Sarah and I walk hand in hand back to my dorm room.  Her touch is magical—her lingering touch on my mind, yes, I’m forced to grudgingly admit to myself, but more so her physical touch.  It fills me with warmth and silliness and butterflies.  I swear it makes colors brighter.

“Whatchya thinking about?” she asks as we walk.

“You’ll laugh at me.”

“I might laugh with you, but I doubt I’ll laugh at you.”

“No!” I protest melodramatically.

She raises her eyebrows.  “Okay,” she says calmly.  We walk a few more seconds in silence.

“You never push,” I whisper.

“What?”

“You almost never push when I don’t want to talk about something, and the few times that you have, I did want to say something—or needed to—but was too nervous.  You just seem to know, somehow, which is which.”

“Oh.  Is that what you were thinking about?”

“No, but I didn’t want to tell you what I was thinking about and you just let the matter drop.”

“Yeah,” she says, eyes downcast.  “I learned that lesson the hard way.”  I unlock the door to Nash and we head inside and up the stairs.  “I’ve lost relationships—friendships and girlfriends—by pushing.”

“Well, I appreciate your gentleness.”  Sarah smiles awkwardly.  She struggles accepting compliments, especially when she doesn’t believe them about herself.  “No, really.  You’re safe to be with.  I know we’ve discussed this before, but it still takes me by surprise whenever you let me have secrets or process in silence.”

“I just do what I’d want someone to do for me.”  She says it as if it's obvious.

“It’s that simple to you, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much,” she says.  “It confuses me that it’s not for everyone.  I’m not saying it’s always easy, especially when I’m frustrated or upset, but I don’t understand why it seems like a foreign concept to a lot of people.  It’s called ‘The Golden Rule’ for crying out loud.”

“I don’t think it’s foreign to most people,” I say.  “They’d likely say it’s too simplistic.”

“That’s fair.  Yeah, it’s not like they’ve never heard of it, more like they think it’s naïve or immature.”

We get to my room.  Sarah rests her laptop case against the leg of my absentee roomie’s desk, then shrugs off her jacket and drapes it across the back of the chair.  I do likewise with my jacket and scarf then take a seat on my bed, back against the wall.  I pat my lap, and Sarah lies down beside me, using my thighs as a pillow.  She coos as I run my fingers through her dirty blonde hair.  It’s so soft.  She swears all she uses is shampoo and inexpensive conditioner, but I suspect foul play: a trade with a demon or hag.  Witchcraft at the very least.

“I was thinking before,” I say, “that holding your hand is like Biochromatic Breath.”  It’s a reference to Warbreaker, a Sanderson novel, that I know she’ll immediately understand.

“Oh?  Do I grant you perfect pitch?” she teases.

“No, but colors seem brighter.”

She chuckles.  “That’s sweet.”  She hesitates then rolls onto her back to stare up at me.  “I feel like I should return the compliment, but my brain is far too literal for that, and you know how I feel about lying.  So instead, I’ll simply say that holding your hand is one of my favorite experiences and that it’s just as thrilling now as it was the first time.”

I gently rub the rim of her ear and watch with satisfaction as her eyes roll back in her head.  “It’s really unfair,” she says when I at last permit her to think again, “that you can do that to me.”

“Call it revenge for making me enjoy being a bimbo.”  I truly hate how good it felt, both while it happened and just now at lunch.

She chuckles.  “It’s like my brain has an off switch.  You could win any argument you wanted to just by rubbing my ear.”

“Oh?  Like this?” I tease, once more forcing the thoughts from her mind.  Sarah squirms, arching her back and pressing her head heavier into my legs and belly.  I relent after a few seconds then wait for lucidity to return to her eyes.  “So what do you call it when I whisper warm breath into your ear?”

“I call it cheating.  Recovering from that treatment requires a full reboot of the operating system.”

“I know!  It’s the best.”

“It’s cheating!” she repeats with a scowl and a broad grin.

“I am your mistress,” I say loftily, giving her a boop on the nose.  “I am allowed to cheat.”

“Yes, Mistress,” she says, chuckling.

Our time is too short on Wednesdays due to her lab, and shortly thereafter, I shove her out my door with an affectionate pat to her butt.

I’ve got about ninety minutes before my physics class and about an hour of homework to do before then if I want my evening to be free to hang out with Gabi and Sarah after dinner.  That gives me thirty minutes to procrastinate!

I pull out my phone and text Claire.

Beatrix
Hey, Baby Girl.  What would you think if Sarah spent the summer living with us?

 

Baby Sis
Hey.  She seems cool, so I’d probably be fine with it.  Why, tho?

 

Beatrix
Her parents are transphobic.  I guess last summer was awful and that was before becoming accustomed to having a feminine body

I was thinking I’d ask Mum and Dad if they’d let her live with us

 

Baby Sis
I think they’d let her, especially if you explain why

 

Beatrix
Me too.  Thing is, I worry we won’t have as much opportunity to refill my battery if you know what I’m on about, so I might not be able to keep her body transformed the whole time

 

Baby Sis
Oh, yeah.  That could get awkward.  Either you could get caught dominating her or she’ll look feminine sometimes and masculine others.  What do you plan to do?

 

Beatrix
I was thinking, er, maybe we should tell them about our ability?  We don’t necessarily need to tell them the details of how it works, just that we can do something other people can’t

 

What do you think?

Baby Sis
I guess there’s really no other way, huh?

 

Beatrix
None that I can think of

 

How do you think they’ll react?

 

Baby Sis
Probably freaked.  Good luck with that!  😝

 

Beatrix
Har har.  Very funny.

 

Does tonight work?  I figure I’ll just teleport there since we’ll be explaining our ability anyway

 

Baby Sis
I guess.  It’s probably for the best.  It’ll be nice for it not to be a secret anymore

 

Beatrix
Yeah… okay, thank you so much for doing this!  It really does mean a lot to me, and I know it will to Sarah, too.  I’ll be there around 4:30, k?

 

Baby Sis
See ya then

That done, I text Sarah and Gabi to let them know I’ll be later than normal and that I might miss dinner.  Then I pull out my maths homework and get to work.

After a semi-stimulating lecture on electric current, I leave the CF lecture hall and head to the toilets.  I enter a stall and wait for the one other gal in the room to wash her hands and leave.  Then, I open the stall’s door a crack and Speak myself to my room back home.

A second later, I hear a loud crash from Claire’s room followed by an impressive string of curses.  “God’s third tit and lemon juiced paper-cuts on a Hot Pocket!”  Truly elegant stuff.

I knock on the door on her side of our shared bathroom.  “You okay in there?” I ask, opening the door without waiting for an answer.

Claire is on the ground beside a toppled computer chair and surrounded by books that clearly fell from a high shelf on the wall.  “Never better,” she spits, though I know her mannerisms well enough to know her ire is directed at the chair and not me.  “Damned twatwhistle,” she says, still on the floor, then kicks the offending furniture.  Then she winces and I wince in sympathy.  “Never trust a chair,” she continues darkly as I help her to her feet.  She hops on one foot—the one that hadn’t kicked the chair—a couple times.  “They’ll betray you at the first opportunity.”

“Sage wisdom,” I say with mock solemnity.  I right the chair, then Speak, “These books are on the shelf.”

“Show-off,” Claire says bitterly.  She points at a book.  “I still need that one.”

“I’ll hold the evil chair still for you if you don’t want to just Speak the book down, yourself.”

“Thanks,” she grumbles, stepping up on the treacherous furniture.

“I’m guessing your battery is empty?” I ask.

“Pretty much always.  I can Speak like two or three times a day and only for small things.  I hope you don’t take your infinite power source for granted.”

“Never,” I say sincerely.  “Last night, we experimented with time travel!”

She scoffs.  “Just remember us little folk when you take over the universe.”

“Deal.”

She hops off the chair and turns to face me.

“Oh, Claire!  You’re bleeding!”  A trickle of blood runs from a cut on her forehead.  “I’ll go get a bandage.”  I return from the loo a moment later with the first aid kit.  “Are you dizzy?  Do you possibly have a concussion?”

“I’m fine.  Just cut myself a little on the way down.  Doesn’t even hurt.  No books landed on me, thank God.”

I nod and bandage her wound.  “So you get to Speak two or three times a day.  What happens if you try to Speak when you don’t have enough energy?”

“You don’t know?” she asks.

I shake my head.  “I’ve always been too scared to try it.”

“So glad I can be your canary,” she says sarcastically.  “The command doesn’t work, my battery drains completely, and it takes several days before it starts recharging again.  Even then, it recharges slower after that.  Pretty sure that’s half the reason I’m always low on energy.  Zero out of ten: do not recommend.”

“Oof.  That sucks,” I say with genuine sympathy.  “It’s good to know, though.  I was worried I’d lose the ability entirely.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Heh, thanks.  I’ll let you know if Sarah and I figure out a way to increase our natural regeneration rate.”

“I’d appreciate that,” she says, for once devoid of any snark.

“So, how’s school?”

We spend the next twenty minutes catching up and preparing for our impending conversation with our parents, but really, there’s not much to prepare, at least as far as practicing a speech goes.  It’s really just hoping for the best and emotionally preparing for the worst.  Mum and Dad are generally caring, but that last conversation with Dad about the polyamorous nature of my love-life has me shaken.

I plan to ask if Sarah can stay with us, first.  If not, there’s really no reason to go through with the rest of it.  Of course, it now dawns on me that I should have teleported my car here with me.

The rumble of the garage door opening buzzes through the building, and a few seconds later, I hear the side door open and close.  “Here goes nothing,” I say to Claire and give her hand an encouraging squeeze.  Together, we walk nervously to the dining room.

“Hi Mum,” I say.

“Beatrix!” Mum says.  “I didn’t know you were coming down.  Aren’t you missing class?”

“About that….” I mumble.

“Beatrix Anabel Wright, you are not dropping out of uni!” she says sternly.

“What?” I ask, confused.  “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that.”

She sighs in relief, and Dad walks in.  “Hi Pumpkin!” he says cheerfully.  “Wait, aren’t you missing class?”

Claire rolls her eyes.

“Apparently not,” Mum says.

“Would it be okay if Sarah spent the summer with us?” I ask before the conversation gets away from me completely.  “Her parents are transphobic and she wor–”

“Oh!  That would be wonderful!” Mum says.  “Of course she can.”

I sigh in relief.

“Yes,” Dad says.  “She’ll sleep in Claire’s room and Claire can sleep in the attic.”  Claire and I roll our eyes in unison.  He chuckles.  “Wait.  Sarah is transgender?  I never would have guessed.  Or is she really a he?”

“No, no, she’s all female,” I say.  I take a deep breath.  “Claire and I need to explain something that might be– no, will be kind of shocking.”

“Okay,” Mum says warily.  We all walk to the living room where each of my parents take seats in their recliners.  “What do you need to tell us?”

Another deep breath.  “W–”

“Beatrix is magic!” Claire shouts.  I stare daggers at her.

“We both can do magic.  Kind of.  It’s not really magic, but,” I say, turning my head back to face our parents again.  I cut off the last half of that sentence.  Both pairs of eyes have bulged, not with skepticism but with disbelief.

“You too?” Mum whispers.  “Both of you?”

“Er, maybe?” I hedge.  “I mean, yes, but I’m not sure if we’re talking about the same….”  I trail off as I sense that familiar resonance.

“I have tea in my hand,” Mum says, and she’s holding a cup of steaming tea on a saucer.

I sit down, too shocked to continue standing as the implications flood my mind.  “Yes,” I say, “Claire and I can both do that, though Claire’s battery is currently empty.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” Dad says quietly.

“Don’t cuss,” Mum says absently, though this seems a perfectly appropriate time for cussing.

“How long?” Dad asks.

“Since I could talk,” I say.

“Six or seven months,” Claire says.

Mum nods, taking the information in.

“Does that mean it’s genetic?” I ask.

“I doubt it,” Mum says.  “Though it certainly appears hereditary.  That’s news.”

“What’s the difference?” Claire asks.

“While it would seem that the ability is passed down family trees,” Mum says hesitantly, “I highly doubt there is a gene that gives us that power.”

“No one on the forum has ever had a relative with the ability, at least that they know of.”  The sentence is out of my mouth before I realize my parents might not even know about the website.

“So you’ve found the forum, have you?” Mum muses.  For some reason, a sly smile creeps across her face.  We all use screen names, so it’s entirely possible Mum and I could have had conversations without realizing who we were talking to.

“Yeah, a few years ago,” I say slowly.  “I take it you have, too?”

“Oh, Beatrix.  I created the forum.”