“I called your name, but you didn’t hear me,” Yuki said in her perfect, unaccented American English.
“Sorry.” Being alert was central to Tamani’s job. One moment of distraction could be the end of Laurel. This was why Shar had been reluctant to send Tamani in the first place. Chastising himself for letting his feelings for Laurel endanger her, however slightly, however briefly, Tamani turned and smiled at Yuki, though he kept one ear tuned to Laurel’s conversation.
Yuki returned his smile, then asked if he had watched some television program he’d never heard of before. He shook his head and invited her to tell him about it. After that it was pretty easy. She tended to prattle on about human musicians, internet gossip, and television programs with ludicrous or demeaning premises, but this made it easy to nod amicably at everything she said.
Laurel had turned and was walking toward her first class. Yuki was in the middle of explaining how Japanese aidoru differed from American starlets, so Tamani just shifted a little, to better keep an eye on Laurel as she navigated the sea of students. He didn’t even see David until a shoulder slammed into him, swinging him around and wrenching Yuki’s arm away.
“Watch it!” Tamani said, suppressing the urge to break David’s nose. Or his neck.
But David just looked back with a satisfied grin on his face before continuing down the hall. “Sorry, bro,” he said, mimicking Tamani’s brogue. “My bad.”
“I don’t know what Laurel sees in that guy,” Yuki said disapprovingly. “She seems nice, I guess. But he’s kind of . . . intense.”
Tamani nodded. His eyes searched for Laurel again as Yuki touched his shoulder tentatively and asked if he was okay. He opened his mouth to reassure her when his eyes found Laurel’s face.
She was looking back, her hands gripping the straps of her backpack, glaring. Tamani had to look twice to make sure, but it was true! She wasn’t glaring at him.
She was glaring at David.
It was a nice change of pace.
But this did little to dissipate Tamani’s anger. He hated that he couldn’t go all out with his rival. Couldn’t fight David, couldn’t steal Laurel, couldn’t court her the way a faerie should be courted—not without giving them both away. He sat and fumed through Government. Laurel sat so close—just inches away, in the next desk over—but what did it matter? She may as well be a hundred miles away. A thousand. A million.
And, of course, she was a Fall faerie, which limited him in other ways. But he didn’t like to think about that.
About halfway through class Laurel passed him a note. He glanced at it—the results of the phosphorescent test on his sap. Thirty-seven minutes. Right between Laurel and Yuki. Tamani had to admit he didn’t really know what that meant—if anything. He took out a pen and started to write a response. Scratched it out and tried again. But they were the wrong words. Were there any right words with her anymore? With a sigh he shoved the note into his backpack with all his writing scribbled out. He didn’t look at Laurel; didn’t know if she even noticed.
Laurel waved at him as she left the classroom—concern in her eyes—but even that felt like mockery as Tamani dragged himself out of his chair, collected his meaningless, stage-prop pile of books and supplies, and headed to his next class.
By the time he’d finished second hour, he’d had enough. He escorted Yuki to her third-period class, but couldn’t bear to go to his own. After wandering the school grounds for a while, he walked out to the parking lot instead and slumped into the driver’s seat. With the top down and his shirt unbuttoned, he enjoyed the sunlight that filtered down through the autumn clouds.
A few minutes before the lunch bell, Tamani forced himself to return to the school, having made the same decision he made about twice a week. All of the heartache, the anger, the fear that this was as good as it was ever going to get, was worth it. Here, he could see her eyes and bask in her smiles—even when she wasn’t smiling for him. Every day was worth the pain.
But he didn’t have to like it.
The hall was empty. There were a few more minutes before the flood of humans would be released, and they would pour out of their classrooms, half climbing over each other to get to their meals, ravenous beasts all. He spun the sticky dial on his locker—not that he would care if someone made off with anything he kept in there—and yanked on the latch. He casually tossed his backpack in and tried to decide what to do for the lunch break. Would Yuki want to have lunch with Laurel’s group? He wanted to see Laurel, but he didn’t know if he could bear the sight of David. Not today.
Tamani heard footsteps and turned to see David walking along the opposite side of the hallway, glaring. A few other kids were milling about—they must have gotten out of class early. What was that saying humans had about speaking of devils?
Tamani knew he should turn away, ignore the boy’s dirty looks and petty one-upmanship. He knew better than to feud with a human. He had a job to do.
Instead, he returned David’s glare, measure for measure.
David slowed down, then stopped in front of Tamani, the air between them cooling tangibly.
“You got a problem, Lawson?” Tamani asked.
David hesitated. He was clearly out of his element. But Tamani knew from two years of experience just how stubborn and persistent this human boy could be. He wouldn’t back down. “You know what my problem is,” David replied.
“Let me rephrase,” Tamani said, taking two steps forward. “You have a problem with me?”
“Sorry.” Being alert was central to Tamani’s job. One moment of distraction could be the end of Laurel. This was why Shar had been reluctant to send Tamani in the first place. Chastising himself for letting his feelings for Laurel endanger her, however slightly, however briefly, Tamani turned and smiled at Yuki, though he kept one ear tuned to Laurel’s conversation.
Yuki returned his smile, then asked if he had watched some television program he’d never heard of before. He shook his head and invited her to tell him about it. After that it was pretty easy. She tended to prattle on about human musicians, internet gossip, and television programs with ludicrous or demeaning premises, but this made it easy to nod amicably at everything she said.
Laurel had turned and was walking toward her first class. Yuki was in the middle of explaining how Japanese aidoru differed from American starlets, so Tamani just shifted a little, to better keep an eye on Laurel as she navigated the sea of students. He didn’t even see David until a shoulder slammed into him, swinging him around and wrenching Yuki’s arm away.
“Watch it!” Tamani said, suppressing the urge to break David’s nose. Or his neck.
But David just looked back with a satisfied grin on his face before continuing down the hall. “Sorry, bro,” he said, mimicking Tamani’s brogue. “My bad.”
“I don’t know what Laurel sees in that guy,” Yuki said disapprovingly. “She seems nice, I guess. But he’s kind of . . . intense.”
Tamani nodded. His eyes searched for Laurel again as Yuki touched his shoulder tentatively and asked if he was okay. He opened his mouth to reassure her when his eyes found Laurel’s face.
She was looking back, her hands gripping the straps of her backpack, glaring. Tamani had to look twice to make sure, but it was true! She wasn’t glaring at him.
She was glaring at David.
It was a nice change of pace.
But this did little to dissipate Tamani’s anger. He hated that he couldn’t go all out with his rival. Couldn’t fight David, couldn’t steal Laurel, couldn’t court her the way a faerie should be courted—not without giving them both away. He sat and fumed through Government. Laurel sat so close—just inches away, in the next desk over—but what did it matter? She may as well be a hundred miles away. A thousand. A million.
And, of course, she was a Fall faerie, which limited him in other ways. But he didn’t like to think about that.
About halfway through class Laurel passed him a note. He glanced at it—the results of the phosphorescent test on his sap. Thirty-seven minutes. Right between Laurel and Yuki. Tamani had to admit he didn’t really know what that meant—if anything. He took out a pen and started to write a response. Scratched it out and tried again. But they were the wrong words. Were there any right words with her anymore? With a sigh he shoved the note into his backpack with all his writing scribbled out. He didn’t look at Laurel; didn’t know if she even noticed.
Laurel waved at him as she left the classroom—concern in her eyes—but even that felt like mockery as Tamani dragged himself out of his chair, collected his meaningless, stage-prop pile of books and supplies, and headed to his next class.
By the time he’d finished second hour, he’d had enough. He escorted Yuki to her third-period class, but couldn’t bear to go to his own. After wandering the school grounds for a while, he walked out to the parking lot instead and slumped into the driver’s seat. With the top down and his shirt unbuttoned, he enjoyed the sunlight that filtered down through the autumn clouds.
A few minutes before the lunch bell, Tamani forced himself to return to the school, having made the same decision he made about twice a week. All of the heartache, the anger, the fear that this was as good as it was ever going to get, was worth it. Here, he could see her eyes and bask in her smiles—even when she wasn’t smiling for him. Every day was worth the pain.
But he didn’t have to like it.
The hall was empty. There were a few more minutes before the flood of humans would be released, and they would pour out of their classrooms, half climbing over each other to get to their meals, ravenous beasts all. He spun the sticky dial on his locker—not that he would care if someone made off with anything he kept in there—and yanked on the latch. He casually tossed his backpack in and tried to decide what to do for the lunch break. Would Yuki want to have lunch with Laurel’s group? He wanted to see Laurel, but he didn’t know if he could bear the sight of David. Not today.
Tamani heard footsteps and turned to see David walking along the opposite side of the hallway, glaring. A few other kids were milling about—they must have gotten out of class early. What was that saying humans had about speaking of devils?
Tamani knew he should turn away, ignore the boy’s dirty looks and petty one-upmanship. He knew better than to feud with a human. He had a job to do.
Instead, he returned David’s glare, measure for measure.
David slowed down, then stopped in front of Tamani, the air between them cooling tangibly.
“You got a problem, Lawson?” Tamani asked.
David hesitated. He was clearly out of his element. But Tamani knew from two years of experience just how stubborn and persistent this human boy could be. He wouldn’t back down. “You know what my problem is,” David replied.
“Let me rephrase,” Tamani said, taking two steps forward. “You have a problem with me?”
