We all were different, perhaps I was the oldest with nineteen years of age. Some looked as young as eight while others were obviously enduring their puberty. I recognised varying hair and skin shades, though no one was as pale as me or had my Southern slit-eyes. Still, we all had one thing in common: The long wait for lunch-break.
For me, there was nothing to wait for since I didn’t take any food with me and convinced myself to not feel any hunger.
Claire, on the other hand, jiggled, excited and ready to storm out of the room. She drummed with her hands on the table.
Usually, I had waited until everyone else left the room before I would sip tea and read something new that I had found at the black market. This time, I didn’t have a book but would stay in the heated room nonetheless. I was used to being alone with my restless thoughts. The others were free to go wild outside.
After the bell rang, my classmates sprinted out, as expected, while Claire didn’t move.
Instead, she took a box out of her bag. When she opened the lid, she giggled. It was filled with strawberries, not what I imagined a lunch to be. She spread a fine cloth on my part of the desk and put the biggest berry on top of it.
“Want one?” she asked. “They’re ours. I mean, from our greenhouse.”
With a slight smile, she nodded approvingly to which I replied with an equal smile, though I wasn’t very skilled at it.
I held the berry, admired its glossy texture. She watched me, invading my comfort zone and got one for herself. Careful but determined, she grabbed my hand and guided it towards my mouth. We bit into the pulp at the same time. After a few bites I was finished while Claire chewed hers whole, and before she gulped it down, she introduced herself to me once more.
"What's your name again?" she asked.
"Verra. Verra Volkov."
"Then I am Claire. Claire Di Centi." When she spoke, pieces of strawberry tried to flee from her mouth but she caught them in time. “It’s my first semester.”
A few strands of hair got stuck on her lips. They were as red as the berries and made me curious if their taste was as sweet as them, too.
What am I thinking?
“Besides that, I’ve got hair in my mouth.” She laughed with closed lips. “I think I ate one.” And that made me laugh as well.
Shortly after, Claire grabbed another cloth out of her bag, since I failed to uphold our conversation, and sprayed liquid on it. Waves of lavender spread through the rows when she pressed it onto her face. She removed her blouse and revealed a laced top without minding my looks. No, she enjoyed them.
“Feels great,” she giggled, touching up her chest.
I followed her hand with my eyes.
“Won’t your gloves get wet?”
“I’m not taking them off,” she said in a harsher tone. “I mean, excuse me, I don’t mind. I can sniff them when I feel not so great.”
She redeemed herself for her rude answer by placing one berry after another on my table. I let my guard down, too easily, and was glad to be stuck in her system.
The moon-face kindly told me about their greenhouse. Various kinds of plants, vegetables, and more berries than I knew existed would grow there. She was proudest of the herbs. The passion for plants had been inherited to her by her mother, but she stiffened, mentioning her. I suspected Claire to be a real Mage and hoped that one day I could ask for those herbs and include them in my practices. Hopefully, she would share her studies with me.
Her face lit up when she reported the size of her lavender stock.
“Lavender is my favourite,” I said, and knew that was a lie but couldn’t figure out what made me do it.
“There should be more, and there will. One day, I’ll get rid of mother’s roses,” she mumbled.
They overgrew their yard, she explained, since her father ordered to never cut them back.
Also, she taught me how she prepared the lavender water, or alcohol, as it was the main ingredient.
I grinned from ear to ear and enjoyed listening to her knowledge of spirits and wines while nodding my head.
After the sweetness of strawberries wore off, I realised I was acting differently. She brought up parts of me I couldn’t call my own. My mind slipped from my control. I was uncertain and didn’t want to wrongfully accuse her, but the alcohol in my throat approved my theory.
“Quite weak,” I said raising one corner of my mouth, “your potion.”
I didn’t expect to get poisoned on my first day. Not by her, who looked fairly innocent. Nonetheless, I was positively surprised. I knew it would be only a matter of time until I encountered more magic. I caught the moon-face in the act, but she didn’t react as I expected. Instead, she changed the topic.
“I imagined your voice to be different,” she said, and I knew that compared to her tweeting I sounded like a man. Harriet’s clothes didn’t serve the situation.
Claire scratched her head. “Excuse me, I mean, it’s great. It’s true.”
With another strawberry she made me a peace offering to which I burst out in laughter, amused by her boldness. I liked her bravery and thought, that despite our obvious differences we could have much more in common.
Curious about her potion, I asked her about the studies she did to which she confessed that she didn’t do any and I proposed to study it together.
“You should’ve picked alchemy instead of spellwork,” she giggled, “if you like potions so much.”
“Alchemy? So, that’s what it’s called.” I dropped back, baffled. “How do you know about my courses?”
“Practically speaking, you reside on my property, I have to know. Who picks spellwork anyway? Don’t you know who’s teaching it?”
“Camilla Rose?” I asked, hoping she would tell me the
