Free Pile of Bones by Bailey Cunningham Page A

that pilsner gives you unholy gas.”
    “And that was true.”
    “I’m going to open all of the windows,” Andrew said.
    “Good idea,” Shelby replied. “While you’re up, can you put the Brie in the oven?”
    “You brought Brie?”
    “It’s amazing with Triscuits. Which I also brought. No thanks necessary.”
    I could start a fire in the oven,
he thought idly, while unwrapping the soft cheese.
I can see the headline now: Promising grad students maimed by Brie.
    When he returned, Carl and Shelby were mired in their favorite debate: whose discipline was clearly better.
    “History deals with things that exist,” Carl was saying, “or at least things that used to exist: fortifications, weaponry, governments. English is totally subjective.”
    “You sound like these essays.”
    “Historians actually have to dig around in the dirt.”
    “When’s the last time you were near dirt?”
    “I’m more of an archivist.”
    “Literature has to be read within its historical context. I’m as much of an archivist as you—I just don’t use an indecipherable method of notation.”
    “There’s nothing wrong with Chicago style!”
    “Are you kidding me?”
    Carl looked up. “Andrew, what do you think?”
    “I think that none of us are getting jobs, so it doesn’t matter.”
    “I can’t believe you just went there.”
    He sat down. “I’ve been thinking—”
    “Don’t become a librarian,” Shelby interrupted him. “I know it seems like the greatest job in the world, but the competition is just as fierce.”
    “That’s not it.” Andrew blinked. Some of the fuzzinesshad vanished, and he could remember more about the previous night. “I’m still thinking about the fibula.”
    Carl stared at him, still holding a Funyun. “Dude. No parking.”
    “We’re not in public. This is my house.”
    “He has a point,” Shelby said. “The rule of anachronism cuts both ways. Talking about work or school when you’re in Anfractus weakens the power of the city. Parking, when you’re not actually in the park, weakens the fabric of our lives here.”
    “Maybe it brings us closer to being citizens.”
    Shelby gave him a look. “Is that what you want?”
    “I don’t know. It seems more interesting than marking forty-five versions of the same essay. In Anfractus, things are different. We have a quest—not some job that barely lets us break even, but a real quest, for the first time ever.”
    “You don’t just become a citizen,” Carl said. “It’s not like applying for a student loan. Once you cross that line, your life here is over. Anfractus claims you.”
    “A person could do it gradually, at first.”
    “What would you tell your dad?
I’m going to live in a made-up city?
”
    “At least finish your thesis,” Shelby said, only half-joking.
    “I just—” Andrew stared at the carpet. “Sometimes I don’t know why I’m doing this anymore. Going to class, spending hours in the library, trying to write something original when I know that my ideas aren’t impressing anyone. When I’m in the park, I have a purpose. Lares talk to me. Things actually happen.”
    Carl touched his shoulder. “You’re just in a funk, man. Besides—none of us has the resources to become a citizen. We wouldn’t survive the night.”
    “Speak for yourself,” Shelby replied. “I’ve spent nights in the city before.”
    “Right.” Carl took a sip of beer. “In the arx, surrounded by sagittarii.”
    “There’s no place that isn’t dangerous at night.”
    “The Arx is impregnable.”
    “That’s not historically—”
    “The Brie’s ready.” Andrew rose. “I’ll be right back.”
    He lingered in the kitchen, spreading warm cheese on Triscuits, listening to them debate who would die first once the sun went down. He poured himself a glass of wine. It would clash with the coffee, but he didn’t care. He needed a distraction, something to keep him in this world, rather than endlessly wondering about the