Someone Great, James S. Potter

I

THERE WAS A time when Stevie would have been mortified at the prospect of leaving her dad. She would cling to whatever jumper he wore that day, tugging at the stretchy sleeves, her big eyes filled with tears. Oliver loved to recall those times, especially the instance in which Stevie would bury her face in his chest, too focused on being miserable to notice the scene she was making outside of her primary school.

Though now, at the ripe age of seventeen, Stevie found comfort in the fact that she could leave her father at anytime without feeling the sharp pain in her heart that was oh-so familiar years ago. She would write to him once she was settled in and wake up to his reply in the morning. It had become so routine, so normal—

"I'll see you in December," Oliver said, releasing Stevie from his firm grip. She was almost the same height as him, though Oliver always liked to point out that the boots she wore added at least half of an inch to her height. "I'll try to make it to one of your matches, but I'll be busy—"

"There's no need," Stevie said, "you couldn't give Sinclair all the money in the world to put me in a match."

Oliver feigned confusion, though his tan skin flushed and his eyes were on anything but his daughter. "What—I don't pay Sin—"

"It's an expression," said Stevie, and there was a hint of a smile on her face. "But who knows, maybe some one'll break their leg and Sinclair'll be forced to let me play."

"Always the optimist," said Oliver, smiling and shaking his head. The horn blew, signaling that it was almost time to go. Oliver reached out and patted Stevie's head fondly. "Be good."

"I don't know how to be anything else."

_____

FOUR HOURS LATER, Stevie was too far gone into her world of dreams to notice Otto's cat, Bert, dig into her bag, pulling at the loose threads of her robes. Otto—a sandy-haired boy of seventeen—tried and failed to stop Bert, and let the chubby thing do whatever it wanted. So long as he didn't unravel Stevie's entire robe, all was well.

The sun was glowing in the middle of the sky, burning into Stevie's eyelids uncomfortably, rousing her from her sleep. Her shifting startled Bert, causing him to roll over onto the floor of the compartment with a thump. Otto scooped him up.

"D'you have a good nap," Otto asked, stroking Bert's fluffy, grey fur. "You didn't grind your teeth as much as usual."

"Really," asked Stevie, and she shrugged, looked out the window. "I dreamed that I was thirty feet tall and stomped all over Hogwarts, right after I squashed you, of course."

"Tragic."

"It's the best dream I've ever had," Stevie said, smiling.

"Ha ha," said Otto, his face set in a straight line. "Did you squash Sunny too, or was my demise personal?"

"I would never squash Sunny," Stevie said, feigning terror. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Prefects meeting," said Otto distractedly, his gaze set on the green horizon. "Should be back soon, then she can tell you all about Jack."

"Who's Jack? Not another summer fling, I hope," Stevie asked, lips pursed. Otto nodded.

"Though she only refers to him as The American. They met when she visited her cousin in New York," Otto explained."