Episode 1: A Cake of Memories

 

The flyer stares back at me, its haunting visage echoing the same spectral glance of death it bestowed upon my mother and sister many years ago. I read each line carefully, over and over as if I didn't understand it the first time; yet, I do. Unquestionably. I have been extended an invitation to hear more about the catastrophic event that propelled my mother to fame as a charter and killed my sister before she could do the same. An invitation for me to follow in their footsteps and fulfill my destiny. A story they want me to believe. I'm what they call a legacy.

 

The remnants of the flyer, having gone through a shredder, make their way into the trash can for the third time this week as I snatch the last freshly baked cinnamon roll from the table, hoist my backpack over my shoulder, and march out the door.

 

Portscord University is only about a ten-minute walk from my place. A straight sidewalk plays a simplistic vessel for the journey from home to Hot Shots Cafe, where I meet Gemma and Cameron, and then to school. It's been our routine since year one and one of the few things I have left in life that's moderately normal.

 

The stroll captivates the senses this time of year. Early Autumn embraces the skin with the mildest temperature while vibrant bursts of oranges, yellows, and reds puncture the landscape. The towering trees, which residents have dubbed the 'Guardians of Grayne', stand in unison, their colossal branches interwoven to create a living tapestry overhead - a ceiling crafted from a myriad of leaves. Fissures of sunlight peer through the leafy canopy, casting an enchanting dance of light and shadow. Not in abundance, but in moderation, illuminating nature's intricacies with every step. A dazzling symphony of hues and textures, painted upon a canvas of autumn's embrace.

 

As the neighborhood evolves, it transforms into a historical downtown district. A blink, and you may believe you've teleported onto Kojo. Shops, cafes, hair salons, and restaurants fall in perfect alignment on either side of the QuickPass track. We've learned of the bygone era when towns and cities were navigated by vehicles, participating in the demise of the once beautiful planet, Earth. Fortunately, given a second chance on these new worlds, we've decided to go with a more eco-friendly approach.

 

Ahead, on the left, towers a giant coffee cup atop a building, gradually rotating with a simulated cascade of coffee pouring from the black lid. Emblazoned on the cup are the words Hot Shots. As I push open the glass door, a tidal wave of delectable aromas engulfs my senses. The espresso, potent enough to burn my nose; the pastry cabinet brimming with freshly baked croissants; and an unexpected musky, citrus fragrance - a scent distinctly out of place. It's Cameron.

 

Ahead at the order counter, you'll find the catastrophe of Grayne with his distinctive blonde hair, likely in the process of ordering a chai latte supplemented with four pumps of caramel syrup. Iced, not hot, because hot drinks make him sweat. Of course, standing alongside him is Gemma, relishing in her very basic white chocolate mocha with raspberry - hot, because Cameron's weird for drinking iced drinks in the Fall. 99.9% of the time, I agree with Gemma on every matter that could ever possibly come up in conversation, but Cameron takes the win on this one.

 

"Calum!" Gemma exclaims, her radiant complexion contrasting with her gleaming teeth as she breaks into the biggest smile I've ever seen. She darts to me and envelops me in a hug. "Don't worry, I already ordered for you!" she adjusts the straps of my backpack and gives them an affirming pat. "A matcha latte with oat milk, right? I made sure to tell them you like it extra hot."

 

I raise my eyebrows in a 'you-better-not-have' fashion as my backpack drops to the floor. "Don't play with me." I pound my fist in my hand as a means to come off playfully threatening, but even if I were serious, my lack of physique would instigate laughter from anyone.

 

"I'm kidding." Her hands fly up in surrender.

 

"Well, it's about time you graced us with your presence. A few more minutes alone with her and my sanity would've flown out the window." Cameron thrusts his thumb sideways toward Gemma, who returns the gesture with one that's slightly less pleasant. Laughter transpires between us, and I can't help but embrace how much I missed this routine. The past Summer was lackluster. Gemma jetted off to Micto for an internship, and Cameron reveled in Baratti with his intensely affluent grandparents, who repeatedly express their disdain for his parents' decision to move to this so-called "middle-class planet". Gemma and I endure some variation of that narrative every year.

 

"Honestly missed you guys," My hand instinctively rubs the back of my head at how cringy it sounds out loud. Gemma shoots me a puppy-eyed expression while Cameron mirrors it with a generous dose of sarcasm. Emotions aren't really our thing, so I make my best attempt at switching the subject. "What class do you have first?"

 

"Mine is Ocalian Pathogens! I learned a lot about it during my internship, so I'm so excited to dig deeper into it," Gemma, the aspiring Dr. Murphy, strikes her superhero pose. She looks at Cameron. "What about you?"

 

"Uh, I'm not sure yet, I haven't looked at my schedule." His eyes skitter around the room, clearly to avoid eye contact, knowing that his absence of responsibility is being exposed. I place both my hands on his cheeks (the face ones) and pull him closer.

 

"Come on, Cameron. Be. Responsible," I push him away and giggle. "Your college is literally free. Don't waste it. Our first class is in 30 minutes. How do you not know where you're going?"

 

I will be the first to admit I am not the poster child of responsibility, nor am I the perfect student. My 2.8 GPA can vouch for that. However, I am still making strides with my 'Cs get degrees' mentality.

 

"My advisor sent over a list of classes I needed to take this semester, and I gave it the green light. I don't exactly know which one she scheduled first. I'll look at the app on the way; it'll be fine!" Cameron proceeds to nonchalantly withdraw the phone from his pocket and pretend to find his schedule. Gemma and I sigh simultaneously, fully aware of his plan to skip class.

 

There's a large white cake on my desk when I arrive in the vacant classroom. It's not my birthday, so curiosity takes over as I rush to see black lettering frosted across the top: Happy 10 Years.

 

I had been doing remarkably well at ignoring the significance of today, but that phrase gnaws at me. I ponder what sort of soul exists in the world that can be this cruel. One person does come to mind - Luka Harrison, whose father assumed my mom's role as Lead Matturian Charter when she disappeared. Whose father also delivered the devastating news to my grandma and me ten years ago. They don't subscribe to that story, though. They cling to the rumor that she defected. Escaped this life to forge a new one. That she had many connections to unethical matters. It's an unfair story and one that I wholeheartedly believe drove the search to being called off way before it should have been.

 

The sound of heavy footsteps snaps my focus from the inner desire of confronting Luka to embracing the presence of a familiar, loving face. Kiara Farlie- Ocalia's next top fashion designer, strides into view. Her sartorial choice of wardrobe backs up that dream, as nobody has ever caught her repeating an outfit. Twirly brown locks dance with every step as she strikes the floor in her silver-studded leather boots.

 

"Cal, you good?" I catch myself staring and dart my eyes away from her deep blue oceans before I drown.

 

"Yeah. Yeah. No." I trip over each word while I try to filter myself from the anger growing inside me. I ache to punch something. Anything. Luka, maybe?

 

"Oh damn, Cal. Has it been a decade?" I feel her hand grasp my shoulder, grounding me back to reality.

 

I nod. "Yeah, but I don't want to celebrate it." I motion towards the cake just as more footsteps echo behind me. A peck on the same shoulder turns me back around, and there, an outstretched hand, clutching a 2-pack of candles - a one and a zero.

 

"Ten years already, huh Quinny? Figured you could use a little pick-me-up today." Luka reaches for the cake but fumbles, the remnants finding their new home across my shirt, pants, and shoes.

 

"Luka!" Kiara raises her voice assertively.

 

"Chill, it was an accident," the smirk on his face widens. "I'll go get some napkins. Stay put," he starts to turn, but a sudden hesitation precedes a mumbled remark, audible enough for me to make out what he says. "Unless you're gonna run away like mommy."

 

My initial thought is that my eardrum ruptured because of how the room plunged into silence. All my senses seem to fade, leaving only the stabbing pain coursing up my arm. A dark red liquid obscures my clenched fist and drips onto the floor in spots. The pounding in my temples indicates the spike in blood pressure that culminated from this confrontation - a situation I do not handle well, a trait I always admired about my mom. Thanks, anxiety.

 

I spot Luka on the ground a few feet away shielding his face, surrounded by a few students and Dr. Bennett, our Dean of Students. Dr. Bennett, holding a tissue over Luka's nose, gapes at me in a manner that screams 'suspension'. All I can think to do is exactly what he predicted - I run away, far from Portscord, from Luka, from Dr. Bennett, Kiara, and anyone else who knows me.

 

I draw in a deep breath and exhale as deeply as possible once I reach the bench outside the main entrance. The breeze in the air cools the waterfalls streaming down my face and I squeeze my eyes shut to purge the rest of the emotion trying to escape.

 

"You alright?"

 

I glance up. The deep, resonant voice startles me; the outstretched arm, tissue in hand, surprises me; and the face of a man I never anticipated meeting in person terrifies me.

 

End of episode 1.