The Descendant

My lab partner, Imogen Flores, seemed nice. She didn't seem any more brilliant at chemistry than I was, which was both good and bad. My bio lab partner the previous year had been really smart, which was great in terms of our projects, but he also made fun of me because I wasn't as bright in class. Imogen seemed reserved, but not snide. We got our lunches and I followed her over to a table. "Jinx Johnson, Phoenix Chesterfield, Aristotle Elliot, Justine Valentin, Mark Carlton," she said, pointing out each kid before we sat down. "This is Anna Wayne."

"Call me Ari," Aristotle--well, Ari--said, and I nodded. "I'm named after my dad's favorite philosopher." He looked disgusted, and I smiled. We chatted about classes; the only class I had in common with any of them was chemistry with Imogen, but we were all taking the same history and English classes.

"I took networking last year," Ari said. "I really liked it. I like practical things, things that you can use, rather than knowledge that just takes up space in my head and I'm never going to use. I mean, Beowulf?" Justine and Mark joined me in laughter, and the others smiled.

I felt a little worried when they asked about my family; I admitted to the parents and the bratty little sister, but was vague. That seemed to be ok, though, they weren't too forthcoming either and there were a lot of absent dads. Imogen was in foster care; her mom was dead and there was no mention of her father. We were still talking about hobbies when the warning bell for class rang. Jinx made a face. "Yuck. Gym,' he said. "Whoever put gym classes after lunch should be forced to work out themselves." I smiled as we all picked up our trays. "See you tomorrow, Anna," he said.

"Sure," I said, and went to class feeling the best I had about school and social encounters since my friends dumped me. Excuse me, 'friends.' Maybe I might even get a date some time this year.

The rest of the week went pretty smoothly. Work was fun, in ballet, the choreography was easy and Mr Cal said he'd bump up the difficulty once we'd learned the blocking and everything, which gave me something to look forward to. Jake looked a little worried, which made me meanly glad. I had a lot of schoolwork, but there was a math lab before school with peer tutors, which was proving to be helpful.

And it was nice to have something to look forward to at lunch. Imogen and her friends were nice, if quiet. That suited me fine. They were all reserved to some extent; well, I was hiding things too. I did learn that Jinx had been named by his birth mother, and his adoptive parents had been chosen for both their eagerness to love a child as well as their willingness to let his name stand. "I see my birth mother every so often," he said, shrugging. "She likes to see how I'm doing. She's nice, but really quirky."

"My parents are not quirky," I said. "Solid citizens, hardworking. It might be nice to have some whimsy."

Jinx shrugged again. "My birth mom's not altogether stable, so I'm glad for my folks," which was all he had to say, and I was happy to leave it.

"How long is your hair, Anna?" Justine wanted to know. "You never wear it down, it's always up in braids or something."

"About hip length," I said. "It gets messy if it's just left to its own devices. But I need it long for ballet."

"Neat freak," Nix said, grinning.

"Nothing wrong with order," I defended myself. "Plus, if you had to comb out the knots, you'd be on my side."

"So do you want to be a dancer, you know, for your career?" Mark asked.

"I'm not sure I'm good enough," I said. "My teachers say I have a lot of potential, but so do a lot of girls. Competition for spots in companies is really fierce. I really love dancing, though. Even when other things go to shit there's always that to look forward to." Jinx grunted. He was the quietest of the group and seemed to communicate without words a lot.

"So we're going to the Star Wars reboot this weekend, Anna," Mark said. "You want to come?" It turned out that it was on my day off, and I was delighted to be asked. We'd meet at the theater. I practically floated on to class. For the first time in a long time I had social plans with people my own age to look forward to, not just the occasional pity outing with a cousin or two.

And on Saturday morning before the movie, Dad took me to the store of the tech who'd tried to help me with the Singer before he left on an overnight business trip. Mom was already gone on the trip for the museum. She showed us several models, and I chose one that was in the mid-range, that could handle heavier fabric better and had some embroidery functions.

"You sure, Lys?" Dad asked. "This one had a lot more functions, honey. You could really go to town. My daughter is becoming a proficient sewer," he bragged to the lady. "She's really good with color and you should see how she planned her bedroom. She's done curtains and pillows. A professional we had in to design another room said that it was very good work."

"The model your dad is talking about does have a lot more embroidery capabilities as well as the strongest motor in any sewing machine. You could practically paint with thread, if you want to do things like clothes, comforters, sheets, or if you want to liven up your cushions or drapes. You can also sew quilts, leathers, multiple layers of heavy, dense fabrics like denim and canvas. The stitch is very smooth and even, it threads itself, it uses a second spool of thread rather than having to wind bobbins, and it comes with an enormous selection of feet for different applications."

"It's a lot more expensive," I said.

"I know you were upset at how your sister ruined the machine that you'd fixed and used up the fabric you'd chosen, honey," he said, putting his arm around me and rubbing my arm. "As far as I'm concerned, you've demonstrated that you're willing and able to take care of a sewing machine, and you really do nice work. And if sewing is something you'd like to continue with, it's always nicer to have really good tools." I wavered, then caved. There was a huge variety of embroidery patterns available, but you could also, with some manipulation in a special program, make a pattern out of an original design or photograph. My hands fairly itched to maybe make a duvet cover with a pretty design. Maybe embellish my sheets and pillowcases on the top hem? The lady threw in two free classes to teach me how to use all the functions, and the purchase price included online tutorials as well.

It wasn't nearly as heavy as the Featherweight was, and was much easier to lug upstairs. When I got to my sewing room, I was surprised to see Alan and Alfred at the door, installing a new lock. "It was a bit tricky to get set up, Miss Lys," Alan said. "But it will open to your handprint or your parents'. Let's get your biometric data entered." It took a little work; the attics weren't wired for signals and the lock on the door to the atmosphere-controlled art storage room was hard-wired, an old-fashioned approach.

"We didn't want to take the time to actually run cable over here, Miss Lys," Alfred said absently as he finessed something with the lock. "Try again." This time it accepted my handprint and successfully screened out both Alfred and Alan when they tested it. "The wireless models always are more delicate to set the parameters with, but once they finally work, you shouldn't have any trouble." To be nice since they had done such a nice thing for me and because Alfred hadn't seen it, I showed them the sewing room. Alan hadn't been in since he'd helped me with the cabinet and shelves. They both had kind things to say and helped me take out my poor Singer and its table. None of us wanted to throw it out, perhaps somebody in the future could fix it, so I wrote a note detailing the damage (and laying blame where it was due, I didn't want future Waynes to think I was that awful) and we tucked it away again where I found it. Alfred knew where there was a sturdy table, long and fairly narrow, that I could put my new machine on, and they carried it into the room for me. And after a rather broad hint from Alfred, they came downstairs with me and I showed them my room as the workers finished up in Deri's. They were really complementary about that too. I was really liking it. It was a work in progress, but I liked that better than having everything just plopped down. I could add to the overall effect as I wanted.

The movie was fun; it captured the feeling of oppression by the Empire, the tension, and the exhilaration at the rebel's victory from the original, but the casting for the princess and Han Solo wasn't as good. Luke was kind of callow, but that was also in the original, so it worked fine. After, we hung out in Central Park for a bit, including visiting the zoo. I was a little nervous, but Uncle Bucky was the chief vet and wasn't just wandering around the zoo so I didn't have to worry about inadvertently blowing my cover. He was really sharp on the uptake and could come up with a story quickly, but it would be hard to explain how Anna Wayne knew the former Winter Knight. I wasn't sure if he knew my new nickname, even. Her background was carefully bland. But he wasn't there and we had fun. I was in a really good mood when I came home, my pod neatly avoiding the vans of the workmen who were just leaving. I went up with Dad to check out Deri's new room.

"This is really nice," I said, looking around. It was, too, I wasn't just being overly generous because I was happy. It was bright and cheerful, the bunk beds looking like a really fun place for her and her friends to hang out, and the desk unit had a concealed cover that could be stretched out over the surface to protect it when Deri was doing crafts. There were bins in the bookshelves for her supplies, and her school stuff was neatly arranged. Three dolls were on the shelf, with plenty of room for other things too. It wasn't quite as good as I'd envisioned it, but it was still nice. There were some places where the carpentry wasn't quite as expert as Grandpa Henry would have done it, but it was still acceptable, and Deri wouldn't even notice. And as a surprise, Iris and Miles showed up to take a look around. Deri took pleasure at pointing out the fun features (and not giving me credit for thinking them up, the brat), then we left her to gloat and poke around while the cousins looked at my room.

"Wow," Miles said. closing the door and peering around. "I think of lighter purples as being girly, but this isn't. It looks really comfortable in here."

"Dork," his sister abused him. "It's not girly, but it is feminine, at least the details are, not necessarily the color. Lys, I love those beads over the windows." She stroked them covetously. "My dorm room looks like a dump," she said. "We can't paint, the furniture is supplied, all we can really do is put up some pictures and personal items. I'm so jealous." I showed them the window seat storage.

"Grandpa Henry does such good work," Miles said, peering in and feeling the cedar lining. "You'd never guess by looking that this isn't an original feature. It smells nice in here," he said after he dropped the lid and put the cushions back on.

"Alfred showed me how to make the furniture polish he uses in your house," I said. "I just use different essential oils than he does. And it's really nice on the floors, it doesn't make them slick." It was a pain to apply to such a large surface, though, but at least I'd only had to do it once so far.

"I don't invite any of the family to my room," Iris said. "I am a shitty housekeeper, Alfred would be sad for me. I think I'm doing ok if I pick up the trash and do my laundry."

"You bring it home mostly," Miles said, jaundiced. "Alfred is still stuck doing your washing." She stuck out her tongue. He looked closer at the vanity and laughed. Iris went over, smoothing her fingers over the silver hairbrush. "There wouldn't be a reason named Deri why there's this new-looking lock?"

I rolled my eyes and explained. "I'd have thrown such a fit if she'd come rummaging around through my stuff," Iris said flatly.

"Because you're such a drama thing," Miles said lazily. "Lys is a lot quieter. It's restful. There are reasons why she's my favorite cousin," and he smiled at me.

"So what was the thing with the sewing machine?" Iris asked, her brow furrowing. I explained that too. Miles rubbed his temples.

"Deri." He shook his head. "Look, Lys. You may not see it for yourself, because you've never been a younger sibling, but there's a tendency to look up to the older ones and want to be included in what they do. When we were younger, we thought Martha and Xander practically walked on water." Iris nodded.

"Part of the way she acts is just her nature," she said. "But it's also because she's worried about being overlooked with you around. And she can be really charming when she wants to be, that's not her gift, right?"

"No, it's just to be lovable," I said with a twist of my lips. They snickered.

"She looks up to you and wants to be included, is what we're saying. It doesn't excuse her behavior at all, and she's big enough not to be so rude and heedless, but that's what drives her. She worries about you leaving her behind. And she is really spoiled. It doesn't help that your parents are so busy. But Aunt Diana can't give up being Wonder Woman, and unfortunately Uncle Daniel does an unparalleled job of running the Avengers and the company. He's spread out responsibility to a lot of the family, but it's still his hand on the tiller."

"How's school going?" Miles asked, changing subject. "And can I see that necklace you got from the pharaoh?"

"Ooh, I'd like to see that too," Iris said, lighting up. So I got the key and pulled it out. "This is so pretty, Lys, something you could actually wear. Egyptomania is still going strong in fashion."

"It's got the ruler's seal and... that must be his name in the oval thingie," Miles said, examining it. "That's really cool. So what's he like?"

"Weird. His god-touch is unique, he's got glowy eyes, but he was nice, all in all."

"I'll take your word about the eyes, they just look normal to me," Miles smiled. "But school?"

"Really interesting." I told them about my classes.

"Mom said you were using an alias," he said. "Aren't there kids there who know you as Lys?"

"I have a new nickname," I acknowledged. "And there are some kids, it's a really good school, so even though it's not private some of the rich kids still go there. I've seen Thomas Rockefeller, Marty Rocheforte, Sarah Rothschild, Peggie Carnegie, a few others. But they leave me alone and they haven't said anything about the name change, but then they also know about what happened last spring. I've got Briana Morgan in history and she didn't think twice about calling me Anna." I frowned as a thought struck me. "Either that or I'm not worth remembering." Maybe she really didn't recognize me. Or, gods forbid, Dad had a word with their parents. I shrugged. "Whatever. But I'm making some new friends anyway. We just went to the Star Wars remake."

Miles hooted as I put away the necklace and locked the drawer again. "Mom and Uncle J think it's heresy." Iris started to laugh too.

"The special effects are so much better," I said. "I thought it was a really good movie. You should tell Grandma not to knock it til she's tried it."

"Yeah, that'll go over well," Iris muttered. "Since your dad's going out of town and your mom's gone too, Grandma actually sent us over to invite you guys to dinner tomorrow night. You can tell her yourself."