The First Farewells

It’s finally happening:  it’s time to say goodbye to Salem, and my kids are beginning that process.  I started it last night, but I didn’t get very far, mostly due to chatting with a friend for close to four hours about what’s happening this coming Monday, and showing off my new work shoe collection–yep, just like all the other girls, I am–I hit close to five hundred words.  Not much, but it’s a start.  And I was up at five-fifteen today, before starting this post, to add a few hundred more words here.  With that said the scene is right around seven hundred and fifty words in and there will be a lot more before it’s finished.

More scene, and maybe a few tears along the way.

What would you know, Ned?  You got your head chopped off.

What would you know, Ned? You got your head chopped off.

I’ll be leaving the apartment in about an hour, which means I need to get ready for my drive north to meet with a friend.  (It’s six twenty-eight in the morning as I write this, in case you’re wondering.)  With that in mind, I give you the scene, in toto, up to this point.

 

All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

Annie looked about her room before sitting on the edge of her bed. She started out the window into the garden beyond, then allowed her gaze to flit from place to place. She examined her wardrobe, then her dressing table and the jewelery case she’s brought with her and was leaving behind to be moved to her new B Level room along with the painting she did for Ostera currently hanging over the head of her bed.

She ran her hand over the comforter, taking in the softness. Annie also asked for this and her sheets to be moved to her next room as well. It was silly to think that a new set wouldn’t be any different than this set, but she’s grown comfortable with this set, and she didn’t want to loose it. And she’d found out that Kerry was doing the same: he’d said that he loved how it kept him warm on even the coldest night, and he wanted that for next year as well.

Annie stood and examined her luggage one last time before grabbing her purse and slung the strap over her left shoulder. She did one last slow pirouette, taking in everything with perfect clarity. She finally faced the door and sighed. “Goodbye—” She nodded twice. “It was good here.”

She headed out of the room and into the hallway, gently closing the door behind her. The hall was empty and silent, which she expected since most of the tower was now empty. The East Asian and Oceanic A and B Level kids departed about twenty-three hours last night, and the North and South American children had been filing out throughout the morning. Annie would be in the last groups leaving: those heading to Europe and Africa would leave the school this afternoon and depart tomorrow in separate flights after spending the night in Boston.

Annie didn’t have to fly back: as a Legacy she could leave this morning with one of the instructors, or even have her mother jaunt over and take her home. But she didn’t pick either of those options. Her choice for going home was simple . . .

She rounded the corner leading to the open area in front of the bathroom entrances and almost ran Kerry over as he nearly did the same. They both caught themselves, half-wrapping their arms around each other before there was an accident. “Sorry.” Annie looked down and smiled. “I didn’t see you.”

“I didn’t see you, either.” Kerry relaxed his embrace, but he didn’t let her go.

“I was coming to see you.”

“I was coming to see you.”

Annie tightened her embrace around Kerry’s arms. “You must be packed.”

“I am.” Kerry let himself get pulled closer to Annie. “Everything I want to send home in one spot, and the stuff to get moved labeled.”

“Painting and comforter?”

“Yep.”

“And you have your broom in your backpack?”

He chuckled. Over the last few weeks Nadine had taught both Annie and Kerry how to Hammerspace their brooms, and as they had done with everything else this last school year, they mastered it quickly. While Annie didn’t expect to have need of this to hide a broom, or something larger, on her person, Kerry said he’d use it so he could take his PAV home and do some flying during the summer holiday. The joke between them was that since he took his backpack everywhere, he was keeping his broom packed there. “Yes, I have it sitting in my backpack—right next to my computer.”

“At least you’ll always have it handy.” Annie wasn’t worried about Kerry flying once he was home. On their trip the weekend before he proved he could stay hidden an travel a few hundred kilometers without getting lost, and Vicky had already confirmed with local Foundation authorities in Wales that they might track him out and about some days.

They pulled each other tight and silently took in their surroundings. Nearly a minute passed while they stood quietly and looked about the empty first floor. Kerry was the first to speak. “I’m going to miss this place.”

Annie leaned against him. “I will, too. We grew up here, this last year.”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his left arm around her waist. “So much we learned.”

“Not just magic, either.” She kissed his cheek. “So much about ourselves, too.”

He kissed her back. “Yep.” Kerry hugged her against his body. “I really don’t want to go.”

 

You sounds like The Doctor there, Kerry, and considering he said, “I don’t want to go” on 1 January, 2010, you can rip off his quote, kid.  Or should I say, I can rip off his quote?

As a quick aside, today, 31 January, is Inspire Your Heard With Art Day.  I know where my inspiration to write about my kids derives from; perhaps you’ll read this and find inspiration for your heart as well.