“You know, Chelsea, just because someone’s from Scotland—” Ryan began.
“Oh, hush,” chided Chelsea. “Tam was just going to tell us about how faerie enemies can suddenly become immune to magic that has worked on them for centuries.”
“Er . . . ,” Tamani said. “Actually, I have no idea.”
“Good answer!” said Ryan, holding up one hand for a high five. When Tamani stared blankly, Ryan dropped his hand back to the table. “Seriously, if you let her suck you into her faerie world you’ll never escape. I swear, sometimes it’s like she thinks faeries are real. You should see her room.”
That remark earned him an icy glare from Chelsea. “Guess who won’t be seeing my room for a while?”
“So,” Laurel cut in, eager to change the subject. “What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Grandparents’ house,” said David.
“Grandma’s house,” said Chelsea, nodding. “At least she’s local.”
“Dad’s family is coming up,” said Ryan.
They all looked at Tamani, and Laurel realized she had put him on the spot.
Whoops.
“It’s not really something we celebrate,” Tamani said smoothly. “I’ll probably just lie about.”
“You want to come to Thanksgiving at my place?” Laurel asked, catching Tamani before he got out the front doors. He’d been avoiding her the last couple of days and she wasn’t really sure why.
He stiffened. “Really?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Laurel said, trying to make the invitation sound decidedly casual. “We’re not having anybody else over. Yuki’s gone. You’re going to be hanging around in my backyard anyway, I assume,” she said, forcing a chuckle.
But Tamani still looked concerned. “I don’t know. Your parents are going to be there, right?”
“Yeah, so? They know who you are.” She leaned forward, raising her eyebrows now. “And they know all about the kitchen floor.”
Tamani groaned. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“No sweat,” Laurel said with a smile.
He worried his bottom lip for a minute before saying, “It just feels weird. You know, your parents, these humans who raised you. It’s just kind of awkward.”
“Awkward because they’re my parents, or because they’re human?” Tamani didn’t answer right away and Laurel reached over to poke his arm. “Come on,” she said. “’Fess.”
“Both. Okay, because they are your human parents. It’s just, you shouldn’t have human parents. You shouldn’t have parents at all.”
“Well, you better get used to it, because my parents aren’t going anywhere.”
“No, but . . . you are,” Tamani said hesitantly. “I mean, eventually. Right?”
“I certainly don’t intend to be one of those forty-year-olds who still live with Mom and Dad, no,” Laurel said, avoiding Tamani’s real question.
“Sure, but . . . you are coming back to Avalon, aren’t you?”
It was a little harder to avoid when he asked her straight out. She looked down at her hands for a few seconds. “Why are you asking me this now?”
Tamani shrugged. “I’ve wanted to ask for a while. It just seems like all this human stuff is getting more and more important to you. I hope you aren’t forgetting where you . . . belong.”
“I don’t know if that is where I belong,” she said honestly.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel said firmly. “I haven’t decided.”
“What else would you do?”
“I think maybe I want to go to college.” It was strange to say it out loud. She had kind of expected that, without David pushing her to stay in the human world, she would gravitate toward Avalon. But breaking up with David hadn’t made up her mind about college, which had forced her to reconsider the possibility that she might want to go, not just for David or her parents, but for herself.
“But why? They can’t teach anything at college that would be useful to you.”
“No,” Laurel countered, “they can’t teach me anything in college that you think would be useful to you. I’m not you, Tamani.”
“But really? More school? That’s what you want to do?”
“Maybe.”
“Because I gotta tell you, sitting through all my classes is by far the worst part of my day. I don’t know how you could want more of that. I hate it.”
“That’s basically what I do in Avalon, too. No matter where I go, there’s school.”
“But in Avalon you’d be learning stuff that’s useful. Square root of a cosine? How is that ever going to be useful?”
Laurel laughed. “I’m sure it’s useful for someone.” She paused. “But I won’t be majoring in math or anything. Besides, I think anything you learn can help you.”
“Yeah, but . . .” He closed his mouth suddenly and Laurel was glad he wasn’t going to drag her back into that circular argument. “I just don’t understand. This human obsession with schooling, it doesn’t interest me. I mean, humans interest me. You interest me. Even your”—he hesitated—“family interests me. Strange though they are,” he added with a smile.
“Oh, hush,” chided Chelsea. “Tam was just going to tell us about how faerie enemies can suddenly become immune to magic that has worked on them for centuries.”
“Er . . . ,” Tamani said. “Actually, I have no idea.”
“Good answer!” said Ryan, holding up one hand for a high five. When Tamani stared blankly, Ryan dropped his hand back to the table. “Seriously, if you let her suck you into her faerie world you’ll never escape. I swear, sometimes it’s like she thinks faeries are real. You should see her room.”
That remark earned him an icy glare from Chelsea. “Guess who won’t be seeing my room for a while?”
“So,” Laurel cut in, eager to change the subject. “What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Grandparents’ house,” said David.
“Grandma’s house,” said Chelsea, nodding. “At least she’s local.”
“Dad’s family is coming up,” said Ryan.
They all looked at Tamani, and Laurel realized she had put him on the spot.
Whoops.
“It’s not really something we celebrate,” Tamani said smoothly. “I’ll probably just lie about.”
“You want to come to Thanksgiving at my place?” Laurel asked, catching Tamani before he got out the front doors. He’d been avoiding her the last couple of days and she wasn’t really sure why.
He stiffened. “Really?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Laurel said, trying to make the invitation sound decidedly casual. “We’re not having anybody else over. Yuki’s gone. You’re going to be hanging around in my backyard anyway, I assume,” she said, forcing a chuckle.
But Tamani still looked concerned. “I don’t know. Your parents are going to be there, right?”
“Yeah, so? They know who you are.” She leaned forward, raising her eyebrows now. “And they know all about the kitchen floor.”
Tamani groaned. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“No sweat,” Laurel said with a smile.
He worried his bottom lip for a minute before saying, “It just feels weird. You know, your parents, these humans who raised you. It’s just kind of awkward.”
“Awkward because they’re my parents, or because they’re human?” Tamani didn’t answer right away and Laurel reached over to poke his arm. “Come on,” she said. “’Fess.”
“Both. Okay, because they are your human parents. It’s just, you shouldn’t have human parents. You shouldn’t have parents at all.”
“Well, you better get used to it, because my parents aren’t going anywhere.”
“No, but . . . you are,” Tamani said hesitantly. “I mean, eventually. Right?”
“I certainly don’t intend to be one of those forty-year-olds who still live with Mom and Dad, no,” Laurel said, avoiding Tamani’s real question.
“Sure, but . . . you are coming back to Avalon, aren’t you?”
It was a little harder to avoid when he asked her straight out. She looked down at her hands for a few seconds. “Why are you asking me this now?”
Tamani shrugged. “I’ve wanted to ask for a while. It just seems like all this human stuff is getting more and more important to you. I hope you aren’t forgetting where you . . . belong.”
“I don’t know if that is where I belong,” she said honestly.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel said firmly. “I haven’t decided.”
“What else would you do?”
“I think maybe I want to go to college.” It was strange to say it out loud. She had kind of expected that, without David pushing her to stay in the human world, she would gravitate toward Avalon. But breaking up with David hadn’t made up her mind about college, which had forced her to reconsider the possibility that she might want to go, not just for David or her parents, but for herself.
“But why? They can’t teach anything at college that would be useful to you.”
“No,” Laurel countered, “they can’t teach me anything in college that you think would be useful to you. I’m not you, Tamani.”
“But really? More school? That’s what you want to do?”
“Maybe.”
“Because I gotta tell you, sitting through all my classes is by far the worst part of my day. I don’t know how you could want more of that. I hate it.”
“That’s basically what I do in Avalon, too. No matter where I go, there’s school.”
“But in Avalon you’d be learning stuff that’s useful. Square root of a cosine? How is that ever going to be useful?”
Laurel laughed. “I’m sure it’s useful for someone.” She paused. “But I won’t be majoring in math or anything. Besides, I think anything you learn can help you.”
“Yeah, but . . .” He closed his mouth suddenly and Laurel was glad he wasn’t going to drag her back into that circular argument. “I just don’t understand. This human obsession with schooling, it doesn’t interest me. I mean, humans interest me. You interest me. Even your”—he hesitated—“family interests me. Strange though they are,” he added with a smile.
