The Compass by C. T. Lang (carter reed .txt) 📕

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