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"Thisto worry about"

When I don’t answer, he says, "This is a ht think Many students receive counseling for a number of different reasons, and it all turns out fine"

Fine I mouth the word at ive for things to turn out fine

"All right," I say

He s like the wind the sky god conjures in my textbooks "There will be no need to sneak off the premises to seek counsel fro"

"We do, sir"

"Wonderful" He scribbles an excusatory note on a piece of paper and hands it to me "You’re dismissed Have a pleasant afternoon"

After classes, Pen and I linger on the outskirts of the playing field, watching the athletes chase one another within the confines of the low stone wall thatteams, and I could swear they’ve turned their practice into a private competition to impress us Thomas is about as tall as Basil, quick and lean while Basil is more solid It could be anyone’s win

It’s an especially windy day, which is common for the short season I bunch my fists inside the sleeves of my red academy sweater as we sit and watch them

"Look at that," Pen says "If I were one of those poor, du in the skythan that, our boys with their sleeves rolled up, going at each other like beasts"

I wonder if she knows her hand is to her chest Her face goes flat "Thomas doesn’t look too bad from this distance, does he? What a disappointment to know he’s not so exquisite up close"

"He’s perfectly attractive," I say

"He has a nose like a broken bridge"

"Oh, he doesn’t," I say

"You want him for yourself, is that it?" Pen says "Have him I’ll trade you your day-old co I could stoh I watch the boys, too, trying to follow Basil across the field, the beads of sweat ed when he doubles over to catch his breath

I wrap ainst hers "I hope we live in apartrown and married," I say

"I’ll be a ht until all hours Maybe I’ll turn irrational But not the bus to glass jars as though they’ll hold my secrets No one will ever know"

There’s a les I can never tell when she’s being serious She seeet so from the art room Come with me"

"I think Basil wanted to walk hos me to my feet She leads me into the academy, up the stairs, to the art room

There’s a sort of eerie peace to an es like s, each one a distorted view of Internment I knohich one is Pen’s even before she haspens, and bladder sacks haphazardly tied shut with twine, fat with colors The bladders of s colors; paper wouldn’t do the job, and collapsible metal was deemed too wasteful when an inventor proposed the idea a hundred years ago The colors thelasslands the way they would look late in the afternoon, the doe sky and smoky clouds She’s memorized that place Not only does her father work there as a sun engineer, but she has a perfect view of it from her bedroom

She frowns at her work "My contribution to the festival," she says "The instructor thinks it’s quite good She wants me to color it in the center of the clock tower canvas, assu’s approval"

"Really?" I say

She shrugs

Every year, a large canvas is prepared by the city’s most talented artists For the final week of Dece allows the canvas to be wrapped around the clock tower There’s a final week of festivities under that canvas, and even the rarely seen prince and princess coe honor," I say "Why don’t you see from the easel and crues and grays stain her fingers "It wasn’t right," she says Gritting her teeth, she pushes the balled paper together before yanking it into two pieces

She drops the ruined project into a recycling tube, where it’s i a smear of color on the rim

"How could you say that?" I say "It looked perfect"

"It was going to bother ," she says "I’llbetter toht the assignment was to color the city," I say