And so, the first few weeks of November were spent joyfully. Rose felt the unselfish joy of making another happy, while Alastair felt the bliss of a lost love found, even if he was mistaken. It's amazing how enjoying life makes it go by faster, and in a blink it was Thanksgiving, the cool, wet autumn dried up into a frosty early winter.

Rose wasn't sure what was going to happen for the long Thanksgiving weekend. Unlike the rest of the kids, she didn't have family to go home to. She hadn't seen or heard from Walter Avery since he dropped her off in front of the school back in August, which, she guessed, was something to be thankful for. She would not go to his apartment for Thanksgiving, but she also wasn't sure whether she could stay at school alone.

The Monday before the long weekend, Dean Whitley announced a sign-up sheet for students remaining behind for the holiday. When Rose went to the SO room, she saw that quite a few students were staying. Out of 250 students, around 30 had listed that they would be at school for Thanksgiving, which included little ones. Rose added her name to the list, glad to see she wouldn't be totally alone.

"You're staying here, Rose?" the dean asked, stepping out from her office.

Rose pointed at the list in answer. Dean Whitley nodded, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame.

"Dr. Fitzhugh's family in Maine has a huge Thanksgiving celebration. He's heading up there Wednesday night." Who?

Rose gave a tight-lipped smile in response and turned to leave.

"He has asked me to see if you would like to go."

Without stopping, Rose shook her head and went down the stairs.

She didn't even know this guy. She could think of a thousand things she would rather do than spend the holiday with Dr. Fitzhugh and his huge family. Stab herself with a steak knife, take a bath in acid, spend time with that jerk Tommy and his friends. Any of these would be preferable to a weekend away with a teacher and his family. Especially one she didn't even know. Too weird.

««•»»

Alastair looked forward to going home for a few days, sleeping in his own bed and spending the holiday with his mom. Thanksgiving was not a feast in their household. They didn't have enough money for that, but it was nonetheless a favorite holiday for the Silvers. So, Wednesday afternoon, Alastair joined the majority leaving campus. He took the train south, transferring at 14th street to cut east, the same old route he had taken for more than a decade now. He carried his book bag, art kit and portfolio, and a small duffel. Even though this was a holiday weekend, he still had a ton of work to do. The end of the quarter was just a few weeks away. He planned to get most of his work done right away if possible, so he could relax for the weekend.

As he rounded the corner at the top of the station steps, Alastair bumped shoulder to shoulder with someone.

"Sorry, man." He looked up and saw a girl dressed like a punk. Like a punk from the seventies. She had short black hair, light olive skin, torn black clothes, and combat boots.

"You don't remember me, do you, Silver?" she asked, smacking her gum.

He tipped his head to the side, trying to figure out who she was.

She rolled her eyes. "I went to Whitman. I graduated three years ago."

He shook his head, "I'm sorry, I--"

"I'm kidding," she laughed. "I mean, I did go to Whitman, but I don't expect you to recognize me. I've changed a lot. Keira. Keira Ortiz."

"Oh, yeah," he said slowly, nodding. "You were in my Arts class. Wow. You've 'changed a lot.' That's an understatement."

"This is Jonathan," she gestured at the tall kid standing a few feet away, a male version of her. "He went to school in Canadia," she rolled her eyes. She actually pronounced it like that, Cuh-nay-dee-uh.

"Right, well, good to see you. I've got to get going," Alastair was freezing out on the sidewalk.

Keira rested her hand on his chest, a gesture Alastair interpreted as flirtation, and which made Jonathan bristle. "It was great to see you," she patted him lightly. "You should come hang out sometime."

Alastair could see her dilated pupils as she brushed past him. He shook his head as he started back towards home. High as the clouds in the sky. He looked up and saw that the November storm clouds that dumped dusts of snow on the city actually sat rather low. But whatever.

When he arrived home, Alastair was surprised to see the apartment so clean. He didn't fault his mom for the mess that usually lived with them. She worked really hard, too hard, Alastair thought--Leah Silver was a nurse practitioner, working both at the nearby hospital and as an in-home care nurse. At Whitman, her Empathic Magic had come not in the arts, but in the sciences. She had been extremely gifted in biology, physiology, Restorative Magic and Familiars. She was great at her job, thanks to Empathic Magic.

Alastair greeted their two gray tabby cats, who purred and mewed at his touch, and got to work on his assignments.

««•»»

From the windows in the second floor dining hall, Rose watched a mass of students leave the school, which had become a ghost town. The next morning, she woke with a sense of freedom. There was no one there to watch her every move. She didn't mean teachers, of course there were still teachers around, though not nearly as many. It was the absence of all the other students that made her feel liberated, particularly the ones who whispered behind her back. Her dorm room was empty, and as she stood and stretched, music flooded her mind from nowhere--a pulsing, strumming sound. She twirled in her isolation, waving her arms in the air. She spun to a stop to find Ellie Choi staring at her from the doorway.

"Hi, Rose. Are you going down to breakfast because I was about to go down to breakfast, even though it's late. I stayed last year and they served pie for breakfast. It was awesome--they had all kinds of pie...."

Rose walked out of the room red-faced, in her pajamas. Ellie, who either didn't notice Rose had been dancing or was courteous enough not to mention it, trailed along beside her, still prattling away about the many types of pie. Other than teachers, only Alastair had talked to Rose all year, and none of them had said this much combined. She got on the elevator.

"Lemon meringue pie, chocolate meringue pie..."

They rode down to the dining hall. Rose walked straight up to the food, as there was no line, and selected three pieces of pie.

"Banana cream pie, sweet potato pie, pecan pie..."

Rose held her plate aloft for Ellie to see and nodded, as if to say, "Yeah, I get it. Pie. I have some, move on."

Ellie continued her list of the many varieties of pie as she too chose slices of pie. Rose selected diet cherry Coke for her drink and sat at what was now her usual table. She glanced around the room. There was another resident of a usual table. Tommy Roarke sat alone at the large table in the middle of the hall that was typically shared with his crowd of older kids. He raised his eyebrows at Ellie as she passed, now onto the numerous berry pies. Rose laughed through her nose, and he turned toward her. He smiled and shook his head. He was beyond cute. He was gorgeous. Which irritated Rose.

Across the room, a boy shouted, "Ellwyn, shut up!"

"You!" she fired back, so wittily. "That's my brother Daniel. He's a jerk. He's in 10th grade. He's a student officer. He's a total nerd, well who am I talking to? You're kind of a nerd aren't you? Me too, I guess. My favorite subject is..."

Rose ate her pumpkin pie, looking at Ellie over the top of her fork. She wondered if she always talked this much. In class, she consistently offered answers, but Rose had never socialized with her (or anyone else, honestly. Like, really.). Even if she would just eat, that would force her to stop for a second, but she ignored her tray and kept right on talking.

"My whole family are nerds I guess. My mom is a college professor and my dad is a doctor. I'm supposed to be a doctor too, and Daniel is supposed to be a banker. What do bankers even do, I mean, like, doesn't the bank pretty much have it down by now? The tellers do all the work, but he's not supposed to be a teller..."

Rose was now on her second piece, lemon meringue, which was pleasantly tart. She waved her hand in Ellie's face and pointed at the pieces of blueberry and pumpkin pie on the tray.

"Oh, yeah, yum." Finally, she began eating, and the dining hall was returned to the quiet it had sustained before their arrival. Tommy gave Rose a quiet laugh and thumbs up. Rose gave him a dirty look.

She finished eating long before Ellie, and she wasn't sure what to do. If she got up and walked away, Ellie might never speak to her again. Yes, she was annoying, but in a way Rose appreciated the machine-gun conversation. Everyone else usually absorbed her quiet, talking less than normal. It was as if the quiet had no effect whatsoever on Ellie. She just went right on talking, never really expecting an answer. Rose decided to wait for her, wondering whether Ellie talked this much at home.

"Wasn't that good? I told you it's really good. I mean who eats pie for breakfast, but it will be that way till Monday. This is my favorite time of year at WAG." Rose led her to the library.

"I love the library," Ellie whispered. "It's always so peaceful, like you can really get some work done here. My favorite section is the Empathic Magic section. I really learned how to perfect my dancing using the books they have."

Rose was astonished when Ellie showed her. She had been on the fourth floor of the library many times, including her first night at Whitman, but she had never seen these shelves packed with texts about using Empathy. She scanned the titles, looking for books on music. She created piles on a nearby table.

"Whoa. You really are a nerd. Is your gift music? What instrument? I played flute for awhile, but I never really felt the Empathic Magic, so I gave it up. I started dancing instead, and, like, oh my god, right away!"

Rose tuned her out to read over some of the books she had chosen, narrowing it down to just eleven that she actually wanted to read. Once she had those set aside, she went back to skim the shelves, trying to understand what other skills fell into the EM. She saw the obvious ones, found in Cowdrey's class, all the arts. She pulled a couple on drawing, wanting to understand Alastair better. She chose several more that sounded the most interesting.

With all her homework for the break finished last night, Rose now had something to do with her time. She couldn't wait. Ignoring the incessant chatter from Ellie, she settled in to read.

««•»»

Thursday morning, Alastair was awakened to the smell of cooking bacon, a rare occurrence in his house. He roused himself and shuffled out to the kitchen/living/dining room in his boxer shorts to find his mom frying up the pork belly in her bathrobe, the kitties watching with interest.

"Hey, Sweetie. Happy Thanksgiving!"

Alastair leaned down to kiss her cheek, "Happy turkey day, Mom. Ow!" Splattered grease bit at his side.

She laughed, "Go get cleaned up. This will be ready by the time you're out of the shower."

Alastair made his way obediently to the bathroom, loving how happy his mother was. He couldn't remember the last time she smiled this much. Once he was showered and dressed, he sat down at the table, the cats twining between his legs in synchronized figure-eights. "Mom, it seems like you're doing really well. I'm glad," he said, reaching down to scratch first one furry chin, then another.

"I am, Honey. What do you want to do today, other than our usual reservation at the 4th Street Diner?"

They always went to the diner on the corner--which served better than average food--and had the turkey dinner. But it was really the pie that made the meal. Alastair always went for the apple pie, the kind with a crumbly top, but his mom liked traditional pumpkin. There had been some years when his father had been sober, had been there with them, but they were few and far between. Thanksgiving was usually a holiday Alastair and his mom had alone. And this year, he thought that the holiday might just be the best yet, without his father to worry about at all.

Alastair considered her question over a mouthful of bacon and eggs. He shrugged, "I don't know. Stay as far from the parade as possible."

"Agreed. How about the park? We could people watch, you can sketch."

Alastair nodded, feeling a little guilty. "Won't you get bored?"

"Al, I could never be bored with you around." She kissed the top of his head. "Finish up. I'll get dressed."

Alastair appreciated and loved his mother. He guessed that most people would call him a mama's boy. With a mom like his, that title was an honor. He finished eating, cleaned his dishes, and put them on the drying rack. By the time he had gathered his supplies and put on his shoes and socks, his mom was waiting for him by the front door.

They spent the better half of the day sitting in Union Square Park, making up stories about the passersby, Alastair sketching like mad. When he switched to pastels, his mom was surprised.

"What's all this?"

He smiled over at her, "Birthday present."

She watched him work, her eyes tracing the lines his hands made. He crayoned the scene before them: swarms of hipsters, tall dark buildings with purple NYU flags in front, blackened snow accumulated next to the curb. They remained that way for hours until the cold chased them inside for dinner.

««•»»

Rose looked up from her reading after what the clock said had been a couple of hours. She didn't see Ellie anywhere and figured the loquacious girl had gotten bored in the silence of the library. Rose had learned a lot about her musical ability, and she was now fairly certain that was her gift. There were actual incantations that she could use to recreate what had happened before, without the out-of-Control emotion. For the first time since her fingers first found the piano keys back in August, Rose felt a real desire to play.

She gathered up the most useful books and headed for the arts room. But as she got closer, fear overtook her. She found it hard to breathe, and her heart was thudding so fast, she could hear it in her ears, like sand in maracas. Rose paced outside the Arts room. The pounding of drums from inside matched her heartbeat. She wasn't ready. Not yet.

She walked away and rode the elevator up. She thought she had gone to the twelfth floor, but when she got out, it didn't look right. There was no lounge, only faculty apartments. She turned back and saw 11 on the elevator doorframe. She shrugged and wandered the floor, passing by the silent junior girls dorm. She made the right turn at the end of the courtyard windows, whose ledges were dusted with snow, the actual garden two hundred feet below a blanket of white.

On the left, there were only three doors, where most levels of the classroom wing had six to eight. The one tucked by the girls dorm was labeled Girls Dressing Room. Dressing for what? Rose wondered. She didn't have to wonder long, as she reached the second door and saw Ellie Choi in tights spinning on her toes, rock music playing from a boom box in the corner of the vast dance classroom.

She slipped in quietly and sat down to watch. As Ellie spun and leapt across the wooden floor, Rose felt her heart aching. The ballerina raised one arm to the sky, her fingers curling down into a fist, the other beating her chest, then dropped to the floor as if in agony. She flipped backwards to her feet again and spun on both toes, her hands entwined.

Rose had never seen anything like it. It was a twisted ballet, an anguished, dark dance of someone who had no voice. It amazed her because Ellie talked all the time, but the Empathic Magic in her movements clearly communicated the girl's belief that no one heard her. Rose knew, felt in her soul, that Ellie had no desire to be a doctor. This was her love, but she didn't know how to tell her parents. Rose wondered about the fact that both she and her brother went to Whitman, but Ellie took Myths of Magic, as if her parents weren't practitioners.

"Oh, hi Rose! I was just practicing. I'm sorry I left you in the library," Ellie was out of breath, which slowed the pace of her words.

Rose wished she had words to tell Ellie how lovely her dance was, to tell her she should be whatever she wanted. But she didn't have words, so she just smiled and waited.

"You wanna go eat? They serve the turkey feast starting at 4, and you can go back as many times as you want. Last year I went back four times, and seriously, I thought I would explode." The two walked out into the hall together, and Rose waited there while Ellie changed in the dressing room.

"Are you a vegetarian? Because some people are, and so they have tofu, but I'm not, I eat meat. Can you believe the stuff Bennett was saying about cannibals? I would never eat people, would you? I mean even if I were starving, I can't imagine eating another human being," Ellie's speech rambled on throughout dinner, which was the best food Rose had eaten since her mother's Thanksgiving. She went back four times, Ellie five.

««•»»

Thanksgiving dinner was everything Alastair remembered and hoped for. He and his mother laughed, shared their pie, and went home fat and content. He spent the rest of the weekend lounging in his room or the living room, drawing and painting. He loved their little third floor apartment. He loved his cats. He loved his mother. He loved his life.

Friday and Saturday, he spent his time adding to his graphic story. Occasionally, he would think about Keira Ortiz, and the strange encounter they had by the train station. She might make a good she-villain, he thought. He made some progress with the plot, adding her in--Keira's dark eyes glaring in anger--and he enjoyed drawing interactions between Hannah and Robert. His mom peeked over his shoulder a few times.

"This is so creative, Alastair. You could turn this into a real book," she gushed.

He shook his head, "You think? I don't know, it's just something I've been playing with."

"I don't think, I know. It's really good."

She sat on the arm of the sofa watching him shade and define and give voice to the characters. He wanted to add another couple of good characters, but didn't have the inspiration for who it should be. He worked on a scene where Robert scoops Hannah up and away from Keira's grasp.

"You did a good job capturing Sarah. She looks beautiful," his mom said.

Alastair was surprised. "I, well, um..."

"Does she know how you feel? That you love her?" His mother knew far more than he had ever realized.

"I don't know. She dates a boy at school who's kind of a jerk to me," he didn't know where this flood of honesty came from.

His mom ran her hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes.

"Everything happens for a reason. Be patient and see," she said, kissing his cheek and heading off to work.

He brooded about Sarah for awhile, pondering what his mom said. It sounded a lot like fate sticking its nose in again. If everything happens for a reason, why? Why didn't Sarah love him? Why was his dad such a bastard? Why couldn't he Control himself? Alastair would have been able to buy it, if he had ever seen some logic to the world.

««•»»

Sunday came too soon for Rose. She wasn't ready. She had spent Friday and Saturday watching Ellie dance, reading books, and eating leftover turkey in various forms. This was her last day without the hordes of students around, her last chance to try out the piano with no one else to see.

What better time than now? she asked herself early that morning. There was no one around to see, so she decided she may as well try.

The Arts room was deserted. The usual wall of noise was nonexistent. It was unsettling and made Rose feel she had to tiptoe through the room. She sat down at the same piano she had played before. Casting her eyes around the room, Rose searched for a sign that anyone was there, listening, watching. She was satisfied that she was alone.

Music rang out in her mind as she reached toward the keys. She hesitated, pulling back her hands like a cat who isn't sure how to get down out of a tree. She practiced Control. She was Conscious. She selected which instruments she wanted. She modulated the volume in her mind. Finally, she extended her arms again and placed her fingers on the piano.

The music was completely different than that first day. It was up-tempo, though still dark, the notes emanating from the lower registers. She knew that she was not putting Empathic Magic into it; she was still too scared. Instead of making her feel emotions, the music made her want to move and spin as she had watched Ellie do all weekend. She wanted a beat, and drums filled the room. She wanted them quieter, and they softened. She wanted words, but no words would come.

The music halted suddenly.

She opened her eyes, praying no one had come in. She peeked first, then opened wide. God was finally on her side. She was still alone. Rose stared down at her hands, resting on the keyboard. Why had the music stopped? Frustrated, she slammed her hand on the piano. The discord of her fist shook the piano, and the lid snapped shut on her fingers.

"Sssss." She sucked her pain through her teeth. She kicked the leg and walked away, shaking her bleeding digits like she was trying to dry nail polish. A dozen different curses bounced through her mind. She thought of quitting. She wanted to walk away and never look back, but if Empathy was one of the four Essential Elements, she thought it was important enough to keep trying. They weren't called the four Suggested Elements, or the three Essential Elements and one you can do if you feel like it.

Rose took a deep breath and found a different instrument. She played guitar without knowing how. She picked up a clarinet, and it sounded perfect. How about violin? Just as good. She experimented with various instruments, different melodies for hours. Incredible. Magic is incredible.

She left the Arts room Sunday excited to return, not realizing she had an audience the whole time.

««•»»

When Sunday rolled around, Alastair didn't want to leave. His mom had to work that afternoon, so they said goodbye early. "Be good, not that I have to tell you that," she said.

He held her in a bear hug. "I will, Mom. I promise."

He spent the next few hours tidying up, so that she wouldn't have to. Before he left, he tore a sketch out of his pad and left it on the kitchen table for her. It was a profile of her face, her dark hair falling into her eyes, bright blue, just like his. She was smiling broadly. He wanted her to see what he saw. He wanted her to know. He had put all the Empathic Magic he could into it. He loved her to bursting, his cup overflowing.