My alarm goes off. Seven thirty in the morning. Slowly, I open my eyes and reach for the alarm clock. Pushing the off button, I move my hand over slightly and down to grip around my phone. Pulling it back to me, I settle into bed. As I slept, I’d missed just under a dozen notifications on my phone. I always miss something near that amount. Likely nothing important, but cluttering nonetheless. Especially if something important were to come in. I quickly scan through them, confirming my suspicions. Junkmail and app notifications the lot of them. I swipe them away swiftly.
Opening up my calendar, I run through the coming day in my head. Just classes. Nothing too major due. Nothing too important to do. I’ve got my Latin class. Homework on the desk. That will lead into an appropriate lunchtime. No one heads to the Blinded Pig for lunch. Not good or popular enough to make it as campus knowledge. Should be a nice time to eat, prep for the evening class, and maybe even start my homework. And it’s close enough to be able to take my time eating and still make it back early for class. Then my Principles: Cost class. Homework was simply reading. Our Maestro likes pop quizzes. Reviewing the chapter during my lunch will probably prove useful. Head back to my room. Finish my homework for tomorrow. Rachel isn’t working this week. I should probably take the opportunity to go enjoy a drink. So, after my homework’s ready, I head out to the Lounge and grab some drinks. Assuming I have time, of course.
I pull myself out of bed. I need to get dressed. I head over to my closet. I grab one of my plain black tees and a pair of sweats, then pull myself into a crimson v-neck hoodie. Should be good enough to wear to class. I’ll probably change the hoodie to one of my warmer ones if I end up heading out for a drink. As I finish getting dressed, a text comes in. It’s from Abdul. I look at the preview. He is wondering about my lunch plans. I could tell him, or say no to him. But either of those would lead to longer conversations. I’ll instead just leave the notification up, wait, and open it at lunch. Easier conversation, and a better time for it than now. It’s not blowing him off, I try to rationalize, it’s prioritizing my education. I know that’s just me rationalizing what I’m doing, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not also the truth.
Picking up my homework, I skim it quickly. Looks complete and seems close enough to correct. At least to my half-asleep ass. Then I slide it carefully into my backpack. Pulling my backpack up off my chair and over my shoulders, I head out of my room. After a brief detour to the Caf to grab some coffee, I’m on my way through the Teaching Center to class.
Latin class is easy enough. If for nothing else, pretty much the only people who know me only deal with me in this one class. Only one other senior is even taking advanced Latin. And he’s not exactly a popular or influential or smart person. Half of class was spent arguing about the article from our homework’s validity, then we quickly, as well as angrily and somewhat panickedly on our Magister’s part, went to the text to discuss what we’re actually supposed to be reading. Which is pretty much how every one of our classes work. Some weird point gets three or four of us disagreeing strongly enough to waste half of class on it, then Magister Baines starts to worry about not teaching us what he’s supposed to, gets upset with us, and tries to push us back on topic. It generally works a little, until the next minor thing works up another few of us. Then, before we know it, class is over.
I get up and out of there before Talfryn can find a reason to yell at me. I don’t want to deal with that right now. I head out the back door of the Teaching Center. Flipping up my hood, I walk out through the smoking trail, then double back into town. Even the people who generally spend their time in those woods aren’t there, or aren’t noticeably there, at least. Perhaps it’s a sign that the world agrees with what I’m doing. Or, at the very least, wants me to see it through. Once in town, I head the couple blocks over, then walk down the stairs to the Blinded Pig. I’m not a regular here, not by any means, but I’ve come to the restaurant often enough over the last couple years that I know the place. I seat myself, order up some ribs, and pull out my phone.
A couple more pointless notifications. I swipe them away. And now, I open up Abdul’s message. ‘Sorry,’ I type out my reply carefully, ‘I just noticed this. Latin had me swamped this morning. You doing alright?’ Polite, apologetic, and asks whether this is an important meeting or just a chill lunch. I send the message, hoping it’s received in the way it’s meant. The ribs come. As I eat, I pull out my Cost textbook and start studying the chapter.
‘I’m good. Just haven’t seen you in a minute.’ Abdul replies to me. Good. I’d probably feel bad if something was actually wrong. But, once again, it seems like the world wants me to play this out.
‘Sorry about that. I’ve been busy, but I’ll try to do better,’ I lie to soothe my friend’s worry. I have been busy, that isn’t a lie. But I’m not sorry about doing what I’ve had to. And I’m already doing better. I put my phone away and focus on the chapter of my Cost textbook.
After a time, I finish up my ribs, wash my hands, and head back to campus. This time, I take the direct route. I’m on my way to class, after all. Gives me a good reason to brush off most people. It turns out, I don’t even need to worry about that. Sure, there are plenty of people hanging around the quad, but as I walk calmly across it with my hood up, I can feel people’s eyes just passing over me. Like I’m not significant enough to notice. Good. It’s working. Now, it probably won’t work on people actually looking for me in particular, but that’s a lot less common than people think. I head into Kon and up to the Third floor, where all my advanced Mystic Theory classes have been held. It’s a small, conference style room with incredibly comfy chairs. Before I enter the room, I make sure to pull down my hood. Don’t want the Maestro to get the wrong idea. Then, I head to my chair in the classroom.
The Maestro isn’t here yet. Which is to be expected. We generally arrive around the same time, so I must have eaten my lunch faster than usual. I’m the second one here, though. Lauren arrived before me, as she also usually does. She studies before class in the classroom. Likely because she finds the comfortable chairs distracting if she doesn’t study here. Or she just likes chilling in the comfy chairs. I nod to her. “Lauren,” I say.
“Greg,” she says, closing her book and putting it away. “Thanks for being early. Maestro gets grumpy when I’m studying sometimes.”
“Thanks?” I reply, “Wasn’t really planned. Just ate fast, I guess.”
“Ready for the quiz?” she asks with a smirk. We’ve been doing this for the last year. She knows me well enough to know the answer to that.
“Ready as always,” I reply blankly.
She chuckles. “Good luck, then,” she jokes. She hasn’t quite caught on to the fact that I get it now. Then again, that’s partly my fault. I don’t really want people to catch on to that fact, because then they might start asking why and that leads to a real problematic series of secrets. Better everyone but the Maestro think I’m still that kid that doesn’t know intricacies of non-sacrificial mystic theory. And Therese, I suppose, though to hide secrets from her is near impossible.
The Maestro comes in, nodding to the both of us. As I said, she’s used to us being here when she gets here. She then starts getting ready for class, hooking up her laptop and opening up things. I can already see the telltale rectangular bulge in her bag that there’s a quiz. The rest of our small class begin filing in. It’s all seniors, the juniors aren’t going to show up in these Principles classes until the spring. And we all kinda hate each other. It’s not our fault, of course. It’s actually kind of intentional, on the Maestro’s part, because everything in class is a debate. A competition. Has a winner and a loser. Meaning we all kinda hate each other, and we all kinda rely on each other. Once everyone is here, the Maestro passes out our pop quizzes.
After I ace the quiz, which, to be clear, may have been the easiest quiz this year, class starts in earnest. Or, more specifically, I wait around for a minute, then once everyone else also finished their quizzes, class starts up. This week, it’s a competition centered around quick determination of specific costs associated with generalized rituals. I make sure to only answer the sacrificial ones quickly. After all, as long as we participate and answer one question right, she gives us an A for the classwork of the day. I don’t need to do more than that instant reaction to sacrificial and blood ritual costs. And again, having people think I’m only an expert in one topic can be helpful. Nice, even.
As per usual, Lauren ends up winning the day. She’s an overachiever. She needs to be. She wants to get placed in the Basilica rather than go for Maestrohood. After class ends, I walk out of the door, flip up my hood, and make my way back towards my dorm.
As I finish going across the quad, I get shoved directly into the wall of my building. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Irene asks.
“Why were you looking for me?” I answer her question with one of my own.
Irene shrugs. “Abdul was worried and Therese didn’t seem worried. That combination, let’s just say I want to see who to believe.”
“I’m busy,” I shoot back.
“And I’m the president.”
I look her in her eyes. “I got this,” I state firmly.
After a moment, she sighs. She believes me. Good. Her grip loosens. It’s actually kind of scary how strong she is. File that information away in ‘Reasons I should be terrified of Therese’s crew’. There are already so many, I hate to imagine what it’ll be like in a decade. I head in the dorm and up to my room.
I pull out my homework for tomorrow. It doesn’t take too long to finish it off. I only have the one class on Fridays, after all, and it’s just entry level Illusion. A subject which I already have down. With a sigh, I look at the time. It’s not too late. Pulling off my crimson hoodie, I toss it in the hamper and open back up my closet. Thumbing through the hoodies that are actually warm, I pick my white zip up hoodie. I haven’t worn it in years. But it’s warm. It’ll look good too. I thumb around the edge of the hood itself to make sure this old hoodie wasn’t forgotten. Feeling the small satchel inside the hood, I smile and put the hoodie on. I sigh, look at myself in the mirror, fix my hair slightly, then flip up my hood. After taking a moment to collect myself at my door, I head out, walking unnoticed through the dorm and campus, passing through town and across the river, all the way to the West End Lounge.
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