Page 14

FOXGLOVE (DIGITALIS PURPUREA)

Amber Donnelyn is a breath of fresh air compared to my two previous professors. She’s an average-height woman with warm skin and delicate features. Her medium brown hair flows in soft waves to the small of her back, one section of it pulled across her face with a delicate barrette. Wind that hair into a bun, throw a clipboard into her arms, and she’s the stereotypical Botanical Science teacher. She would be the type of person my father would gravitate toward at a conference on biodiversity and talk the ears off of. The mere thought of my dad, missing now for seven years—presumed deceased—has my gut dropping like the downward plummet of a rollercoaster.

First my mother from disease when I was seven—ripped from our lives in the most macabre of ways. I’d only just worked out how to communicate with my parents properly: through their shared love of the natural, botanical world. Mom had me when she was twenty-two, to my father’s thirty-eight, after a secretive tryst with her college professor. Given my dalliance with Bonner, I guess the apple doesn’t fall far. When Aster Aldereyne passed away at thirty, one of the youngest ever from complications with early-onset ALS—Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis—our world fell from its axis. It’s a subtype of motor neurone disease. My father lost more than his wife and life partner; he lost the ability to function.That was around the time his latest research was ridiculed. Peers backed away from his work, and botanical journals stopped accepting his submissions. Dad broke in entirely new ways.

“Well, good morning, everyone. You certainly look like a capable lot.”

Her demeanor is cheerier than Wyldan’s, or even Bonner’s. Perhaps the nurturing, maternal instinct is strong with Professor Donnelyn. She may have a swag of young children with flowery names. I don’t see a ring, but then again, symbolistic gold jewelry isn’t the societal rite it once was. Her voice is measured and pleasant.

“Unlike my esteemed colleagues, I’m not hung up on title or rank. You may call me Amber, and I’ll answer just fine.”

Yep. She’s the real deal.

“AmDon is the boss. She’s helped me so much.” Tali faces forward, admiring the teacher with so much gratitude; I’m intrigued.

“Spill…”

“She’s young enough to relate to students without the old-world stories about plant discoveries and fossilization.”

My mouth twists into a pained grimace. “Discoveries are part of the beauty of science. Imagine how incredible it would be to come across something no one has seen or touched before and unlock all the secrets.”

“True,” she counters, flicking her laptop open and taking a long slurp from her water bottle. “You know I’m obsessed with apothecary and botanicals in cosmetics…”

Of course I do. The hundreds of bottles in one of her moving boxes gave up that secret rather quickly. Tali wants to increase awareness of her own business using botanicals as healing tonics and creams. In a saturated market, she believes what will make her brand stand out is her botanical science knowledge. She’s not outsourcing her formulations to be mass produced and shipped back to her with an aesthetically pleasing label. No—she’s doing the hard yards in lab testing and identifying fragrance strains and medicinal benefits herself.

“Amber is helping you with your tonic business?”

“She’s doing more than that; she’s my mentor.”

Wow. Okay. How comforting it must be to have someone in the field you know and respect take a dedicated look at your knowledge and plans and not throw it all in your face. Just before class is scheduled to begin, someone from the row behind slips into the seat next to mine. He has pale skin kissed by the moon, and straight, jet black hair past his shoulders. I don’t want to pin an emo-goth label on him yet, but he’s embracing the vibe for sure.

“Ah, Fox. I take it that chair is still broken? I reported that to maintenance last term. It appears they’ve forgotten about us, as usual. We’re the poor cousin to the more glamorous subjects of botany.” She hums, almost to herself. “Tali, can you introduce Fox, please?”

Tali leans in to where her chin almost rests on my shoulder. “That’s Fox. He doesn’t speak, but he’s lovely. You can communicate by typing on your phone screen or writing something in his notebook. See that black book in his hand? That’s one way he uses to talk to people.”

“Talk. Pfft.” A scoff sounds from our right.

“Enough, Finley,” Amber cautions.

“Or what? Is he going to yell at me?”

Finley laughs hysterically at his own misplaced humor. Fox isn’t laughing. No one is.

“You’re all so drawn to his fucking sob story about him being an orphan. That he doesn’t talk because he thinks he’s a tree, and wants to go back to the forest where his mommy and daddy were killed⁠—”

“Enough!” Tali roars, reaching around me to thrust a finger toward the posturing asshole with pockmarks between his active acne.

“Tali is right. Enough, Finley.” Amber’s rebuke falls on deaf ears. Ears that also stick out from his head. This guy is unfortunate in more ways than one.

“You want me silent like your little mute pet over there.”

Fox stands abruptly. He’s not little at all. He slams a hand onto the desk in front of Finley’s computer.

Tali is on her feet. “Fox, stop,” she stammers, right before Finley and Fox collide. Finley pushes against his chest. Fox doesn’t move. With his feet planted and posture rigid, he absorbs the force Finley throws into each movement. “Get away from me, you fucking freak.”

“That’s enough!” Amber screams right as Fox winds back and clocks Finley on the side of his jaw, sending him toppling sideward. He lands half on top of the students to his right, their chairs sliding backward from the force. Tali wraps her arms around Fox from behind, desperate to pull the hulking mass of fury away from the situation. It’s too late. Standing in the doorway, watching everything unfold, is Elijah Wyldan. He stalks forward, striding to a stop between an injured Finley, still clutching his now swollen, almost split jaw, and the man seething in a silent space.

“Both of you, to my office. Now!”