The Case of the Disappearing Macaroons

[François Laffont]

Alright, who done it!? François didn’t quite express this thought out loud but he sure wished to scream it out and question everyone in sight. He might not be one to easily get mad at things but these were French macaroons. FRENCH MACAROONS! Probably one of the most delicious thing in the whole wide world and the little French boy had brought some from home to savour them later on during the day. Except that now he couldn’t. Because said delight were no longer there, in his bag.

Could you believe it, you leave your bag unattended for one minute only and someone finds a way to take a look at steal tings from it. They didn’t touch his books or anything else. Even his MP3 player was still in the compartment where he left it. Only the macaroons were gone. Had Frank been around, he would have accused her. But she was not, he checked, just to make sure. Anyway, she would have stayed near and argue she was starving and that it was idiotic to leave his bag, even for a second, with food in it unless he wanted someone like her to steal it.

He looked around him. There was very little chance whoever dug in his bag stayed to watch. He wasn’t even sure the theft, for it was a theft Franck wished to see the culprit punished for, occurred during that time. Why, it could have happened during class, as he didn’t paused every five minutes to check if they were still there. But Franck was still ready to investigate. He wouldn’t let it pass. It was so hard to get your hands on those, he would not let someone get away with it that easily. Franck walked down the hallway, staring at every face he met, not ashamed to let his power scan through for any feeling of guilt or anything that could pinpoint him in someone’s, anyone’s, direction. No one took his sweets, especially not French sweets, from him.

[Steinbeck Dunn]

Becky really, really, really hadn't meant for this to happen. She'd been sitting around in class, minding her own business in the back and doodling on her notebook. She wasn't really paying attention to anything and apparently on one else was either. Because by the time class ended and everyone was leaving, no one had noticed the little pile of macaroons that had somehow found their way to the ceiling. She was on her way out the door when she heard them bumping along the ceiling after her. Really? That was just unfair. Whose were they? Would they realize they were gone soon? She really had to focus on getting them down from there before she left, but she knew there was another class coming soon. Feeling guilty and embarrassed (and very red in the face), she headed out of the classroom and into the hall, where the poor macaroons stayed stuck to the ceiling above her, even somehow making it through the doorway.

This was a pain. Along with floating, apparently the dumb sweets were also attracted to her. She wasn't about to walk around the school with a pile of sweets trailing after her. And she couldn't go outside and risk them floating all the way away without the ceiling stopping them. So she was stuck, standing in the hallway and trying to avoid staring at the ceiling so that no one else would. She nibbled on her nails and closed her eyes and focused on making the macaroons heavier. She waited and waited, wanting to hear the plop, plop, plop as they fell from the ceiling to the floor, their gravity restored. No such luck. She was stuck standing in the corner of the hallway, looking horrendously guilty, and feeling pretty dang stupid.

She felt eyes on her before she looked to see someone staring. Oh no. Just by the look on his face, Becky could tell that he was angry. She didn't know whether or not he was the kid who had the macaroons. But she thought that he was vaguely recognizable from class. She didn't know what to do. Would it be best to own up to her inadvertent sweet stealing or wait to reveal herself until the macaroons were safely on the ground instead of awkwardly glued to the really dusty ceiling? While all this was going on in her head, the only thing she could really manage was a quiet, "Um. Thorry."

[François Laffont]

Franck tried to recall when he had last seen them. He was pretty sure he still had them when the class started. It was as good a place to start as any other, especially since he had absolutely no idea who took them. Plus, he wanted to make sure they didn’t just fell off his bag somewhere along the way between the classroom and where he stood right now. He’d be quite embarrassed if he accused someone only to find out they fell off his bag and someone accidentally kicked them in some corner. So Franck’s eyes were looking down at the floor as he made his way to the classroom, trying to look for anywhere the bag might have dropped and got stuck.

Something however got him to lift his gaze and remove the angry frown from his brow. Or someone, to be more exact. Someone apologizing as he was near them when they didn’t even bumped into each other or anything. For a second, Franck looked at the girl wondering if maybe he accidentally hit something that was hers or stood in his way. He didn’t even realize the lisp as she said she was sorry. So caught up with finding what happened to his dessert, he became oblivious to a lot of things.

“’Have you seen some macarons?” he asked, saying the name in French as he let his accent show up. To him it was macaron, not macaroon. They were French, they deserved him to name them the French way. He realized however that she might not know what he was talking about. Even if the name changed little despite in both language, he knew macaroon could also mean that thing made of coconut. He didn’t want her to start looking for coconut. “It’s a dessert, it looks a bit like a sandwich. I had a few n a bag but I can’t find them,” he explained. Again, he didn’t bother with his accent. So what if he forgot to pronounce the Hs or that his THs sounded like Zs? He made the effort of learning English, or working his best to make his accent the easiest to understand that he could. It was already more than most English people who tried to speak his language.

Only after saying that did he seem to notice the emotion state she was in, bringing back the frown on his face. He had been looking for someone who felt precisely that, even if he expected them not to feel guilty if they had the nerve to steal something from his bag. Now that he had someone with guilt printed all over their face, he wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t strike to him as the type of person to steal anything. So he wondered. That guilt might be the result of so many things unrelated to his macaroons that he didn’t want to accuse her just yet.

[Steinbeck Dunn]

Becky held out some hope for a moment that maybe the kid was angry for some other reasons. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything and he could have walked right by her without noticing anything amiss at all. Curse her and her stupid mouth. And of course he ended up being the poor soul from whom she had stolen all those sweets. Even though his accent was French, she could definitely tell that that is what he was looking for. It took almost all of her will power now to immediately glance up at the ceiling when he mentioned them, but she managed it. She wanted to break this to him gently and having him jump to conclusions as soon as he saw the things on the ceiling probably wouldn't benefit anyone.

She listened to him very carefully to make sure she understood every word without having to ask for clarification. She knew what it was like to constantly be asked what you were saying and she didn't want to do that to him right after she'd accidentally plastered his lunch to ceiling. She didn't know she could have managed to get them to float out of his bag, but apparently she'd managed it. She felt absolutely awful about it too. He was probably going to be very mad about his dusty snack, but she couldn't just pretend she didn't know what was going on. Steinbeck liked to think of herself as an honest person.

"Well, you see," Becky started, trying to find the best way to word this. What was she supposed to say? 'Sorry, I accidentally caused specifically your macaroons to float to the ceiling, totally my bad, won't happen again?' He'd probably think that she was lying. Hell, she would think that she was lying. It wasn't something that should be able to happen by accident. She tried to think of a good way to explain, but eventually she just decided that hanging her head and pointing to the ceiling would at least show him what was happening. "I don't know how it happened, I'm really sorry. I haven't quite figured out how this whole gravity thing works yet and sometimes when I get distracted it gets a mind of its own. And, uh, I can't quite seem to get them back down on the ground. I've been trying, I swear." Please don't hate me, she mentally added, looking up at him and preparing for an explosion of anger. He did seem awfully protective over his sweets. "I'll find a way to get them down eventually."

[François Laffont]

Franck did feel the discomfort she was in but never would he believe he could be the cause. Franck! The guy was a talking and walking teddy bear, made or marshmallow inside. How can he ever intimidate anyone? Of course, he didn’t realize the look on his face right now as he was upset about what happened to his snack could make one who didn’t know him too well feel slightly uncomfortable. He had already softened his gaze as he talked to her. The guy couldn’t stay mad for more than a minute it would seem.

He did wait as she started to talk. You see... no he was not seeing anything for now. Where was she getting at? Well, he did get that she probably knew where his macaroons were. She wouldn’t have said that otherwise. But wherever they were, she was a bit embarrassed. What, did she find them and someone claimed them first? Or perhaps she ate them. He could live without them, that was not the point, but he wanted to know what happened and if she didn’t simply extended her hand to pick them in his bag, he wouldn’t be all that angry at her. So he waited, for her to tell him what happened. But she was hesitating to talk further. “Yes?” he asked, hoping his tone would sound encouraging enough for her to go on. Her nerves were slowly acting up on him and he’d rather avoid it.

Finally, she pointed at the ceiling and with a puzzled frown, he looked up. There they were. Alright, he had to admit, he didn’t expect that to happen. He started to understand now why she felt like this. Franck kept his gaze up on them, trying to find a solution as to how he could get them down, figuring that if she could she would have already. She was more or less telling him the same thing, explaining that she had not firm control over her power. He guessed as much. He raised his hand to get her to stop talking. “Don’t feel bad, please. I won’t get mad at you, I thought someone stole them from my bag and well, I guess it’s an accidental theft,” he said, his eyes still up as he talked.

Slowly, he looked down at her freckled figure. He tried to smile at her. He was feeling bad that his attitude might have caused this on her. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they hide the ladders?” he said though his smile slowly showed he was teasing. He was not expecting her to answer. In fact, after four years here, he should be the one knowing. “Perhaps if you calm down first? Don’t let your nerves get the best of you. I mean, I don’t want to force you to try again, but these are pretty good sweets,” he added. There was still a bit f teasing in his voice. Now that he knew where they were, he was calming down a little. That and he could feel how embarrassed she was of the whole situation. She sure didn't do it on purpose. No matter how good an actress she may be, she could not fool Franck’s power after all.

[Steinbeck Dunn]

Becky realized that she was being really vague and confusing, but she was really bad at conversation at the best of times, and right now she was horridly nervous and feeling very guilty, which didn't lend itself to good thought, and that didn't lend itself to good speech. But at least when he finally looked up at the ceiling, he didn't seem any angrier. He actually seemed a little amused. Or maybe confused. But not mad. And that was a relief, because Becky did not like having people mad with her if she could avoid it. And she really hadn't meant to steal them. He had to realize her level of incompetence really left her without any control over what happened with the macaroons anyway.

But the biggest relief was having him verbally promise that he wasn't mad. She could guess all she wanted from his expressions and not have that kind of certainty, so it was nice to have it out in the open. She gave him an awkward smile, crooked and still a little nervous, and then turned her own gaze back up the ceiling. Yes. They were still up there and they didn't look like they wanted to come down any time soon. "It was definitely accidental. And it keeps on being accidental," she said, like getting stern with the macaroons would somehow make them fall from the ceiling. It didn't work.

It took her a moment of panicking -- where are the ladders, oh no, I don't know -- before she registered that his tone was completely joking and that he didn't mean it at all. Good. She liked kindhearted teasing and honestly, now that he didn't look like he might tackle someone for his sweets, he seemed like a nice enough guy. His French accent made her have to concentrate on his words, but she didn't mind. She knew he was having to do the same for her lisp. She took a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, to calm herself down like he'd suggested. She looked up at the macaroons again and thought fall fall fall. She closed her eyes and thought heavy heavy heavy. But when she opened them, they were still on the ceiling. They may have wavered a little bit, dropped an inch, but they were still out of reach. She sighed. Failed again.

"Maybe a ladder really is the best idea. Although they'll be pretty hard to eat if they keep floating up in the air," Becky said with a sigh, leaning back against the wall of the hallway. "I could try going outside, and see if we can get them to fall, but I'm afraid they'll float away into space and then you'll be macaroon-less forever. Which would be really unfortunate." After a few moments of quiet, in which Becky again tried to get the treats to fall, she huffed in frustration. "Or you could knock me out. They'd probably fall then." Another sigh, another attempt at making the macaroons drop. With her luck, when they finally did fall to the floor, they'd be a million pounds. "Sorry, again. I promise if this doesn't work out, I'll buy you a new bag of macaroons."

[François Laffont]

Franck knew that some students came in early, like himself who arrived at age thirteen. Others joined in later in their teenage life, sixteen, seventeen, sometimes even at eighteen years old. Therefore he could not base her control on age alone. Even he, who had been living here in Kalispell for the past four years, still had some struggle with it. If he learned to manage with the classes and even the cafeteria, crowd remained an issue. Not to add that he had the luck to actually know for sure she didn't mean it. There was no sign in the many emotions he got from her that could make him believe she did it on purpose or with ill-intentions.

He was glad when she finally let some of her nerves drift away, relieved that he assured her not being angry for what happened. The problem with his power was that everywhere he went, he’d pick up the feelings of people. The closer they were to him, the stronger those feelings were. And, of course, staying too long around one individual had their emotions rubbing off on him. He’d rather avoid getting fidgety out of someone else’s nerves. “It’s alright,” he assured her again. “They can’t stay there forever, can they?” he added although he wasn’t quite sure and something told him she wasn’t sure herself. He did hope at some point they would regain their normal weight, even if that meant them falling on their heads right now.

Franck tried not to be amused when she had a slight moment of panic as he mentioned the ladders before she understood it was but a joke. He did feel a bit sorry for her. She must be the shy and quiet type and this entire situation was hard on her. Maybe he shouldn’t tease her so much then. Too bad his empathic link worked only one way, otherwise he’d be sending her all the calm he could muster from within himself. The macaroons did seem to lower a little, but barely. Franck even wondered if they didn’t simply moved around and so gave him the idea they dropped a bit. He might be taller than the girl, they were still obviously out of reach.

“Maybe, if I eat them, I’ll start floating too,” he replied when she pointed out how hard it will be to eat them at this height. What did he say about not teasing her? Oops. Now, Franck was bummed he couldn’t get them. He had both those the day before while coming back from school on his way home with the perspective of having some delicious French sweets for the next day. He always had a soft spot for everything his countrymen ever made, whether it was food, clothes or entertainment. It was a tiny thread linking him still to his country, the only one aside his father. At the same time, he knew complaining about her would not solve anything. She felt bad enough already and that would not bring them down, unless he pissed her off so much she wished his macaroons to wear a ton and drop on his head.

He had a smile at the way she said he would be macaroon-less. “It’s not like you sent my whole bag up in the air,” he told her. At this point, he figured they might have to ask someone working at the school. There was this trainer who could suppress people’s powers. Maybe he could help. But Franck had no idea where he was. He looked down at Steinbeck when she suggested he knocked her out. “I’m sure we can find a better solution,” he told her. The idea of hitting someone was incompatible with who he was. He made a dismissive wave of the hand as she suggested buying him a new bag. “Let’s just find a way to get them down. It cannot be good to leave things hanging on the ceiling like that,” he pointed out, leaning his back against the wall next to her. “I’m François, by the way. But you can call me Franck,” he said, as he realized all this time they had been talking of his sweets without even introducing each other.

[Steinbeck Dunn]

Becky didn't want to think about how long they could feasibly stay on the ceiling. She didn't want to become a permanent fixture on the wall in the hallway. Becky-and-the-floating-macaroons, like a piece of weird modern art. She'd much rather they fall down so that she could give them back to the poor student in front of her and they could both go on their way. Even so, they did have to drop eventually. Or she'd have to leave, and they'd float up into space. She really hoped that they fell down before then. Maybe not thinking about it would work. Not thinking about it had got them up there, after all. Maybe it was the key to getting them down. In that spirit, Becky did her best to entirely ignore the macaroons floating above her head. She looked straight ahead instead, which drew her attention to Franck.

Even though she knew that Franck was joking, she was actually kind of curious about his idea. Would he start floating around if the light macaroons filled his stomach? That would be a pretty cool way to achieve flight. It would probably be really uncomfortable until they were properly digested, though. She didn't really understand the science of food or the science of mutation. So maybe it was a good idea not to experiment on them. "No, it definitely could have been a lot worse. Like the teacher's desk or something," she said, thinking about all the horrible things that could have happened instead of a few sweets ending up on the ceiling. Maybe she should be counting this as a blessing rather than a curse. She was a little bit relieved when he said he wouldn't knock her out. He struck her as a nice enough guy. Even if it would work, being knocked out was kind of the last resort. "They're getting all dusty, I know. I'm sorry. I had to leave the classroom to get out here and they probably smeared all along the ceiling," she lisped apologetically, looking up at the macaroons.

But she was supposed to be ignoring them, and seeing if that would work. That was the plan. She had to try, at least, for a little while. Maybe if she became too distracted by other things, they'd just fall on their own. Please, please, please, she thought as she directed her attention to introductions, turning her head to the boy leaning against the wall next to her. A very French name for a very French kid, with his accent and his macaroons. "Nice to meet you, Franck," she replied quietly. "I'm Thteinbeck. But Becky is fine." As much as she loved Steinbeck as an author, it made for a weird name and she didn't think it really fit her that well. She was much more a "Becky" than anything as fancy as the name "Steinbeck" implied. "If only the lecture hadn't been boring, maybe my power wouldn't have gotten bored and tried to--" she started, planning on making a joke. But she was interrupted by a sudden raining of macaroons upon them.

She couldn't help but let out a scream/squeak of terror when she felt the things start to plummet to the floor. Which was stupid, since there was only one thing that could be raining from the ceiling of the school. The macaroons! She didn't know how that had worked out, but whatever. They were down, even if they were mostly on the floor now. She had managed to catch one in her hand. Feeling a little bit proud of herself (even if getting them down hadn't really been intentional), she smiled at Franck and extended the macaroon. "Thank goodness! I thought I might have to stand here for the rest of my life."

[François Laffont]

For a moment, Franck did think of himself floating to the ceiling, like some balloon. That couldn’t be all that comfortable. And how to you walk, you swim in the air or something? He should ask an astronaut, if he ever met with one. He doubted such an opportunity would occur. Just like he doubted the macaroons would make it float. Logically, being a lot heavier than the sweets, he’d bring them down. Still, it might not be very comfortable in the stomach, those sweets trying to get up. Best leave them up until they fall down, then he could try and eat them. If by then they did not weight too much.

“See,” he replied when she pointed out other things that she could have influenced against her will. His macaroons didn’t seem as important anymore. “Although they probably would have sent for a power suppressor or something to bring it down,” he added. A desk was after all more important than dessert, especially the teacher’s desk.

He looked up again as she said they must be dusty now. “It’s alright. You ever tasted one of those? Too bad I have none left, I would have given you one, then you’ll see why I wanted them back’” he said with a soft chuckle in his voice as he talked. Though he didn’t want them so much now. He didn’t know just how much people knew of French treats and pastries, other than the oh so famous croissant. Speaking of French, so was his name. It literally meant Frenchman. Had an old King to thank for that. didn't stop people from saying it wrong. At least she heard it from him first so she would know how to say it right. When people read it, not only they would pronounce the N instead of the sound AN made together, they would also pronounce the S. And then he would become a girl in his language. Not good. It was why he preferred an English version of the name. He let people choose between Francis and Franck. Franck stayed so Franck it was.

He frowned slightly when she introduced herself. Her lisp made it a little complicated to get it right but he could guess. Steinbeck. Becky, as she asked. So she too preferred a nickname. “That’s an unusual name. Where have I heard it before though?” he asked trying to think about it. Must have been in a historical book or something as it sounded old. It also didn’t sound much like a first name or a girl’s name but who was he to say.

He was smiling at her when she was apologizing again, about to tell her not to worry about it so much when the macaroons fell off at last. Franck startled with Becky though prevented from screaming himself. His heart was racing fast and he chuckled at his own fear when he understood what happened. He smiled as he picked the macaroon she managed to catch, making sure not to touch her as he did so. Not like he’d eat them in their current state but at least they were down. “You did it,” he simply replied. He looked down at the others. Might as well get them all out of the way before people started to walk on them.

[Steinbeck Dunn]

Becky shook her head. Sure, she'd had macaroons before, but she didn't think she'd ever had really good ones. Just the cheap kind that you could buy at a candy store or something. These seemed a lot better than the kind she was used to, which made her feel all the more guilty for getting them stuck up there. They were probably expensive or really hard to find. Or something. He certainly wanted them down very badly.

It was really nice of him to think about offering her one, even thought she'd been the one to put them on the ceiling in the first place. He was definitely a nice person. She knew that this couldn't be happily solved even after the macaroons fell down. He probably wouldn't want to eat them, after all. But she'd definitely give him money or something to repay for them. Even if it couldn't replace the macaroons that she'd ruined, she felt that she did owe him something. More than an apology, at least.

She set about picking up the fallen macaroons. She was glad she wasn't the only one who was a little frightened by their sudden departure from the ceiling. It really was pretty startling, even if that was what they had been hoping and waiting for all along. She looked them over as she gathered them. Sure, they'd touched the gross, dusty ceiling and the gross, dirty floor. But a brave soul might eat them. A really brave soul. Who didn't mind their food covered in what was on the bottom of people's shoes. Right. No. They were definitely all ruined.

"Sorry about this," she said again, before answering his earlier question about her name. "I'm named after an author. He wrote a few things you might have been forced to read in literature classes. Grapes of Wrath, Of Mice and Men." She didn't know if the boy had read any of those, but those were probably the two he was most famous for. "It's a pretty weird name. My parents were both lit majors, though, so I guess it could have been worse. I could have been named Shakespeare." She hoped that her attempts at humor weren't misplaced. He had every right to be angry with her, after all.

Once she'd gotten most of the macaroons gathered up, she wondered what she should do with them. "Um, do you want these back?" she asked, and then kicked herself. No, probably not. He didn't want gross dusty candy back. "I guess we should throw them away. But it's such a waste of good food. I'm sorry." She knew that her constant apologies could get pretty annoying, but it was hard to stop when she really was very, very sorry.

[François Laffont]

Franck was picking up the macaroons on the floor before anyone stepped on them. Not only they would not like it, but there would be traces of macaroons all over the corridor if he did not pick them all up. He did notice Steinbeck helping him out. At one point, Franck was about to grab one when she reached for it also. He pulled his hand quickly. He knew that her nerves calmed down but he didn’t want to touch her and let his power read more about her than he wished to. He always felt like prying when it happened and he was certain that, at some point, he would either find something he would really not like to find or that the person would take it personal and be very angry at him. Ellen already decided to hate him simply because he could tell she had a vulnerable side. Not that he was comparing Steinbeck to Ellen but he didn’t want to take any risk. Saying ‘you used your power, I shall use mine’ didn’t seem like a good excuse.

He looked at her when she apologized again. “You shouldn’t apologize so much. It’s alright,” he said. Of course, the fact it was pretty much fifteen dollars thrown in the dirt that he was picking up right now, fifteen dollars of his precious money, did hurt. He was not rich like many of his friends, even if his family never had big financial problems. But money was not to be wasted and Franck did feel a light pinch knowing he bought sweets with his and could not even enjoy them. It was not like someone else was eating them, they would go in the nearest garbage bin. Sad.

“Oh yes, I know Of Mice and Men,” he replied as she explained who the writer she inherited the name of was. To be honest, he never read the book, only saw the movie adaptation. But he still knew of it and the other title also sounded quite familiar. It was still an unusual name of course, especially for a girl but he smiled as she joked about how she could have been called Shakespeare. “Had they loved Shakespeare, they might have called you Titania or Desdemona,” he pointed out on the same humoristic tone. He made sure to pick these names because they were weird also. She could have been called Juliette for the same reason, but it would not have been as funny. “My name means Frenchman. And I’m French. A French Frenchman,” he told her. Of course, now the term was written français and no longer françois but it still meant the same thing. Franck really saw the irony in that only after he came to live here in America.

Now that all of the macaroons were in their hands, Franck stood up and looked around. Becky did ask him what he wanted to do with them. He didn’t want to take them from her hands of course but she was right, they should throw them away. So Franck went to the nearest bin to do that. Again, he moved his hands quickly to prevent touching hers. He then realized she might take offence. “Sorry, it’s just... well my power gets stronger in contact with people,” he explained. He didn’t want her to think she was responsible or that he was disgusted at her. “And what did I tell you about apologizing?"

[Steinbeck Dunn]

Becky noticed that Franck was very careful not to touch her fingertips as they picked up the macaroons, but she didn't really think anything of it. Some people just didn't like contact with other people. She knew sometimes some people had a touch-oriented power that made touching people unpleasant (either for them or the recipient). But some people just wanted personal space and Becky could respect that. She tried not to be offended by it. It could just be that he hated her for ruining his food, too, but he didn't seem that angry. Just disappointed and sad. Which was almost worse.

She knew that it wasn't alright, which was why she kept apologizing. But she also knew that apologizing wasn't going to fix anything. She had to make it up to him somehow. "Is there anyway I can help you?" she asked, hoping that there was. "I can pay you back for them or maybe I can buy you some more, if you tell me where to look." She had to keep reminding herself not the apologize at the end of every sentence. She didn't know what else she could do to show how sorry and mean she felt, but she hoped that that would be enough and maybe she could get him some new candy that he could enjoy.

Becky smiled when he recognized the titles and even made some appropriate Shakespeare jokes. Obviously he was pretty well-read then. "Oh, man. Desdemona? I think I prefer Steinbeck. At least I can be called Becky instead of Demon," she joked with him, hoping that this good mood wasn't put upon and that he actually wasn't too upset. If someone had destroyed a bag of candy of hers, she'd be pretty sad about it. But it looked like he was trying not to worry her. She couldn't help but laugh when he said his name literally meant "Frenchman". "Wow, your parents are pretty literal," she joked awkwardly. "But it's a nice sounding name all the same."

Becky sighed and went with him to throw them in the trash bin, forgetting that he had the touch aversion. She opened her mouth to apologize again, but he beat her to it. She tossed the rest of the macaroons into the trash, looking at them and how sad they look piled on top of all the other trash. Man. She really had screwed up. "It's okay," she assured him. "My roommate is like that too. I've kind of learned to take things in stride since I've been here. And sorry," she said, before realizing that she was apologizing for apologizing and that was ridiculous. She laughed a little bit. "I mean, I'm not sorry. But anyway, is there anyway I can pay you back for the damage I've caused?"

[François Laffont]

At this point, François didn’t mind too much about his macaroons anymore. Sure, he didn’t like wasting money and food like this but what was done was done and there wasn’t much anything else to do about it. He didn’t want Steinbeck to feel bad but he could sense that she was nonetheless and it made him feel sorry and guilty for putting her through this. It was not her fault if her power decided to act up on its own. Franck had a power that could never be turned off. It was not one he could use, it was a state he had to live in. All he could do was to learn not to get overwhelmed by the emotions he picked up. He knew what it was like to have no control over your ability.

He stared at her when she asked what she could do to repay him. He gave her a soft smile. Franck never needed too much gestures to know how you felt, since he could tell right on the spot. He was close enough of her and her guilt was strong enough for him to pick it up without needing to touch her. The fact he could tell she truly was sorry was enough for him. “Please, it’s alright. They’re just sweets, it’s not like you set my whole bag on fire or something,” he assured her. He wondered how many times he would have to tell her it was alright before she got it.

He laughed when they joked about possible names. “Yes, given the choice, I’d prefer Steinbeck too,” he said as she used Demon as a short version of Desdemona. He didn't even think about that one. “I’ll call you Becky then. I tell people to call me Franck because it’s easier to say than François. When I hear them say it wrong, I’m just glad they don’t have to say my second name. Guillaume is obviously harder, though I think you say William in English,” he told her. Franck didn’t like so much when people tried to speak French. To hear his language butchered many him cringe. Ironic, considering he was not being very nice to their language. He chuckled again as they talked of his name. “It’s the old way of saying it. And it’s a rather common name now,” he explained, giving her a light shrug as he talked.

Franck did feel sorry when he pulled away from her. He didn’t mean to act like that. But he got enough of her guilt by standing close to her, he didn’t want to feel it more by touching her. She apologized again though understood why he preferred to avoid any contact between them. Since she was back on the topic of repaying him, Franck thought perhaps if she knew his power she would understand it was alright. “Look, I’m an empath. I’m not touching you and I can tell how bad you feel. I know you didn’t mean to do that. You couldn’t have been able to hide it from me had it been the case. I don’t want you to feel bad for it, really, it’s fine.”

[Steinbeck Dunn]

Becky wondered if something like that happened very often. If kids with pyrokinetic powers ever accidentally set other people's things on fire. That was definitely worse than making things float to the ceiling, even if it had the same effect; no sweets for Franck. She was glad that he seemed so light hearted, but Becky wasn't someone who took hurting someone else lightly, even if it was just a little inconvenience. She hated to be a bother. It sort of made her a doormat, but she thought that that was preferable to being a big, mean bully.

His middle name really was quite tricky. She considered trying to emulate his speech, but decided against it. She didn't want to screw it up and look stupid for trying. And she didn't want to insult him. "It's a nice name," she assured him. "It's cool how you get to take a piece of your home with you like that." At least, she thought it was cool. It was kind of the same thing with her name. Her parents had named her after a famous author and now she had a little piece of the bookshop to take with her wherever she went. At least, that was a romantic way of thinking about it, if you didn't want to think about having a stupid name. Not that she thought François was at all stupid. Just her own name was a bit silly. "And Franck is a nice nickname. I guess we're both kind of lucky in that regard."

As Franck explained more about his power, she was surprised at how close it sounded to Carter's. No wonder he didn't want to touch her. Running into Carter had caused her all sorts of emotional distress, so she could imagine that Franck would feel horrible if they touched when she was feeling this guilty. And apparently he could tell even without a physical touch. Was it possible to feel guilty for feeling guilty? But she knew that she had to brush the feeling aside if she really wanted to help Franck. "Okay. If you're sure," she said, with a little smile. "It was nice being able to meet you, even if the circumstances weren't ideal," she lisped. "My roommate has the same sort of issue. I know how draining it can be. Makes my complaining about my power going a little haywire seem like a cakewalk."

[François Laffont]

Actually, Franck never had his bag or anything else catch on fire. But like many students here, he either suffered from or witnessed a power going out of control. He had been pushed by telekinetics, some girl with earth ability nearly exploded the ground at his feet. He even ended up on some island because he held on to a teleport. Ellen tried to make him believe he was a depressed nobody his friend Evan once walked in his shoes, quite literally. He knew he didn’t have too bad experiences. He recalled that girl who outgrew her clothes in class. He was glad something like that never happened to him.

He smiled to Steinbeck as she complimented him on his name. He thought she got it perfectly. It was a part of his home, a piece of him he so often had to leave behind for he was in America here and not in France. He accepted Franck because it was easier to say but he loved his name. It was as much as he was ready to go. He could not see himself being called Francis William instead. “You got it, you understand,” he said to her. He sometimes felt like he was silly to cling onto so many French things. French movies, French music, French books, his French name... but it was part of who he was and he didn’t want to lose it.

Normally, Franck didn’t have too much problem with touching people. Sure, he tried to avoid it when he could. But most of the time, he could deal well with the flow of emotions he got from people. Unless they were having some strong emotion at the time. When he could sense it just by standing next to them, he didn’t want to try what it was like when he touched them. He had the impression she felt even more guilty for a time but she seemed to get the point now and give up trying to repay him more than she had to. Seriously, guiltier people offered a lot less and he still let them walk.

He chuckled as she was being polite with him. “Next time, we won’t need such circumstances to talk to each other,” he assured her. He liked her, even if she was one big ball of nerve. There was something about her, she was very much like him. He could tell that if they ever ended up becoming friends, she would not spend all her time with him only talking of her problems, ignoring him when he might have some he wished to unburden himself of. He had a soft smile when she talked about her complaining. He either had people not understanding how tiring this all could be and considered him a wuss for whining or he had people considering their struggle really was nothing compared to his. “You learn to deal with it. I’ve been to this school for five years. You should have seen me when I started. It’s a lot better than it used to. It’s just that I feel like I’m intruding people’s privacy sometimes, that’s why I prefer not to touch them when I can avoid it,” he explained. Well, it was one of the reasons but he didn’t want to go and start crying on her shoulders about his problems. He did wonder however how he would be able to be with someone. That did seem tricky. But, again, nothing to concern her with.