Terranauts: Ruby Warrior 04: Shopclass Bullies

The woodworking classroom smelled of sawdust and machine oil, a scent David had come to appreciate over the semester. Unlike other classes where he felt constantly out of place, here the expectations were clear: design, measure, cut, sand, finish. A project either worked or it didn't. No social navigation required.

Today they were working on their semester projects. David had chosen a simple bookshelf, nothing fancy but functional. Tony, at the workbench beside him, was attempting something more ambitious – a decorative box with inlaid patterns that was already looking more complicated than he'd anticipated.

"I think I'm in over my head," Tony muttered, staring at the half-assembled pieces. "Why didn't I just make a cutting board like Jason?"

"Because you said cutting boards were, and I quote, 'pedestrian wood rectangles for people with no imagination,'" David reminded him, carefully measuring his next cut.

"Past Tony was an idiot," Tony sighed, adjusting his safety goggles. "Present Tony would kill for a pedestrian wood rectangle right about now."
David smiled as he marked the line for his cut. He'd grown to enjoy woodworking class, the methodical process of turning raw materials into something useful. Here, at least, his tendency to get lost in details was an asset rather than a liability.

"Hey," Tony lowered his voice, leaning closer. "Did you tell anyone about what we saw the other night? By the park?"

David shook his head, focusing on his measurement. "No. Who would believe us anyway?"

"I told Danny Malcomb," Tony admitted. "But that's it."

David looked up from his work. "Why?"

"I don't know," Tony shrugged. "It was weird, right? Like, legitimately weird. I wanted to see if anyone else had seen something similar."

"And had they?"

"Not exactly, but–" Tony glanced around before continuing, "Janet—that's Danny's sister—she asked a lot of questions about it. Seemed really interested in the details."

"Probably just being polite," David said, turning back to his project.

"Maybe," Tony didn't sound convinced. "But you have to admit it was strange. That light wasn't normal, David."

"It was probably just someone with a drone or something," David murmured, though he didn't entirely believe it himself. The memory of that pulsing red glow still made the hair on his arms stand up.

Tony was about to respond when Nevin's voice cut through their conversation. "Careful with that saw, Ttereve. Wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, since we all know how uncoordinated you are."

David looked up to see Nevin standing nearby, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. As usual, he somehow managed to make even shop clothes look expensive, his safety goggles pushed up on his perfectly styled hair.

"Thanks for the concern," Tony replied dryly, "but I think I can manage."

"You sure?" Nevin's smirk widened. "That box looks like it's one wrong cut away from becoming kindling. But I guess that's what happens when you try to work beyond your capabilities."

David kept his head down, measuring the same line twice to avoid getting involved. He could feel tension building as Nevin hovered nearby, making a show of examining Tony's project.

"At least I'm actually making something," Tony said, his voice tighter than usual. "What's your project again? A picture frame? Real ambitious."
Nevin's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's a hand-carved Brazilian Rosewood display case, actually. For my father's collection. Some of us have standards to maintain."

"Some of us have parents who can afford Brazilian Rosewood," Tony muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Nevin's expression darkened. He reached over and casually nudged Tony's carefully arranged pieces, sending several small wood sections clattering to the floor. "Oops. Clumsy me."

Tony's face flushed red as he knelt to retrieve the scattered pieces. David felt something shift inside him – a sudden, unexpected surge of anger that pushed past his usual hesitation.

"That was deliberate," David said, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Nevin turned to him, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "Well, look who found his voice. Got something to say, Lamb?"

David set down his pencil, suddenly very conscious of the eyes turning in their direction. "Just that knocking over someone's project is a pretty low move."

"It was an accident," Nevin said, his voice sharp with warning. "Maybe you need your eyes checked."

"Maybe you need to back off," David replied, surprised by his own steadiness.

"Oh? Is that your professional opinion?" Nevin's tone was dripping with condescension. "The guy who can barely stay awake in class is giving me advice now?"

"At least I don't need to mess with other people's work to feel important," David shot back.

Nevin's smile tightened. "You think I care about Ttereve's pathetic attempt at craftsmanship? Please. I could build that box in my sleep."

"Then why don't you?" Tony interjected. "Instead of the basic picture frame you're working on."

"Display case," Nevin corrected through gritted teeth. "And unlike you two, I actually have standards. Quality over quantity. But what would you know about quality? Your dad works at the hardware store, right, Lamb? Stocking shelves with cheap tools for weekend warriors?"

David felt heat rising in his face. "At least my dad works for a living instead of inheriting everything."

Nevin's eyes flashed dangerously. "Careful, Lamb. You're punching way above your weight class here."

David crossed his arms, adrenaline overriding his usual caution. "Maybe I'm just tired of watching you act like you own the place."

The workshop had grown quieter, students pausing their work to watch the confrontation. Nevin took a step closer to David, invading his personal space. "Or what, Lamb? What exactly do you think you're going to do?"

Before David could respond, Mr. Carver's voice boomed across the room. "Is there a problem over here, gentlemen?"

"No problem, Mr. Carver," Nevin stepped back, his expression instantly transforming into respectful attentiveness. "Just having a discussion about project designs."

Mr. Carver looked between them, clearly skeptical. "Well, take your discussion to your own workstations. We've got a guest speaker arriving any minute." He gave them one last warning look before heading to the front of the classroom.

Nevin moved away, but not before giving David a glare that promised this wasn't over. Tony stood up, his scattered pieces now back in his hands.

"Thanks," he said quietly to David. "But you didn't have to do that."

David shrugged, his heartbeat finally slowing. "He was being a jerk."

"Yeah, well, that's his default setting," Tony arranged his pieces back on the workbench. "But seriously, thanks. Not many people stand up to him."

David turned back to his bookshelf measurements, trying to refocus. The strange feeling of anger was receding, but it had left something unfamiliar in its place – a small, unexpected sense of satisfaction.

Mr. Carver cleared his throat at the front of the class. "Settle down, everyone. Today we have a special guest. Ms. Lockhart is a local artisan who specializes in traditional woodcarving. She's going to demonstrate some techniques that might help with your final projects."
 
 
A woman in her mid-twenties entered the classroom, wheeling an impressive multi-level tool case behind her. Her long hair was tied back in a practical ponytail, and she wore a simple flannel shirt with jeans. Despite her casual appearance, something about her commanded attention – a quiet confidence in the way she moved and surveyed the room.

"Thank you for having me," she said, positioning her professional-grade tool case beside the demonstration table. "I'm Heather Lockhart. I've been working with wood since I was about your age, and I'm excited to share some techniques with you today."

Mr. Carver gestured to the students. "Everyone bring your stools up to the demonstration table so you can get a good view."

There was a scraping of chair legs and shuffling of feet as students abandoned their workbenches to gather around. David and Tony managed to secure spots near the front, while Nevin smoothly maneuvered his way to a prime position directly across from the demonstration area.

Morgan Altura slouched against a nearby cabinet, trying to look disinterested but clearly paying attention. Francine Holderman sat with perfect posture on her stool, a small sketchbook ready in her hands. Jason took a spot in the back, tall enough to see over everyone's heads.
Ms. Lockhart began opening various compartments of her wheeled case, revealing specialized tools nestled in custom foam padding. The professional quality of her equipment made their classroom tools look like children's toys in comparison. With practiced efficiency, she laid out an array of carving knives, chisels, gouges, and other tools David couldn't even name, arranging them in a precise sequence on a leather tool roll.

As she methodically set up her workspace, David found himself oddly captivated. It wasn't just that she was attractive – though she was, in a natural, understated way – but something about her presence felt significant, though he couldn't have explained why.

"Today I'll be demonstrating some techniques using a decorative box design," Ms. Lockhart announced, pulling out a partially completed wooden box from her case. David heard Tony's sharp intake of breath beside him. The box was remarkably similar to what Tony had been attempting, but Heather's version seemed to exist in a different dimension of craftsmanship.

Where Tony's joints were slightly misaligned, hers fit together with seamless precision. The wood itself seemed to glow with a warm luster that came from expert finishing. Most striking were the intricate patterns adorning its sides – delicate geometric shapes that flowed organically across the surface.

"I understand some of you are working on similar projects," she said, her eyes briefly meeting Tony's. "This box design incorporates several fundamental techniques while allowing for creative expression."

She turned the box to display all sides. "The patterns I've carved here are inspired by local history. Millridge has a rich artistic tradition that goes back to its founding. These symbols here" – she traced her finger along intricate patterns carved into the wood – "are based on designs found in some of our oldest buildings."

David leaned forward slightly, his project forgotten. The symbols etched into the wood seemed to shimmer in the classroom's fluorescent lighting – geometric patterns that somehow suggested movement, with interlocking curves and angles that drew the eye in unexpected directions.

"The key to woodcarving isn't just technical skill," Ms. Lockhart explained, selecting a tool from her collection. "It's about understanding the material – working with the wood's natural grain rather than against it. Each piece has its own story to tell; our job is to listen and help reveal it."

As she began to demonstrate, David found himself interested in her technique. The way she handled her tools showed years of practice, each movement precise and deliberate. Her carving motions were fluid and confident, leaving delicate spiral patterns in the wooden box.

Tony nudged him. "Earth to David?" he whispered. "You're staring."

David blinked, realizing he'd been completely absorbed in the demonstration. He glanced around, relieved to see most of the class was similarly attentive. Even Nevin seemed interested, though he was trying to appear casually unimpressed.

As Ms. Lockhart continued, David's gaze returned to the patterns on her demonstration piece. One particular geometric arrangement near the center caught his attention – he'd seen something similar in his art history textbook, though he couldn't quite place it. There was something aesthetically pleasing about the proportions and symmetry.

When the demonstration ended, students returned to their projects with renewed enthusiasm. David, however, lingered at his workbench, still thinking about those intricate patterns. He barely noticed when Ms. Lockhart approached him.

"That's a nice bookshelf design," she said, startling him from his thoughts. "Practical but with good proportions."

"Oh – thanks," David replied, fumbling for words. "I was trying to keep it simple."

She nodded approvingly. "There's value in simplicity. Are you planning to add any decorative elements?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," David admitted.

Ms. Lockhart studied his design sketch. "You might consider a small border pattern here," she suggested, pointing to the top edge. "Nothing elaborate – just enough to give it character."

As she spoke, she pulled a small sketchbook from her pocket and quickly drew a simple geometric pattern of interconnected lines. It was much less complex than her demonstration piece, but elegant in its simplicity.

"Something like this could work," she said, tearing out the page and handing it to him. "It's a traditional pattern found in a lot of historic Millridge furniture."

"Thanks," David said, accepting the sketch and examining the design.

Ms. Lockhart gave him a polite nod, then moved on to the next student, leaving David with the sketch in his hand.

The bell rang far too soon, startling him back to awareness. Students began packing up their tools and securing their projects for the next class.

"What did she say to you?" Tony asked as they cleaned their workstation.

"Just some suggestions for my bookshelf," David replied, carefully folding the sketch and tucking it into his pocket.

"Lucky," Tony sighed. "She just told me I should probably scale back my ambitions and focus on getting the basics right first."

"Harsh but fair," David couldn't help grinning.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Hey, want to grab something at Quick Mart after school? I need to fuel up before tonight's raid."

"Can't," David replied. "I've got work. Maybe after?"

"Works for me," Tony nodded. "I can meet you at Quick Mart when your shift ends. Text me."
 
 
As they left the classroom, David noticed Nevin watching him with narrowed eyes. The confrontation earlier had clearly left an impression, though David wasn't sure if that was a good thing. He'd never stood up to Nevin before, and while it had felt surprisingly good in the moment, he wondered if he'd just painted a target on his back.

Throughout his remaining classes, David found his thoughts occasionally drifting back to Ms. Lockhart's demonstration. By the time the final bell rang, he was already mentally preparing for his shift at the grocery store. He still had forty-five minutes to get there, but he wanted to stop at home first to change.

As David headed downtown, he passed by Jensen's Antiques again. The elderly owner was outside, carefully arranging a small display of vintage items in the window. Mr. Jensen looked up as David passed.

"Afternoon, young man," he called. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," David replied, pausing briefly.

"You're Michael Lamb's boy, aren't you?" Mr. Jensen asked, shading his eyes against the sun.

"Yes sir." David was used to this in Millridge – being identified by his family connection rather than as an individual.

"Tell your father I still have that original gauge cluster and transmission linkage for a '52 Studebaker Commander. I know he was asking about the ’53, but this should work with to." The old man smiled, his face crinkling into well-worn lines. "Found them at an estate auction in Grantville last weekend. Gauges all intact, glass isn't cracked, and the transmission linkage is complete – hard to find those these days."

"I'll let him know," David promised, inwardly groaning. If his dad was already asking around town for specific parts like that, it meant the Studebaker purchase was practically a done deal. No doubt he'd soon be spending his weekends covered in grease, handing tools to his father while pretending to understand what a transmission linkage actually did.

"You working at Morgan's Grocery now?" Mr. Jensen asked.

"Yes sir, part-time."

"Good place to start. I worked there myself back when old man Morgan's father ran the place," the old man chuckled. "Long before your time, of course. Well, don't let me keep you."

David continued on his way, slightly surprised by the interaction. He rarely spoke to the older residents of Millridge, despite having lived there his whole life. There was something comforting about the continuity, though – the way stories and connections stretched through the town's history, binding people together across generations.

By the time he reached home to change for work, David had almost forgotten about the strange tension with Nevin. He had larger concerns – namely surviving another shift at the grocery store without dying of boredom or messing up the register again.

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End Chapter!

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