The gun makes a hard lump under my pillow. I don�t remember dreaming. I don�t even remember falling asleep. Guess I was more tired than I thought. I roll myself over and up, rubbing my eyes. Light peeks through the shades. I walk to the window and pull them open. The sun assaults me, striking the room in rays of bubbling light. The spirits know why I did that. I�m usually not into self torture.
Time for coffee, and food. It feels like days since I�ve eaten. Then again, it�s usually like that when I have something major to heal. At least my arm has stopped hurting. I glance at it. The bruises are fading, yellow and green. They�ll be gone tomorrow. Which is good, because I have to be at work again on Friday. At least that trade with Jess gives me two straight days off.
I throw two vacuum meals into the cooking unit and start grabbing some clothes for the day. I figure I�ll dress more conservatively than usual, namely something with sleeves and slits just above my knees. My first class is Math 102. I�m not looking forward to it. But I have the acting workshop this afternoon. Everywhere I�ve auditioned this past year has said the same thing: <I>you�ve got talent, but you need more experience. Take some classes.</I> If I had a choice I�d only take the acting classes, but the good ones require you be enrolled in a degree program. So I�m stuck with everything else.
I�m finishing my eggs when I hear a polite knock on the door. 9:25, can I call them or what.
�Just a minute!� I grab the gun from under the pillow, snatch up my bag and run to the door. Maxis looks like I feel, drug out and exhausted. Then again, it�s not much different from yesterday. I�m beginning to think this is a normal state for him.
�Hi.� I say, awkwardly holding out the gun to him, barrel towards the floor. �Thank you.�
He takes the gun and lifts it over his shoulder into some sort of back holster. That�s when I notice there two blastboards leaning against the wall. My stomach sinks.
�No problem.� He says with a smile.
�What are those for?�
�Competition level blastboards. That one is yours.� He points.
�Oh.� I don�t know why I ask questions I don�t want answered.
�Well, with all that�s going on, I think you need a faster way to get around. It�s much harder for people to jump you when you are moving at 120 kilometers/hour.�
My mouth is dry. �Oh.�
�But it�s not like you are going to be starting at 120 km/hour.� He rushes on, eyes shining a little. �That would be insane! Besides, there�s a limiter on the board. You can only do 60 right now, but it�s easy enough to disengage if you need to go faster.�
�Okay.� Surprisingly that sounds almost reasonable. �So, when do we start?�
�Now.�
What?! I don�t know why I keep asking questions I don�t like the answers to.
�But we�ll be reasonable and take the elevator down. We can start from there.�
I had been thinking maybe this afternoon or this evening. Oh well. Guess it�s better than having to dread learning this all day. And Maxis is right, provided it doesn�t kill me, riding the blastboard will make me harder to catch.
�Umm�� He glances at me again. �Do you have a pair of pants or something?�
�Sure.� Now I�m confused. Of course, I�m often confused by Maxis. He either explains too much or too little and you�re stuck figuring out the middle ground yourself. I�m thinking it might not even be intentional.
�Good, go get in them. You can�t blastboard in that.�
If he didn�t look so genuinely relieved I might be offended. I don�t wear anything I can�t get a full range of motion in, which is why I like my skirt slit high. On the other hand, I�ve never blastboarded before and I don�t know what it takes. So I run back into my room, fish around the bottom my closet and find a pair of black pants. They�re kind of tight which is why I generally wear them to do laundry, but they stretch.
He blinks like he�s surprised when I come out a few minutes later, then nods, and starts walking the elevator. I follow. He�s tapping his foot when the doors finally open and we step in.