Chapter 178: Monday (II)

At a table near the windows, a group of first-years from House Ascendant were having the kind of conversation that happened when the competitive week’s tension had finally fully released and what was left was just people being people.

Robert was telling a story about something that had happened at the coordination venue that involved him, a Greystone student, and a misunderstanding about which team had rights to a warm-up area.

"—and she’s fully convinced I’m trying to steal their lane, which I’m not, I’m just standing there because I can’t find our assigned space, and she’s doing this whole— " Robert made a gesture that conveyed official displeasure, "—and then it turns out we’re both in the wrong area entirely and our actual spaces are next to each other and we ended up warming up at the same time anyway and it was fine."

"Did you get her name," Lily asked.

"What? No."

"You spent twenty minutes arguing with someone and then training beside them and you didn’t get their name."

"I was focused on the competition."

"You were focused on being embarrassed about the lane thing."

"That’s also a valid focus."

James, who had been listening without comment, said, "Her name was Petra. She was at Patricia’s table for the whole competition, apparently."

Everyone looked at him.

"I pay attention," he said.

"To things that aren’t your own training?" Robert asked.

"To things that are happening around me. Yes." James returned to his food. "She’s from the western coastal region originally. First year at Greystone. Wind affinity but it’s not her primary academic interest — she’s studying essence history."

"How do you know all of this," Lily said.

"I talked to her."

"When."

"During the team coordination event. We were in adjacent spectator areas for about twenty minutes."

Robert stared at him. "You had a twenty-minute conversation with the person I spent twenty minutes accidentally arguing with."

"Yes."

"And you got more information in twenty minutes of conversation than I got in twenty minutes of conflict."

"Conversation tends to be more efficient than conflict for information exchange. Yes."

Robert sat with this for a moment. "Can you introduce me."

"She went back to Greystone yesterday."

"Oh."

"But she’s apparently interested in visiting for the Inter-House competitions in the spring. She mentioned it twice."

Robert’s expression moved through several things and arrived at something more optimistic. "Spring is fine. Spring works."

Lily was smiling. "Robert. Are you—"

"I’m just noting that spring is a reasonable timeline. For competitive interest reasons."

"Competitive interest."

"I’m very interested in — look, can we talk about something else."

"Absolutely not," Lily said cheerfully.

The conversation at that table continued in the direction it was going, which was the direction of first-year students on a Monday morning who had survived a significant week and had arrived at the other side of it with their sense of humor intact and their friendships confirmed.

---

Timothy was looking at the window.

Not at anything specific — just at the morning outside, the grounds returning to their regular configuration, the last traces of competition infrastructure being broken down.

Sarah noticed. "What are you thinking about."

"I’m thinking about what comes next," he said. "Not like — not strategically. Just. This was a big week. And now it’s Monday and we have classes and it goes back to normal." He paused. "Is it weird that I’m going to miss it a little."

"The competition?"

"The intensity, I guess. The thing where everything felt like it mattered and everyone was focused on the same thing." He looked at her. "Does that sound strange."

"No," Sarah said immediately. "I know exactly what you mean."

"You do?"

"The competition was stressful and genuinely dangerous and I’m glad it’s over. And also it was the most present I’ve felt in months. Both things are true." She turned her cup. "Normal life doesn’t have that same quality. Everything matters individually but nothing matters all together in the same direction."

"Yes," Timothy said. "That’s exactly it."

They sat with that for a moment.

"I think," Sarah said carefully, "that the intensity made it easier to just — be yourself. There wasn’t time to perform anything. You either were who you were or you weren’t."

Timothy looked at her. "Is that what happened with you and the counseling."

Sarah paused. "What do you mean."

"You mentioned a few weeks ago that you’d been putting off going. And then last week you mentioned you’d gone." He said it carefully, watching to make sure it was okay. "I just wondered if it was the competition intensity that made it easier."

Sarah was quiet for a moment.

"Sort of," she said. "More like — watching Thomas try to not need it and then need it anyway made me think I should just go before I got to the trying-not-to-need-it stage." She looked at the table. "It helped. I think it helped. It’s weird to talk about your actual brain in front of another person."

"Yeah," Timothy said. "I imagine it is."

"Have you ever—"

"No. But I’ve thought about it." He looked at his food. "My family thinks you’re supposed to just manage things yourself. Very — handle it internally. Don’t make it something other people have to deal with."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It is, actually." He said it like it was a new realization, which maybe it was. "I never thought about it that way before. It just seemed like the correct approach."

"The correct approach according to who."

Timothy opened his mouth. Closed it.

"I genuinely don’t know," he said.

Sarah looked at him with the direct attention she brought to things that mattered. "You should go. If you’re thinking about it, you should go."

"To counseling."

"Yes."

"Just like that."

"Just like that." She picked up her fork. "You can come find me after if you want to talk about it."

Timothy looked at her for a moment.

"Okay," he said. "Yeah. Okay."

They returned to their food and the table’s conversation flowed back around them, Marcus making someone laugh, David beginning an observation that Emma redirected, Patricia watching everything with the quiet attention that was simply who she was.

Monday morning.

Ordinary, except for the parts that weren’t.

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