He felt he was making really good points, and that he was backed up by history. He pulled off the shirt he’d slept in, which read LET’S FIGHT! and below in tiny letters OUR ENEMY OFF WITH CUNNING ARGUMENTS. George whipped Simon’s back with his wet towel, which made Simon yelp.
Simon grinned as he pulled his gear out of their wardrobe. They were getting started right after breakfast, so he might as well change into gear straight off. Plus, every day wearing gear made for men was a victory.
He and George went up to breakfast in good humor with all the world.
“You know, this porridge isn’t at all bad,” Simon said, digging in. George nodded enthusiastically, his mouth full.
Beatriz looked sad for them, and possibly sad that boys were so stupid in general. “This isn’t porridge,” she told them. “These are scrambled eggs.”
“Oh no,” George whispered faintly, his mouth still full, his voice terribly sad. “Oh no.”
Simon dropped his spoon and stared into the depths of his bowl with horror.
“If they are scrambled eggs . . . ?” he asked. “And I’m not arguing with you, Beatriz, I’m just asking what I feel is a very reasonable question . . . if they are scrambled eggs, why are they gray?”
Beatriz shrugged and continued eating, carefully avoiding the lumps. “Who can say?”
That could be made into a sad song, Simon supposed. If they are eggs, why are they gray? Who can say, who can say? He found himself still thinking of song lyrics sometimes, even though he was out of the band.
Admittedly, “Why Are the Eggs So Gray?” might not be a big hit, even on the hipster circuit.
Julie plopped her bowl down on the table beside Beatriz.
“The eggs are gray,” she announced. “I don’t know how they do this. Surely at this point, it would actually make sense for them not to mess up the food sometimes. Every time, every day, for over a year? Is the Academy cursed?”
“I have been thinking it might be,” George said earnestly. “I hear an eldritch rattling sometimes, like ghosts shaking their terrible chains. Honestly, I was hoping the Academy was cursed, since otherwise it’s probably creatures in the pipes.” George shuddered. “Creatures.”
Julie sat down. George and Simon exchanged a private pleased look. They had been keeping track of how often Julie chose to sit with the three of them, rather than with Jon Cartwright. Currently they were winning, sixty percent to forty.
Julie choosing to sit with them seemed like a good sign, since this was George’s big day.
Now that they were Shadowhunter trainees in their second year, and in the words of Scarsbury “no longer totally hopeless and liable to cut off your own stupid heads,” they were given their own slightly more important missions. Every mission had an appointed team leader, and the team leader got double points if the mission was a success. Julie, Beatriz, Simon, and Jon had already been team leaders, and they had killed it: everyone’s mission accomplished, demons slain, people saved, Downworlders breaking the Law penalized severely but fairly. In some ways it was a pity that Jon’s mission had gone so well, as he had bragged about it for weeks, but they couldn’t help it. They were just too good, Simon thought, even as he slapped the wooden table so as not to jinx himself. There was no way for them to fail.
“Feeling nervous, team leader?” asked Julie. Simon had to admit she could sometimes be an unsettling companion.
“No,” said George, and under Julie’s gimlet eye: “Maybe. Yes. You know, an appropriate amount of nervous, but in a cool, collected, and good-under-pressure way.”
“Don’t go all to pieces,” said Julie. “I want a perfect score.”
An awkward silence followed. Simon comforted himself by looking over at Jon’s table. When Julie abandoned him, Jon had to eat all alone. Unless Marisol decided she wanted to sit with him and torment him. Which, Simon noted, she was doing today. Little devil. Marisol was hilarious.
Jon made urgent gestures for help, but Julie had her back turned to him and did not see.
“I’m not saying this to scare you, George,” she said. “That’s a side benefit, obviously. This is an important mission. You know faeries are the worst kind of Downworlder. Faeries crossing over into the mundane realm and tricking the poor things into eating faerie fruit is no joke. Mundanes can wither away and die after eating that fruit, you know. It’s murder, and it’s murder we can hardly ever get them for, because by the time the mundanes die, the faeries are long gone. You’re taking this seriously, right?”
“Yes, Julie,” said George. “I actually do know murder is bad, Julie.”
Julie’s whole face pursed up in that alarming way it did sometimes. “Remember it was you who almost screwed up my mission.”
“I hesitated slightly to tackle that vampire child,” George admitted.
“Precisely,” said Julie. “No more hesitation. As our team leader, you have to act on your own initiative. I’m not saying you’re bad, George. I am saying you need to learn.”
“I’m not sure anybody needs this kind of motivational speech,” Beatriz said. “It would freak anyone out. And it’s too easy to freak George out as it is.”
George, who had been looking touched at Beatriz’s gallant defense, stopped looking touched.
“I just think they should do a repeat team leader occasionally,” Julie grumbled, letting them know where all this hostility was coming from. She stabbed her gray eggs wistfully. “I was so good.”
Simon raised his eyebrows. “You had a horsewhip and threatened to beat me about the head and face if I didn’t do what you said.”
Julie pointed her spoon at him. “Exactly. And you did what I said. That’s leadership, that is. What’s more, I didn’t beat you about the head and face. Kind but firm, that’s me.”
Julie discussed her own greatness at some length. Simon got up to get another glass of juice.
“What kind of juice do you think this is?” Catarina Loss asked, joining him in the line.
“Fruit,” said Simon. “Just fruit. That’s all they would tell me. I found it suspicious as well.”
“I like fruit,” Catarina said, but she did not sound sure about that. “I know you’re excused from my class this afternoon. What are you up to this morning?”
“A mission to stop faeries from slipping over their borders and engaging in illicit trade,” Simon said. “George is team leader.”
“George is team leader?” Catarina asked. “Hm.”
“Why is everyone so down on George today?” Simon demanded. “What’s wrong with George? There’s nothing wrong with George. It is not possible to find fault with George. He’s a perfect Scottish angel. He always shares the snacks that his mother sends him, and he’s better-looking than Jace. There, I said it. I’m not taking it back.”
“I see you’re in a good mood,” said Catarina. “All right then. Go on, have a good time. Take care of my favorite student.”
“Right,” said Simon. “Wait, who’s that?”
Catarina gestured him away from her with her indeterminate juice. “Get lost, Daylighter.”
Everyone else was excited to go on another mission. Simon was looking forward to it as well, and pleased for George’s sake. But Simon was mostly excited because after the mission, he had somewhere else to be.