Fifteen years later.

To kick off the start of November, Arran, Dominic and Oliver went to the Brighton Opera house to see Don Quixote. Arran had mentioned to them that he’d been wanting to see it – it not meaning the ballet, but the opera house itself. So, as a way to get Arran’s mind off of Jonathan’s incident, Dominic and Oliver suggested that they all go see it together.

From the Metropole they had a driver pick them up for the short commute. They couldn’t remember whose turn it was to pay (it had been over a year since they had used a driver together) but Dominic insisted that he be the one to start the cycle again. Half way to their destination, Arran rolled down his window to take in the view of the evening sky. And there, toward the coast line, he saw the hues of the opera house from afar – the glowing from its inwardness that made it look as if it were the perfect place to be.

At the end of the trip, they followed other people in formal dress toward the giant attraction. And while they did so, Arran noticed that the ground took on a steady ascension – it felt to him as if he and his friends were at the end of a long voyage, finally arriving at whatever glorified mosque or temple the divine spirit had led them to. But in this case, there was nothing traditionally religious in the structure before them. It’s circular shape rather took the form of an amphitheater, having many little square windows behind a copper exterior. And this exterior was broken up into different collections of square units that matched the dimensions of the windows it stood in front of – making Arran wonder if the architect was inspired by a game of tetras.

After climbing a few stairs, they saw the group they had planned to meet up with, reasonable friends of Dominic and Oliver: These were Tyler, Margaret and Logan. Arran recognized Tyler as the tall shirtless boy from the Social (number 7 as Dominic called him). Together, they were standing next to the ticket booths talking amongst themselves.

Excited at the sight, Dominic and Oliver doubled down on their pace – exchanging with them that congenial surprise at finding the other there, a happy-to-see-you sentiment.

And seeing his two friends rush ahead, seeing Tyler there too, it reminded Arran of their appearance at the Social – where he at least had the comfort of another first-year right beside him – and he began to miss Jonathan.

Arran naturally lagged behind to give time for greetings to unfold. And after that was done, Oliver looked back at the unfamiliar one of the group, turning to grab him by the shoulder.

“This is Arran,” he said with a sincere smile, “He’s a first year at the Institute.”

“Ah, yes we’ve met,” Tyler said. He was a Mediterranean looking boy with black, slicked back hair (matching Arrans’). The others followed in introducing themselves.

When they moved to get in line for tickets, Tyler fell in the back of the group with Arran.

“Hey, I want to apologize for how I acted at the Social…” Tyler said.

“It’s alright. I know it wasn’t your intent for it to turn out like that.”

“Yeah, I felt a little bad…For Jonathan too.”

Arran didn’t know what he was referring to with Jonathan, whether he was sorry for his embarrassment at the Social or if he had heard about his hospitalization. Either way, he was thankful for the apology.

“Thanks, Tyler.”

As they stood next in line to get their tickets, a group of three student Aesthetes cut in front of them. Now, Arran didn’t typically mind when this happened (they have the right to do so), but they were rather impolite in their privilege – nudging Margaret back when she wasn’t aware of them approaching.

Arran couldn’t hold his tongue…

“Hey Jonny, is that you?” he said as he touched the shoulder of the boy closest to them.

As the boy turned around you could see that disgust was written into the lines of his face. “Excuse me, I don’t think a Jonny would be carrying one of these.” He flashed his Aesthete card, his means of identification. It bore that envied scarlet ‘A’.

“Ah, forgive me, there was just something about your appearance that reminded me of an old friend of mine.”

When Arran said this the other two Aesthetes turned around, and he could feel them trying to get into his head. They were strong; and it took all of him to hold the gates to his mind shut.

When it was obvious that they couldn’t exploit Arran with an easy effort, one of them said, “Don’t waste your time with Lumen, Alexander. You give him some dignity by just giving him your attention; and that’s more than he deserves.”

“You’re right,” Alexander said, picking up his chin condescendingly before turning away from Arran. And the three of them walked away to purchase their tickets.

“Pompous prigs,” Margaret said in a low voice.

As new group made their way into the entrance, Arran noticed something awkward about Logan. He thought it came with the fact that he was unable to fill out his tuxedo. And had he known him better, he would have jauntily suggested to get re-measured before he thought next to order a three-piece suite. Margaret turned to Arran and looked him up and down.

“So where are you from?”

“London, you?” (From her accent Arran had already discerned that she was from Scotland, but specifics still warranted the question.)

“Glassboro. Have you been?”

“A few times,” Arran responded absently. But this wasn’t out of rudeness. It was only because at that moment they had crossed the threshold into the opera house; and Arran was at once stunned by the vastness of the infrastructure – where white marble floors outlined the perimeter that itself reached three stories high.

And as if a threshold of amazement was reached, Arran made a three-sixty degree turn.

Margaret, far from taking any offense to this, smiled at his reaction.

“Amazing isn’t it?”

“It really is,” Arran said, still looking over the interior.

“Oh, you must see the dining hall! I think it might be my favorite part about this place.”

Arran turned back to the others to read their faces.

“Sure, why not?” Tyler said as he adjusted his bowtie.

“Do you think we have time?” asked Logan; and pulling out his micro PC to uncover the time. “We only have 10 minutes before the majority will think to take their seats; and I’d prefer not to brush up against a crowd.”

“Oh, don’t be such a putz, Logan!” Margaret said.

Logan looked fidgety after that, seeing as everyone else implicitly endorsed Margaret’s remark. That is to say, they were all laughing.

“Ah, C’mon, Logan,” said Oliver as he wrapped his arm over his shoulders, “it will only be a couple of minutes. I really would like to see it.”

“We all would,” Dominic added.

Logan furrowed his brows in a way that made Arran think he was about to defy the majority, but then they relaxed. “Alright, fine. Let’s hurry.”

And just as Logan said, they made a hurried pace behind Margaret, who had already seemed to start off midway through Logan’s consent, her heels giving themselves away against the marble.

“It’s right over here.” she shouted back to the group. “I know a secret entrance.”

She led them up a little stairwell in a corner that fed into a similarly proportioned hallway. The door at the end made all of them come to a stuttered halt when they recognized that it featured a ‘staff only’ sign – that is, all of them except for Margaret.

“What is this?” Logan said, “We can’t go in there.”

“Oh, on the contraire mon frère.” She looked back devilishly before revealing a small key.

“I don’t remember coming here to see the dining hall,” Tyler said.

“I know, I’ve only come upon it recently. This will be a new experience for all of you.”

Everyone was waiting impatiently while Margaret fiddled with lock and key, so that when it finally opened they squeezed themselves through the threshold all at once. In the immediate view was a small table for two, but the focus quickly shifted to the context in which it was placed: showing them to be on one of the many floating terraces surrounding the floor of the dining hall.

Margaret pranced over to the iron railing, “This one gives the best view, I think.”

The rest followed her to the edge that overlooked the entire dining hall. From above, there was a resonance of collective commotion, a buzzing of activity given by the seating and exiting of persons, the giving and taking of menus and the decisions and talk that preceded it all – an orchestra powered by a network of waiters moving around like little worker ants.

“How extraordinary,” Arran said.

“A real tour de force, yeah?” Margaret replied.

“Quite.” Logan let out abruptly, “Are we ready to go now?”

“Logan, are you alright?” Dominic asked with equal abruptness.

“Yeah,” Margaret affirmed, “you’ve been pretty testy since we’ve gotten here.”

The questioning made Logan look defensive and more self-aware.

“I just don’t like fighting a crowd,” he said decisively.

“Alright,” Arran said, trying to be as sympathetic as he could. “Let’s go then.”

Margaret led them out of the terrace in the same way that she brought them in, as if the layout was as familiar to her as her childhood home.

“How did you come about this spot, Margaret?” Arran asked.

“My dad works here. He’s the head chef.” A smirk twisted into her mouth that said she had given the full answer.

“So yeah, I come here a lot.”

“And he’s the one that gave you the key?”

Her almond eyes shrunk into a measure of deviousness. “Gave is a strong word.”

Back at the main lobby, they made their way along the white marble floors in the direction of human traffic – something that Logan frowned at.

“Sorry we didn’t get to beat the crowd, Logan,” Arran said.

Logan shrugged. “It’s okay.”

The pinched face he made said the contrary.

***

As Arran watched the ballet, he kept thinking back to the ticket booth incident. He couldn’t help but think about what life would be like as one of them, an Aesthete. Was that what he was really striving to be? – in Margaret’s words, a ‘pompous prig’. He wondered if that was a question they were all asking themselves when the three of them left to get their tickets. And if not at once a question, then at least an intuition.

Well, to that question (or intuition), there was something in Arran that gave a hard no. He didn’t want to become that – an embodiment of higher civility that looked down on everything else. The image of Alexander’s condescending chin-raise appeared in his mind’s eye. He thought that that decidedly cold gesture would forever by engrained in his head as something of a deterrent – a something he never wanted to become.

***

Arran had taken his seat next to Margaret who had an aisle chair, so when the show was over he followed behind her up the stairs; and he noticed how above her heels two inverted spearheads accentuated with each step. He thought that her claves were just as athletically stunning as those of the ballerinas he had just seen.

“What did you think of Don Quixote?” Margaret said over her shoulder.

“Me? I thought it was absolutely spectacular.”

Arran heard an ironic hmph from behind him – the kind that was intended to be heard. But from the way things were going that night, Arran didn’t need to turn around to know who it had come from.

A voice spoke up when this little utterance went ignored.

“You don’t really think that,” Logan said over Arran’s shoulder.

Arran turned around sharply to challenge Logan, but then Logan used this opportunity to even the score; and when he kept walking past him with just as much brush of the shoulders that would involve bad blood, Arran’s temper flared.

He then followed behind Logan out to the foyer. “Excuse me.” It was in the inverted manner that really meant, excuse you.

“You may be. But first you need to answer Margaret truthfully. No bullshit.”

“Logan what’s gotten into you?” Margaret chastised.

“The truth, Margaret. All I want is just a little more transparency among friends. I mean, we are friends.” His gesture was in a mock inclusivity to Arran. “So why shouldn’t we be honest with one another? Especially with something as simple as your take on a ballet performance.”

“And I gave one,” Arran said briskly.

Logan offered a faint smile. “Ah there’s the passion.”

Dominic, Oliver and Tyler had stayed back a little longer to extend praise until the curtains had fallen; so they were just catching up to the group when they heard this line from Logan.

“What’s going on?” Oliver said.

“It’s Logan,” Margaret offered in annoyance, “he’s being an ass.”

“At least I’m not habitually lying to my friends and hiding what I really am.”

“What are you getting at?” Oliver said.

“Oh, just that Arran’s a fraud.”

Everyone cycled confused looks from Logan to Arran and then back to Logan.

“What are you talking about?” Margaret said.

“Oh c’mon,” Logan said, “look at him fuming over there.” He pointed at Arran. “You can practically see the passion leaking out of his ears.”

Dominic suddenly stepped forward in a way that made Logan look three inches shorter. “Be careful with your accusations.”

Logan didn’t appear intimidated. He only looked to be sizing up his peer.

“I am careful. And I know what I’m saying.” He paused for a dramatic length. “It was in his excitement when we walked onto the terrace too – that dumb cheerfulness that you only see in…” he stopped short of what he was going to say, knowing that to associate Arran’s behavior to that of an Innocent would be the opposite of what Dominic meant by careful.

“But don’t tell me you don’t see it.” Logan’s eyes moved in tandem with his eyebrows as if to point back at Arran.

Dominic didn’t care to turn around. His black lips only made a grimace that suggested future discretion on Logan’s part.

“He’s fifteen years old,” Dominic said. “I can only imagine how Innocent you looked at his age two years ago.”

At the end of Dominic’s sentence, Logan’s fists immediately tightened and his cheeks burned red.

“Perhaps we should head back, Logan,” Tyler said while playfully slapping the back of his arm.

Logan exchanged looks with Arran before looking back up at Dominic. And Arran thought that here, if Logan’s lack of discernment for his own inseam was any indication, he had no clue who he was about to pick a fight with.

“Sure,” Logan said before marching toward the grand lobby. And Tyler gave an apologetic smile to the group before following behind.

On the way back to the Metropolis, Arran couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened with Logan. He was an ass for sure, as Margaret had rightly said. But that itself had nothing to do with the wrongness of rightness of what he said. And this was what Arran was really thinking about: It was the fact that he wasn’t wrong. On the contrary, he was right. Too right. He thought it almost uncanny the way Logan seemed to peer right through him. It reminded him of the first instance that made him feel this way, on the first day of school – and then it clicked.

Could Douglas Steele somehow be involved? Was this Douglas holding true to his promise? The eerie similarity between the two experiences made it seem so.

“Dominic?”

Dominic, who was on the other side of Oliver in the back seat of their hovercraft, had to lower his head to look at Arran.

“What’s up?”

“Logan’s in the dueling league, right?”

“Yeah, he just moved up to the First VII actually. Why?”

“Do him and Douglas get along?”

“Ehh…” Dominic said ambivalently.

Oliver turned to Arran as if having intercepted the question – then turned to Dominic.

“I actually feel like they’ve gotten closer recently. They’ve been picking each other for teams in dueling class, which makes sense for Logan, but Douglas – he can pick way better people than Logan. Also, I saw them sitting together for lunch yesterday.”

Dominic took a moment to consider. “That’s true. Which is kind of weird. They’ve never really talked before.” He bent down again to view Arran. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. They’re both jackasses so I figured they got along.”

Arran turned to look out his window in a show that made that the end of the discussion; and Dominic and Oliver reclined in their seats as before. But then Arran felt an impression: My bullshit detector is flagging you right now.

Arran leaned his head back and focused his energy to Dominic: I wonder if Douglas told Logan about me.