by W. J. May
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.” Tristan’s eyes twinkled as he fiddled with his tray. “Simon should know,” he continued, raising his voice to speak to the rest of the table, “he was the one racing me. Why else do you think his face looks like that?”
Like a tennis match, the other boys turned to Simon in complete awe.
All of them except Argyle, who looked rather horrified about the entire thing. “Is that what happened to your face?” he demanded in shock. “You said you’d tell me later.”
Simon glanced at Tristan for a split second before he turned to his friend with a smile. “That’s what happened,” he lied.
It kind of startled him, actually. How easy it was to lie.
With a look of mock concern, Tristan reached across the table and clapped him on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, buddy.”
The nerve of this guy!
Simon raised his eyebrows with an incredulous grin. “Oh, you won, did you?”
“You better believe it.”
Simon threw back his head and laughed.
Of course he did. Because this was the same guy who back-flipped off the astronomy tower just to secure his reputation. It wouldn’t do for him to lose a simple drag-race.
“That’s right…I think I remember.”
Tristan winked. “I thought you might.”
The story was accepted. The adolescent credentials were cleared. And just like that—Simon and Argyle’s place at the table was secure.
It was as shockingly sudden as it was shockingly seamless. They assimilated into the group as if they had been there from the very start. Picking up on lapsing sentences, laughing at inside jokes, and slipping into conversations like they were all the best of friends.
It was a transition that Simon could never have seen coming. One that he would have publically rejected if he were ever told. But deep down, there was nothing he wanted more.
Since he’d started attending Guilder, there was one thing that he had desired above all others. One thing that he coveted. And no—it wasn’t supreme power, as many may have suspected. It was what that supreme power was meant to win him in the end.
Acceptance.
Not normalcy, let them never be confused. Simon didn’t want to be normal any more than he wanted to sign up for a father-son cruise. He didn’t want to be middle of the pack. He in no way wanted to blend in with the rest of the people at this table.
But he did want them to accept him.
Call it the predictable longings of a boy who’d grown up an unintentional orphan. Call it the familiar pangs of adolescence striking again. Whatever you wanted to call it. There it was.
And now that he was well on his way, he found that he would do anything in the world to keep that position. Even if it meant taking second place in an imaginary drag-race.
“I’m surprised you even showed up today.” An eagle-shifter named Robert turned to Tristan with concern. “If it was me, I’d have stayed in bed and milked it for all it was worth.”
“Yeah, great week for Dr. Stein to take a leave of absence.” Isaac shook his head.
Tristan gave a painful shrug, expertly hiding the grimace that followed. “I would have ditched altogether, but there’s that big dinner for the board tonight, and Robbins roped me into it.”
Of course. The awards ceremony for past and present members of the Guilder faculty. It hadn’t actively entered his radar, but Simon was sure he’d seen fliers posted for it around school. It was supposed to be this huge, swanky affair. A coming together of past and future generations. No wonder they wanted people like Tristan there to represent the student population. At these sorts of events, they generally picked a handful of the most popular kids to stand around looking youthful and full of vigor.
Well, Tristan looked youthful at least. But good luck with the full of vigor part.
Simon watched with a sympathetic crease between his eyes as Tristan made a valiant attempt to unscrew the cap on his orange juice with one hand, before giving up altogether.
“And besides,” he pushed the bottle away with a small sigh, “I’m supposed to be showing around this new kid today. He just transferred into our year. I’ve got to find him after my next class.”
The others sitting around the table wrote this off as boring conversation, but Simon leaned forward with interest. “He’s new, but being transferred into second year? Isn’t that a little weird?”
Again, Tristan shrugged. “Not really. His older brother went here until just a few weeks ago, but the brother turned sixteen and didn’t get a tatù. Now, it turns out the little brother has it. They pulled him out of the regular school he was attending, and he starts at Guilder today.”
Despite the yawns around him, Simon was absolutely fascinated. “But what’s going to happen to the older brother?”
Tristan finally just stabbed a hole in his orange juice and held it up to his mouth. “He’s packing as we speak.”
Simon’s eyebrows shot up to his hair and he leaned back in thoughtful silence, mulling it over to himself as the other boys steered the conversation towards sports. He’s packing as we speak? Geez—that’s harsh.
There were some parts of this fantastical life that were simply too magical and extraordinary to put into words. But at the same time, the world of tatùs could be as cruel as it was kind.
How could this be the system?
One minute, a guy was lying in bed the night before his birthday—breathlessly waiting for the clock to turn to midnight just as Simon had. The whole world was ahead of him. Full of wonder, full of possibilities. Any second that ink would appear on his skin, and everything would change. A whole new life would begin. One that he’d been specifically gifted for. Just he and a special few.
The next minute—he’s staring at his blank arm, feeling like the entire universe had come crashing down around him.
No ink. No Guilder. No future. Just back to the salt mines, for you. We want your little brother. He’s the one with the gift. He’s the one who’s special.
He’s packing as we speak.
If it was Simon, he’d be seriously considering jumping off the astronomy tower.
No back-flip intended.
“At least his brother knows,” Argyle said softly. He alone had not made the conversational transition quite so easily into the magical world of rugby. “That’s a silver lining.”
Simon looked up in surprise before considering this as well. Leave it to Argyle to find the good in the situation. And while the point might be reaching a little, it was true.
Unlike most every student currently at this school, and every student who had come before, this guy upstairs—the one who was packing—would get to share his life with his sibling. There would be no lies between them. No forced stories of military school or fires in the guest house.
They could be honest with each other, even if it was painful. They could have a shot at an actual sincere relationship. The way it was always supposed to be.
As Simon glanced around the table, he wondered how many of the boys sitting in front of him would have sacrificed their ink to say the same. Realistically, probably none of them. The power of ink and the lure of the tatù was far too strong to trade away.
But they’d at least be tempted. His eyes rested for a moment on Tristan, now laughing loudly at the downfall of an English rugby player, his hurt hand clenching and unclenching with random spasms of pain. Pain he’d chosen over the terrifying prospect of having to go home.
Yes, they’d at least be tempted. Although Simon was the last person in any position to be saying it…it was hard to put a premium on family.
At that moment, the bell rang.
The rest of the boys packed up as quickly as they’d done last time, leaving a mess on the table for the cafeteria attendants to clean. This time Argyle was among them, burying his head in a book as he raced down the hall to get to his next class.
Only Tristan and Simon remained. Half by choi
ce, half by the fact that neither one of them was moving too quickly at the moment. The second time Tristan tried and failed to swing the strap of his book bag over his shoulder, Simon actually reached over to the help.
“How’s the arm?” he asked, flushing a little at the obvious answer to the question as he untwisted the troublesome strap.
Tristan shot him a caustic grin. “It feels like someone tried to rip it out of its socket. Why? How’s the nose?”
“It feels like someone broke it.”
Both boys laughed softly as they gathered up the rest of their things.
“So,” Simon drummed his fingers nervously on the side of his own bag, “drag-racing, huh?”
“Yeah.” Tristan glanced up at him sharply. “That cool with you?”
They locked eyes.
“That’s cool.”
It was better than cool. It was a ticket into the next chapter of his life here at Guilder.
“Good.” Tristan flashed him a smile. “See you tomorrow.”
They headed off in separate directions, both feeling strangely contented with the unlikely way that things had worked out. As Simon sat through Professor Lanford’s history class in the hour that followed, his mind racing, that feeling of contentment blossomed into something else. Into the vague beginnings of a tentative plan.
“Simon,” Lanford called to him as the bell rang in dismissal.
As the rest of the class filed out, Simon lingered behind, waiting patiently until the last of the boys had disappeared through the door.
The professor said nothing for a moment as he studied the gruesome mask of injury that used to be Simon’s face. It wasn’t uncommon for students to show up to class looking like they’d been fed through a wood-chipper, especially as they advanced in their years at the school. But this was a little above and beyond. A little too spectacular to ignore.
“We’re still acclimating, I see.”
Much to the professor’s surprise, Simon’s face stretched into a grin. “Actually, I think I might have found my stride.”
Lanford raised his eyebrows, but accepted the backwards logic with an indulgent smile. “Well, that’s good to know.” For a second, both men stared at each other with detached fondness. Then the professor’s face fell ever so slightly. “Goodbye, Simon.”
“’Bye, professor.”
It didn’t strike Simon as a slightly formal manner in which to leave until much later.
By the time he’d made his way out into the hall, the place was already almost deserted. The kids moved quickly at this school, and the classes were sped up to move accordingly. He picked up the pace, not wanting to be late to Professor Vane, and went tearing around a corner at a sprint…
…only to slam straight into another student.
“Crap, I’m sorry!” Simon exclaimed as both he and guy stumbled backwards. “You okay?”
The guy shook his head dismissively. “It’s my fault, wasn’t looking where I was going.” He reached to the floor and picked up a campus map that had fallen from his hands.
It was only then that Simon realized the guy had to be the new student that Tristan was talking about. There was no other reason for the map, or the tardiness, and Simon was quite sure he’d never seen him here before. Tall, tan, with a head of dark hair that was so long it was pulled back into the beginnings of a ponytail. Not to mention the slightly overwhelmed look on his face as he peered around the hallowed grounds.
In an uncharacteristic move, Simon offered out his hand to shake.
“I’m Simon.”
The guy looked up in surprise—surprise that tripled when he saw what was left of Simon’s mangled face. “Jacob.”
They shook briefly.
“You need help finding something?” Simon inquired, glancing down at the map.
“No, I think I got it—but thanks.” The guy’s dark eyes flicked back up to Simon and studied him cautiously. “Are you…do you need any help? Are you okay?”
Simon flushed, but backed away with a grin. “No, man, I’m cool. Sorry again for running into you like that.”
“No, trust me.” Jacob stifled a soft sigh of frustration. “I should have seen it coming.”
He took off without another word, leaving Simon to wonder what exactly he’d meant. But before he could give it much thought, another bell sounded and he took off again at a sprint. The twitchy-eyed professor he had next would love nothing more than to write him up and send him straight to the dean for excessive tardiness.
Not today, Vane. Not today.
* * *
By the time Simon got back from class that night, he felt as though he’d run a marathon. Or perhaps two or three. There wasn’t a single inch of his body that didn’t ache and scream in protest as he dragged his way up the stairs and back to his dorm.
Why was it that his room was located all the way at the top? Why was it that, with all their infinite money, Guilder had never invested in something so basic as an elevator? They operated what looked like an old-fashioned castle, for Pete’s sake. There were actual towers here. A little lift now and again wouldn’t be out of line—
“Argyle!” Simon fell back against his door, clutching as his chest as his racing pulse returned to normal. “We talked about this. You have got to stop scaring me like that!”
“Sorry.” The grinning Scotsman hopped off the bed, looking not sorry at all. “I just figured I should try to catch you before you and Tristan went out for ice-cream sundaes or something.”
“Argyle, it’s not like—”
“Before you settle down to braid each other’s hair.”
Simon’s face flushed guiltily and he bowed his head. “Yeah, I guess I have a bit of explaining to do.”
“You think?” Argyle looked him up and down with concern. “Drag-racing?”
The lie stung even worse when Simon heard it the second time around, especially paired with the look of worry on his friend’s face. He decided not to even address it. “Tristan and I…came to some kind of an understanding.”
Argyle blinked. “By almost getting yourselves killed?”
There was a fair bit of well-deserved sarcasm in that question, but the fact remained.
“Yeah. By almost getting ourselves killed.” Simon ran his hands back through his hair and sank down into the chair by his desk, deliberately slowing the speed of the conversation. “I know it sounds weird, but it kind of…bonds you. In a strange way.”
“Strange is right.” Argyle stared at him for a second more, before sinking back down onto the mattress. “But at least you guys aren’t actively trying to kill each other all over campus like last week. I mean, at least that’s progress.”
“Yeah,” Simon agreed quickly, easing his friend casually into the fold, “that’s true. And you know what? I think I might actually have misjudged him. Tristan’s not so bad.”
He expected Argyle to refute this. To start ranting and raving about the mindless idiocy of jocks. But he simply nodded.
“Yeah. I never thought he was.”
Simon’s eyes flashed up in dismay. “You didn’t?”
“No,” Argyle chuckled, “but you hated him, so I always went along with it. He’s a good guy. You remember the two of us never had any problems.”
“Yeah, I guess…” Simon murmured, feeling a little caught off-balance.
Argyle laughed again. “I’m sorry. Did you want me to stay angry with him, even though you two are, like, the best of friends?”
“No, no,” Simon said quickly, “of course not. It’s just….” He shook his head, and remembered himself with a smile. “I’m glad with the way things have worked out. That’s all.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Both boys chuckled as the last of the tension melted away and they stretched themselves out in their respective corners of the room. Brick was gone, training as usual, meaning that the two of them could hunker down for one of their famous talks.
While these epic discussions we
re usually centered around either comic books or the merits and disadvantages of various tatùs, today they turned to a topic of a different nature.
“Weird school, huh?” Argyle mused, staring up at the ceiling.
“That’s an understatement if ever there was.” Simon pulled a pack of candy out of his bag and poured himself a handful, before tossing the rest to Argyle. “You know; I keep thinking about that kid who had to leave here today. The one who didn’t get the ink. I’m pretty sure I ran into his brother in the hall.”
“Oh yeah?” Argyle popped a candy into his mouth. “What’s his story?”
“Didn’t ask. No time.” Simon leaned back with a sigh. “It just…it has to be devastating, you know? One minute you’re here, and the next…?”
Much to his surprise, Argyle shrugged. “Tristan’s right. It happens sometimes. And I know you’re all ‘ink matters more than everything’ Simon, but you know, there are other things out there in the world. Other ways people can live their lives.”
Simon glanced over with a frown. “Why the hell would they want to? If they know that there’s another way? How could they stomach it?”
Argyle chuckled. “A person’s ink doesn’t have to be the single most important thing in their life, Simon. There are other aspects to people as well. You know,” he cocked his head teasingly, “like personalities, interests? I’ve heard that some people at this school even have first names…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Simon threw a handful of candy at him. “I got the speech already from Tristan. Point taken.”
“And what did you and your new best friend Tristan decide?”
Simon rolled his eyes with a grin. “We decided that I’m an arrogant ass. That make you happy?”
“Quite.” Argyle lay back with quiet contentment. But after a minute of silence, he suddenly spoke up again. “The kid’s going to be alright—the new one. And his brother is, too.” His eyes softened thoughtfully. “At least they’re going to have each other. At least the secret’s out.”
Simon glanced over at him, and made a careful study of his face. While he and Argyle talked about almost everything, there were certain subjects they had learned to avoid. Certain things that Simon was worried would be too painful to discuss.