Page 9 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“Yeah. Yes, everything’s fine.” I scanned the room that he shared, the other desks currently unoccupied but they displayed remnants of a home life. A coffee mug with the wordsBest Dadengraved in big bold letters, a framed drawing of stick figures holding hands with the wordsMom and Mewritten underneath. Mr. Wicked’s desk had no personal touches. No photos of Emily.
He sported a bit of scruff today. Was that a style choice, or could he simply not be bothered? For some odd reason the answer to that mattered to me.
“Is there something I can help you with?” He eyed me with expectation.
I shook my head and flipped through the binder I held, nearly dropping it, to retrieve a form. “I’m applying to the University of Denwin, and I need a letter of reference. I was wondering” —nerves rolled through my belly— “would you be open to providing me with one?”
He slid his glasses on and reached a hand out for the application. “Department of Philosophy,” he mused. “This is more than a hobby for you.”
“It’s my passion,” I said with a seriousness that left him eyeing me above his rims. “My father was the head of the department. He taught the Accelerated Logics course. I’m hoping to get on the roster, but it’s tough to get a seat. There’s only one session per fall term.” I settled onto the edge of the chair in front of his desk. “I think they get off on students groveling and sobbing for one more open seat,” I said wryly. His abrupt chuckle startled me, then pulled a laugh of my own. “It’s true. It doesn’t even count toward your degree. Just looks good on your resume.”
He sobered, but his relaxed disposition remained. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get in. Your love for the subject is apparent and will shine through on your application essay.”
I scooted back into my chair, loosening my white-knuckled grip on my binder. “Thanks.”
He entwined his hands. “Full disclosure, I’ll be taking over the department director position next year. I’ll need to confirm that providing the reference won’t be a conflict of interest. If it is, I know someone else I can ask on your behalf.”
“You are?”
He nodded. “It was serendipitous that the position here came up last minute, or else I’d have been twiddling my thumbs until my role at the university started. Although my being offered this job came under less than fortunate circumstances for Mr. Bloom.”
We were silent. Faint lines formed along the corners of his eyes as the edges of his lips rose. “You look like him,” he said, and at my questioning stare he clarified. “Your father. His photo still hangs in the staff lounge. It clicked on the first day of class. Same last name, same facial features, curly hair. And you’ve apparently inherited his ambition.”
I lowered my head briefly. It felt beyond amazing to hear someone else talk about my father, even in such simple terms. For years I’d kept him alive in my head. To hear details about him spoken aloud was the equivalent of being relieved that you weren’t imagining something after someone else took notice. “He was my hero.”
“I bet he’d say you were his.” The legs of his chair scraped against the floor. “I’d wager we’re the only fools still here.” He stacked his paperwork in a pile and slid them into his black satchel. “I can grade these at home. Do you need a ride?”
I held my binder to my chest. “My best friend should be done with detention by now. I’ll catch a ride with him.”
“All right.” He tugged his blue blazer from the back of his chair and shrugged it on. It was a perfect fit against the contours of his muscular arms. I flushed and walked through the door he now held open while I remembered how his body looked without clothes on it. “Mr. Michaelson?”
“Yes?” I prompted when it seemed he wouldn’t go any further.
“It’s truly a pleasure having you as a student. It’s been far too long since I’ve been this excited to teach. Keep up the good work.” With that he walked past me and down the hall, and I hid my smirk behind my binder, walking in the opposite direction.
The concert was being held at the city park in downtown Denwin. The botanical garden bled into the park from the north-east side, so I demanded we take the long way so we could stop and smell the roses. Since I couldn’t get out of going, the least they could do was suffer.
“You’re such a sap,” Danny proclaimed as I brushed a finger across a flower petal.
“He’s a gentle soul,” Theory waxed on before asking if I thought that was from my father’s influence or a possible microchip implanted in me at birth.
Handing our tickets to the attendant manning the roped off green area where all performances were held, we stepped inside and my brows did a downward dog at the dozens of people littered around on blankets, and even more so when I zeroed in on the stage which contained a single stool and a microphone. “Why isn’t the band equipment set up?” I checked my watch. “The show’s supposed to start in fifteen minutes.” Were they late? This was what I hated about concerts. They never began on time. “And since when is a rock concert enjoyed picnic-style?” A couple passed in front of us with a basket in hand.
Danny flashed a flyer in front of my face. I read it front to back. “A poetry slam?” I exclaimed, shifting my eyes to his smug ones. “You brought me to a poetry slam?”
“Surprise!” Theory shouted, planting a kiss on my red cheeks. “You were tagged about it on Facebook. I had to twist Danny’s arm to get him to come.”
“You did not,” he protested. “Okay, maybe a little.”
She shrugged. “I told him he could learn a thing or two from the poets. Things he could use to woo the ladies.”
We found a perfect spot in the shade under an elm tree, which provided an unfettered view of the stage. Theory pulled a thin plaid blanket out of her bag and after helping her spread it, we took a seat. I rested back on my palms with my legs stretched and crossed at the ankles, while Theory laid her head in my lap, examining the ends of her hair, and Danny tried to find a comfortable position in his tight velvet pants.
It was late evening when the sun started to set and the string lights that wrapped around the trees lit up one by one. “This is so cool,” I said, as more and more people rushed in before showtime.
Losing interest in her strands, Theory stared up at me. “You know what I think, Pheeny?”
I fanned her hair out across my legs waiting for her to continue.
