Clarice meets Chris, a guy who unwittingly joins HeliX

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Clarice accepted her Italian soda from the guy at the coffee house and made her way through the crowded tables back to where Jamie's meet-n-greet was still going on. She had almost made up her mind to not bring the image inducer this time when the terrorists attacked Disney. As it was, she had barely spoken to anyone.

"Hey! I was sitting there!" she said, stopping in front of a table with a bright orange bag on it.

"So?" the guy, a few years older than her replied, tilting the chair back and looking up at her.

"So gimme my seat back!" she demanded.

"You moved."

"I left my bag," Clarice argued in a 'duh' voice, "that means it's saved."

"So then sit in the other chair," he rolled his eyes, matching her tone.

Clarice glared at him and sat in the other chair melodramatically. "Hmph," she sniffed.

"So, which side are you on?" he asked.

"Why do I have to choose a side? Why can't I be me?" she challenged him. The idea of having to choose a side when they were all still human seemed ludicrous, yet that was how a lot of people thought. "That's what this is about, not having sides."

"People will always find a way to establish superiority or categorize themselves," Chris said.

"Equality and acceptance are nice ideas, but they're sociologically impossible. Humans are selfish by nature."

He flicked a bent paper clip across the room, aiming at someone's cola can. "This is a stupid idea," Chris continued. "because we're all going to end up dividing ourselves along some line or another."

"That's stupid," Clarice pronounced, "People fear what they don't understand. Do you fear me?"

"Fear is just your intellect realizing the things you've believed blindly for so long might be hypocritical," he said, a half-smile spreading across his face. "Or, wrong, at the very least."

Impulsively Clarice turned off her image inducer. "Do you fear me now?" she demanded, brandishing her soda.

Chris's eyebrows arched for a moment, but more out of curiosity than shock. "Everybody's a freak, somehow. It's called being unique."

"Good," she proclaimed, "but I am not a freak!" the last sentence was said loudly, drawing stares. Quickly, she turned the image inducer back on, hopefully they'd think the purple skinned girl was a product of too much caffeine.

"Well, I don't think you have a very accurate view of if you're a freak or not," he said. "Besides, I've known half the people in my class since kindergarten, and they've always called me a Freak. I
may not be purple or whatever, but everybody thinks I'm in the same social stratisphere as you... At least they do, NOW." His smirk only broadened.

"I don't think you're unbiased either," Clarice informed him, leaning over the table and smoothing his shirt out, "What band is this?"

"The Drop-Kick Murphies," Chris replied.

"Any good?"

"'Are they any good?" Chris scoffed. ""Are they any good?!' They're the best damned Irish-punk folk band ever, they're right up there with Flogging Molly!"

"I can't stand them," perhaps that was a bit extreme, it was more of a mild-dislike, she reasoned, "Which one of us is biased?"

"If you've heard them, yet you had to ask me what band my shirt refers to, it seems to contradict you. As for being biased, I wouldn't be wearing this shirt if I wasn't proud to be a fan. And since Irish punk-folk rock is so untainted by the popular music industry, this band has been one of the highest album grossing bands in the Irish punk-folk genre. I think a more appropriate question is if you understand how we are completely biased when judging our own personalities in comparison to judging others."

"You are impossible!" she sighed dramatically, "Do you ever stop and listen to yourself?!"

"You don't want to discuss anything introspective with me, do you, Clarice?" he asked, smirking in an even more irritating fashion.

"How do you know my name?" Clarice shrieked, jumping back. This was just a leetle creepy.

Chris chuckled. "Don't be scared. I saw your bag and thought somebody left it by accident. So, I figured I'd find out who it belonged to and take it to the office or lost and found so they could get it back. I found your student ID and realized I had seen you, or what I thought was you, earlier," he said. "And you can look through it, and you'll see that everything is there, right down
to your homework, Hello Kitty pencil case and sunglasses. I'm not a thief. Although, I was tempted to steal the Hello Kitty pencil case. That's just classic. What the hell are you doing with Hello Kitty stuff and... well, a Sesame street tee shirt in high school? I thought kiddie stuff went out of style with those preppy girls, years ago."

Clarice's mouth formed an 'O' but no sound came out. Frantically she looked in her bag, verifying that everything was there. Finally she found her voice, "Fuck you! Who died and made you my father?"

"Aw, come on, I was trying to be nice and do a good deed," Chris said. "although I think it's cool that you're not a complete trendoid and slave to a particular designer, unlike some girls at this school."

"I never said being an individual is a bad thing," Chris said, "or being unique, for that matter." Calming down, Clarice finished the last of her soda, "I wear what I like. No one tells me how to
dress or act."

"Good," Chris said. "Now, you're coming around."

"Coming around? Hellooo? I was like this before I met you," she looked a her watch, "half an hour ago."

"Naw, I just mean, we're finally finding our common ground, Clarice," he said. "We've got things in common, even if you think I'm a pompous jerk."

Clarice giggled, "So then O'Pompous One, do you have a name or should I just call you the soda jerk?"

"Soda jerk is awfully tempting, but Personal God is more appealing," Chris said. "But, the name on my birth certificate is Chris."

"You are completely deluded, Chris," Clarice informed him, "and coming from me, that's saying something," she looked around at everyone packing their things up and clearing the space. "I think
it's time for me to go."

"So soon?" Chris asked in mock shock. "But you were just getting interesting. At least, from a freak's point of view."

"Poor baby, gimme your email and I'll let you know the next time I'm going to be in town," digging in her bag she pulled out paper and a pen.

"Ah, email," he said, picking up the pen and writing down his email address. "take care, little purple one."

"Pixie," she corrected as she headed off to join her classmates, "Purple pixie. And I'll talk to you later, Soda Jerk!"