“I told you he didn’t need us,” Wren said.
Cath snorted. “He obviously needs us. If he had a cat, the man would be one bad day away from Grey Gardens. I think he eats all of his meals at QuikTrip, and he’s sleeping on the couch.”
“I thought you said he was doing good.”
“Well. For Dad. You should come home with me next time.”
“Next time is Thanksgiving. I think I’ll be there.”
Cath stopped. They were almost to Wren’s next class, and Cath hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet. “Dad told me … that he’d already told you…”
Wren exhaled like she knew what was coming. “Yeah.”
“He said you were thinking about it.”
“I am.”
“Why?” Cath tried really hard to say it without whining.
“Because.” Wren hitched up her backpack. “Because she’s our mom. And I’m thinking about it.”
“But…” It wasn’t that Cath couldn’t think of an argument. It was that there were so many. The arguments in her brain were like a swarm of people running from a burning building and getting stuck in the door. “But she’ll just mess everything up.”
“She already messed everything up,” Wren said. “It’s not like she can leave us again.”
“Yes. She can.”
Wren shook her head. “I’m just thinking about it.”
“Will you tell me if you decide anything?”
Wren frowned. “Not if it’s going to make you this upset.”
“I have a right to get upset about upsetting things.”
“I just don’t like it,” Wren said, looking away from Cath, up at the door. “I’m gonna be late.”
So was Cath.
“We’re already roommates,” Baz argued. “I shouldn’t have to be his lab partner, as well. You’re asking me to bear far more than my fair share of apple-cheeked protagonism.”
Every girl in the laboratory sat on the edge of her stool, ready to take Baz’s place.
“That’s enough about my cheeks,” Snow muttered, blushing heroically.
“Honestly, Professor,” Baz said, waving his wand toward Snow in a just look at him gesture. Snow caught the end of the wand and pointed it at the floor.
Professor Chilblains was unmoved. “Sit down, Mr. Pitch. You’re wasting precious lab time.”
Baz slammed his books down at Snow’s station. Snow put his safety goggles on and adjusted them; it did nothing to dim his blue eyes or blunt his glare.
“For the record,” Snow grumbled. “I don’t want to spend any more time with you either.”
Stupid boy … Baz sighed to himself, taking in Snow’s tense shoulders, the flush of anger in his neck, and the thick fall of bronze hair partially trapped in his goggles.… What do you know about want?
—from “Five Times Baz Went to Chemistry and One Time He Didn’t,” posted August 2009 by FanFixx.net authors Magicath and Wrenegade
ELEVEN
The hallway was perfectly quiet. Everyone who lived in Pound Hall was somewhere else, having fun.
Cath stared at her computer screen and heard Professor Piper’s voice again in her head. She kept forcing herself to remember the entire conversation, playing it back and playing it back, all the way through, forcing a finger down her memory’s throat.
Today, at the beginning of class, Professor Piper had passed their unreliable-narrator scenes back. Everybody’s but Cath’s. “We’ll talk after class, okay?” the professor said to Cath with that gentle, righteous smile she had.
Cath had thought this exception must be a good thing—that Professor Piper must have really liked her story. She really liked Cath, you could tell; Cath got more of those soft smiles than just about anybody else in the class. More than Nick, by far.
And this scene was the best thing Cath had written all semester; she knew it was. Maybe Professor Piper wanted to talk about the piece in more detail, or maybe she was going to talk to Cath about taking her advanced class next semester. (You had to have special permission to register.) Or maybe just … something good. Something.
“Cath,” Professor Piper said when everybody else was gone and Cath had stepped up to her desk. “Sit down.”
Professor Piper’s smile was softer than ever, but it was all wrong. Her eyes were sad and sorry, and when she handed Cath her paper, there was a small, red F written in the corner.
Cath’s head whipped up.
“Cath,” Professor Piper said. “I don’t know what to make of this. I really don’t know what you were thinking—”
“But…,” Cath said, “was it that bad?” Could her scene really have been that much worse than everyone else’s?
“Bad or good isn’t the point.” Professor Piper shook her head, and her long, wild hair swayed from side to side. “This is plagiarism.”
“No,” Cath said. “I wrote it myself.”
“You wrote it yourself? You’re the author of Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir?”
“Of course not.” Why was Professor Piper saying this?
“These characters, this whole world belongs to someone else.”