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Ayda’s best friend is sitting on top of the van. Her spellbook is open in her lap. Her brow is furrowed with intent. She is picking her spells for the day (obvious) which Ayda has already done, hours ago, when she woke up, preparing the spells she might need, today, after talking to Adaine. Once she’s talked to Adaine. Today.
Adaine turns a page in her spellbook and scribbles something down; Ayda leaps from the ground, wings beating once – twice – and she lands on top of the van.
“Hello,” she says. “Adaine. My best friend. Do you have time for me to speak to you right now, or is your spell selection an essential task that I shouldn’t interrupt?”
“Oh, hi Ayda.” Adaine flips through a few more pages and then closes her spellbook, nervously tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s up?”
“I have an important question I need to ask you, but before I ask it I need your explicit guarantee that you will neither make fun of me for asking this question nor tell anyone else that I asked it. Ever. Will you guarantee that for me, Adaine.”
Adaine blinks her wet blue eyes. (Self-lubricating.) (Adaine’s various bodily systems are flooded with water, and her body sends water to different spaces within itself depending on Adaine’s needs at that exact second.) (Without water, her eyes will…what? Cease functioning?) (Ayda will have to ask Fig later.) (Oh.) (Well—) (But she—)
“What’s…the question?” Adaine says.
The current questions:
- What will happen if you don’t blink?
- How does blinking keep your eyes moist?
- What exactly is the relationship you have with your sister?
- With your parents?
- Do they love you?
- If they don’t love you, how do you survive it?
- Do you like me?
- Do any of you like me?
- Does Fig like me?
- What does it mean that my father made himself the size of a mountain for you but never even paid attention to me?
- What is the purpose of the crystal that you keep in your pocket?
- Where are we going?
- Do you truly believe that you can stop the Nightmare King?
- How many people has Fig kissed?
- Why do you laugh when I refer to Gorgug as the greatest wizard of our age?
- Am I useful?
- Will she want me?
Along with several other more relevant but deeply personal questions.
“You haven’t given me a guarantee,” Ayda says. “I need that promise from you before I can proceed with this topic of conversation. If you don’t want to give me a guarantee it won’t damage my opinion of you at all, I’ll still respect you, I just won’t be able to talk about this. With you.”
(Messy.)
(Next time she’ll draft up a contract.) (A written conversational contract.) (That’ll be simpler. More concise. Less easy to misconstrue.) (Make a mental note of that, Ayda.)
“I…” Adaine says, and then: “No offense, Ayda, but you looked really freaked out. Also you’re denting the van with your talons.”
Ayda looks down. She is denting the van with her talons. “Ah,” she says.
“Do you want to hold my frog?”
“Yes,” Ayda says immediately. She extends her hands and Adaine carefully places her frog familiar into Ayda’s palms. The frog looks at Ayda with an expression that is somehow – uncannily – conveying the exact phrase: just happy to be here, gang!
“I am receiving immense comfort from this frog,” Ayda says. “He is truly the most incredible creature I have ever seen.”
“I was struggling with a panic attack,” Adaine says, “earlier, a little bit, so I got some rhinestones and hot glue from my jacket and now his backpack’s got little rhinestones on. Cute, right?”
“It is,” Ayda says, “extraordinarily cute. Unbearably cute. I cannot bear the cuteness of your frog. Take him back before I am blinded by the light of his tiny rhinestones.”
Adaine obligingly takes her frog back and puts him in her backpack. “Oh,” she says, “and, yes, I promise that I won’t make fun of you or tell anyone whatever you’re going to ask. Are you possessed by the Nightmare King? Did you start being able to see the cat? Are—”
“How do I tell Fig I want to kiss her.”
Adaine’s mouth gapes open. It shuts. It gapes open again. In the tense silence, a rough phoenix screech escapes Ayda’s throat. (Stupid.)
“Ow,” Adaine says. “No, alright, I – hm. Fig?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” Adaine says. She rotates and kicks her legs off the edge of the van. “Wow. Hm. You know, I don’t really have any experience with this sort of thing, and also…well, Fig…”
“Is so full of beauty, talent, and joy that to pursue her would mean making an utter fool of myself. I’m aware.”
“I was gonna say that I think she only likes middle-aged men?” Adaine says. She bites her lip. “And, hey, Ayda, you’re a catch. You’re so smart, and…on fire. All the time. Constantly. Hey, Fig likes fire!”
“I know. We have that in common. We’ve discussed it. Do you not have any kissing advice for me? I was under the impression that this was a standard topic of conversation for best friends. Is this not normal.”
“Uuuuuuhhh.” Adaine picks up her frog and squeezes him. He squishes complacently between her fingers; when he looks at Ayda, his expression still very clearly reads: just happy to be here, gang!
The list of questions has expanded. Not indefinitely! But certainly it now includes questions like:
- How does your frog clearly communicate an entire articulate sentence without any verbal or facial expression?
- Do you want a girlfriend?
- Do you want me to be your girlfriend?
- (No, unlikely, delete it.)
- Do you want Fig to be your girlfriend?
- Do you want me to be your girlfriend?
- Am I unlovable?
- When you said that you would give me advice, were you lying?
Ayda watches Adaine’s brow purse in on itself, making those familiar folds of deep thought. Adaine is mouthing half-words to herself. The frog is happy to be here. Gang.
- Why did you choose a frog for a familiar?
- Should I have a familiar?
- Will having a familiar somehow meet the confusing and constantly changing standards of legitimacy – the ones that I somehow never manage to meet, so no one treats me like a human being?
- What are the rules that everyone knows and I don’t?
- Would a familiar teach me?
- If it didn’t, would it at least be comfort?
- Do you think Fig would make a bad girlfriend?
- Do you think I would make a bad girlfriend?
“I think that Fig would be lucky to have you,” Adaine says slowly, “just as you would be lucky to have her.”
- Are you casting Detect Thoughts, right now, at this very moment?
- I’ve considered doing that sometimes – just for a clearer understanding – but I’ve refrained on account of the fact that I thought it would be super rude. Does this mean it’s not rude and, actually, it’s normal?
- Are you not casting Detect Thoughts?
- Is this sort of psychic knowledge common between best friends?
- Can I read your mind?
Adaine’s pupils aren’t flickering the way they would be if she were, hypothetically, casting Detect Thoughts. She simply looks intent. Focused. Like she has considered Ayda’s question thoroughly – all of Ayda’s thoughts and desires and confusion – and she is doing her best to come up with the very best answer. Despite herself, Ayda feels fire welling up at the bottom of her eyes.
Adaine sucks in a breath. “Fig isn’t – she isn’t very good at letting herself have real, permanent love. Every time she’s ever tried to tell us that she cares about us – verbally, I mean – she always puts all these conditions on it? She apologizes for it and stuff. And then she runs away. Or skateboards away. I don’t think that’s because she doesn’t mean it, I think it just means that she’s scared that people won’t mean it back. Or that they will. Maybe. Ayda, I’m a teenage girl, I have like zero idea what anyone else is thinking ever.”
The frog makes a little burbling sound. Adaine eases her grip and pulls in another breath. “Alright. Yes. I guess what I’m saying is that this could be really good but it’s also very possible that if Fig knows it could be good she’ll try to board away and I just want you to know that so you don’t take it personally? Also I guess my advice would be to just…tell her. Tell her that you like her. Tell her that you want her, like, actually her and not her impersonating a doctor or something. Don’t lie about it or anything. Just…you know. Be honest.”
“I’m not very good at lying,” Ayda says.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“I don’t understand it.”
“You know what? Me either sometimes.”
“Fig is very good at lying. She’s a compelling liar. What she told me, about my father talking about me constantly, I knew it wasn’t true but I wanted to believe it. I want to believe her. Also, what is a skateboard.”
“You’ll probably find out.”
Ayda narrows her eyes and studies Adaine as best she can; she catches a hint of something that might be delight – or malice – or anything, anything, she can’t tell. She can never tell. (She can tell with Fig.) She can rarely if ever tell. Also:
- What is a skateboard?
- Do you think Fig is as scared as I am?
- Do you think she’ll like me back?
- Can you tell me if she’ll like me back?
Adaine lets her frog go from her grip and he hops cheerfully across the top of the van. A small smile tucks itself into the corner of Adaine’s mouth and she looks at Ayda – looks back at Ayda, looks right back into Ayda’s burning eyes. (She has heard from numerous sources that her eyes are difficult to look at continuously, as well as being, quote, “creepy as fuck.”) (That Adaine can look straight into her eyes—) (—and that Fig can look—) (is a testament to her brilliance.)
“Hey,” Adaine says.
“Hey.”
“I’m glad we’re friends.”
Oh no. Be cool. Be normal. Be cool.
“I am too,” Ayda says, with a warbling voice, through thick flaming rivers of tears. Her lower lip wobbles. She is completely incapable of being cool. “I’m glad to have you as my friend. Thank you. I’ll try not to take it personally when I tell Fig that I would like to kiss her, and maybe get married? To her? And have babies? And do a better job raising them than my father did raising me. Which might not be possible on my own, but I think that Fig—”
Adaine holds her hands up in what Ayda recognizes as the universal sign for whoa, slow down. Ayda obligingly closes her mouth.
“Maybe just kissing,” Adaine says.
“Just kissing,” Ayda says. “Maybe. Oh my god. I don’t know if I can do this.”
Adaine stands up, then pushes herself onto her toes so she can raise her hands to Ayda’s face – “Wait,” she says. “Is it alright if I touch your face?”
This close Ayda can see the veins of blood and water underneath Adaine’s skin. So fragile. That mind, like a galaxy, enclosed in glass and water. She loves having a friend.
“Yes,” she says, and Adaine puts her hands on Ayda’s face. (They’re cool.) (Is Ayda’s face too warm? Maybe.) (Probably.) (Ooooh god.)
“You’re going to be fine,” Adaine says. “Telling someone you have a crush on them is super awkward and incredibly weird, and that’s okay! You’re so brave for even wanting to tell her in the first place. You’re incredibly brave, Ayda. I think Fig will love you back, and if she doesn’t I will be here for you no matter what, okay? We can eat ice cream and talk about how shitty she is.”
“Fig isn’t shitty.”
“No, I know, I—”
“That’s a terrible thing to say about your best friend and, also, my best friend. Don’t say that about my other best friend, best friend.”
“It’s – it’s a tradition, in Solace, you – actually, you know what? Never mind. All I meant is that I support you and care about you and you can do this.”
“I can do this.”
“Absolutely you can do this.”
Ayda screeches. Adaine winces a little, at the sound, and then screeches back.
“Terrible. That was terrible, that didn’t mean anything.”
Adaine makes the nonsense sound again. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” she says, and winks (disconcerting!) before sitting back down on top of the van and opening her spellbook again. Ayda sucks in a breath – but before she can speak Adaine says, “That’s also an expression. ‘Tiger’, I mean. It’s a term of affection used for, like, dads giving their kids inspiring speeches. Or like sports coaches.”
“Thank you, Adaine,” Ayda says. “My father would never have said that to me. Thank you for saying it, and having this conversation with me. Tiger. I’m going to go now.”
And saying that, she jumps off the van and flies a reasonable distance (102 feet) (far enough to be relatively isolated, but close enough to be in the range to do offensive spellwork) to perch in a tree and consider her feelings.
Warmth, certainly. Affection. Love? Love. Terror. Hope.
“You can do this, tiger,” Ayda whispers to herself, and then she whips out parchment and a quill and begins to draft a conversational contract.