TW: abuse

Ryuji insists on walking me home, since it’s dark outside. This time, I don’t mind. Being alone in the dark isn’t exactly something I relish.

Cold wind bites through my hoodie, and I shiver. I should have put a jacket on over my hoodie or something. Maybe a sweater. It’s still early spring, not quite freezing but not warm either.

As we walk in silence, I scooch closer to Ryuji, just to feel the warmth coming off his body. His wings spread behind us, acting as a wind buffer. Having winged friends is amazing.

“So, what did you think?” he asks, thumb stuck behind the strap of his messenger bag. He walks with the casualness of someone without a single worry in the world.

I shrug and hunch deeper into my hoodie. “It made me realize just how horrible my writing skills really are.” I say this with a laugh, hoping that it comes off as a joke. “I haven’t written anything in ages, and I don’t think I could ever read something out loud in front of Miss Cassandra. The fact that she’s from the guild…”

A part of me can’t help but admire her. She’s exactly where I dream to be. She’s in a place that I could never reach. And almost everyone else in the group is aiming for the same thing—to be a part of that world. I can imagine them all together, sitting on benches or lounging in the grass in the courtyard of the Scrivener’s Guild, having the best time of their lives. Funnily enough, in my mental picture, Ryuji is somewhere on the roof, crouched like a dragon, looking out at the open fields with a burning sunset in the distance.

A sigh escapes my lips. Now I kinda wish I had wings so I can see things like that.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. I was the worst writer when I joined the group a year ago, too. I’m still not sure if I would call my writing phenomenal or anything.”

I look up at him, shocked. “You’ve only been writing for a year?” His skill level is amazing for someone who’d only been writing for such a short time. The guy’s got ridiculous talent. Hunching forward, I groan. “Great, now I feel even worse.”

Ryuji laughs and bumps my shoulder with his own. “Oh, come on. No one starts off good. And actually, I’d been writing for two years before I joined. I would even go so far as to say there’s no such thing as prodigies or gifted people; there’s just those who work really hard at what they love and get better at it because of it. So don’t be so down on yourself.”

Straightening, I shove my hands in my hoodie pocket and release a deep sigh as I look up at the night sky. Something that resembles a pixie flits by. “I guess you’re right. Still…” My throat tightens as I think about that box buried in my closet. “I don’t know if I can ever write again.”

We walk in silence for several moments, the light from the streetlamps creating pools of yellow on the sidewalk in the dark. I kick at a loose pebble, sending it careening out into the street. A car zooms past, the wind of its wake ruffling Ryuji’s feathers.

Ryuji stops. He lifts the flap on his bag and digs inside.

“I have an idea,” he says as he pulls something out. He holds it out to me.

I stare at it. It’s a notebook, turquoise green with a peacock stamped into the faux leather cover. It’s pretty, with a ribbon bookmark and plenty of pages. Slowly, I reach for it, not quite understanding.

“It’s a two-way notebook. I have a set I’m not using.”

“A two-way notebook? What’s that?”

“It’s a set of notebooks where you can write on the pages of one, and the words will show up in the other. Kind of like texting.”

“That’s a thing?” I look up at him, confused. “Why have I never heard of this before?”

Shrugging, he takes a step closer, proffering the notebook. “Beats me. My Dad and I used to use these all the time to talk to each other whenever he was at work, and I was home doing homework. It’s a great way to ask for help.”

“Aww,” I say, taking the notebook. I can just imagine baby Ryuji writing little messages to his dad in a notebook like this one, and his dad’s words showing up underneath on the page. His face must have lit up like it does now as I look up at him. “Thanks. But what am I supposed to do with it?”

He points to the notebook now in my hands. “All you have to do is write a single line of story, and I’ll answer with my own. Maybe if you have help, you can start writing again.”

Once again, I’m shocked by this boy. “You…you’d actually do that for me?”

He tilts his head, dark eyes serious. “Once you become a writer, there’s no going back. You can’t just stop. I don’t know what going on that made you give up on writing, but I want to see you go back to doing what you love.”

Looking down at the notebook resting in my hands, I don’t see its simple green cover. Instead, I see a world of possibilities. Words unfold in my mind on a crisp sheet of white, black ink bleeding through the paper. Magic lifts the words, swirling around me, stories coming to life. It’s beautiful. And terrifying. My hands shake as I pull the notebook close to my chest. Can I do it? Can I really use this to start writing again?

I’ll have to hide it. Somewhere Mom won’t find it. The thought leaves me feeling dirty, like writing is some kind of sin. And I hate myself for it. But I won’t let this opportunity pass. Lifting my gaze to Ryuji, I look him in the eye.

“I’ll do it. I’ll try.”

Ryuji smiles, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Can’t wait to see what you write!”

When we reach my house, he waits until I’m up the steps before waving goodbye and taking off into the night sky. I watch him go, a jumble of feelings bundled up inside me. Confusion, excitement, worry, terror, hope. All these feelings that this winged boy has given me. Feelings that I haven’t allowed myself to feel for years. Is this what having friends is like? If so, then I hope we never stop being friends. And I hope that I can pay him back someday.

Warmth wraps around me as soon as I step inside. I glance at the floor. Mom’s shoes are here. My whole body goes rigid, and for a moment I panic, not sure what to do with the notebook in my hands. I search the foyer, dreading the thought of Mom waiting for me, but no one is in sight.

Quickly, I slip off my shoes and race through the foyer for the stairs. My foot hits the first step, and my body slams into what feels like a solid wall. I tilt backwards, placing my foot back on the floor, and look up. Dad puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Careful, there,” he says. His eyes are half-closed, like he’s not fully awake. “Where’ve you been?”

I hide the notebook behind my back. “Just hanging with some friends. We were at the library.”

Dad nods, like he’s trying to process what I said. “Okay. You should invite them over sometime. It’s been a while since I met any of your friends.”

“Sure.” I move to the side and Dad shuffles away, toward the kitchen. It’s always a shock seeing him up and moving, and not passed out somewhere.

Letting out a breath, I bolt up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When I reach the top, I pad silently across the wood floor and sneak into my room. Carefully, I close the door, hoping Mom didn’t hear me.

“Spill.”

I squeak and jump, turning to see Elsha lounging on my bed, flipping through Eye of the Everlast Ghoul. I glare at her.

“Put that down. I don’t want you to lose my spot.”

She flips the book sideways so I can see the tops of the pages. “I didn’t touch your bookmark. It’s still there, see?”

Pointing at my nightstand, I raise my brows, not in the mood for arguing. She sighs and plops the book down. Then she sits up and props her elbows on her knees, her chin resting in her hands.

“So? Who’s that cute icarus boy I saw you with?”

“That’s Ryuji. Look, he gave me this.” I drop onto my bed and hold the notebook out to Elsha. She leans back, eyes narrowed.

“Funny, you didn’t deny the fact that I called him cute. Is there something going on I don’t know about?”

I shove her shoulder before holding the notebook close to her face. “No way. Now look. It’s a two-way notebook.”

Her brows rise as she takes it. “No way. For real? These things are so cool!”

I look at her in consternation. “Why am I the only one who didn’t know they existed?”

“Because you live under a rock,” Elsha says without missing a beat.

“Wow, okay, thanks.”

Dropping the notebook onto my nightstand, Elsha slides off my bed. “C’mon. Let’s get some ice cream and you can tell me everything.”

Together we race down the stairs, trying to see who will get into the kitchen first. I slip across the floor in my socks and fall with a thump just outside the kitchen. Elsha bursts out laughing, then pulls me to my feet.

“I’m sure all of Iasu heard that,” she says, mouth twisted in a mischievous grin.

“Oh, yeah?” I say, grabbing her around the waist. “Let’s just see how much noise you make.”

Elsha releases something between a squeal and a laugh as she grabs for the kitchen counter while I lift her off her feet. She breaks away and speeds for the fridge, where she yanks open the freezer and pulls out a tub of strawberry ice cream, holding it up like a shield.

“Get some bowls or I won’t give you any,” she says, clutching the tub close.

I roll my eyes with a grin but fetch the bowls anyway. Wasn’t like I was actually going to try and body slam her to the floor. I’m too lazy for that.

We serve ourselves bowls of pale pink ice cream while I tell her about the colorful characters in the group, and she seems particularly interested in Anton. I had no idea tattooed guys who write Gothic horror were her type. Then again, she probably wants to try drawing him.

Just as I’m about to launch into detailing Ryuji’s story, I spy someone coming for the kitchen. My mouth goes dry. It’s Mom.

I instantly switch gears. “I got an eighty on my math test, which is better than the sixty I got last time,” I say as Mom steps into the kitchen.

Elsha’s brows scrunch and she opens her mouth to speak when Mom interrupts.

“Good job, Keelin.” Her black hair glistens under the yellow lights. “But where have you been all evening?”

“I already told Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “I was out with friends. We were st-studying at the library.” I was almost about to say hanging out, but Mom would have yelled at me for wasting time. Hopefully this pacifies her.

A moment passes with her hardened gaze drilling into me, and I think that Mom’s going to yell at me, but instead, she just turns to the fridge and opens it.

“You shouldn’t be bothering your father like that. He’s very busy, doing his best for this family.” She sets the pitcher of tea down on the counter with more force than necessary. I flinch. “You need to be careful. I don’t want you out late at night. There’s been a lot of robberies in this area of the city. That convenience store several blocks down was robbed last week and the cashier and several patrons were shot. I don’t want to see either of my girls end up in the hospital.” She says this without looking at me once. Instead, she concentrates on pouring herself a glass. Then she waits, staring into the murky red liquid.

“I promise I’ll be careful,” I say, knowing she’s waiting for me to say something. “My friend walked me home.”

Mom leans against the counter and looks up at Elsha. Her stance has completely changed, going from cold and rigid to relaxed and warm. “How’s school going? Were you able to get better at practical magic?”

Elsha wrinkles her nose and leans back in her chair. “Yeah, but I bombed my potions test. I think I’m the worst in my class.”

“I’m sure you’ll get better. You just have to work at it.”

The conversation continues, and the entire time, Mom is careful to keep her gaze away from my face. If I try to speak, Mom makes a noise of disinterest and rests her gaze somewhere above my shoulder. As if I’m not even good enough to deserve her attention.

A helpless look crosses Elsha’s face. She knows that Mom’s ignoring me and doesn’t know what to do. I push to my feet, frustrated. There’s no point in me staying here. Elsha can figure this out on her own.

Grabbing my bowl, I place it in the sink carefully, even though my hand is itching to toss it as hard as I can at the wall. With a muttered word, I set the washing spell going and head for the open doorway.

“Keelin,” Mom calls, just before I can escape.

I freeze.