Chapter Twenty-eight
~
Alder-Alexander studied me a lot harder than I expected. Finally swiveled over to Cordiz, his eyeballs goin’ up and down in a fashion that’d get a bull walloped back home. I gave Cordiz a questionin’ look. Should we wallop him?
Bam. Hale smacked him aside the head, which snapped that skinny head back so hard, I worried Hale might have just killed a human. That might-prolly be frowned upon, even if we’re visitors. And he’s lookin’ at enough already.
“Be polite,” Hale hissed.
Alder rubbed the side of his head, wrenchin’ around to either get away from Hale, or study him, now. “That hurt.”
“Meant it to,” Hale said. And I’d thought I’d heard the last of my sibling’s voice for the day. When did the body snatchers switch him out? “Apologize.”
“For what?” Alder asked.
Cordiz laughed. Alder swiveled his eyes back to her—and his eyes went up and down a couple times again. He’d get killed back home. In no time. “Ya’re gonna be fun to have around,” the hussy said.
“Apologize,” Hale hissed again.
“Uh—I’m sorry?” Fool didn’t know what he should be sorry for? Humans must be—not sure what.
Cordiz laughed again. Hale shook his head, before he stood and strode away. “Hey,” Cordiz snapped. “Stay with me and yar sibling.”
He didn’t slow down. I followed Cordiz. Alder sided up to me. Maybe curtailed his rude leer by half. If this was all about the spaghetti-strap, black tank I’d put on, maybe I should have stayed in a polo.
“Haven’t been properly introduced,” he said, extendin’ his hand. “Alexander.”
I had to grin, hearin’ Hale blurt, Alder, fifteen feet ahead of us.
“Alex will work,” he said.
Hale repeated, “Alder.”
I took his hand. Holy moly. It was hot. A Northern thin’? “Bele.”
“Like a church bell?” he asked.
Hm. “What’s a church bell?” Ahead of us, Cordiz laughed again. Maybe she should pay attention to keepin’ us alive.
Alder’s jaw dropped a bit. “You know. A bell. In a church steeple.”
Oh. Silly. Church. “We’ve got several temples to the gods in the Range. Not a church, that I know of.”
“The gods, plural?” he asked.
I think my expression trumped his blank one. Phft. “Ya don’t know much about us, do ya?”
He kept his mouth shut for a few moments. “Uh—I guess not.”
“Where we goin’?” I asked.
“Your brother thought it was appropriate to at least drive about campus, even though I suggested that’d be kind of boring.”
Brother. Not like I’d never heard the word before, but it struck me. In Trollish there’s an equivalent word, but I couldn’t remember hearin’ Papa ever use it. Even though the three of us speak Standish with him, the word never comes up in conversation. Sister, the same thin’. Funny our differences. Bull, man. Hen, woman. Just don’t have the same—pizazz. But I could find myself usin’, brother, to fit in, maybe.
Alder continued to bend my ear in the stuffy parkin’ garage for a good ten minutes, because the moment Cordiz and Hale saw the human-sized university SUV Alder thought we’d crawl into, Hale was on the phone orderin’ a ride to a rental place.
Despite the prejudice again’ giants in the North, wasn’t hard to find a troll drivin’ an Ogre Motors vehicle only a mile away. So we ended up headin’ for a rental place, before breakfast. That wasn’t an item that would settle well with Hale. Well, me either, but Hale, when it comes to food, is more impatient than me by far.
~
Hale
~
The troll share-ride guy gave the hens triple looks too. Must be a Northern thin’. Gonna be hard to get used to. But in fairness, they weren’t exactly dressed as they woulda in the Range. More a weather than culture thin’, I think. Not like ogres are very—modest. Mama’s definitely not modest. S’pose it’s more about how cold it usually is in the mountains.
Not like I haven’t seen bulls and hens strip down a bit in the summer durin’ a neighborhood fiddle fest or hoedown. The dancin’ can get pretty lively, and sweaty. How I learned troll folk are a lot more flexible than I woulda expected.
I turned to Alder. “So do human hens lack in the chest area?” Not that I’d noticed that in the Range.
The bull-man, turned a shade just left of purple. Our driver snorted. Not somethin’ common from a troll bull in the Range. Everythin’ must be different in the North.
No one spoke. I turned to see if Bele and Cordiz were still in their third-row seats. Yep. Bele opened her eyes a bit wider. That always confuses me. Cordiz’ lips edged up higher on her tusks. That I get. A response to humor. Now I might have to figger out for myself what was funny.
Ten minutes later at the rental place I learned another thin’ about the North. Cordiz had to sign the rental agreement. Who knew humans don’t trust their seventeen-year-olds for such thin’s.
Key fob finally in hand, she handed it to Alder as we strode out and through the lot lookin’ for our OM. At our slot, Alder appeared to jolt. “I can’t drive that. I don’t have a tank license.”
Bele and Cordiz did what a lot of folk call, crackin’ up. It sounds as though they enjoy ’emselves. I wish I could experience it. I have no clue why his tank remark was funny. Maybe tonight, Bele can explain it.
“I’ll drive,” Bele said.
Cordiz of course claimed shotgun. I’ll bet she just likes the front, that it has nothin’ to do with playin’ bodyguard. Trolls can be a might bossy. Not like I’ve met too many ogres willin’ to argue with one. Though Papa doesn’t shy away from nobody. I’ve heard him say some rude thin’s to Uncle Jam.
The next hour after breakfast, I got to see more of the awkward nature humans cram in nooks and crannies, between monolithic concrete structures lackin’ aesthetics. I could almost see myself studyin’ architecture just so I could help humans learn what is possible. But, pretty sure that would take more lifetimes to accomplish than I’ve got to give. The desire to attempt.
On campus, Alder turned out to be correct. Not too excitin’. More artificial nature. More monoliths. He pointed out a hundred of ’em, explained what classes were taught in ’em. Bele didn’t appear moved by it all either. The stadium, where the humans play football, was cool. Though basketball runs in the family. I wasn’t averse to somethin’ different when Alder asked if we were ready to go to the river.
He seemed excited. Another experience I don’t get. I equate it with peace. Like when I have a mallet and chisel in hand, and I’m admirin’ five tons of granite.
“River?” Cordiz murmured. Didn’t sound excited like Alder, but her voice rose with the second syllable. Mama’s often pointed out that’s a way to sense emotion. Stress on the leadin' syllable is a warnin’ of irritation.
We have thousands of creek-filled gullies that turn into whitewater rapids during snow melt back home. More dangerous than playin’ with a pit of rattlers. I remembered Alder remarkin’ about jumpin’ in to cool off. Don’t know about that.
“What about this river?” Bele asked.
“Beautiful sugar-white, sandy beach,” Alder claimed again with more adjectives, sellin’ it hard. “Blue-green water. A breeze off the water’s always relaxing. Usually find a friend or two to hang out with. It’s understood that loud music can get you ostracized for life. Not a bad place to study. Lots of greenery along the water, away from the beach. Sometimes fun sandbars out a ways, fun to swim to.”
I caught Bele lookin’ for me in the rearview mirror. She was worryin’ a tusk. Maybe thinkin’ about the sunburn she got the last time we were on the East Coast. She asked me if I wanted to go.
Cordiz musta thought Bele was askin’ her. “Heck, yeah.”
“Head back to the highway,” Alder said. “Anyone wanna stop to pick up a suit?”
That made no sense to me. Thought about that human who picked us up at the airport. That funeral suit had to be hot. Then it hit me. Swimmin’ suit. That’s somethin’ that’s optional on the East Coast. As I said, ogres aren’t modest. Orcs are too skinny to swim, and goblins sink like a rock. Ratio of muscle to bone, I’ve been told. For orcs, it’s ratio of muscle to fat. Never met a heavy orc. Oh, Beky immediately swallowed up my thoughts.
Her ratios are just right. Though, honestly, I’ve only seen her, really, six or seven times in the span of an hour. We’ve turned the brief time into great texts. But I wouldn’t mind visitin’ a beach with her. Whether she’s modest or not, ever gets in the water. Really love to experience her company. Hadn’t yet raised with her how we were gonna manage that.
Those thoughts had to be rollin’ up what has to be emotion, in my chest. How’s that possible?
Maybe I could spend what’ll be left of the summer in her neck of the woods. I’d miss my studio, though. But it’ll always be there.
~
No comments:
Post a Comment