Free First Blood by S. Cedric

Parme. For twenty minutes he has been droning on in his unbearably high voice, providing the same information that is in the book he wrote.
    His voice does go with his body. He is as thin as an ascetic, with his sparse gray hair tied in a ponytail. Mr. Parme has a unique sense of style and wears a bright red jacket despite the overwhelming heat. The flashy red looks like a stain of jam on his porcelain-colored shirt. Madeleine thinks he resembles a declining actor or a dance hall singer. He just needs a retro microphone and a scarlet backdrop.
    Madeleine hears almost nothing of the professor’s lecture. It is her first day, and she is taking in all the details around her. She is fresh from her countryside home. In other words, she is finally free. The frontier ahead of her is virgin and exhilarating. She would listen to Mr. Parme’s annoying voice another day.
    For now, she is more interested in her classmates and how improbable the people around her look. Some have dreadlocks, while others have punk Mohawks. Some students from the provinces are wearing gray suits. She never saw so many different kinds of people in her native Aveyron, where dying your hair red was an extreme act of rebellion. Never has she been in such a mixed crowd and seen such diversity.
    She glances at the pimply-faced boy in the Star Wars T-shirt a few rows in front of her. One row down, there are two bleached-blond girls, one wearing a bright-green sweater, the other a canary-yellow jacket with shoulder pads. They are chattering loudly like energized birds. A neighbor asks them to quiet down. The two blonds insult her. Finally, the complainer gives up and moves away. The two girls fascinate Madeleine. They are so self-assured, so happy and inconsiderate, character traits she thinks she will never have.
    But that is not the most interesting thing. No, not at all.
    Madeleine has spotted a boy she likes—a lot.
    He is sitting in the middle of the lecture hall. He is tall, slender, and magnificent. His skin is a coppery black that contrasts with the aspirin-colored pallor of the heavyset red-haired girl next to him. She is spilling out of a pink T-shirt that is a few sizes too small. She has been fanning herself since the beginning of the class.
    The boy’s braids are tied together and hanging down a T-shirt covering his muscular back. He does not seem to be listening to the teacher either. He is not taking notes, but is instead engrossed in a thick book.
    Madeleine wrinkles her nose and coughs. The odor of pot floats in the air. That idiot with the Star Wars T-shirt has lit up a joint. The students around him both chuckle and complain, but nobody can keep him from smoking. The professor keeps cheeping over the microphone as if nothing is going on. He is explaining how serious work is important in his class. He is expecting everyone to attend regularly.
    The boy with the braids continues to read his book.
    And the bell rings. Finally. It is the end of her first mythology class, which she hasn’t listened to. The students get up in joyful chaos and follow each other down the stairs in an animated flow. They leave the lecture hall through the doors on either side of the room.
    Madeleine also gathers her things but takes her time. While the others make their way around her, she arranges her books neatly in her bag and closes her pencil case. Then she snaps her bag closed and swings the strap over her shoulder.
    She stands up, her eyes on the boy.
    She wants to know where he is going. Would he be going to the cafeteria, where so many students head at the end of the day? Or would he go to the library, to another class, or maybe even home?
    He does not do any of those things.
    He remains seated in the middle of the lecture hall, his nose in his book. The curve of his bicep bulges when he turns the pages.
    The fat, sweaty red-haired girl is yelling that he is in the way. She needs to get past him. He sighs but does not bother to look at her. He is absorbed in