"Oh, a Shawangunk guy." Jack squints, pretending to scrutinize Dorin, but whatever shrewdness can be found in his expression is undercut by the upturned corners of his mouth. "There was a shot putter on your track team—this was probably before your time—who was huge. We all thought that was his Liminal ability, that he could make himself absolutely massive, but I think he was just like that normally."
Jack laughs to himself at the memory of ordinary teenage bitterness. It's not a bad memory—as an adult, he can be grateful for what normalcy was given to him. For school rivalries, for inter-school rumors. For track meets.
"I'm one of those Fighting Johnsons," Jack replies. He assumes a sly look, but this too is just in good fun. The Lyndon B. Johnson Educational Facility has always been one of the bigger Liminal schools, perched at the edge of four major metropolitans with a considerable catchment. "The Johnson Educational Facility," he adds, somewhat sheepishly, in the (likely) case Dorin has no idea what he's talking about. "It was big for an IRIS facility. If it seems like I know a lot of people, it's just a numbers game."
DURING THE EVALUATIONS: Jack (on call) & Dorin (...not)
Jack laughs to himself at the memory of ordinary teenage bitterness. It's not a bad memory—as an adult, he can be grateful for what normalcy was given to him. For school rivalries, for inter-school rumors. For track meets.
"I'm one of those Fighting Johnsons," Jack replies. He assumes a sly look, but this too is just in good fun. The Lyndon B. Johnson Educational Facility has always been one of the bigger Liminal schools, perched at the edge of four major metropolitans with a considerable catchment. "The Johnson Educational Facility," he adds, somewhat sheepishly, in the (likely) case Dorin has no idea what he's talking about. "It was big for an IRIS facility. If it seems like I know a lot of people, it's just a numbers game."