I give the strange muttering woman an askance glance as I pass her. I never quite understood why the prodigy of the Magisterium is so terrible at all things mystic. Sure, she’s improved a lot since last semester, but in all of the required classes she’s hot garbage. Emphasis on hot. And garbage. I push onwards, though. I have homework to do.
Entering the South Pembarton Teaching Center, I walk up the stairs one story. It’s irritating. Living in Pembarton 205 and having Lab in Pembarton 205. Makes telling people where to meet for groupwork hell. I open up 205 and walk in. My lab partner, Abdul, and his boyfriend Ralph are flirting over in one corner, doing that thing where they whisper with there lips nearly touching. “Sorry,” I say as I enter, “I was half asleep and went back to the other Pembarton.”
“Ours, or the town’s?” Abdul asks, pulling away form his boyfriend.
“Ours. Why the hell does this Pembarton person put their name everywhere?” I complain, more to the universe at large than anyone in particular.
“It’s a family,” Ralph answers me, rudely, I might add, “I think they sorta own most of the land around here. Do a lot of local philanthropy for taxes or whatever.”
“He wasn’t talking to you, dear,” Abdul says to his boyfriend quietly, “Now, go enjoy yourself. Greg and I have work to do.”
“Alright, babe,” Ralph says, pecks Abdul on the cheek, and rushes past me without a glance. It’s clear he doesn’t like me much at all.
I walk on over to Abdul. “Your beau hates me, you know?” I tell him, a smirk across my face.
“Of course he does,” Abdul jokes, “I mean, have you seen, well,” he pauses to wave his hand around me, “All of that?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Of course,” I joke right back, “Why do you think I leave my body so much? It gives me a better view.”
Abdul shoves me slightly. “Alright then,” he says, “Pack it in and be nice. He’ll like you eventually.”
I sit down and shake my head. “Fine. Now, can you tell me how you talked me into taking a chemistry class when I could get my science credit from, I don’t know, ILT or Horticulture?”
“Because Chemistry is an easy A here, if you just do the work,” Abdul says again, “Why you always complain at me about it, I don’t know.”
“Because the work is boring. I came here to learn how to be a goddamned master warlock of extreme power, not a scientist.” I lean forward in my seat, looking at the reaction equation before me. “Ever since my folks told me about this, I was looking forward to never having to do these sort of –” I cut myself off to say, “Crap, we got the energy wrong there, it’s gonna be way more exothermic than that.” As I scribble out Abduls numbers to put in the correct ones, I continue as though there were no interruption, “Dumb equations and formulae again. I mean, why bother with boring sciences when I could be dealing with fun things, like how to make storms of fireballs?”
“A,” Abdul begins in response, furrowing his brow and pulling out a calculator, “I’m pretty sure that’s not something we’re allowed to do, because of secrecy and whatnot.” He corrects my rough calculations. “And B. even if we were, that would require way too much power. Your ass would be lucky to make a single fireball fall from the sky.”
I laugh, nodding in thanks. “Bitch please, I’m the most powerful muthafukka in this place, yo.” I make sure it’s in my joking, mega-tough-guy voice, “Ain’t nobody stepping to this.”
We take the measurements before the reaction occurs. “Mmhm,” Abdul says with his judgy eyes. I shake my head at the boy. He has no right to be judgmental, he’s nearly as bad. Not about how powerful he is, he knows damned well that he’s solidly mediocre at mystical stuff. Because of other things. I know things.
“You don’t get to judge,” I tell him as I finish up the measurements and prepare to mix the reactants. “Not after February.”
“Oh, fuck you. I was drunk,” he lies. He doesn’t drink. We both know that. Ralph doesn’t, but Ralph isn’t his suitemate. Shaking his head, he adds, “And you don’t know shit.”
“I’m just saying,” I reply as I pour the vial into the flask.
“You saying that you don’t know shit,” he says, forcefully this time, “Right?”
I nod. I’m not about to lose my friend over something trivial. “I’m saying that I was far to drunk to remember anything, too,” I lie right back.
“Good,” Abdul says. He notes the heat given off from the reaction, and then begins to take all the measurements again.
“And proving stuff we already know is dumb and useless,” I add to the previous discussion.
Abdul laughs. It’s as though the entire exchange never happened. “Only because we already know it. We’re learning the process.”
“But I never plan on using the process outside this class,” I emphasize, “I’m just gonna get my science credit and shuffle back to my ACTUAL studies.”
Abdul hit me upside the head. “For the next four months, this is your goddamned studies, so why don’t you actually work?”
I groan and start helping him with the measurements. As we finish up the first test, we clean everything out. We need to do the same dumb experiment three times with scaled amounts. For some reason. Science is dumb.
Labwork lasts well into the evening. By the time we’ve finished, two more pages in my chem notebook are full of numbers and equations and the like. “Alright,” I say to Abdul as I stand up. “Go, have fun with Ralph. I can clean up.”
“You got plans for tonight?” he asks me, mostly to be polite.
I smile a thin, tight-lipped grin. “Just going out to a bar,” I say with a shrug, “Nothing that can’t be delayed to clean up.”
“Ralph is ordering pizza,” Abdul says, a sorrow behind his eyes. It’s Monday. And the 14th of Rajab.
“You know you have to tell him sometime?” I scold Abdul.
“Or, hear me out: I just clean up here, and get back after dusk. Everyone’s happy.” He’s scared. I know that. But if he wants an honest relationship, he needs to be, well, honest.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh, “But you really should tell him sometime. I may call him an idiot, but he’ll figure it out with enough time.”
“It’s three months in,” Abdul says, shaking his head, “And January barely counts, we were only in the same place for like, a week. Nope, it can wait.”
“You realize Ramadan’s in like, what, a month and a half? If he doesn’t realize it by then, well, let’s just say nobody in the universe is that much of an idiot.” I give the man a halfhearted smile, hoping the attempt of humor is enough to drive him into action.
Abdul nods. “Yeah, I know. Spring break. That’s the time. I’ll tell him over spring break.” I give him a judgmental look, then shake my head. “Respectfully, shut up,” he adds, “You’ve never had a relationship last longer than a couple weeks anyways.”
“Whatever you want,” I say as I walk out the door. Then, for good measure, I poke my head back in to add, “Look on the plus side, you’ve already got me beat, then.”
Abdul laughs as he begins cleaning the instruments.
“Some people,” I murmur to myself as I rush back down the stairs. I walk back across the courtyard to my dorm, trying my best to ignore the look. All the first-year apprentices gave me it, save Alina and her posse. It was a look of hatred mixed with a competitive contempt. That’s what being the best all around got you. Sure, that Jason fellow could do lots of practical stuff on par with me, and sure, that Isaac guy was doing pretty well in a lot of the more advanced theory courses, but all around, neither could compare to my GPA. I’m top of the class, by more than a couple points. Running up the flight of stairs to my dorm’s second floor, I walk into my room and swiftly strip out of my clothes for doing labwork. Walking naked into the bathroom, I lock both doors and settle in for a nice, long shower.
Near fifteen minutes later, I climb out from the shower and wrap my towel around my waist. Unlocking the doors, I reenter my own room. Opening my closet filled with hoodies, I carefully pick out my outfit. The plain grey zip-up hoodie. The black T with the white logo for a small digital community no one in their right mind had heard of. Deep blue skinny jeans. If I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna look good doing it. Pulling on my chosen attire and flipping the hood over my damp, carefully parted hair, I head out into town.
The West End Lounge sounds infinitely classier than it actually is. A dive bar on the west side of Betty Hill Run, I love the Lounge. Some terrible local country act is always playing in the back, the beer is as cheep as it comes around here, and the company doesn’t give a crap about where I’m from. Leaning onto the bar, I smile and wait for tonight’s bartender to notice.
Less than a minute later, Rachel walks on over to me and says, “Hey there, Greg. The usual?”
I smile, nod, and hand her my card to open a tab. “Tonight’s act any good?”
As she is pulling out my bottle, she stops, just a moment, to burst out laughing. “Sorry about that,” she adds with a smile as she hands my beer, “It’s just, you know they’re never good. How many times you gotta ask?”
I smile, shrug, and answer her, “I figure until they are is a good number.”
“Someday, maybe,” she shoots right back, “But we both know that ain’t happening for a while now.”
I laugh as I take a swig from the bottle. I turn around halfway, to pay some attention to the band. They are truly mediocre. “I don’t know,” I feel the need to say about the band, “These guys aren’t that terrible.”
“You didn’t suffer through the lead singer trying to flirt with me,” she says with a chuckle.
I turn my head to face her, and, with a smirk, reply, “Oof, I take it back. Hate them.” Then, after a pause where my smirk grows significantly, I add, “I mean, how can I support such poor taste.”
Rachel lets out an enormous groan. “Oh, screw you Greg. Just for that, I’m having you buy me a beer for when I’m off.” She goes and puts the order into the terminal. I was planning on doing that anyways, I generally do, so we play it off for laughs.
“I’m just saying, he’s a country artist, he should know everything ends in heartbreak.” I take another drink of my beer.
She shrugs. “Maybe he does,” she says, “Maybe he’s just wants to refuel, creatively.”
“Get a new heartbreak,” I add, “He sees you all head over heels for me, and he’s like, ‘That one’ll do.’”
“Ehhh,” she ekes out, “I was more thinking, he realizes that I’m way better than everybody in this here town, and so he seeks out the best.”
“Then why isn’t he flirting with me?” I joke.
She furrows her brow. “You never know,” she says, “Just wait ‘til the set’s done.”
“We both know by then it’ll be too late.” My grin is practically glowing with smugness by now. “I mean, by then the romantical tension between us will be too great for him to want to come between.”
“Mmhm,” she replies, “You know, just for that, I’m going on a date with him.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say slowly, emphasizing my points with my hands, “You’re going to agree to go out with some guy, just to resist this mind-blowingly intense attraction? I feel flattered.”
“Don’t be silly,” she jokes back, “It’s for the music.” She’s avoiding it. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I decide I’ll ask Abdul tomorrow. Tonight, I need to drink, joke, and listen to forgettable country music. I’m not about to change my Monday plan to satiate my curiosity. That would be rude to the bartender I’m planning on having a drink with at the end of the night.
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