Filament smiled sadly. “Then why is your lower lip quivering?”
“I think that’s just what it does.”
“You know what? You should ask her again.”
“You think she’s changed her mind?”
“Not yet, but she might if you pursue her. Have you never seen a romantic comedy? Have you never seen the nerd get the hot girl? How does he do it? He proves himself worthy of her affection. He devotes himself to wooing her.”
“Am I the nerd?”
“Well, you’re certainly not the hot girl.”
Omen laughed a little. “Yeah, I suppose.”
“My sisters – I grew up with sisters – they love the romantic comedies. Have you seen 10 Things I Hate About You? Heath Ledger pursues Julia Stiles. You should sing to Axelia during morning assembly.”
“That’s a terrifically bad idea.”
“A Partridge Family song, maybe.”
“I’m not sure who they are.”
“They were a musical group. One of my older sisters, she loved David Cassidy when she was a teenager. David Cassidy was in the Partridge Family. According to my sister, he was the main Partridge.”
“Did they have costumes, or …?”
“I don’t know if they dressed up as partridges, I just know the David Cassidy song. But you can’t do that song – that was used in the movie. You want another one, a song that may once have been cheesy, but now is sort of cool.”
“I don’t think I’m going to sing to her, though.”
“That’s a pity,” said Filament. “It would work. I’m sure of it. But there are other ways to woo a lady. Send flowers every day. Write her poems. Or appear at her door one evening with cue cards professing your love.”
“Is that wooing, though? Or is it, you know … stalking?”
Filament frowned. “How can it be stalking? It’s for love.”
“I get that, I do, but everything you’ve just mentioned sounds a little like harassment. I’d really prefer to be the guy who, you know, is rejected and then is kind of cool about it. I don’t want her to regret knowing me – that’s basically what I’m trying to say. I don’t want to be the bad guy, or the guy who can’t take the hint. You know?”
Filament didn’t respond.
“Filament?”
“Your words have made me sad,” Filament said.
“Oh.”
“All those romantic comedies I watched.”
“It’s fine for movies.”
“No,” said Filament. “No. I shall never watch another. From here on out, it will be horror movies and only horror movies. Not even musicals.”
“Musicals are OK.”
“Maybe one or two musicals, like Grease.”
“Grease is funny.”
“It was nice talking to you, Omen, even if you did make me sad.”
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“I will try to be as brave as you.”
“I’m not being brave, though.”
Miss Wicked approached. “Filament,” she said, “it’s a Saturday morning. Do something better with it than sitting outside the Principal’s Office.”
“Yes, miss,” Filament said, and hurried away.
Miss Wicked frowned at Omen. “It’s ten o’clock. Why are you out here?”
“I, um, I haven’t been told to go in.”
“Our appointment is for ten,” she responded, striding to the door. “We go in at ten.”
She walked in and Omen hopped up and hurried after her.
He’d never been in Principal Rubic’s office before. He was immediately struck by the number of books on the shelves and the huge window behind the desk. Rubic himself sat at his desk, an elderly man with a face that longed for a beard it didn’t have. Standing before him was a tall man with dark hair swept back off a high forehead, a man who looked just like his son.
“Ah, Miss Wicked, Omen,” said Rubic, waving them in, “I was just about to call for you. Of course, you will both recognise Grand Mage Ispolin, here from the Bulgarian Sanctuary. The Grand Mage is, very naturally, concerned about Jenan’s well-being.”
“It’s been seven months,” Ispolin said, “and nothing has been done.” His accent, like that of so many sorcerers, was both distinct and soft, the result of hundreds of years of living. “My son remains missing, and this woman is still teaching at this school. I’m here to demand answers.”
“Of course,” Rubic said, “of course. Your concern is understandable.”
“For seven months, I have been met with nothing but excuses from the High Sanctuary.”
Rubic nodded sadly. “Investigations of this nature do, unfortunately, tend to take a lot of time, Grand Mage.”
“I am aware of the amount of time investigations take,” Ispolin said slowly. “What I am interested in learning is why this woman is still employed here.”
“I believe you know my name,” Miss Wicked said.
Ispolin looked up. “What?”
“My name,” she said. “I believe you know it. Please use it. Every time you say ‘this woman’ I look around, wondering who you’re talking about. I am here, I gather, because of the altercation outside the boys’ dormitories. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Ispolin said. “When you attacked Jenan. Is this the type of teacher you have here, Mr Rubic? One who goes around assaulting your students?”
Omen cleared his throat to speak, but could only croak. Ispolin glared at him.
“Yes? You have something to contribute?”
“I’m sure Omen was about to remind you that the altercation began when your son attacked him,” said Miss Wicked.
Ispolin sneered. “So he claims.”
“Now, now,” said Rubic, “we have no reason to doubt Mr Darkly’s version of events.”
“Jenan attacked me,” Omen whispered.
Ispolin folded his arms. “And I say that you are a liar.”
Omen flushed red.
“Look at his face,” Ispolin said. “Only the guilty blush.”
“Nonsense,” said Miss Wicked. “Omen blushes at the mention of his own name. Please don’t make my student feel any more uncomfortable than he already does, Grand Mage Ispolin. Blushing means nothing, and Omen is not a liar.”
“How can you be so sure?” Ispolin fired back. “His brother is the Chosen One, isn’t he? Jenan told me all about him, and, from where I stand, this is a boy who has been starved of attention his entire life. His brother is the one people know. His brother is the one people remember. But this boy here is so desperate for a moment in the spotlight that he has fabricated this entire story.”
“I didn’t,” Omen said, shaking his head.
“You’re a liar!”
“Grand Mage!” Rubic said, rising slightly in his chair, “I must ask you to calm yourself!”
“I