“Sasha Anders. And I know who you are.” He clicks the lighter with his thumb, and I lean in. After embers eat the paper, he adds, “No need to thank me.”
I step back, blowing smoke off to the side. Wind chill bites at me more, and I hug my arm to my chest. This guy is wearing less than me, and he doesn’t even have a single fucking goosebump.
He stares off towards the fountain and says, “That’ll probably be your last cigarette at Faust. Enjoy it while you can.”
Goddamn.
I laugh under my breath, bitterness swimming in my gut. “Yeah? What makes you think that?” Maybe he’s just messing with me. He can’t seriously be like everyone else here? An asshole. An elitist prick who feels like he has the inability to lose.
He doesn’t even look at me. Like I haven’t even earned his full attention yet.
Eyes on the fountain, he says, “You walked over here. That was your first mistake.” His gray, lifeless gaze flits to me for a millisecond. “We aren’t the same, you and me.” He looks to my tattoo, the inked Interpol lyrics peeking from my forearm, like he knows that’s the reason I approached. He continues, “You could barely string four words together in Spanish class. You have no knowledge of Proust, Rembrandt, or Verdi. You’reinadequate, but your biggest failure is your social ineptitude. The only mouse that would approach a snake is the one too stupid to realize he’s in a pit of them.” Sasha flicks his cigarette to the side, and it lands in the snow.
I saw that phrase in the common room, etched on a plaque and hung with other senior quotes.
The only mouse that would approach a snake is the one too daft to realize he’s in a pit of them.
- Richard Connor Cobalt
Sasha gives me one last glance. “Don’t look for friends, mouse. Find an exit.” He pauses and his eyes dip to my fingers. “Enjoy the cigarette.”
He walks off as Gabriel’s speech ends. All the students disperse, and Sasha falls in line among the masses just the same.
Breath caged. My cigarette burns, ash falling to the snow. I don’t know what to feel. I’m more used to the kinds of insults that try to tear me down in a single blow.Pussy! Weak shit!
What Sasha just did was the equivalent of taking a knife and slashing razor-thin cuts all over my skin—and then waiting for me to bleed out. Meticulous. Calculated cruelty.
I bite down and breathe out through my nose.
And what unnerves me the most—is that he knew I blew it in Spanish. He knows that I stumbled over those names in English, Art & Lit, and Music Theory. Yet, I don’t have a single class with him.
It means people are talking about me.Amazing.Just amazing. I’m going to have agreattime here.
I feel like utter shit, and there’s only one person I even want to talk to right now.
Slipping out my cell, I walk towards the pond and try to FaceTime. The boarding school campus is an otherworldly atmosphere with frozen, barren waters and skeletal trees. Like I’ve been transported to Victorian England.
My breath smokes in the cold, and I ditch the cigarette in the snow.
The phone clicks, and Willow pops on-screen. She’s crouched down next to a rack ofInhumanscomics. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Oh, are you outside? Isn’t it cold?”God.It’s nice just hearing her voice. My stomach flips, and for a moment, I pretend I’m only a few blocks down the street.
“Yeah, but that’s why I’ve got this…” I tug my hood down further, almost shrouding my eyes.
“Your fingers look purple,” she says, concerned, and then one of the comics falls from its rack. She huffs. “Stupid broken rack.”
“Is thatInhumans?” I wonder. “I thought Loren didn’t wantInhumansstocked in the store. Didn’t he call it a mediocre version ofX-Men? And also a comic book line that’s off-limits to allX-Menpurists and if he can help it, off-limits to everyone?” He made that whole speech during last month’s meeting.
“Yeah,” Willow replies, grabbing tape and fashioning the broken rack back together. “But yesterday, Lily came in and told us Loren’s bias over certain lines was not going to affect the store—since it’s technically hers. And thatInhumansis a good series and needed to be stocked. So here I am…” She realigns the comics and slides them in. “…but I think there’s a reason she put it on this crappy rack. Like maybe she subconsciously agrees with him.” Willow nudges her glasses again and collapses on the ground. She straightens her phone so that I’m looking at her and not the comics.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She pins her fallen employee nametag back to her shirt. “Honestly, I likeInhumans. And they’re pretty cool onAgents of Shield.”
“I don’t watch it,” I remind her.
She nods, remembering. “Supernaturalis better. It starts again soon.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not even sure I’ll have the time to watchanyTV let alone my favorites.
