sure of it. As I rush to hide, my back slams against a bookshelf. To my shock, a door opens behind me. My legs involuntarily step back as the door slides shut in front of me.
Phew! At least I’m hidden for now. It’s strangely convenient, this hidden cubicle.
I stay still, waiting until I hear no movement from outside. I would rather get a demerit from Beatrice for being late than face that Patron.
“Who are you hiding from?” A deep voice emanates from behind me.
My throat pulses.
Slowly, I turn, my body brushing against another body.
Who the freak is this?
I look up to see someone’s face.