Fangirl

‘Phillip, would you be so kind as to open the window, please.’ The professor of Spellcraft asked. Phillip got up and went to the frame. He grasped the handle and pulled it open in a familiar motion. The frame didn’t budge. Phillip froze for a moment, and pulled harder — with the same result. ‘It must have jammed, Konstantin Vasilyevich.’ He answered in a low, melodious voice after he’d tried again. ‘I'm afraid the glass won't stand a more serious impact.’ The professor paused, looked over his glasses at the window, put aside the manuscript of the lecture, and stood up. ‘Indeed, it doesn’t give in.’ He said in a genuine surprise, having made a great deal of effort himself. ‘Yesterday everything was working perfectly well. Vladislav...’ - The professor called the student across the two tables. ‘Open the window next to you, please.’ The boy got up quickly, but he also came across with a failure — the sash next to him didn’t want to open either. ‘What does it suppose to mean?’ The professor tried to open the windows one by one, moving to the back rows. ‘Some kind of a prank? You know, I'm not a appraiser.’ Only the last window in the corner, where no one was sitting, deigned to open. ‘Finally.’ The professor exhaled with a relief. ‘I'll deal with this situation later and the guilty will be punished, but now let's not waste any more time and go back to the lecture.’ I wasn't worried about being punished. The professor had a great memory when it came to spells and a terrible forgetfulness when it came to administrative routine, because of which he had repeatedly quarreled with the head of the housekeeping department. I had no problem coming to the classroom earlier with a hammer and a bunch of nails and hammering the unfortunate sashes shut. Even if they look for an intruder on the magic trail, they won't find anything. And they couldn't hear my efforts, for the wing was empty at this early hour. If Phillip had really thanked me that day for such a small thing, then I had seriously underestimated the size of the inconvenience. The cold must have worn him down considerably, if such a trifle was the reason for contact with the outcast like me. The draughts around Phillip had to end. I bet the professor wouldn't take care of the problem anytime soon, now that the window at the back of the classroom was open. And then winter would come, and the need would be gone until spring. Forgetting to be careful — no one was ever interested in me — I smiled at my own ingenuity. Earlier I’d already given myself a mental slap for inattention to Phillip. I'd have to be more focused from now on. Nodding to my reasoning, in a burst of determination I shifted my gaze to the object of my adoration... And froze. Phillip was looking at me over the shoulder. Unbeknownst to the others, it was as if he’d reclined into a comfortable writing position, half-turned, and was watching me. For how long?! I panicked and immediately snickered. I lowered my chin, sheltering behind the hair that had fallen over my face. No, he couldn't have guessed. I could have been thinking about anything? Most probably I look weird, but it was okay for me to look weird, because I was considered to be weird. Floating around in my fantasies in the middle of class for me is no big deal. I looked up slowly, to see if Phillip was still watching. He was. I frowned guiltily, unable to put on an indifferent look or any other complicated grimace. I could do it, of course, but I had no wish to deceive Phillip, even with my facial expression. Taking a deep breath, I gave up and looked up. Let him read a heartfelt confession on my guilty face. Philip stared, and I could think of nothing else to do but jerk my shoulders. He continued to stare. I frowned, feeling out of place. There was nothing elase to do, so I pulled a hammer out from under the table and placed it on top of the notes. Phillip stared at me when he saw the hammer. He said silently with his lips: put it away. I hurriedly hid the tool back. He finally turned away. My mind was racing as I was one of the last to leave the classroom, as usual, and I didn't notice someone standing next to me, matching my step. When I felt a touch of somebody’s hand, I flinched, staring at the guy walking next to me — Phillip. He dabbed an unreadable look at my face and stepped out first. He left a note in my hand. *** It had never cost me so much effort to carry a tray of plates to the table. My hands trembled with excitement, my knuckles turned white from the effort, and I swallowed the saliva like I was starving, but I couldn't think about food, so I just took the usual because my mind was on something else. As soon as I set the tray on the top of the table, I dipped my hand into the pocket and pulled out the note to reread it again. Meet me at the far gazebo, the one by the bald stone, 6 p.m. As I ran my eyes over the line, I felt the heat flood my cheeks again. I crumpled my skirt over my knee with my hand and tried to inhale slowly to steady my heartbeat. Only after a moment, calming a little, I folded the note neatly and tucked the treasure into my pocket. Raising my gaze, I stared at the very point that mattered to me. At that moment, the bodies filling the dinning hall rippled and his face flashed through the gap. Phillip was smiling, listening to one of his friends. His eyes, adorned with soft, long lashes, caught the glow of the candles lit in the hall and flickered quietly. A slight blush touched his cheekbones — this place was always warm from the crowd of students and the kitchen near by. The corner of his mouth quivered, rising higher, the edge of his pearly teeth gleamed. Where could people get teeth like that? I've seen different ones. Crooked, too small and sparsely set, chipped and too large, crawling over one another, broken, with plaque and varying degrees of yellowing, shifted to the right or left in relation to the nasal septum, horse's teeth. But never like Phillip's. His teeth were even, but not artificial like some. Not too big and not too small, but perfectly matched one to one. Milky white with slightly transparent edges like the mother-of-pearl. It was a pleasure to look at them. They were beautiful. Like everything about Phillip. That's probably why people were drawn to him. Phillip was always surrounded by a company. They flew to him like moths drawn by the light. Of course, I knew there were such beautiful people on earth, but Phillip was perfection. And he was always polite and courteous to others. He didn't refuse requests, even when he was blatantly being taken advantage of. For example, those who didn’t want to learn on their own and counted on the understanding and help of others, shamelessly parasitizing on someone’s generosity, cheated on homework from year to year. Phillip was incredibly handsome, well educated and courteous. He had everything it took to climb the top of the tree. And I was in complete agreement that that was where he belonged. There was no doubt that he was worthy of all that life had to offer. *** I was at the gazebo by 5:00 in the evening. The sky was covered with the swollen guts of clouds, slowly filling with darkness. There were faint flashes of lightning in the depths, and the muffled thunderclaps sounded in the distance. Bad weather didn’t frighten, on the contrary, it fascinated me. Leaning on the wide high side of the gazebo hanging over the abyss, I looked up, noting how the wind was getting stronger, trying to tear my hair off my shoulders. It wasn't cold, my inner fire was more reliable than any clothes, so I left the cloak in the academy room. From such a height, the monumental building was as if in the palm of the hand. The Academy was an ancient stone castle with six towers pointing up to the clouds; several platforms with wide parapets; with covered bridges of passages connecting the western and eastern wings; with elongated arched windows decorated with mossy rosettes; with the ledges occupied by frightening statues with grinning mouths and huge clawed paws; with the grates and the paved slabs of the courtyard with its clumsy fountain — the whole monument had been the home of the High Academy of Magic and Wizardry for a couple of centuries. Magicians from all over the world came here. At first I didn't like it at all — I was a stranger — but once I saw Phillip nothing mattered. On the contrary, I loved this place with all my soul, because only in these walls I could be together with him. More than three years flew by, and graduation wasn’t far away, so I did appreciate the opportunity. I wish I could stay here with him forever. ‘Hi.’ I heard behind me and turned around. It was Phillip. Besides his uniform, he was wearing warm high boots with trimming and a winter coat lined with fox fur. He took off the hood as he entered the arbor. ‘You didn't turn on the light.’ He noticed. Torches lurked in the corners. They could be lit by hand or by magic. It wouldn't have been hard for me to do it, as a firebender, but I didn't. ‘Just in case. So that no one would see us.’ There was little chance of anyone going out in this weather, but I was going to be careful. Phillip must have wanted the same thing, choosing one of the gazebos that was the farthest away and therefore not favored by the students. It took about half an hour to walk up the steep hill, and it was no fun. Phillip said nothing, walked in an arc, not looking at me. His hands were in his pockets — he was probably freezing again, but I didn't dare offer to keep him warm. Here, in the seclusion of the rocks overgrown with bluish pine, such an offer seemed more personal than touching him among the crowd. I didn't want to offend him. ‘Why did you do it?’ Obviously my antics with the hammer had to be explained, and I'd prepared for that. It was stupid to make excuses, and I wasn't embarrassed by my own feelings. I thought them inappropriate for a man as perfect as Phillip — yes, of course — but certainly not a cause for shame. If one like him was not to be liked, then who was? ‘You were cold and I took care of it.’ A graceful eyebrow arched faintly. My heart beat louder, and I clenched my jaw tighter, trying not to lose focus in his presence. ‘I got that.’ He gritted his teeth and looked away. ’Don't you think that's a little too much?’ I thought about it for a second. ‘No.’ He looked at me again. ‘You're weird.’ ‘I know.’ His words didn't hurt me at all — it was the truth. ‘What were you trying to accomplish with that?’ Phillip frowned. ‘And by warming my hand? Do you think I'm a sucker for snotty romance?’ ‘I don't think so.’ Of course my reasons were quite different. ‘It's just that you were cold and it bothered me.’ Contempt flickered across the perfect face. ‘So you're one of those fools who sighs languidly for me and sends me stupid unsigned notes.’ He said, and nodded to himself. I needed some time to think about it. It must have looked weird again, as if I'd swallowed my tongue from confusion or embarrassment, but I needed to think. ‘No. I didn't send you an unsigned note, or any note at all. And I'm not sighing languidly — I'm trying to control myself.’ Phillip snorted softly. ‘You're very strange.’ He said with a touch of squeamishness. I was a little upset. Not at the words, but at the look on his face. Phillip turned and headed for the steps leading out of the gazebo, but at the last moment he stopped, turned his head halfway around, and asked: ‘So you don't like me?’ ‘Of course I do.’ I immediately disagreed. The guy turned around, looking puzzled. ‘You just said...’ He started and didn't finish the sentence. ‘Forget it.’ He didn't say anything else, but he wasn't in a hurry to leave anymore. His eyebrows drew together at the bridge of his nose, indicating that he was thinking about something. His lips tightened, and he folded his arms across his chest, staring at me unfriendly. ‘What do you like about me?’ He asked as if he didn't care much on the answer. We were facing each other at a distance, but even though he looked important and stretched out, we were still the same height, and I was aware of what was happening, so I couldn't be suppressed. I didn't think I'd hesitate to answer: ‘Everything.’ ‘Nonsense.’ He said. ‘More details.’ All right. As you wish. I started with his appearance, and he immediately cringed as if a sour lemon had been shoved up under his nose. When I finished describing his teeth, he asked me to stop, and must have wanted to end the conversation by asking: is that all? I replied that next came his character, then his demeanor and manners, then his attitude toward people and things, and a few other points. He froze again with an expression of puzzlement on his beautiful face. After a little thought, he asked me to continue from the place where he’d cut me off. And I continued reciting, turning slightly when, halfway through the speech, he came to the bench and lowered himself not too gracefully. But he listened to me intently. Various emotions flickered across his perfect face, but there was nothing resembling disinterest, and that was more than enough for me, because this was the first conversation we'd had in all this time of my silent adoration. So who cares it was mosly me talking, I was already pleased that we were so close and he was looking at me directly for the first time. Me. ‘...I also like the way you squint when you eat the berry strudel. When you take your first bite, and even a little bit before that. Already anticipating the near sourness, you slightly cover your eyes, as if ready for the tartness of the cherry...’ ‘Enough!’ Phillip jumped up stunned. ‘Stop it! Don't you realize it's not normal!’ I was quiet, but I didn't hide my eyes. ‘I understand.’ ‘Then why?’ ‘Why what?’ ‘Why... Why are you acting like a nuts?’ I had no choice but to shrug. ‘I guess it's because I am.’ I said softly, and a thunderclap of lightning shook the air around me. ‘That's creepy.’ Phillip rose abruptly from the bench. ‘Stop following me.’ ‘I'm not.’ ‘Then what are you doing?’ ‘Just looking at you.’ ‘You do it all the time!’ ‘Because it's impossible not to look at you.’ Phillip opened his mouth to retort, but he didn't say anything. I wished I'd lit the torches, I wished I could see his face more clearly. What was he thinking at that moment? ‘I'm leaving.’ He said, hurrying away from the gazebo. ‘Phillip...’ I had tried his name on my tongue more than once, but I had never addressed it aloud. His name tasted like a ripe peach. He stopped. ‘One thing...’ I hesitated, and then said, seeing that he was waiting, ‘It’s you who send unsigned notes?’ I finished crisply, hoping he wouldn't take offense. I didn't mean to incriminate him, but if the notes were important to him — he'd mentioned them and written one to me earlier this day — it might have mattered to him. Did it? I couldn't come to a definite answer — I didn't have enough time to think, so I spoke without certainty. At that moment, in the absolute silence, lightning flashed. Then there was thunder, and he came out from under the shelter of the arbor. I only saw his face for a moment, but it was enough to glimpse the embarrassment and vulnerability, and the slight blush that touched his cheekbones. He was AMAZING! No matter what our conversation was about or how it turned out, down the road, back to the academy, I was churning with the mud from the rain, absolutely happy! After so many years of seeing perfection, the chance to talk to him was the greatest gift!