The Divergent Academy

Julian read the sign on the door.

'New Skills Orientation,' it proclaimed in lustrous script. He came early, alone, and found a chair near the center. After the events with Fletcher, he chose to skip dinner. He didn't feel much for socializing, so he grabbed a soda from the vending machine. The can was cool and slick with condensation, a reminder of the ice he could conjure. He'd rather not think about that right now. Replaying the day's events didn't sit well with him, and Professor Ferox had prevented him from going to the gardens. Instead, he and Fletcher were lectured in his office on the merits of control, friendship, and the abuse of power. He thumbed his palm before removing the book that was placed in the chair, and took his seat. He studied the room, holding the large volume on his lap.

It smelled like vintage leather, pipe tobacco, and velvet. Chairs had been rearranged from the study tables that lined the cavernous space. The vaulted ceiling soared above, its trusses like the ribs of a beast. Dust danced in the rays through the stained-glass windows, as if they were eyes staring at its treasures and the books. And were there books! Twelve feet high, joined and pegged, massive oak cabinetry swayed with volumes of a count unimaginable. Their dark, masculine shoulders offset the plush carpet and the velvet chairs in amber. It was another room that Julian couldn’t wait to explore.

As Julian glanced down at the book in his lap, a gentle touch brushed his shoulder, carrying with it the scent of fresh earth. Then a voice, warm and golden, spilled into the quiet.

“Oh, Theo, I’m so glad you chose this academy as well,” she said, as she plopped into the chair next to him. She shifted her bag to the other side. “I was so afraid I was going to be alone with no one.”

She looked into Julian’s face, suddenly realizing her mistake.

“Well, this is embarrassing,” she said, her voice trailing.

She sighed.

With arched eyebrows and a perplexed expression, Julian stared into midnight ponds reflecting worlds unknown. His heart quickened, a quick flash of panic mixing with curiosity. Her auburn hair tumbled as she brought her hands up. They blended into the complexion of her face. Freckles blended like camouflage, making it hard to tell where one began and one ended. A muffled cry came from behind them as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He really wasn't sure what to do, how to reassure her, but he tried.

“I’m Julian,” he said, “And really, it’s okay.”

She parted her pinky from the rest. Her indigo eye peered at him. She lowered her hands, exhaling deeply.

“You can call me 'M.' I don’t use my real name. It makes me feel dirty.”

Julian noticed a small ID card attached to her bag, partially covered by a sticker, but the visible letters 'M—' caught his eye. A slight frown appeared on her face before she spoke again.

“I don’t know why my parents chose it for me. Maybe they thought it was clever. Maybe they were high or something. Who knows?” She shivered. “Are you cold? It’s cold in here,” she said, crossing each hand to her shoulders and starting to rub.

Julian looked at his hands. The frost wasn’t growing. He rotated them to be sure. He pressed his thumb into his palm and sat in silence.

‘Why is she talking to me? A girl is talking to me,’ his mind cried out. He pressed his thumb deeper into his palm.

“Sorry, I am prattling on, Julian. I guess you just make me want to talk.”

Julian just blinked. He had barely spoken.

“What is your skill?” she asked point-blank, turning towards him.

He pushed harder. "I make ice," he said with embarrassment, feeling the familiar chill spread through his fingertips. Every time he used his power, it drained his body, leaving him fatigued and shivering. He couldn’t think about that now.

“OOOhh… I bet you're fun at parties, and listen to that voice— smooth— like bourbon,” she said with a playful grin. “And that accent,” she continued, as she turned to study him. She patted his thigh.

“You are so cute, too. Like a tiny action figure, all short and scrunchy,” she said, imitating a marching soldier.

Julian’s skin flushed. He balled his fists, trying to fight the ice again. He started breathing through his mouth. He wasn’t sure whether she was making fun of him or being sincere. He had so few interactions that didn’t lead him into trouble of some kind. Especially the female kind. They always made him so confused. He had to stay ahead of the rising ice. He looked at her and smiled, thinking that if he could actually speak, it might help. Test the water to see if she was picking at him. He stammered. “So what’s your skill?” he asked, breath wavering. He noticed a light fog escape.

“Is it colder?” she asked, turning her dark eyes towards him. “Oh no, we don’t talk about my skill. It makes people nervous,” she said, head shaking, her hair danced softly in crashing waves. It seemed to calm Julian. He didn’t know how to respond. He looked down at the volume in his lap again and read the title. Her eyes followed his. A gasp escaped from ‘M’s mouth.

“‘The Doctrine of The Divergent Academy,’” she read in a low, spooky voice. She raised her eyes and blinked, anticipation curling her lips.

“This is going to be fun.”

She scooched her chair closer as Julian opened its cover. It fell across both their laps as they began reading the rules.

* * *

​

The book felt heavy on his legs.

Elias had slipped in the back and sprawled out on the last row. Feet crossed at the ankle, his arm casually draped over the chair back, he looked like he had not a care in the world. He was fighting hard not to brush his clothes. It took all his willpower not to be rigid. The hush of the library, like a soft whisper against the weight of snow, stood in contrast to the blizzard within. The large book wasn’t helping. It oozed with too much authority and control. Control in a harsh, domineering manner.

​The Professor's voice droned, lacking sharpness or clarity, much like a blade unable to slice through butter. He was the same man he glimpsed when he arrived. He unsettled him. Professor Ferox had an unusual way of speaking, marked by abrupt pauses that imposed an unspoken discipline in the room. Each time he hesitated, the air grew tense, as if waiting for his words to finally land.

“Each of the doctrines we will go over. Each. Will. Be. Implemented.”

Elias looked at the page. He scanned them, not understanding what any of it meant. A line jumped out at him.

'Identical variance destabilizes the system.’

He frowned, trying to decipher its meaning. The phrase felt loaded with significance. A warning about maintaining balance among the students' powers. It was like a delicate ecosystem. Any shift or repetition in power could throw things off course, leading to chaos.

“Whatever that means,” he said out loud.

“I don’t understand either,” a soft voice said beside him.

Elias flinched and stuttered upright in his chair. The book leaped from his hands and crashed to the floor with a cushioned thud.

Professor Ferox stopped speaking.

“Problem…. Snow?” he asked with displeasure.

Elias bent down to retrieve his volume.

“No, sir,” he said to the floor.

Most of the students turned, including Julian, but all he saw was a head of black hair and shoulders draped in a red, plaid jacket. He turned back to ‘M.’

“Wouldn’t want to be him later,” he said through the corner of his mouth.

She giggled and leaned closer.

“Your accent’s even better with half a mouth,” she said softly.

A short burst of laughter escaped him.

Julian turned red.

The stern face of Professor Ferox glared at him.

“May we continue?” he said sharply. It wasn’t a question.

Silence fell.

Elias returned his gaze to the seat next to him, feeling the rough texture of the wooden armrest under his fingertips. The seat was now occupied by a very pale and dark girl, all at the same time. 'I know that chair was empty when I came in,' danced behind his eyes as he stared at hers of coffee, with a face like heavy cream. She was either a dream or a nightmare, or both.

A snowflake fell.

It was large. He watched it fall, landing on the book. It slowly melted, then a dark spot appeared in the paper. A reminder of how easily he could still lose control. He brushed his sleeve, then drew in a deep breath. The dark spot was echoing in his mind. It couldn’t start snowing. He sat back in his seat, posture stiff as a rail and straight ahead, eyes darting on the hunt for more flakes.

“I’m Seattle,” she said, leaning into Elias. “You must have really been out of it. I stepped over those gorgeous, long legs of yours just after you sat down.”

He could feel her breath on his neck. Her perfume, the scent of spring. Her voice was soft and smoky. Nerves, smells, sights, and sounds converged like a gale. Images of snow swirled behind his eyes. He rubbed his palms deep into the sockets. ‘Don’t let it snow. Don’t let it snow. Don’t let it snow,’ ran like a ticker tape, then flashed red. He swallowed. Leaned his head on the back of the chair and blew air out of his lungs. His inhale brought a new smell. One of silence and fear. He felt his body collide with his mind as a single flake fell.

Then it all went black.

* * *

Mossy stared through the doorway into the beautiful room. A solitary figure sat in a chair. She knew he was the one she was reflecting. A faint whisper, a sadness, a longing. She could always sense what they felt. His day almost came to violence. Something triggered old memories, fear, and embarrassment.

Cold.

Fractured.

Deeply alone.

She called herself ‘M’ now. Her parents named her that silly name because they were ‘Earth Children.’ Free spirits, not bound by rules. Hippies. Whatever word you wanted to apply. She didn’t use it now. Her parents did ‘stuff’to make them feel. She didn’t need to. She felt everything. And everyone.

He called to her from the gravel drive, the boy in the chair. A friction, a lost moment with his dad. A misunderstanding about his mother. He was in need of a friend. As was she. She was a mirror, and he was the reflection floating in the glass. She didn’t always understand the call. She knew this wasn’t about love; she didn’t feel that from him. This was about being noticed, being needed, and feeling like he belonged.

She wasn’t sure how to approach him; she didn’t want it to be awkward or weird, so she turned her view inward, into the echoes, reflections past. A thin layer of silver started rolling like cards. Echo after echo fell before her eyes. They started slowing down, till it stopped on a girl who had lost everything. Her eyes of coffee and skin of cream fixed in ‘M’s mind. The answer to make this young man seen.

​

* * *

​

Seattle was always late.

She hated that about herself. As hard as she tried, she never arrived on time. Her parents taught her, ‘If you're five minutes early, then you’re already late.’ What a stupid thought. It was like the saying, ‘You can’t be in two places at one time.’ Or could you? Well, not exactly, but maybe, kind of? Since she discovered her ‘skill,’ things changed. In a unique way. Today, she needed to be clever again. The old saying rang in her ears. She knew she could do it, but she didn’t know where.

Yet.

The broody boy, long and lanky, legs to his shoulders, and white jeans, was the target. She could tell they would get along. She wasn’t interested in him that way; she could tell he had secrets of his own. He was a ‘skill,’ like her. Each of them unique. But there was something about him that told her their strengths and weaknesses would balance each other.

Seattle had always been scrappy and tough as nails. She didn’t put up with the crap the world dealt her. Hard, striking features, and hair like midnight made her creamy skin reflect intelligence and style. She drew on it and used it to her advantage, almost always getting the outcome she wanted.

She focused on the chair beside the boy, the target, and joined the fingers on each hand into a circle. A moment passed. She felt the flicker. Like the emulsion on film over a light bulb, the door frame warbled and transformed into what looked like a wall of water. Color washed away, shadows grew, and everything turned gray. Static ran through, like on an old black-and-white television. The image before her jumped as she pushed through the curtain. Every person, including the target, was frozen. Professor Ferox’s lips formed a perfect circle, caught in mid-sentence. She popped through, the wall ricocheted back on itself. Distortions rolled off like currents of heat as she passed through the image around her. She reached out, touching the pretty boy's face, as she gracefully stepped over his mile-long legs. It made the time she was in click forward. Bursts of light represented seconds, as the action unfolded like an old hand-cranked reel.

She sighed, settling into the chair, her past self in action, watching his lips move slowly in a silent phrase, her echo leaning over in reply. He startled. The book flew, arcing through the air, then hitting the floor with a thud. He retrieved it, breathed, then passed out. She giggled, then released her fingers with a dramatic gesture. She was where she needed to be. In the right place. At the right time.

Everything imploded.

Sound fractured.

Color washed in like paint thrown at a canvas.

She blinked. She was back to now. Two places at one time.

Sort of.

She noticed her target's head lolling back.

“Well, this isn’t good,” she said softly as she leaned into him. She wasn’t sure how to revive him without making a scene, so she chose to lick his cheek. He tasted nice, like fresh snow. A grin bloomed on her lips as his foot kicked and his eyes fluttered.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she whispered. “I really have been here all along.”

Elias blinked and looked into her eyes again.

​

* * *

​

The droning voice stopped going on about the Doctrine. Kids scurried out of the library in hopes of a bit more freedom before bed. Elias felt overwhelmed. His senses still grated, piled on each other like a deck of cards. Somehow, he needed to control this overload. He just wanted peace. He rose from his chair, hoping to beat the rush to the door as the throng began to move. He had to call his mom.

He needed her.

Seattle touched him, bringing him close to the edge again.

“I am truly sorry, please forgive me,” she said, gathering her things. “You never told me your name.”

Elias blinked as he watched another snowflake appear. It wasn’t as large as the last one. He snatched for it before it crossed her vision. She reacted, a bit shocked, a question lingering on her face.

“Sorry,” Elias said, dropping his arm. He felt it melt in his hand. “Bug.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Your name is Bug?” she asked sarcastically.

He grinned back, covering his lips. “Elias. Names Elias.”

Her grin broadened. It made Elias feel a little more at peace.

“Okay, Bug, I’ll see you soon.”

He smirked at her.

She gracefully turned, heading towards the door.

Elias sensed something or felt something. He wasn’t sure what. It was familiar. Quiet. He looked around the room as he lingered in the doorway, placing his hand on the frame. He saw all the kids, the books, and the professor. A glimpse of the boy from the stairs upon his arrival. He was talking to a girl in the center of the room. Elias turned, pulling his phone from his pocket, and dialed his mom.

He needed to talk to her.

Julian saw a flash of red pass through the door. It was the jacket of the boy who dropped his book. His hand tingled. He gazed down as frost outlined his fingerprints on two of his fingers. His breath stuttered, then released. A brief moment of hesitation. He shook it off as ‘M’ grabbed his elbow and walked towards the door. What started as an awkward, uncomfortable situation turned into something, well, something he liked. ‘M’ was funny, kind, and thoughtful. He hoped she mirrored him and felt the same way.

They parted ways so she could use the back stairs, as Julian stood in the doorway. A coolness lingered. Like morning frost on a windshield, the crystals sparkling in the morning glow. He looked at the handsome library one last time, hand resting on the frame, and sighed.

Things were feeling better.

Maybe it would be okay here after all. He turned and headed towards his room, a bit more optimistic and certain that he had made a new friend.

A light crackle touched the air as frost bloomed. Crystals laced and fanned across the ancient wood. It danced and fractured, creating tracery thick enough to block the grain in the oak. It slowed, then stopped.

There was a pattern.

Two hands crossing. Two hands joined.

On the ancient door frame from the library.

The room sighed.