episode 17: defined
In here, the passage of time is impossible to measure.
Night and Emma have been sitting in the forest for minutes - but then again, it could be hours.
What’s weirder than the time freeze, though, is that the longer she stays here the less anxious Emma feels. When Night brought her here she was fuming, but now, that anger seems to have faded. So like, is this an enchanted forest? Or is it something to do with...him.
“I don’t know anything about you.” he says, unprompted. He knows this is a lie, but he wonders what she’ll say in response.
The dark forest darkens. It’s almost as if they have nowhere to be.
“Well uh, that sister I’m looking for...she’s sort of, the favorite. And it makes sense, so I’m not really mad. She’s the good one. I actually need her around, so that it doesn’t feel like everyone’s eyes are on me.”
Night nods.
“Do you mean that you aren’t good?” he asks.
“I guess it depends on who you ask. My friends would probably tell you I’m special. My uh...other relationships…”
Her mind wanders to Julian, and the plan they had to get away. It seems like so long ago that she planned to leave everything for him - almost like a distant memory. It’s interesting to her that she’s somehow ended up farther away than she ever could’ve predicted.
She returns to the non-Julian sitting in front of her. “Well no, I wouldn’t call myself good. And you?”
Night stares off into the darkness.
“I don’t think anyone is good or bad really.”
“Then why the hell did you ask me?” Emma asks, annoyed.
“I was interested to hear what you’d say.”
Emma scoffs to herself. “You think you can learn who a person is based on what they tell you? Sorry, but it’s the opposite. Everyone lies and no one knows themselves anyway so the lies don’t even matter.”
Emma seems to have given this idea some thought before.
“I think what people have to say about themselves says less about where they’ve already been, and more about where they might be going.” explains Night.
“Oh really? Are you a psychologist or something? Don’t answer that, I don’t even want to know. You freak me out.”
“You say you’re no good, and I think...I think that means that you don’t know your own potential...and that you’re setting a limit on yourself so you don’t have to find out.”
Emma opens her mouth to respond, but has nothing to say.
“So what are you, a psychologist?”
The two of them continue to sit in the forest, beginning to recognize more about what they have in common and some of what makes them different.
Emma breaks down the meaningful parts of her life for him. As a teenage girl, that basically consists of friends, family, school. She wonders why Night seems so interested in something that is, to her, so boring. Her face lights up when she talks about her friends. It darkens when she talks about Isabel.
She notices that he hardly moves. She notices that he seems like he knows how every story is going to end.
Night finds Emma to be confusing. He finds most people around him to be predictable - from his early childhood surrounded by other Inborns, to his high school classmates coming from different walks of life (both “real” and virtual). No matter the case, Night lives on his own planet far from the rest of humanity. Normally, he tunes everything out. So why is she any different?
He notices that Emma is shockingly unapologetic, yet senses her overwhelming guilt and insecurity. How can she be so confidently odd but seem to doubt her own worth?
And for that matter, why is that someone who loves her sister enough to chase her through different worlds...seems to not really know her sister at all?
Why is she a builder of computers and software, a creator of code, yet seems erratic with no laws binding her?
It’s her who breaks the connection first: “We should probably go, right?”
Sure, yeah, probably. He nods. They rise.
And yet, he continues to wonder: why is it that when he speaks, her eyes burn deep into him? In this forest, always dark and quiet for as long as he can remember, those fierce eyes are like sun.
* * *
6 MONTHS EARLIER:
Night can barely keep his head up in class. The long nights of aimlessly staring into the internet have made him almost nocturnal. Which is why it would be really unfortunate if--
“Night, what was your response?”
Shit.
Of course Teacher calls on him. He definitely hasn’t been paying attention to whatever’s been going on, so...his response is:
“I don’t have one.”
Some of his classmates laugh. Others roll their eyes, unamused--this kid’s vacancy was funny the first five times and now it’s just tiresome.
Teacher is among the unamused.
“Well see if you can think of one by the end of the period, and you can tell me after class.”
More laughter. Night groans and returns his head to the cold metal of his desk. Wait, what was the question again?
The vibration of his desk stirs his consciousness - the slight humming motion that lets everyone know when class is over. Those around him rise up and head for the door. A few students give him a pitying look, but most don’t really see him. This, he’s used to.
Teacher shuts the door behind them. She sighs.
“You already know what I’m going to say. And I already know what you’re going to say.”
“Then why did you keep me here? I--” Night responds.
“--You’re going to try to convince me that this is the best you can do. When I am quite confident that is not the case.”
“I just don’t care. And I don’t mean disrespect by it.” Night is unable to articulate himself in a way that’s not offensive, but again, that’s nothing new.
“I understand you Night. And I want to move forward instead of dwelling on the past. Have you made progress on your research assignment?”
Night pauses.
“That’s ok, I’m going to guess that you haven’t started. But you still have a week. You can do something brilliant, I know you can. If you used all of your mind, Night…”
He wonders what she’ll say, but she doesn’t finish.
“I want to believe in you, so help me to do so. You need to improve if you want to get on the right track...if you want to be building at the level that I know you’re capable of...well, some people aren’t so lucky when they graduate, and some are. I hope you’re among the lucky.”
She offers a smile. He wonders if she gives this speech to everyone.
* * *
“I’ma go ahead and take a night shower, cuz I gotta get up early and do school service. Don’t ask bro, I don’t wanna talk about it.” Sugar says as he heads into their bathroom.
Night just nods.
“Uh, aren’t you gonna ask me about it?” Sugar asks.
“You just said you didn’t want me to.”
“Yeah but you always up in my business anyway. What’s up with you? You know what, I don’t wanna know.” Sugar closes the bathroom door, and then calls from inside, “but you can tell me if you want to.”
Night boots up his computer. Maybe it’s time to start that research paper. Or to at least read the assignment description, because he honestly has no idea what’s supposedly due next week.
Ok, huh. Doesn’t seem to be the normal kind of research paper...it seems like, they’re actually expected to...make their own research. As in, find something new. Well shit. One week is going to be difficult.
Night is incredibly smart, and had this been a typical “find the history of blah blah blah”, this wouldn’t be a problem. But now he’ll need to think.
So he thinks.
And thinks.
And...gets sick of thinking.
He finds it interesting that there are young people like him all over the world doing the same exact assignments every night, yet everyone is alone and working independently. Maybe everyone is struggling to care like he is.
People should really band together and overpower the system that requires “research papers.” What a useless skill, honestly.
Night begins to search through forums on information and research sharing, diving deeper and deeper. There are certainly others out there looking for the same shortcuts.
It’s under an obscure reddit forum that he finds a question and answer about some...anonymous genius who writes papers. It’s expensive, but supposedly vouched for.
Huh.
Who could this ghostwriter be? They sound useful.
Night follows the virtual bread crumb trailer just a bit farther. He soon finds the ghostwriter’s well-disguised website, and drafts an email of inquiry. He sends the assignment prompt and notes that price is not an issue, only time.
Nothing more he can do now. He might as well troll around for another few hours before sleeping for two, and then maybe he’ll wake up to a response before class.
*ping*
Surprisingly, he doesn’t have to wait that long. Someone out there stays awake just as late as he does.