The Distance #2
I close my eyes and listen to the room to bring myself back to calm.
On TV, a detective is monologuing to the vicar’s widow about the properties of foxglove.
Chessie is frowning at his board. Felix is chewing the end of his pen.
Aubrey sets his stack of forms aside and checks the clock on his phone.
Rennie is humming under his breath, the tune half-familiar.
Fitz waggles his toes in my lap, then types at light speed, probably hacking a missile silo or something.
I breathe in through my nose, let the scent of lemon oil, paper, and old books wash through me, and exhale the dread.
It almost works, but I’ve been dreading this so much that I’ve built it up too much in my mind.
Opening another notebook, I stare at the first line, then at the highlighter, then at the TV, and then at the marker in Chess’s hand. I look at my feet in consternation, and then, finally, I flip to a clean page, click my pen, and write at the top in red ink.
Dear Pink and Gold: I hope this email finds you both well and free of facial paralysis from your latest round of injections.
I’d love to start with truth like that, but it will only makes things worse, so I clear my throat and say, “Okay, I’m going to have to email the Heathers before it’s too late, or they’ll drag me to the dean for noncompliance with group scheduling or whatever.”
The effect of my words is instantaneous.
My crazy tiger closes his laptop with a satisfying snap and swings his feet off my lap, sitting up so fast the couch vibrates under me.
His twin puts his red pen down and turns his whole chair, arms folded, attention fixed.
Chessie freezes, underlining something in his ‘Comms and Coordination’ column while Rennie looks up, one eyebrow arched.
Aubrey even lowers the top paper on his stack and directs an arctic blue stare straight at me.
Now that I have their attention without flashing them…
I glance at each of them, then at the notepad in my lap, and then reach for my tablet, propping my chin in my hand. “Why do I feel like I’m about to be cross-examined by a starving wolf pack?”
“Because we are invested in your survival,” Fitz says, his voice dead serious. “If you fuck this up, they will never let you live it down. You cannot let Team Bitchy Blondes win.”
“They will not kill me with a bad email, Fitz,” I say, opening the mail app and typing “Barrington,’ into the ‘To’ field. “Worst case, they'll roll their eyes and send a mean reply.”
Chess shakes his head. “They weaponize every interaction. If you give them an inch, they will use it to justify running your reputation through the mud again. Your email will be screenshotted within ten seconds and forwarded to half the Council offspring on campus, if you show even a millimeter of weakness.”
“You must select a location for your meeting that is public, high-traffic, and with at least two cameras within direct line of sight. Also, make certain you phrase nothing as a question; questions invite counter-offers. Do not negotiate with them. State the plan and move on,” Felix says as he points the pen at me.
I blink at the chorus of advice and start typing, narrating under my breath as I go. “Dear Miss Barrington and Miss Erickson: Per the assignment outlined by Professor Asani, I am reaching out to confirm availability for our group meeting—”
Fitz immediately interjects: “No, no, no, you cannot open with a ‘per your assignment’. That’s legalese. They’ll say you were being cold and snooty. I’d rather you say something more fun, obviously, but I get why you can’t. So maybe just… a little less stilted, I guess?”
“Legalese is good; you want them on the defensive. Make them wonder if you ran it past your lawyer, snack size,” Aubrey advises. “That should give them pause.”
I sigh and keep typing, watching the words assemble on the screen in a horrifying patchwork of what-ifs and strategies.
Once I get three sentences, I read them aloud and immediately delete the whole thing.
“I can’t do this with all of you staring at me.
It’s like being the only antelope at a lion brunch. ”
“That is factually incorrect,” Felix mutters. “We’re tigers, and the better metaphor would be that you are the bunny at the predator brunch. But that’s beside the point.”
“Angel,” Chess says, “try to use a subject line that is so neutral that it is impossible to meme. Something like ‘Friday Group Work Coordination’ or whatever.” He eyes me and then Fitz. “You have three seconds to come up with one that’s better, or we’re going with simple.”
I think, then say, “Scheduling for Academic Project?”
“No impact. It needs to be slightly intimidating, but not hostile. Maybe: ‘Mandatory Coordination for Shifter History Assignment’ would work better,” Rennie interjects. “You said they might ignore you, lapin, and that says you’re not joking around, oui?”
Felix looks thoughtful as he considers it. “That will do, but reference the professor in the body of the message so they cannot ignore it. Fitz will have the audit trail saved in multiple places so if they try to suggest you were slacking, we can produce the proof.”
I make the change, continue typing as I narrate every word to allow for editorial comments. “Per Dr. Khan’s instructions, the initial group discussion for the Bloodstone Reforms project is required by Friday, nine am—”
“That motherfucker is not a doctor,” Aubrey roars as he sets his papers aside. “He’s making you call him that without earning it?!”
Rennie gets up, walking over to his mate to calm him before he sets the living on fire in fury. “Flames, you really cannot control people who insist on claiming expertise in things they know nothing about, no matter how much it irks you. Some connards *are not worth trying to educate.”
Felix gives him a look, tsking. “That is very strong language, Laveaux, but you are correct. Princess, keep going.”
I type more, but realize I’m floundering on the location. “Do I just suggest the cafeteria? I dislike it there, especially with them, but it is a better idea than the library. I don’t like them that close to our home, you know?”
Chess glances at Aubrey. “Thoughts?”
The dragon doesn’t even look up from his snit, just waves his hand. “If they’re in the library, we have more control over space and surveillance. You should use it, and we will keep it from going sideways.”
“We should meet in the library at either eleven a.m. Monday or Wednesday. If that does not work, we could also do eight p.m. on Tuesday or Thursday. I am available for both slots, so please confirm which works.” I pause. “Is that too… aggressive?”
“Cut the ‘please’.” Fitz says immediately. “They don’t deserve polite shit.”
Felix leans forward, nodding in agreement. “Just sign your name.”
I do as I’m told, and as I re-read it, I note the resulting email is so cold it could be used as a murder weapon.
Subject: Mandatory Coordination for Shifter History Assignment
Dr. Khan requires our group to meet prior to Friday for the Bloodstone Reforms presentation. Location: Library. Time: Eleven a.m. on Monday/Wednesday or eight p.m. on Tuesday/Thursday. I will be there at whatever time you confirm in your reply.
—Drew
I stare at it, feeling like I’ve just submitted a request for summary execution, rather than a meeting invite. “This is… so formal it hurts.”
“Good,” Felix says, arms folded with the satisfaction of a father who’s just outlasted a tantrum. “Now read it out loud, one more time.”
I do. This time, Fitz’s only note is, “You could make it meaner, but then they’d know you’re trying too hard. It’s perfect.”
There is a moment of silence, and then I press ‘Send’. My stomach flips over. “Well, if they kill me, I want you to avenge me by telling everyone their secrets that Fitz dug up.”
I close the app, drop the tablet face down on the cushion, and flop back onto the sofa. For a moment, the entire room feels lighter. On the TV, the vicar’s killer is being led away in cuffs.
Only on TV do the villains actually get what they deserve; it feels like.
* Fuckers