Free This Isn't What It Looks Like by Pseudonymous Bosch

know, to teach proper social decorum and so on and so forth. But in my case you could say it was a
starting
school as well. I feel they really brought me to life.”
    Max-Ernest couldn’t disagree. Although he wasn’t sure that he didn’t prefer the old, nonliving Benjamin.
    “May I sit down?”
    Max-Ernest nodded and Benjamin took Cass’s seat. (It was very likely the first time in the history of the Nuts Table that
     somebody had asked permission before sitting.)
    Max-Ernest tried to think of something to say to the old-friend-now-stranger in front of him. “So… are you going to enter
     a painting in Renaissance Masters this year?”
    Renaissance Masters was the name of a student art competition held in conjunction with the Renaissance Faire. Benjamin Blake
     had won the year he’d entered it.
    “No, I don’t paint anymore.”
    “Really?”
    Max-Ernest was surprised. In the past, apart from being a prizewinning artist, Benjamin had loved painting. Painting was almost
     the only way he could communicate with the outside world.
    “Oh, art is a childish pursuit, don’t you think? Unless you’re a truly great artist, I mean. If you’re not going to be Michelangelo
     or Raphael, what’s the point? I detest mediocrity.”
    “Yeah, me, too,” said Max-Ernest reflexively. Then he thought about it for a moment. “Except how do you know if you’re going
     to be great at something if you don’t try? Michelangelo didn’t know he was going to be Michelangelo until he was… Michelangelo.
     How ’bout that?”
    Benjamin smiled witheringly. “So encouraging! So wise! You sound like one of my poor little parents.”
    Max-Ernest blushed. He had to admit, it did sound like something a parent would say. “Anyway, some people thought you were
     great.”
    “Sure, compared to most kids. But my destiny lies elsewhere.” Benjamin held his monocle to the light and peered into it for
     a moment, as if his destiny might lie inside it.
    Max-Ernest noticed that there were two lenses, one on top of the other. That was why the monocle had bulged slightly out of
     Benjamin’s eye socket. “Wow, I’ve never seen a monocle like that. It’s like a visual oxymoron. You know, because
mono
means
one
but it’s got
two
lenses. Actually, you could say it’sa
visual
visual oxymoron. You
see
the contradiction in terms, so it’s visual in that sense. But it’s also visual in the sense that you look through it. How
     ’bout that?”
    “Huh. I never thought about it that way,” said Benjamin, quickly bringing it back up to his eye.
    “Does the second lens make it stronger or something?”
    “Something like that… Now, on to serious matters. How is our friend Cassandra? I am so concerned about her. She’s still in
     the hospital, I take it?”
    Max-Ernest frowned. “How did you know she was in the hospital?” he whispered. He looked over at Daniel-not-Danielle and Glob,
     making it clear that they weren’t meant to be included in the conversation. They turned away (but somehow I doubt they stopped
     listening).
    “I thought everybody did. I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret.”
    Max-Ernest regarded his old/new schoolmate with alarm. If an outsider like Benjamin knew about Cass, then anybody might. Even
     the Midnight Sun. Max-Ernest wasn’t sure what they would do with the information—kidnap Cass from the hospital? poison her
     IV?—but he didn’t want to wait to find out.
    His mission was more urgent than ever.
    “Anyway, don’t tell anyone else—she wouldn’t want people to talk about it,” he said. “And don’t worry about her—she’ll be
     OK soon.”
    “I hope so! My goodness, what would happen to all the disasters in the world if our dear Cass wasn’t around to predict them?”
    Max-Ernest nodded his assent. Although his powers of sarcasm detection had improved greatly over the last couple of years,
     if there was any sarcasm in Benjamin’s voice—and I’m not saying there was—it was