The new quarter began quietly for Alastair, his classes all remaining the same, his teachers picking up right where they left off. But, he was still forced to borrow books and supplies from Maggie. By the end of the week, they had a pretty good study schedule worked out.

In his core classes, Sarah had returned to her recent ways, refusing to look him in the eye, let alone speak to him. He wondered if she knew what her beloved Mason had done, and if so, he questioned how she could love him. He wondered if it was shame that kept her eyes glued to the ground, or if she had remembered why she hated him.

"You can't stay hung up on her, Al," Maggie whispered onto his shoulder, which she barely reached on tiptoes. They stood on line for food in the dining hall, and Sarah and Mason were already sitting at a table full of all the popular kids. "She's a bitch for staying with someone like that after everything."

"Don't call her that, Maggie," he said quietly.

Maggie became indignant, "Why not? She is. I mean, she flaunts her romance with him, she knows how he mistreats you, hell sometimes she even participates. There's no other word for it. She's a bitch."

Alastair rounded on her, "I said don't call her that. I mean it."

Maggie was defiant. "She's a bitch."

"Maggie, stop, seriously," Alastair was so tired of this.

"Why should I?"

"Because I love her," he pleaded.

"Then you're a fool," Maggie said acidly and walked away.

Alastair had no idea why Maggie was pissed off. He was the one who should be mad, he thought as he sat down with his food. She was attacking his oldest friend, the girl he loved. It didn't matter what she had done or what she had justified being done to him, like the pieces of meatloaf that were currently being thrown his way. He loved her, and that would never change. Maybe he was a fool. Maybe, but he didn't know how to turn his heart off and stop feeling, stop loving her. He couldn't. And even if he could, he still wouldn't.

««•»»

The second quarter was off to a good start for Rose, too, except for maybe Arts. The first day of the quarter, Rose was surprised to have a book of songs dropped on her lap.
"Study these. Read the words, hear the notes. You can read music?"

Rose shook her head. "Mon dieu!" Cowdrey disappeared for a couple minutes, then returned with a book for beginners, Learning to Read Music.

"Study," she said softly, handing over a folded cardboard piano keyboard and guitar neck with the notes labeled.

Filled with fear, Rose had to drag herself to class each day, sure that today would be the day Cowdrey would force her sit at the piano. But, as it turned out, Cowdrey left her alone, just as she had most of last quarter.

Rose actually liked school for the first time in her life. And a huge part of why was Mr. Bennett. He just made school fun. Myths of Magic now focused entirely on different creatures of lore, in preparation for Halloween. Bennett had transformed his classroom into a hall of horrors, each corner of the room and every wall lined with posters, statues, and books depicting different creatures that were said to possess some magical or supernatural powers.

"We know there were mummies in Egypt. Did they come back to life? Did they have some special powers? How about vampires from eastern Europe, were there really blood-sucking princes who turned into bats? Werewolves? Zombies? What other B movie monsters can you think of?"

"Aliens!" shouted Ellie Choi, the other ninth grader.

The seventh graders in the class snickered.

"Oooh. Good one, Ells, aliens is another one we'll talk about."

He turned toward the board. When he whipped back around, he was dressed like a vampire. "I vant to suck your bluhd!" he growled at the sixth graders, who laughed with mock terror. Bennett popped the fake teeth from his mouth, sliding the satin cloak from his shoulders.

"But seriously, guys, do you think vampires are real?" Bennett asked, his back to the room as he hung up his vampire gear.

"It depends," said Ellie without raising her hand. Rose was growing to love how this girl just said what she thought whenever she thought it. It was the opposite of herself. But in many ways it was everything Rose wished she could be.

Bennett pointed at her, nodding, "Okay, on what?"

"Well, like, what aspect I guess," Ellie answered, "Wasn't there a Romanian guy who actually drank people's blood, but he wasn't, like, the walking dead or anything?"

"Exactly. Well, sort of. His name was Vlad, prince of Wallachia. He was born in Transylvania, which was actually part of Hungary at the time," Bennett displayed a picture of Vlad the Impaler. "He ruled Romania in the 1400s, and he was a member of the Order of the Dragon. Latin?"

"Draco," chimed everyone but Rose, who looked around in confusion, not that she would have said it even if she had known it.

She realized she was even more behind than she thought. They know Latin?

"Correct, and from this came Dracula. But Vlad was just a really harsh enemy, who would throw people off the roof of his castle and impale them--that means they fell on a giant toothpick. He never actually drank their blood. As Ellie said, he was not undead, either. His enemies told stories of his torture, which over time became the myth of Dracula the vampire."

Bennett held up a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula.

"He certainly never turned into a bat. There is no evidence to suggest he was a practitioner of magic at all, but even if he was, we all know it's not possible to turn yourself into an animal, right?"

"Right," came the chorus of kids.

"And why do you guys think that is?"

Silence settled over the room. The scritching of the pen on the page as Rose wrote the answer neatly in her notebook was the only sound.

Ellie leaned over and read it aloud. "You can't change the fundamental structure of living creatures through magic. You can't turn a plate into a giraffe. These things have DNA, which cannot be altered through our practice."

"Well-stated, Rose. We cannot change what we are, as much as we might want to. You have no idea how much I envy my cat, how much I wish I could lay around all day, just playing and sleeping and eating. But unfortunately, we are not able to modify the genetic make-up inside our cells to transform into other creatures."

"So Dracula was not a bat or a vampire," Ellie said. "But are there others who drink blood?"

Bennett laughed, "Always back to the blood and guts, huh Choi?" He gestured to the class, "What do you guys say?"

"No!" shouted the class, clearly loving Bennett and his style of teaching.

"Well, who knows, right? There are always sick people out there, but no, there are no vampires. There are cannibals, though, which maybe is worse. Cannibals are people who eat people."

"Ughhhh!"

Bennett laughed, and Rose smiled. He winked at her, then went into a lengthy discussion of the many instances of cannibalism throughout history, the class writhing in disgust.

Bennett was easily Rose's favorite teacher, when you added this class to his rants from History of Magic. Every day was more interesting, engaging, and entertaining than the one before, as he debunked werewolves, zombies, and walking mummies, while coming in neutral on the issue of ghosts and aliens. Rose was hooked.

After class, she stayed behind, wanting to borrow some of the books he had on display.
Bennett looked up from his desk. "Hey, Rose. What do you need?"

She handed him the note.

"Of course, take any you want."

Rose piled half a dozen books in her arms. Bennett laughed. She turned, concerned she she had taken too many.

"You're fine. Mis libros son tus libros, as they say," he extended his arm in a welcoming gesture. "Enjoy."

Rose had wanted to tell him how much she liked his classes, but she felt awkward. Bennett was a handsome guy, and he probably had students crushing on him a lot. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

««•»»

Friday morning, Alastair woke early but didn't want to get out of bed. Having your birthday on Halloween might seem like fun, but really it just meant that most people forgot. They were busy getting costumed and candied. And here at school, everything shut down for Halloween. There was the haunted maze that the drama classes and leadership sponsored for the little ones and the dance that night for the big ones, which meant he would be working all day.

Eventually, he dragged himself out of bed to get breakfast and start working on the maze. Maggie greeted him at the door of the cafeteria. They hadn't spoken since she walked away a week ago.

"I'm sorry, birthday boy," she said softly.

"Are you sorry because it's my birthday or because you realize you were wrong?"

"Ummm... I'm sorry I upset you, I adore you, and I want you to have a happy birthday. I had my own issues going on that day, with Melissa."

Alastair didn't like fighting with her. "Good enough, Maggs. Thanks. Everything okay with you guys now?"

Maggie shrugged. As they got to the hot food, Adeline, the heavy-set chef and Household Magic teacher, handed Alastair a cupcake.

"Appy birfday, Alastair," she said with a thick British accent. She heaped extra pancakes and bacon on his plate as well.

"Thanks, Addie." Alastair glanced at Maggie, knowing she was behind it. They ate quickly and quietly, both of them scheduled to work on the kids maze.

The maze puzzled through the auditorium, lights out, walls glowing with neon paint. Most kids were in elaborate costumes. Alastair was hidden at the third turn, his face sweating in a monster mask. As footsteps approached, he prepared to scare his victim. He popped out from behind a curtain and scared a scream out of Rose, which startled him so much he tripped. Then he said in a growl that disguised his voice, "Nice costume. Appropriate." As she continued past him, he wondered why she could scream but not speak.

Alastair and Maggie walked up to the SO room hours later, ready to receive their assignments for the dance.

"What's this? Maggie?" There was a stack of three packages wrapped in bright, glittery paper. A ribbon reading happy birthday secured them all together.

Maggie looked at Alastair with wide eyes, "I don't know."

"Come on, what did you do?"

He tore open the first package to find two pads of art paper, one for sketches and one for watercolors. He never really did the watercolor thing, in part because he'd never had the supplies. The next package contained a cherry wood box with all variety of artists' tools. Now he would be able to experiment.

"Maggs, this is too much. These are top quality," he said, shocked.

"Allie, I didn't. The cupcake was my present. I made it. I don't know where these came from."

"Really?" he still wasn't sure he believed her. Who else could it be? His heart pounded.

As he opened the last package to find a professional artist's portfolio, he knew there were only two possibilities left. The first, his mother, couldn't afford this. He smiled to himself, his belly swooping pleasantly.

"It must be Sarah," he said to the air, as Maggie had already entered the SO room.

Rose watched in disbelief.

Disappointment oozed into her guts like honey, only not nearly as sweet. More like the vomit that honey is. Didn't he read the stupid tag? she thought, when a cold hand touched her arm. She jumped and a sound escaped from her. She slapped her two hands across her mouth and turned to see who it was.

Mrs. Cowdrey smiled at her, "Love the mime costume. A nod to France, no doubt." She winked as she flounced over to Alastair. Rose was being sarcastic-- her costume was a black and white striped shirt, black eye liner and red lipstick. The monster got it.

"Happy birthday, Alastair, my dear," Cowdrey chirped at him. "What's this you have, a present?"

Alastair showed off the kit, the paper, the case. He looked like a little kid on Christmas.

"Someone must love you very much," Cowdrey said, glancing over her shoulder. Rose sucked in a breath.

What? Rose told herself, No, no it's not that. It's only gratitude.

Alastair nodded to Cowdrey, beaming. Rose smiled at his smile.

I guess it doesn't matter who he thinks it's from, she thought. He's happy.

««•»»

Alastair was floating through the school. He was buoyed by love. He had been adrift in an ocean of anger and self-abuse, then Sarah sent him a lifeline. She gave him those perfect presents, her way of making up for what her asshole boyfriend had done. He thought briefly that dumping him would have been a better present, but he would take what he could get. And what he got was a sign from her that she didn't hate him, and that she didn't abide the bull that Mason had pulled.

He tried to catch her eye several times on Monday, tried to say thank you. But Mason was always there, his arm proprietarily across her shoulders. He would have to find another way to thank her.

Alastair found himself more inspired in his creative writing class than he had been in Arts, his newfound joy opening the floodgates of his imagination. It was as if some stopper on his creativity had been pulled. Thrown away even. He drew and painted unceasingly, and in creative writing, he began writing stories based on some of his art. The creative writing classroom was much smaller, quieter, and cleaner than the Arts room, and it was a very conducive environment for Alastair's work.

"Wonderful, wonderful! Alastair," Cowdrey praised him, as he stared at a sketch, writing a short story.

He glanced up at her, "Oh, thanks."

"Let me ask you, let me ask, have you considered combining the two?"

Alastair shook his head, "No, I--"

"Combine them! Fabulous!" Cowdrey clapped her hands and scurried away to another student.

He had never thought to put his drawing together with his writing, but suddenly it just made sense. Alastair burst with ideas, setting aside the story for the moment and instead sketching dark figures. He divided his large pad into six smaller squares and turned his sketches into villains for a sort of comic strip. They had oversized, grotesque features and wore long black coats. They carried weapons, like elaborate swords and high-powered guns, things that practitioners of magic cannot easily defend against.

He added a damsel in distress and a hero to save her. The girl was buxom, her body curved like an extreme hourglass. Alastair started to erase it, but changed his mind. He decided to go beyond reality with the good guys, just as he had the bad. She was beautiful with huge glittery eyes. She wore a school uniform just a little too small to contain her figure.

His hero was tall and thin, wiry, in jeans and a T-shirt. He had large dark eyes that looked at the world through a lens of sorrow and loss. Alastair couldn't see it while drawing him, but he realized later that his hero was an amalgam of himself and Rose, his features and her eyes. The hero, whom he named Robert, used magic to protect the girl, but the villains used weapons he couldn't fight. It was going to require someone else to join the fight. Alastair wasn't sure how to resolve that, so he developed the love story instead. The girl loved Robert in spite of his dark side. They kissed, Robert's hands finding the contour of the girl's hip. He should really give her a name. Hannah. Page after page, dialogue bubble onto thought bubble, Alastair was excited by his work and found himself grinning at his own creation.

««•»»

In Arts, Rose enjoyed watching Alastair play with his new supplies. She kept her distance, weirded out by what Cowdrey had said, so she observed from across the room. She had never seen him smile while he worked before; it made her happy, a happy she hadn't felt since she was little. The closest was the brief time she had with Marie, but even that didn't compare. She had given him something he cherished. And it wasn't just the art equipment, she knew that. She had given him hope, possibility. Rose just hoped that Sarah, whoever she was, was worth it.

Meanwhile, she neglected the music books Cowdrey had placed in her lap the first day of the quarter, not wanting to play an instrument at all. It was as if she were allergic, avoiding even the printed paper piano like her fingers would swell if she touched it. She was terrified, afraid that too much emotion would pour out of her again, afraid she would relive the terrible things, afraid everyone would see into her. So instead, she pretended to practice reading music, all the while absorbing the glee on Alastair's face. She didn't know how that would go when it came time to turn in her final project. Would it be performance art, Rose reclining in a seat observing Alastair like a stalker? She thought she would probably fail if that was her project, and rightly so, but she just didn't care. She was rapt with his happiness.