To share something true, another girl said. Another pair of Ray-Bans.
Cath shook her head.
Why do we write fiction? Professor Piper asked.
Cath looked down at her notebook.
To disappear.
He was so focusedand frustratedhe didnt even see the girl with the red hair sit down at his table. She had pigtails and old-fashioned pointy spectacles, the kind youd wear to a fancy dress party if you were going as a witch.
Youre going to tire yourself out, the girl said.
Im just trying to do this right, Simon grunted, tapping the two-pence coin again with his wand and furrowing his brow painfully. Nothing happened.
Here, she said, crisply waving her hand over the coin.
She didnt have a wand, but she wore a large purple ring. There was yarn wound round it to keep it on her finger. Fly away home.
With a shiver, the coin grew six legs and a thorax and started to scuttle away. The girl swept it gently off the desk into a jar.
How did you do that? Simon asked. She was a first year, too, just like him; he could tell by the green shield on the front of her sweater.
You dont do magic, she said, trying to smile modestly and mostly succeeding. You are magic.
Simon stared at the 2p ladybird.
Im Penelope Bunce, the girl said, holding out her hand.
Im Simon Snow, he said, taking it.
I know, Penelope said, and smiled.
from chapter 8, Simon Snow and the Mages Heir, copyright © 2001 by Gemma T. Leslie
THREE
It was impossible to write like this.
First of all, their dorm room was way too small. A tiny little rectangle, just wide enough on each side of the door for their bedswhen the door opened, it actually hit the end of Caths mattressand just deep enough to squeeze in a desk on each side between the beds and the windows. If either of them had brought a couch, it would take up all the available space in the middle of the room.
Neither of them had brought a couch. Or a TV. Or any cute Target lamps.
Reagan didnt seem to have brought anything personal, besides her clothes and a completely illegal toasterand besides Levi, who was lying on her bed with his eyes closed, listening to music while Reagan banged at her computer. (A crappy PC, just like Caths.)
Cath was used to sharing a room; shed always shared a room with Wren. But their room at home was almost three times as big as this one. And Wren didnt take up nearly as much space as Reagan did. Figurative space. Head space. Wren didnt feel like company.
Cath still wasnt sure what to make
of Reagan.
On the one hand, Reagan didnt seem interested in staying up all night, braiding each others hair, and becoming best friends forever. That was a relief.
On the other hand, Reagan didnt seem interested in Cath at all .
Actually, that was a bit of a relief, tooReagan was scary.
She did everything so forcefully. She swung their door open; she slammed it shut. She was bigger than Cath, a little taller and a lot more buxom (seriously, buxom ). She just seemed bigger. On the inside, too.
When Reagan was in the room, Cath tried to stay out of her way; she tried not to make eye contact. Reagan pretended Cath wasnt there, so Cath pretended that, too. Normally this seemed to work out for both of them.
But right at the moment, pretending not to exist was making it really hard for Cath to write.
She was working on a tricky sceneSimon and Baz arguing about whether vampires could ever truly be considered good and also whether the two of them should go to the graduation ball together. It was all supposed to be very funny and romantic and thoughtful, which were usually Caths specialties. (She was pretty good with treachery, too. And talking dragons.)
But she couldnt get past, Simon swept his honey brown hair out of his eyes and sighed. She couldnt even get Baz to move. She couldnt stop thinking about Reagan and Levi sitting behind her. Her brain was stuck on INTRUDER ALERT!
Plus she was starving. As soon as Reagan and Levi left the room for dinner, Cath was going to eat an entire jar of peanut butter. If they ever left for dinnerReagan kept banging on like she was going to type right through the desk, and Levi kept not leaving, and Caths stomach was starting to growl.
She grabbed a protein bar and walked out of the room, thinking shed just take a quick walk down the hall to clear her head.
But the hallway was practically a meet-and-greet. Every door was propped open but theirs. Girls were milling around, talking and laughing. The whole floor smelled like burnt microwave popcorn. Cath slipped into the bathroom and sat in one of the stalls, unwrapping her protein bar and letting nervous tears dribble down her cheeks.
God, she thought. God. Okay. This isnt that bad. Theres actually nothing wrong, actually. Whats wrong, Cath? Nothing.
She felt tight everywhere. Snapping. And her stomach was on fire.
She took out her phone and wondered what Wren was doing. Probably choreographing dance sequences to Lady Gaga songs. Probably trying on her roommates sweaters. Probably not sitting on a toilet, eating an almond-flaxseed bar.