DYLAN
I drop my books down on the table in Magickal Arts. I then plop down in my seat dramatically and turn to Simon. Then I sigh. Also dramatically. I think he tries to cock an eyebrow at me the way Baz does. He fails. I giggle.
"Are you trying to do the Baz eyebrow thing?" I ask.
Simon's ears turn red. "No."
This makes me laugh more.
"So, um, erm, uh..." Simon says. (Get it? Simon says.)
"I was wondering..." he continues. "Are there any girls at school you like?"
"Don't worry, I'm not going for Agatha, if that's what you're asking. I'm gay."
"Oh, okay. What kind of bloke do you like?" He blushes even harder.
"Tall, dark, and handsome. Duh," I chuckle. Whatever he's getting at, he's really bad at it.
"Right," Simon nods his head.
I laugh. "Oh my God, Simon I'm fucking with you. But I do have a type, yes."
He looks up at me with those big blue eyes of his. If I was a cis guy, I'd probably look like Simon. Maybe a less attractive version of Simon. Definitely chubbier. Plus I don't have freckles. But we could definitely be brothers or something.
"I like smart guys. Guys who are funny, and sweet. I like guys who pay attention to my likes and dislikes. I like guys with accents. I like dark haired guys with light colored eyes. I like tall guys. I don't like facial hair or chest hair though. If I dated a guy with either I'd make him shave. Guys who shave their armpits and legs are also significantly more attractive. I think I just don't like body hair. I blame my friend Arlene. Oh, and having an interest in German culture, language, or history immediately makes you more attractive."
I think I broke Simon. He's just staring at me with his mouth open. I can feel the sweat collecting in uncomfortable places. I clear my throat and start laying out my books and pencil.
"Do you shave your armpits and legs?" Simon asks.
I grin at him and prop my ankle up on my knee, then pull my pant leg up about halfway. Simon's eyes grow even wider, if possible. He reaches out, but stops before he touches me. He looks back up at me, as if asking permission to feel my leg. (Saying that sounds so weird. I swear it's with absolutely zero sexual intent.) I nod and he runs his finger across my calf. It's kinda weird. I've never had a boy touch my leg before. Not like this. Not that I have all that much experience with boys. Aside from the playground when I was a kid. Right around the age of 11 the boys I would play with started saying that I had girl cooties and couldn't play with them anymore. Then puberty hit at 12. But when Arlene moved up to Michigan from Puerto Rico she immediately started spending lunch with me. A lot of people thought we were dating. We weren't. I guess I never saw Arlene as a boy. Even before she came out. That's probably why I never developed feelings for her.
Miss P (I can't quite remember her name) clears her throat, bringing me back to the present. "Good morning, class. Today we're going to be assigning your end of the year projects. It will be a partner project, and you'll be working with your desk neigbour." Groans spread out across the classroom. I look over at Baz. He's sitting next to someone who I don't know. Baz has yet to complain about her, so I guess she's not too bad. I look back at Simon. His face has fallen.
"I'm sorry, Dylan. I know I'm bollocks at magic and I'll probably ruin the whole project," he sighs.
"Nah, bro," I wave at him dismissively. "You just need to learn how to use your magic. Once you do that you'll be great. Besides, we don't even know what the assignment is yet."
"I'll be assigning you each an action and you'll need to create a spell that does that action." Miss P begins walking around the classroom with a stack of notecards, laying them on the desks one at a time.
She reaches Simon and me and sets a card face down on the table. She smiles at us with a sympathetic look in her eyes. Bold of her to assume I couldn't knock this assignment out of the ballpark by the end of this week alone. I lock my eyes on hers and flip over the card before she can move on to the pair behind us.
Simon whimpers. "Invisibility."
"Piece of cake," I say directly at the teacher. She smiles warmly before moving on.
Okay maybe I'm not good with judgement. My fatal flaw is that if anyone even insinuates that I can't do something, I have to prove them wrong. You could tell me I can't jump off the Golden Gate Bridge and survive and I'd do it just out of spite. I'd probably die, but I just can't stand being told I can't do something.
I set the notecard down on the table. "Simon, I told you that I make spells just for fun all the time, right?"
"Yeah, you did," he says, catching on quickly.
This assignment couldn't be better for me. Hell, I could probably go around the classroom and finish everyone's assignment for them. I could start a business just out of this project. Five bucks for each spell. Or the British equivalent of five bucks, that is.
I flip my notebook open to a blank page and write "INVISIBILITY SPELL OPTIONS" at the top. I begin writing down any phrase that I can think of to turn something invisible. I don't know what any "official" spells would be. Watford is the only school of magicks in the world. That's why parents from other countries send their kids here.
"Okay, Simon. What I need you to do is go through this list and cross out anything that you know is already a spell. Then, if you can think of anything else that might work, add it." I slide the notebook and pencil over.
He frowns at my list and crosses out a few things. He writes question marks next to a few. I guess those must be regional slangs. Whoops. When he's done he slides the notebook back over to me. Miss P begins our lecture. I really should be paying attention, but I'm not. Instead, I flip to the next page and begin doodling.
Dad always thought I'd make a great police sketch artist. I think I wouldn't. I'm good at drawing what's inside my head, but not what's inside other people's heads.
I'm not thinking as I'm drawing, I'm just letting my hand guide my pencil across the paper. I start out with a set of intense eyes. I keep going. Pretty soon I have a pair of thick, dark eyebrows to go with the eyes.
I decide to stop there before Simon realizes who I'm drawing.
Baz.
There's a reason why I didn't tell Simon I've also got a thing for guys with long hair. Long like Baz's. God, the imense desire to dig my fingers into that hair. The absolute need to watch him tie it back in a ponytail or a bun. I can't think of anything I'd rather do. I'm down bad and I know it.
