The Half-Class by Kayvion Lewis

Chapter Four

Naturals only before mid-meal.

I read it a dozen times. Too many times. This couldn’t be right.

For a second, I thought I was at the wrong shop. But no, a single trembling glance around at the familiar swinging sign for Nero’s linen shop and the peeling paint boards of the storefronts along this road reminded me that I was, in fact, in the right place.

A chilly breeze nipped my cheek as if to assure me that I wasn’t asleep either. It wasn’t a dream that Auntie woke me up early to fetch linens for her, and I didn’t dream of dragging myself all the way here with my eyes roped to the sidewalk. I, unfortunately, wasn’t dreaming this either.

My heart trembled. Gilow’s words flushed over me: There are going to be changes.

I dropped my hand and took a step back from the shop door. This couldn’t be happening. The one day I come out in the light of day, and the world crumbles on top of me. I almost wanted to throw my arms up like I could shield myself from reality. But it was too heavy to protect myself from. If it wanted to, it could crush me. I couldn’t let it—I wouldn’t.

I jumped as the shop door opened, the rusty bells tied over it singing loudly. Nero, with heavy eyes, stepped onto the porch. He shut the door behind him. Carefully, as if he were keeping a pet inside—or something unwanted out.

“Morning, Evie.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh.

“What’s going on, Nero?”

He sighed and folded his boney arms. “I’m sorry, Evie. I really am. You know I don’t like this, and I don’t have no problem with you or any of the others, but I don’t have a choice.”

“What does that mean?” A light-class woman passed between us. I instinctively stepped out the way and dipped my head as she passed.

“It’s the king,” Nero said. “Got a notice the other day. He’s lowering taxes for businesses that promote natural business. You know I didn’t want to do it, but the linen trade isn’t like it used to be, Evie, especially with all those new fabrics from Ryland they bring in now, and 'course, that’s all those people in Eastside wanna buy, and…” He sighed again. “I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s just for the season. He probably wants the officers to feel a little more at home, you know?”

“Yes, I know.”

Nero forced a smile, but I couldn’t do the same. “Come back in a couple hours, okay? I got whatever you need.”

Nero crept back into his shop, shutting the door behind him. I wanted to collapse onto the sidewalk, to fade away into the cracks between the cobblestones. So, this was what the king wanted—not just an implication to stay out of the way in the daytime, but real restrictions to keep us locked away.

The neighboring shop windows pulled my attention. I hadn’t seen them walking here when my eyes were stuck below me, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. There were signs everywhere.

Natural lights and darks only before mid-meal.

Naturals only before sunset.

Naturals only, please.

Nero had been generous. At least he was letting us in before sunset. Some weren’t letting us in at all. There was no way this was only for the season.

That’s what everyone thought when they initiated the class ordinances in the first place when I was just a little girl. It was just temporary to get us adjusted to the way things were set up back in Ryland. There, they interpreted the Old Texts and their warnings against mixing in a much stricter way—the class system had been tweaked to perfection, so there were far fewer half-classes like me to splatter grey all over their black and white system.

I should have taken Gilow’s warning more seriously.

How could I have been so stupid? I was out walking the streets like an idiot when none of the stores would let me in. Everyone saw it too. My mind ripped me back in time, imagining all the cuts of glares and giggling smirks I must have missed when walking here. I must have looked foolish. Pathetic.

I rushed down the sidewalk, barely keeping myself from running. Eyes bored down on me, and each pitiful glance and annoyed glare were a slap to my face.

I couldn’t go home yet. I didn’t want to talk to Auntie or Kat about this, and I couldn’t handle their pity right now. I needed someone to listen to me. Someone who’d always let me talk. Someplace I could breathe again.

I headed for the one shop I knew would let me in.

“Luke!” I banged on the wooden door again. He was probably in the front shop with his mother, but I wouldn’t go up there. I didn’t want any of his customers, or anyone, to see me like this.

I pulled my balled fist back to slam it into the door again, but it swung open.

Before Luke could say a word, I shoved myself inside. I sucked in as much air as I could, finally feeling like I could breathe in the safety of the shoe-cluttered back room.

“What happened?” Luke took a step toward me, but I took one step back. If he took any of my space right now, I might suffocate.

“Have you seen them?” I huffed, resting my hands on my knees.

“The signs—who hasn’t? But we were expecting that, Evie.”

“We were expecting something, but not this.”

I took an extra deep breath and breathed out slowly. Luke watched me calmly. Why wasn’t he as mad as I was?

“I was just at Nero’s,” I said. “He sent me away. I can’t go anywhere now.”

“Even Nero?”

“He said he’s getting a break on his taxes in exchange for nurturing ‘natural business.’ I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the king begins blatantly paying people to shun us.”

Luke frowned. “Why are you out now anyway?”

He said it like I should have known better. “To get stupid sheets for Auntie Jen! Since, apparently, neither of us knew about this.”

“Know or not, she shouldn’t have sent you out alone during the day.” Luke crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you come here first? I could have gone with you, and we could have avoided all of this.”

A fresh heat bubbled up in my chest. So, this was my fault? Silly me for trying to walk the streets alone like an actual person.

“You’re right. How selfish of me for wanting to go to shops, by myself, during the day, like everyone else.”

He threw his hands up, immediately going from accuser to defendant. “I’m sorry.” He took a cautious step forward. “I’m just trying to think of ways we can prevent this in the future. I hate to see you flustered, especially if I can do something to stop it.”

He closed the little remaining distance between us. My heart hitched as he stroked my cheek. I flinched and turned away.

He didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you want to go back now? I can go in and get you whatever you need.”

“No.” That was the last thing I wanted. I wrung my wrists as an uncomfortable silence stretched between us.

Luke glanced over to the stairs opening up between the shelves of detached heels, knotted laces, and loose soles. “Do you want to see my new painting?” he asked.

Probably trying to distract me. I’d take it for now. Maybe that was what I needed.

I nodded. “You’re probably dying to show me anyway.”

Luke chuckled. I let him take my hand and lead me up the stairs into his studio above their apartment. I made a note to say hello to Miss Iris before I left. She’d always seemed to love me so much.

“It’s a work in progress,” Luke said.

Sunlight beamed into the hall from the art room. Inside, the bland wood panel walls turned into shades of infinite color. Watercolor and oil canvases stretched across every inch of the walls. The scenic flower depictions and abstract clusters of shapes worked together to make a giant collage.

The sunshine and color of the room lifted my spirits instantly. “You say that every time,” I said. For someone so confident about everything else in his life, it never ceased to amuse me how defensive Luke was when it came to his art.

He dropped my hand and darted over to his easel, glowing in the direct light from the window. “Alright, be honest.” He turned the easel around, revealing the expansive canvas.

Deep purples and blues swirled across the canvas. Dozens of figures popped out from the sea of blended color. People. Men and women of every shape and color swam up from the ocean. Each person was so small, no bigger than my little finger, but the details of each were distinct. These no doubt had been people Luke had caught crossing the street under his window. He seemed to find a lifetime of inspiration from that square of glass.

“You hate it,” Luke said.

“I hate that you think I could hate it. Luke, this is extraordinary. It belongs in a museum.” Dozens and dozens of Luke’s other works, all of them as detailed and impressive as this newest, laid stacked against the walls. “Most of these do.”

“One day.” He stepped back to examine the painting alongside me. Luke was born to be an artist, just like his father. Since I met him, every hour he didn’t have to spend cobbling downstairs, he was either painting, talking about artists, or on his way to buy new colors. If he were allowed to sell, then Luke might have already been a well-established artist. At least in Bexbury.

But despite the passion fate had cruelly bestowed upon him, Luke could not be an artist. Not legally. The cushy, creative professions like artist, writer, musician, along with the truly lucrative ones like mathematician, healer, and architect were all reserved for the light-class. Dark-classes like Luke belonged in dark-class fields like construction, stable work, or cobbling.

When we were younger, I’d foolishly hoped that one day, fine arts would be switched to the ‘any class’ category, like servants or theatre performers.

Even more foolishly, I’d dreamt that Luke would appeal for a class change and could become an artificial light like me. Of course, as a half-class with my class artificially assigned to me, I could appeal to be an artificial dark-class if I wanted to. But I quickly realized that Luke would never switch classes. Artificials like me could change classes, but Luke—though I knew one of his grandparents was light-class—had too much of one side, so he got to be a natural dark-class. And naturals can’t change classes.

“Do you really think it will change, Luke? In time for us?”

Could Gilow’s plans really make a worthwhile impact in time for people like Luke to live out their dreams?

He frowned. “You don’t?”

“I hope for the best, but change takes time. More than we’ve got.”

“To hell with that.” Luke lovingly turned his canvas back around. “Change happens in a heartbeat and a century. It only depends on what we’re willing to do.”

I sighed. I loved Luke’s passion for our cause—I really did. But after what happened at Nero’s, his dedication was bordering on foolishness.

I leaned against his windowpane. Nearly every shop on the block below had a new sign plastered in its windows. “Then we must be doing the wrong things. Looks to me like we’re going backwards.”

Luke was behind me in an instant. His hand pressed into the windowsill as he leaned over me. “One step back, two steps forward.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not the expression.”

“It is now. I changed it. See how easy that was?”

I bit back a smirk as I spun around, but my smile faded before it could grow. Luke’s body loomed over mine. He was practically pressing me into the wall; he was so close. I started to lift my hands to push him back by the shoulders, but I forced my hands back down.

I might not have been smiling, but Luke was. Gently. His eyes glimmered like shards of silver; they popped vivid against his brown skin. His face dipped closer to mine. My heart skipped a beat.

I yawned, bringing my hand up to my lips and dividing the slight distance between us. “I’m so tired,” I said. “I really need to sleep before tonight. You still don’t mind going into Nero’s for me, do you?”

Luke lingered for a moment, then pushed back from me. “'Course not,” He crossed his arms. “I’ll get my papers.”