The Compass
Prologue: Double-Sided Mirror

Mother had rung the dinner bell on the porch only five minutes ago, but already Jef deAiken was nervous for his sister. It wasn’t like Alex to be late. What would Papa say if she came in wearing grass-stained, faded blue jeans and a ripped, collarless shirt again? Mother would send her straight upstairs to change, and Jef would feel as if their army had lost a battle.
It wasn’t a war, he reminded himself, looking at his own face (immaculately clean) in his silver spoon. It was more like a contingent of secret agents who had to deceive the other side to survive behind enemy lines. For years they had played this game, which matured as they themselves grew older. It was their struggle for independence; they put on masks in their parents’ presence so that in private they could afford to be themselves. It was, of course, Alex’s idea. She began by wearing dresses at home and ripping holes in Jef’s pants for him (so that Papa could see what a fine athlete his son was becoming) and progressed to buying makeup that Jef alone was allowed to apply to her face. Every morning Mother would see Alex’s long, dark hair in elaborate buns and braids, and on the way home from school, Jef would brush that selfsame hair back into the acceptable style, taking care to remove each blade of grass or chip of wood.
The Deception, as Jef called it in his mind, extended into the jungle of their public high school, when the DeAiken children could be found most mornings studying in the library. And wasn’t it sweet how Alex wrote all those adorable little love stories? Wasn’t it chivalrous of Jef, her brother, to tutor his older sister in maths and science? Let the clucking, middle-aged gossips turn away, and Jef would slip a page of his romantic saga to Alex, who would in turn grab her brother’s eraser and fix his ridiculous attempts at geometry. Of course, nobody took notice in their grades. Who would have thought to ask, in those days, how Jef ranked top of his English Literature class, while Alex soared through physics and calculus?
The Coreman Scholarship had been Jef’s baby. After reading an advertisement for young engineers who wished to apply to the prestigious Axes University, in Washington, D.C., Jef’s romantic young mind envisioned his sister’s name printed on the Coreman “Innovating Scholars” list. The plan was very simple: Alex would leave home after lunchtime, to spend time with girlfriends who didn’t exist, and Jef would leave about ten minutes later, with a sports duffle-bag that was the perfect size to hold Alex’s diagrams, notebooks, pencils, protractor, and compass. The DeAiken children whiled away the summer days in the woods behind the old Sorsey farm, scribbling and erasing as they raced toward the Coreman entry deadline.
Jef never tried to understand the mechanics of Alex’s project, but he did understand the exultant look on his sister’s face when she came flying through the front door, six minutes late for dinner, with an envelope in her hand and her hair spilling out of the braids Jef had carefully secured this morning. In a moment, identical grins met in victory from across the kitchen, as Jef jumped to his feet and Alex stopped him, saying softly,
“Papa? Mother? I have something to discuss with you, if you would.” Jef knew when to make himself scarce, so he scampered upstairs to carry out Part Two of his war strategy. A bedroom door was pushed shut, a closet door was thrown open, and a motivated teenage boy rushed to fulfill his sister’s dreams.


The Compass
Chapter One: Pride and Prejudice

Alexia DeAiken was dead, but the boy who sat on the train to the nation’s capital—the boy with his shoulders relaxed and his face a silent mask—was very much alive. It was Alexia who left her brother as planned, an hour before dawn, but it was Alexander DeAiken who boarded the 5:35 train. When the energetic young man approached the ticket booth, the salesclerk couldn’t help but smile at the confident pose, the voice that was masculine not in pitch, but in pride, and the laughing, hope-filled eyes that brought back memories of his own adolescence. If this young man were to open his wallet at the next station and find an extra dollar (or five) behind his ticket stub, well, these things are bound to happen every once and again.
When young Alex ventured the streets of Washington, D.C., he did not fear robbery, nor assault, nor even losing himself in the bustle of the city. He feared being examined too closely. He feared that a haircut and new clothes wouldn’t be enough to hide his femininity. Most horrendously, he feared going before a University board member and having to profess his identity as Alexia DeAiken. He had become too accustomed to his new alias, and she liked being a boy. Alex DeAiken saw it as a sign from God that the student pass-card she received from the University registrar said “DeAiken, A” and contained no physical description except “Light brown hair, brown eyes, 5 ft 3 in.”
Alex sat in the office, waiting for her turn to speak with the director of the Coreman Innovative Scholars Program, when she noticed a colorful poster pinned to the wall opposite her chair. “RUSH THE AXES” it proclaimed, followed by a list of sororities and fraternities. To Alex, the thought of joining a fraternity seemed ludicrous. She could never keep up her new alias in a house full of real boys! Surely the Coreman Program would allow for a single room, without a same-sex room-mate… Right??
“No, Mr. DeAiken,” Director Harwitz replied to her question. “Coreman Scholars are given… err, more modest accommodations, you might say, than the average student at the Axes.” (Those damn rich kids… Their parents probably furnish these fraternity houses with all the works, while the honors students live in laboratory tanks.) While the director was babbling about the Program’s economical boarding program, Alexia was mentally screaming in anguish for a private room of her own.
“However, should you choose to participate in Rush Week, as is highly recommended of our Scholars, you may find a fraternity who will waive your entrance fee, and take you on as… as an apprentice, of sorts.”
“Excuse me?”
“Of course, they are not affiliates of the Axes University, but they are funded by private sponsors, just as the Coreman Innovative Scholars are provided for by private organizations. You could approach this from a business-like viewpoint, and you may very well find a fraternity that will invest in you!” Director Harwitz’s jowls shook with laughter. Alex saw nothing humorous.
“And fraternities have what type of accommodations?”
“Alex, old boy, you’re thinking industrially already! All fraternities have private bedrooms and bathrooms, but some share hallways and kitchens and/or dining rooms. Considering your… uh, standing, as a new student, I mean! … you might find it beneficial to make friends with the president of whichever fraternity you seek to join.”
“I see.” What Alex saw was his unspoken advice--to play “president’s pet” in order to have her fee waived.
“Well, you have your map, your pass-card, and your class schedule. Are there any discrepancies? Anything you need my help with?”
“No, sir. I can take it from here.”
Not even an hour later, Alex sank hopelessly into a bench under an ancient, sprawling tree and yearned for home. She couldn’t hope to fit in among these snooty rich kids, even as a boy. And returning to femaleness was out of the question. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to any of the made-up creatures that flitted from house to house almost as quickly as they flitted from boy to boy. No, she resolved, staring in wondrous desperation at the sky above.
“Aww, you okay, honey?” Surely this little boy wasn’t addressing her. She looked around for his parents, then returned his inquisitive look with a shrug.
“You seem pretty sad. Anything we can do?” It was the plural pronoun that drew his invisible companion to Alex’s attention. Startled, she looked in confusion between the tall, muscle-man and the small child, both in Axes uniform. Seeing her bewilderment, the young one laughed.
“This is Mark Antony. He’s my best friend! Oh, and I’m Ryan, Ryan Somers, ‘cept my fans call me Seaman Somers.” He waited expectantly.
“I’m Alex DeAiken.” Before she could even ask what the kid meant by “fans,” Ryan’s eyes lit up, and he began to chatter again.
“So you’re the new Coreman Kid!” (Coreman Kid? What is this, some kind of joke?) “Hey you have to come see our fraternity, we’re doing Rush Night tonight!”
“Only one night?” Alex asked amazedly.
“Uh- huh,” he affirmed with no change of pace. “We get so many auditions that we can’t keep it up for more than one night. But the Captain says he’s afraid we’ll never get any real talent, so he wants us to go looking for new prospects, ‘cept it’s just me and Mark Antony this time, all other hands on deck, sometimes I think he just wants to shoo us away, you ever think so, Mark?” The strong, silent type just nodded, but Ryan seemed to get all he needed from that response.
“But I’m sure if you auditioned and did good enough, the Captain and First Mate would waive your fee. I mean, you’re a Coreman Kid!” He waited for a reaction; Alex smiled weakly.
“Audition?”
“Yeah, I forgot to tell ya ‘bout the audition process, it’s really cool, the way Josh has it set up. Oops! I mean how the Captain has it set up, he says to think of it as a theatrical production, because we’re looking for fellow entertainers, just like if we were makin’ a film or producing a play.” (The kid is completely wired! Somebody needs to take him out in a field and make him run around the corn rows for hours until he gets too tired to yap.) While he was prattling, Ryan had taken hold of Alex’s and Mark Antony’s hands, and he led the pair of them off down a winding path to a house unlike any Axes frat houses Alex had toured that day. As an amateur engineer, Alex couldn’t help but admire the Southern plantation-style house, from the top of each white column to the steps of the porch that looked like a setting from Gone with the Wind and every window and facet in between. Glancing back at the landscaping, Alex rejoiced in the sight of the freshly planted pine trees that embellished the house—stubborn young creatures that seemed to say, “We may be rookies, but we’re here to stay!”
“It’s not a big mansion like the ones the footballers have on East End Campus or like the girls have on the North Circle,” Ryan continued to chatter, “But it’s home.” Mark Antony nodded in firm agreement.
“Now come inside, Alex!” Ryan impatiently tugged her away from the antique brass fixture on the entranceway—a brass antique dinner bell, on which was etched “The Compass” in titular lettering.
“They’ll have finished the other auditions; it’s almost dinner time, so I’ll run up and tell Josh-I-mean-the-Captain that there’s Coreman Kid is here to audition!”
“A Coreman Scholar? How interesting,” intoned a deeper voice. Alex stepped into the house and saw a tall Asian boy who looked like he could pass for a 30-year-old CEO.
“It’s nice to meet you.” She said, and shook his proffered hand.
“I’m Jenson Burke, but you’ll commonly hear me referred to as the First Mate. Co-founder of The Compass.” Alex could not think of a reply, but he didn’t wait for one. With a beckoning gesture, he started up the wide wooden staircase at a pace that made Alex feel like a young army officer following his superior.
“Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I can’t audition. I haven’t any lines to perform, or songs to sing, or anything like that. I wasn’t planning on auditioning, that kid just found me on campus—”
“First of all,” he cut her off, “The student you mentioned is Ryan Somers, a fourth-year student who was just accepted to the Axes Medical Academy.” His voice subsided to a softer tone when he added, “Seaman Somers—that’s our way of referring to a member of our fraternity, by the way—has a genetic defect that did not permit his body to mature past the physical age of ten years. In the future, you will kindly remember to address him by his name, or if you are too dense to remember that, “Seaman” will do just fine.”
“Uh, sure.” And she was pushed rather unceremoniously into the audition room.


The Compass
Chapter Two: Solve by Trial and Laughter

Alex stood in the doorway for an instant, shell-shock from the sight. Entirely the opposite of what she had expected. Beautiful. No. Wonderful! Glorious! Her eyes widened as she viewed what may have been the dearest sight in her short life on this earth!
It was a library. Not just any boring, public library. A real rustic, genuine gentleman’s study! Filled wall-to-wall with bookshelves, lined from ceiling to floor with volumes of every sort, and each piece of furniture, from the Grecian sofa to the Roman statue of the goddess Minerva, was stylishly academic. Alex was at home. Suddenly she craved the thought of passing this audition. She had to live here, if only to spend time in this breath-taking room!
“Please come in and take your seat,” droned a voice from across the room. (No, it’s two voices! Twins!?)
“Okay…” Turning toward the sound of the voices, she found a single wooden chair opposite a screen, not like a confessional screen, but a partition much like those that separate a limousine driver from his customers.
“Name and age?” the voices hurried on tediously.
“Alex DeAiken. Freshman, Coreman Kid.” (Yikes. I sound really boring.) She paused. “No autographs, please,” (I hope they realize I’m just trying to be funny.)
“Nice one, lubber!” (Lubber? Like, landlubber? What in the world?) But before she could ask, a demand arose from a new voice.
“Have you any talents, stranger?” (Hmm… he sounds Southern, but not Virginian, like Mother. He’s from one of the Carolinas, I bet.)
“Err…” (None at all! Damn it! My brother would have an answer for this… What would Jef say??) “Fraid not, gents. Oi’m completely talent-less, meself.” She imitated a Cockney accent, as brashly as Jef would speak. (Sounds like the twins are chuckling… I’ve got to get that Carolina boy to laugh!)
“That’s a shame,” the voice replied, with a theatrical sigh. “We so could have used a singer. Since Seaman Somers sounds young to be an alto and you dogs can’t sing worth a doubloon…”
“Watch it, Captain!” (Ha! That sounds like mutiny to me.) Alex smiled to herself, but the voice went on, its owner unperturbed.
“It’s a real pity, that. A ship needs all positions filled, and we are sorely wanting someone in the alto range. With its First Mate as tenor and Ryan… err, Seaman Somers, as mezzo-soprano at best, that just leaves these tone-deaf, scurvy dogs… And Mark Antony, of course. The prized baritone.” (He speaks like a collector who can’t find the last piece of a set. What’s he getting at?)
“Don’t forget yourself, sir.” (Sarcasm must come naturally to this pair.)
“Ah, yes! Your Captain is a talented fellow. But I must prostitute my voice to whichever range needs me most. How I wish I could retire from the stage and make a modest living in the realm of paper and ink!” (He’s really laying it on thick. If hyperboles were lightning-bolts, I’d be six feet under right about now.) “So it’s up to our new recruit to fill the gap!”
“So this is some kind of singing club?” Alex ventured a guess.
“What?”
“What??”
“WHAT!?” The three voices clashed like an earthquake in the study, and Alex glanced around nervously to check that no books had fallen from their shelves.
“Sorry! I guess I don’t know what The Compass is, exactly,” she said, faking a laugh. (Help me out, here, Jef! What am I getting myself into?)
“Well, as el Capitan over here would have it, our fraternity is like a ship—” The twins began to recite a well-rehearsed monologue, but the other boy’s voice cut them off.
“That’s enough!” (Ouch. I can almost see him glaring at me.) “The Compass is not a choir. If it was, our twin sailors here would be marooned on a dormitory hall.” He laughed for a moment but quickly reverted to the serious tone.
“The Compass, in summary, is a social experiment, the collaborative effort of Jenson and myself in our freshman year. Well, that is, last year. When we received our acceptance letters to the Axes, our fathers allotted us a small sum of money to purchase the land and this charming house for the formation of a fraternity. Instead of choosing a traditional Greek name, we named it The Compass, after our fathers’ profession. Yes, we come from proud lines of naval—”
“Captain! Cut it out!” The louder twin interpolated. “It’s nothing complicated, really; The Compass was designed to combat the negative stereotype of a fraternity. We’re strictly about entertainment, and we only accept young men who can sell.”
“Sell?” (First a choir; now a business? What is this?)
“Unlike the other fraternal institutions,” the ‘Captain’ started again, “We have to raise funds for the upkeep of our lifestyle. For the last three semesters we have balanced the books to the T, every I dotted and no mistakes whatsoever!” he said proudly, but Alex could have sworn she heard one of the others say “Josh overspends!” while the other coughed loudly. (I see the point now. They must hold shows and concerts and things to pay for what Mummy and Daddy won’t. Maybe not all rich kids are ungrateful snobs…)
“So do you want to hear me sing or not?” she said flatly, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. Instantly the voices returned to normal.
“Why yes, of course. You’ve an entertaining personality. If you can prove your worth by vocalizing a good piece, we’ll move you into a trial round.”
“Which means you get to stay for dinner with us and tour the rest of the building, while we determine what other merits you have.” (I’d get to spend more time here?? That’d be beyond great!! I‘ve got to make this good. But what can I sing?)
“I don’t know any classical music; I mean, I’m no student of Beethoven…”
“Beethoven didn’t write music for singers, you lubber,” one of the twins said caustically. (Ouch! That stung. M-m-must… recover!) “Besides, you think all we Axes kids listen to are boring classical pieces?” The other twin picked up. “You’re in for a real culture-shock. We’re just as schooled in poor people’s music as you are. In fact, I bet you couldn’t think of a single song we haven’t heard.” (That’s it! I’m back in the game now!)
“Oh really?” Alex said demurely. “Why don’t you put your money-- sorry, I mean your doubloons-- where y’ar filthy mouth be?” She couldn’t resist a smirk.
“What’s the wager?” said the third voice smoothly. “We’ll not be beat!” Alex sat back in the chair and folded one leg over the over, in a relaxed, subtly manly way.
“If I sing three verses of a song—any song, mind you—and you can’t tell me the song title or its artist by the end of the third verse, you’ll lose.”
“Let me guess,” the voice carried on from there, “If you somehow manage to top us, you’re automatically in for the trial round?” (He’ll see right through this. Well, it’s too late now.)
“That’s exactly what I mean… Sir.”
“A plot! Very good. I like it. Trey, Grey, what say you?”
“Sure.” “Works for me!” The twins chorused. (Aha! I have just the thing. Thank you, Jef. Thank you so much!) Her face broke into a smile of relief.
“Very well. Commence to sing!”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Alex drew in a breath and, in the silence of the enchanted study, began to sing.
“I know a girl who would
Walk a thousand miles
Just to prove she could
And I love it when she smiles”

Alex paused for breath, and one of the twins yelled out a name.
“Sorry, that’s not it. But that’s only your first shot. Shall I continue?”
“Of course!” (Maybe they actually like it—my singing. No, snap out of it, Alex! They just like Jef’s words.)
“She’s a helluva girl
The smartest in my world
And I love her that way
I wouldn’t let her change a thing”

She listened for a guess, but the gentleman’s study remained silent.
“She day-dreams in school
And they say that she’s a strange one
She breaks every rule
Just cause she’d like to change ‘em”

It was halfway through the second verse, and Alex really got into the song, shaking her head and snapping her fingers to the upbeat tune.
“And she may not be a homecoming queen
But she’s more beautiful to me
And I love her that way
I wouldn’t let her change a thing”

Alex’s voice dipped a little, as she remembered the look on Jef’s face as he lay on the grass on that July day.
“Hey, Alex! Come listen to a song I wrote. It just came into my head yesterday, while you were finishing the Coreman application!” Jef had written this for her, and named his work Alex’s Song. He was the best brother she could ever want.
She forgot to pause and listen for a guess. She even stood up from the chair and closed her eyes, not quite dancing, but swaying to the tempo as she plunged into Jef’s last verse. All the pain and problems of this afternoon vanished. Even the audition seemed far away. None of that mattered now. She was here, in the library where time stood still, singing to the memory of the girl she used to be.
“She wears a blue ribbon in her hair
And she dances like she just don’t care
Mother says she’s a sinner
Father says she’s a winner
She’s a helluva girl
The coolest in my world
And I love her that way
I wouldn’t let her change a thing”

In keeping with Jef’s style, she changed tempo to repeat the last line; so it was with a clear, steady voice that Alex sang,
“She’s a helluva girl, and I wouldn’t let her change a thing.”

For a dread-filled moment, Alex waited to hear the panel’s reaction. She anticipated laughter, maybe even resentment. After all, she had tricked them.
“Okay, I get it,” she said, turning her back to leave, “It wasn’t a fair bet. Besides, I can’t sing anyway, so I guess I’m just not cut out for The Compass crew, or whatever. It’s okay, not a problem.” (I will not break down. I will turn around and walk out of this room like I don’t care. Boys don’t cry.) But the moment her hand reached for the doorknob, she heard the partition open with a whir. Alex spun around to face her judges.


The Compass
Chapter Three: Ship’s Hierarchy

Alex could have matched the three voices to their owners before they spoke another word, so it didn’t surprise her to hear the blond boy dressed as an eighteenth-century pirate introduce himself as Joshua Westbrook, Captain of The Compass. (So he’s the Carolina boy I heard earlier. Now that I see him, he does look like he’d belong on a Charleston harbor, not in this cold, classy college setting.)
“You’re the first one to get the better of us,” said one of the twins crossly. (They’ve gotta be twins. I mean, they have the same blackish-brown hair, same olive-tan skin, same dark brown eyes… like mine. Weird. They must be twins, or at least related.)
“Ten doubloons he can’t guess which of us is which, Captain!”
“Grey, you idiot, he’s never met either of you. How could he know your names, ye scalawag!” Captain Joshua Westbrook intervened.
“Well like I said, I’m Grey, and this is my brother, Trey.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Alex,” said the other twin, warmly. With not much further ado, they went to supper.
It was a little like Peter Pan, Alex mused. Seaman Ryan Somers was so enthusiastic about ringing the dinner bell that Mark Antony had to run back to the kitchen and grab the lasagna that the young “sailor” had left there to burn. Trey and Grey, or “Tag” as they were called here, set to questioning Alex about her home training, while First Mate Jenson Burke grilled her on her class schedule.
“So you can do advanced calculations in your head, but you can’t make pasta?”
“No pasta? No Italian soups or anything? How about rice noodles? Can you do Thai food?” (Oh please, guys, I’m just American!!)
“Well, no. My mother only taught me how to make the normal stuff, like meatloaf and baked chicken and barbecue. But I can make any kind of pie you want, and I’m not a bad hand at cornbread. Cornbread casserole is easier, though, because if you’ve got the right sized tray, then—Why are you all staring at me?”
“No reason,” Jenson said with a perfect poker face, but Ryan gave it away.
“Oh my gosh that’s so cool, Alex! The girls will absolutely love you if you can cook for them, and I’m sure they’ll think it’s cute that a guy can cook, it really almost makes up for you looking like a girl… Oops! Sorry, I didn’t mean to ‘fend you, Alex, mate, I was just sayin’ how you’re such a nice guy to talk to and you’re not even like all stuck up like Jos—I mean the Captain can be sometimes and—“
“Ay! I am not stuck up!” Joshua interrupted in irritation, and then Jenson stopped both of them with a tap on his glass.
“Captain,” he began formally. “Hadn’t you best go on and explain the function of The Compass to Alex before we assign him to a specific berth?” Joshua thought about this for a moment, and then nodded.
“You’re absolutely right. I give you my leave to give the new recruit the lay o’ the land, as it were, to read him the Articles of Service on this ship.”
“Aye, Captain,” Jenson said with a smirk. (I’m guessing that’s the First Mate’s trademark. He is kinda good-looking, in a “misunderstood genius” sort of way.)
“First things first, Alex. This fraternity, The Compass, is, as you know, a self-sustaining corporation. We, the crew-mates, keep to a tight schedule to guarantee a memorable experience for our audience. I must speak honestly; at last count, virtually all of our audience members were female, so we strive to meet their demands for a good show. You were tested in singing, and your voice register is quite acceptable. You were tested in use of dynamics and facial expression, yes-they-could-see-you-the-entire-time, and for an untrained novice, you show some promise. Now, you have a choice.”
At this point, Joshua took over.
“To join The Compass means to obey our rules, to be present for every rehearsal, that is, Monday through Thursday, from precisely five to seven o’clock, and to comport yourself always as a respectable sailor should. That means no partying with other frat houses, no leaving the deck after the Axes curfew, and for sweet Caribbean’s sake, ne’er let me catch you consortin’ with a lass in a vulgar manner!” Alex couldn’t help the flash of triumph that came to her eyes. (This is too easy. I don’t have any classes past four on weekdays; I have no desire to ever, ever, ever go back to one of those hell-houses, and as for fooling around with girls… that’s just too hilarious.)
“Well, you drive a hard bargain, Captain. What’s in it for me?” Alex said with the look of a blackjack player with a winning hand. The reactions came instantaneously. Trey and Grey (Tag) frowned in disappointment; Ryan’s jaw dropped; Mark Antony folded his muscular arms in front of him and attempted to affect a look of disdain. Jenson’s businesslike manner went from office-temperature to icebox in 0.2.
“If that’s the way you respond to our generous offer, I think I speak for our Captain when I say…”
“…that we’ll offer you ten percent of whatever you earn here.” Joshua softly finished for his First Mate.
“Excuse me?” Jenson was incredulous.
“Ten percent, Alex. That’s my final offer.” Joshua was practically whispering, and in that moment, Alex forgot that she was Alexander DeAiken, a boy who had always disdained romantic foolishness. (I never thought I would find someone who would stand up to me. What would Jef say to this?! Looks like I’ll have to figure this one out on my own.) In reality, the choice sat right in front of her.
“Done,” she whispered back. As the table began to applaud her with shouts and slaps on the back, Alex’s eyes locked with those of The Compass’s Captain, and for a fraction of a second, Alex saw a young Carolina boy running to spread the news about his biggest catch yet.


The Compass
Chapter Four: Maybe This is Home

It was late Sunday morning, and life was good. Most of the playboys and party-girls were recovering from hangovers, so Alex was free to walk across the Axes campus without worrying about any harassment from the other frats. (It’s been a whole week since I’ve been bullied… I wonder if Jenson or Mark Antony had any say in that?) She couldn’t help thanking God again for her new home. Sure, the first night had been terrifying. (I thought for sure they’d have some kind of hazing, and I’d be discovered and humiliated! But they really seem like good guys. I’m not letting my guard down, God, but I do really appreciate The Compass. You really had my back on this one. As usual.) She grinned and said a quick Amen as she turned onto the little pathway up to the “ship’s port.”
It was odd that nobody answered when she first knocked on the door. She’d been given a key, but normally there were two or three crew-mates home. The twins, Trey and Grey, always stuck together, and Ryan was never without Mark Antony. Jenson and Joshua didn’t always hang together, but sometimes Jenson humored the Captain’s wild ideas. (Well, that’s a boy for you. At least I’m still free to leave the house alone.) After sifting through her bag for her key, Alex pushed open the door.
“Where have you been, ship’s boy?!” Of course it was Joshua. From the moment she signed her contract to The Compass-- “It’s necessary for sailors to be sworn in!”-- the so-called Captain had begun the annoying habit of calling her “ship’s boy”. She lad learned to retaliate by calling him by his baptismal name.
“Well, Joshua, Ah don’t reckon it’s any uh yo business,” she said, mimicking his accent.
“I do not sound like that! And don’t change the topic, ship’s boy,” he retorted haughtily. “Where were you this morning, and why did you not tell anyone you were leaving? There are no classes on weekends, and…” he faltered, “…And you ought to tell us where you’re going!”
“It’s none of your business!” She strained to keep her voice deep as she yelled.
“Yes it is!”
“No, it’s not!”
“Alex! Josh!” Jenson intervened, coming into the hall, “Upstairs, both of you! Now!” Normally the fraternity’s Captain would have protested an order from his First Mate, but now he blushed feverishly and followed them upstairs. Unfortunately, so did the rest of the crew. Alex braced herself as they ascended.
(Oh no… he’s reeeeeeeeeeally mad. Please, God, just don’t let it be in the library!)
Luckily they went directly into what Joshua termed the “Quarters,” the room he and Jenson shared, as “privileged officers“. They had a pretty plush set-up, with two four-poster beds and a bay window that streamed in light to the whole room, as well as overlooking the picturesque courtyard and “Maritime Pond.” (How typical of our Captain… the boy’s obsessed with the sea.) The view was great, but this morning all eyes were on Jenson.
“I believe you have some issues to sort out. This shouting is most unbecoming. If you have something you wish to say, any demands to make or questions to be answered, bring them up now.” (Leave it to Jenson to be the ship’s diplomat. I should’ve known.)
“Alex left The Compass this morning, without telling anyone where or why!”
“Alex, is this true?”
“Yes!” she said unashamedly. “I didn’t do anything wrong, so I don’t see why it’s anybody’s business where I was!”
“Don’t you?” Jenson’s black eyes were cold. “You aren’t just a member of this fraternity, Alex; you’re an employee. We haven’t even had our first event yet, and already you’re disappearing on us! Can you imagine how this looks?” (Oh. I get it. They think I’m deserting, or some madness. But how can I set them straight? It’s weird for a guy to be devoted to God, at least here, in the Land of the Rich and the Brainless.)
“I went out for a walk.”
“For two hours?”
“Yep,” Alex said with false bravado. Jenson paused, and no one else dared to speak. He tapped a pen against his clipboard in an irritated fashion, as if to convey that waiting for her to confess was just wasting his valuable time.
“Alex, do you have a girlfriend?” (Whoa! I never saw that coming! How do I handle this? What do I say?) Her eyes grew as large as saucers, but she never looked away.
“Wha… why… no… NO!” (That was elegant. I’m an idiot.)
“Very well, then. What else could occupy your time on a Sunday morning?” (Time to cave in. This has gone far enough.)
“I was at church.” Another brief moment, then Jenson said,
“I’m not buying it.”
“I was!”
“Were not,” said Grey. (At least, I think it’s Grey. It’s so hard to tell with TaG.)
“I WAS.”
“Were nah-ot!”
“Shut up, TaG!”
“Leave Trey and Grey out of this,” Jenson said, not even looking at the twins, who were clearly enjoying this. “Alex, do you realize The Compass has its first performance in two nights’ time?”
“Yes.” (We’ve only been rehearsing for hours every day since I got here.)
“And do you realize that if you already have a female companion, it will jeopardize your popularity with the Axes female population??”
“But I don’t have one!”
“You do realize your earnings are directly proportional to the number of audience members who come to see you?”
“Quit reading me the riot act! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was at church, for crying out loud! It’s Sunday! I went to church!”
“By yourself?” interrupted the annoying voices in unison.
“Shh, TaG. Let her think about it.”
“There’s nothing to think about!” Alex took a deep breath. “Read my lips. I do not have a girlfriend,” she said, enunciating every word sharply.
“Very well, then,” said Jenson in the same tone as before. “I suppose we have nothing to discuss. Stay here.” (Why are the rest of them leaving?)
“Where are you going?”
Jenson didn’t answer her, but as he and the Captain walked out the door, leading the group, she heard Joshua ask, “Umm, First Mate, where are we going?”


The Compass
Chapter Five: No Secrets Among Sailors

It may have been minutes, but it seemed several hours to Alex before her other crew-mates returned. Once again, Jenson spoke first. (Clearly the First Mate is running this program.)
“Alex, we need to talk.”
“What about?” She controlled her voice, keeping it level with Jenson’s. He didn’t answer. But this time they didn’t have long to wait.
“Alex,” began Ryan, but Mark Antony shot him a look that read, shut up.
“Alex, we know,” said Trey, in a soft, comforting voice, very much unlike that he had recently used.
“We found out second,” said Grey not-quite-as-solemnly.
“Found out what?” Alex asked hollowly, needlessly. (It’s all over now.) But Jenson wasn’t listening to her.
“I discovered first. I perform a routine background check on all Compass members, and when I read your Coreman Scholars file, I noticed some discrepancies.”
“Like what?” It wasn’t really a question. (Dammit! Trust Jenson to be so thorough! And I really had a good thing going here, too!)
“The handwriting on your essays doesn’t match that which you use here, and in your personal choice essay, you mentioned your brother, Jef, saying—”
“Okay, that’s enough!” Alex shouted, on the verge of tears.
“Alex, it’s all right,” said Trey, who had left his brother’s side to join Alex on the floor. “Isn’t it, Jenson?” The First Mate nodded, but did not offer any reassurance.
“He didn’t tell us, you know,” said Grey, assuringly. “Trey and I found out on the first morning. You’d left for classes way before any of us were up. We expected you to stay for breakfast. And then we noticed you’d left your door unlocked—”
“You went snooping in my room?!” She jerked away from Trey, who looked downcast.
“Alex, we didn’t know. If you had been a girl, I mean, if we’d have known you were one, before, I mean, we wouldn’t have gone in!”
“Yeah!” agreed Grey, with a touch of self-righteousness, “How were we to know?”
“But in our defense,” Trey said, his voice soft again, “We never told anyone.”
“Then how did you all find out?!” Alex no longer fought to control her voice. (It’s all over. I can’t believe it. No! I can’t let it end like this! This is too much!)
It was Ryan who spoke next, and his consistent chattering gave Alex the time she needed to regain her composure.
“… so ya see, Alex-mate, it’s not like we even cared all that much, especially Mark Antony ‘n me, ‘cause we’re kinda one foot out the door anyway since we’re both graduating this year and it’s not like I would tell on you anyways honest I wouldn’t Alex mate ‘cause I really didn’t care that you looked like a girl and cooked like a girl and sang like a girl, Oops! I mean well I guess it’s not an insult or nothing’ ‘specially now ya know since you are a girl, Oops! I mean since we know you are, ya know Alex-mate?”
“Yeah, Ryan, thanks, Sailor,” she said as strength returned to her voice. Just as her breathing began to even out (inhale, exhale! That’s the ticket.), the last voice began to speak. Pain shot through her ribcage as she forced herself to hear the Southern accent.
“Don’t you want to know how I found out, Alex?” (No, no, no… NO, DAMN IT!) She winced, clenched her jaw shut, and nodded.
“Well,” he said, looking at the floor, at his feet, at the wall, and anywhere but at her. “It was one day during lunch. I don’t normally take my food outside, but I wanted to see where you were going…” (I remember that day. He came with me to the gardens by Maritime Pond.) “I didn’t make a big deal out of it, but you blended in there, next to the leaves and the flowers—I’m not saying you’re a girly-girl, not at all! But you had this look in your eyes like you were, I dunno, in love with the place. I never thought about The Compass like that before.” Alex finally caught his gaze and held it for several seconds before she looked away. (He thinks I’m a sentimental idiot.)
“And then, there were times when we were both in the library, and you would have your head so far into a book that I thought your eyelashes must be touching the page, and you never even noticed I was there.” Alex looked up again at him and became acutely aware of his body language. (He doesn’t seem altogether disgusted. Maybe there’s a slim chance. But what is my plan of action? What else can I say?)
“Alex, I found myself going to those places over and over again, even when I should have been somewhere else.” At this point, they were reminded that they were not the only ones in the room.
“It’s true! He shoulda been walkin’ me to class last Thursday but he never showed and Josh-I-mean-Captain always meets Mark ‘n me by the double arches on the East End but he wasn’t there and—” Mark Antony clapped a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, and Alex involuntarily laughed. The tension of the moment was over, and though a resolution had not yet been reached, Alex was downloading mental data and growing more confident with each second.
“Am I hearing this right? You guys… don’t care?” She anxiously awaited an answer. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Of course not!” TaG responded in one voice.
“Well, I mean we kinda do but not really Alex mate ‘cause you’re the best I mean you’re not just another girl you’re already one of us!”
“Thanks, Ryan.” She looked toward Mark, who nodded and shrugged, and at Jenson, who said curtly, “You are bound by contract. As it were, I don’t give a damn if you’re boy, girl, black, white, Jewish or Muslim. You will complete your term as agreed.” (Well that was the coldest “welcome to the group” I’ve ever heard.)
“Well, Captain?” She asked, surprised to find herself nervous at his response. (He’s gotta be okay with it, right?)
“Yeah, sure,” he said, but his voice cracked a little as he added, “Whatever.”

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 20.03.2010

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