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'Once upon a time, in the land of-'
Graham stopped writing. His pen often moved faster than his brain. Guess that was why he was stuck in Special Ed with a bunch of losers, writing a story which "must be imaginative and true to oneself". Yeah, thanks for not being vague at all, Professor Davies. Next time Graham would rather just score good in his tests than attend this stupid class.
He glanced back down at his notebook. Land of what? Land of, land of, land of . . . cheesewhizz?
'-the land of Angelesco, there lived an angel named Angela. Angela was one of many angels that lived in that wondersome realm. She was-'
His pen ran out of ink. He gave it a habitual jerk, but obviously that did not magically refill the darn thing. If only he were an angel.
"Dammit," he muttered, then tsk-tsked the bloke sitting in front of him.
The bloke turned. He was the new transfer student from India, the one everybody had been picking on since Day 1 of his arrival. Graham had picked on him, too. In his defense, it was too difficult not to. The Indian dude was, well, Indian. The only brown kid at their highschool, an oddity. So at first everyone started calling him Brownie. Not that they were racist, of course - that was absurd, they were super welcoming to people from all walks of life here in Aberdeen, Scotland. It was just that the brownie bloke was weird, what with his beady eyes and oily hair and Appu-Simpsons accent.
Out of nowhere popped up rumors that Brownie's family practiced black magic and other creepy witchcraft. That didn't do anything to aid his reputation. And who doesn't get ragged on a bit at school, no need to be a crybaby about it. But Brownie's grades had suffered because apparently "the other students were giving him neither space nor assistance to catch up." Uh okay, witch boy.
"Yes?" said Brownie now.
"Got an extra pen?" Graham asked him.
Brownie ruffled and rustled before producing a strange, fancy-looking pen from his goathide pouch. It had a vomit-colored feather sticking out from its cap, like a pompadour for writing utensils.
"Uh . . . thanks." Not wanting to interact with any other Special Ed kids, Graham accepted the pen. All he had to do anyway was write a stupid bloody story, not win a Pulitzer.
"You're welcome," said Brownie, sounding malicious, like he knew something them whites did not. His beady eyes had a twinkle in them as he turned back to his paper.
Weirdo, Graham thought as he uncapped the strange pen and returned to his story.
'She was hot,' he wrote, then scratched out hot extensively. He didn't know where the word had come from, but he knew for sure that Mr. Davies would not care for it. He churned his mind, replaced hot with attractive.
