Fangirl

Getting back to the academy, I didn’t return straight to my room. I went up to the second floor and ducked into the bay window, where I could see the front entrance. The girl approached the steps, took a step, and froze as if looking at something. No matter how closely I peered into, I couldn’t see anything. It was only when she bent down and touched something that it suddenly hit me — my boot prints! That’s so creepy! That’s how she must have realized I hadn’t returned to the academy! I swallowed, feeling my hands go cold, and thought that she should have been an investigator, no one could escape from her. But no matter how weird she was, I wasn’t going to hide. I behaved as usual in class, not giving away what had happened earlier and not paying any attention to Martha at all. Peeking at her covertly, I decided that she was following the same pattern ignoring me for a while. I couldn’t know what she was thinking: whether she was offended by my overreaction, or maybe she was hurt that I’d called her weird a few times. She didn’t show it, but that didn’t tell anything. Still, I hoped I hadn’t hurt her too much. I’d told the truth, of course, and it would be foolish to blush for my words, because I hadn’t lied or tried to intentionally insult her. It was just that her behavior was a real too much. She was a classic stalker. Anyway, I felt sorry and worried. A couple weeks went by and I had to admit that her behavior had changed. She no longer looked in my direction; the stares disappeared. I also noticed that she used to always be around me, but now she had changed her habit. ‘Hey, Phillip, why are you in a bad mood? ’ Maxim asked, sitting at the dining room table. ‘It’s nothing.’ I tried to dismiss it. ‘It’s nothing? You’ve been frowning like a storm cloud for days. Problems at home? ’ My friend made his conclusions for obvious reasons. I was usually upset when I got news from home. Just at the beginning of the week, the mail came. ‘No, I’m fine, really. Just insomnia.’ I lied a bit. The lack of sleep did bother me sometimes, but it was something else, and I’d never admit it. I should have watched myself more carefully and acted like nothing was wrong. It’s my own fault. Right before lunch, I saw Martha in the hallway and, damn me, I got mad out of nowhere. I deliberately blocked her way, so that she almost ran into me. At that moment I was looking straight ahead, wanting to peek into her eyes. The task seemed easy, for we were the same height, but she glanced at my face and turned away. I flared up, and I still couldn’t calm down. I cast a sidelong look to the corner where she usually sat. Martha was still there, except that, unlike her usual manner, she was looking away. Not at me. Was she offended by my frank — too harsh — words about her oddities? Or maybe she was disappointed in me after that conversation? She’d called me polite and courteous — all right, that’s exactly what I was. I’d been raised well and other way wasn’t familiar or pleasant to me, but perhaps I’d overpressed it in that conversation. The annoyance saddened in my chest. Made anxious. That night what I’d lied to my friend about during the day had happened to me: insomnia. A couple of weeks later, I had to work harder to stay attentive and focused in class. I didn’t sleep well, and everything irritated me. Especially Martha. She pissed me off. Her long, insistent stares used to annoy me, now the lack of them. It was strange, of course. I mean, we’d never even spoken before. As I went about my usual stuff of a group leader, I checked my calendar — it was time to write out the library appointment and then turn in the list to the secretariat. I wrote Martha’s name on the paper, as I had done all the previous years. And then added mine below. Immediately I felt better. I knew Martha’s habits well. That wasn’t surprising, since we had studied side by side for quite some time. I knew that she always went to the small reading hall when she worked in the library, and one day, closer the end of the year, when she’d been assigned again, I’d noticed her there early in the morning. Or rather, not really noticed, but felt. Martha faintly smelled of lavender. Being in the library unusually early, I immediately felt the deep notes of the familiar aroma, and my feet brought me to see if I was right. Of course I was right. The scent was Martha’s; she was hiding in the small hall again. I noticed the logbooks on the desk, and the rest was easy to figure out. When I arrived at the library in the morning in high spirits — I’d had a good night’s sleep — I took the desk where I’d seen Martha earlier. Everything was fine, except for the stifling odor that wafted around me. How could she stand it? Footsteps approached from the hallway. I barely had time to open my logbooks and uncork the inkwell to dip my quill. What an idiot, I couldn’t quite pull off a busy look. In my side vision, I saw her froze some distance away — she was surprised to see me here and thought to run away. No way. It cost me nothing to stop her, and she sank down across the table. I started a conversation and complained that there was a problem with the fire. Intentionally, of course. I thought about the topics for a long time, one of them was not just my upcoming exam, but, rather, the affairs of bygone days: I was going to try and make her admit that she had a hand in my successful passes, which was explicitly hinted at in the dialog. However, the conversation took a wrong turn, and now I was seriously trying out a new spell under supervision. Actually, I had decided on a spell for this semester and had already tried it many times. Unsuccessfully, alas. I didn’t want to show the girl that the simplest magic after a few tries doesn’t work. So I lied. She came up with an offer quickly. We tried it together. I didn’t think it would work — I was sure it wouldn’t, actually. I don’t know why I suddenly decided to do it, even though I was in danger of embarrassing myself and revealing my weak magical potential. And yet I did it, and it worked! I was wildly delighted! The spell itself was simple, clear and elegant. I could hardly have found it on my own. The non-native elements go into self-study, so it’s hard to get good results with them. But the main thing is, I did it! I even hesitated a little, but Martha quickly dispelled my doubts by suggesting that I repeat the spell by myself. Then she left. It was a pity that my only spectator had retreated, but perhaps it was the right thing to do — now I knew that I had mastered the spell and would probably be able to use fire much better later on. The teachers had said quite a bit back in my first year, when non-native elements were given in overview. Maybe I hadn’t been listening carefully, or maybe I hadn’t been ready to hear and had missed the important stuff, but everything Martha had said suddenly became clear. Fire wanted openness — a kind of risk. What I remembered from my introductory course was that fire was the most dangerous element, at least that’s what the accident statistics claimed. The professors urged caution in working with fire, and that was what I was focused on as I tried to deal with the spells. And failed time after time. Martha was right, fire wanted a direct offer of your own powers — a magical resource, like holding a hair up to the fire and letting the flames take hold. Dangerous, no doubt, but it was the only way to make contact with the flame element. I offered a strand of energy resource and the fire burst into flame. I thought for a moment, then gathered my things and left the small hall. Martha was at one of the tables behind the eastern bookcases. All alone, as always. I sat down across from her. I laid out the logbooks, opened the inkwell again, and began to check. I tried not to look at the girl; I didn’t want her to see my happy, idiotic smile, which was trying to twist the smooth line of my mouth. ‘Thank you.’ I said without looking up. ‘You’re welcome.’ The girl replied calmly. Her confidence made me uncomfortable for some reason. I felt a warmth warming my face. Oh, come on! Again?