She handed me her classroom keys—which probably says something about how she’s too trusting—and then I went to work for the rest of the day and into the night. Took me a bit to figure out how to manipulate the glass, how to mold the different colors against each other, but it had been surprisingly easy. Easier than metal, hell of a lot easier than stone. Came naturally to me even.
Glass sculptures . . . who’d have thought a down-in-the-dirt geomancer could make something so beautiful?
Carefully, I picked the thing up and carried it over to Val’s bed, sitting it down on her bedside table next to a book she’d been reading the night before. Good Omens, the book’s title read. Let’s fucking hope so, I thought.
Then—since I’m a fucking coward—I ran out of there before Val could return from the showers and see the thing. I can face a lot. Emotions playing out in front of me ain’t one of them.
[CLICK]
Snow.
Can’t say I approve of the idea.
Frozen water from the sky.
Don’t like water. Don’t like sky. The biggest improvement of moving to the Asylum had been the mountains all around me. Made me feel safe at every moment. Surrounded, defensible. Ain’t like that at all back home in Visalia or the rest of the Central Valley. Nothing but sky all the time. Feel open, raw, vulnerable. Could get attacked from any direction. No big ass fortress to push your ass up against. Flat land bisected by rivers of water and iron and asphalt.
Mongols could come from anywhere, motherfuckers.
At the Asylum you feel the weight of the earth. Mountains circling us, forests circling them. Feel like you’re all alone up there. Just you and your fellow students and the faculty. Feel forgotten, feel like you’re in a bubble outside of time and politics and the cares of the human race. No global warming, no overpopulation debates, no abortion, no gun control . . . just the Asylum. Just your closed little world.
Then down comes snow. Floating as easy as can be, bringing with it a reminder of the world outside, of far off cities and oceans and loved ones left behind. Dad working in the Warehouse ten hours a day, telling all the other guys where to go and what to do, and training the new guys how to lift a pallet or a stack of boxes without breaking their backs or getting a hernia. Hard work. Guy won’t make it past fifty doing what he does. American working man, working himself nowhere, working himself to crippled old-age without a single kid home for the holidays.
Mom. I try to write her a letter each week but usually manage more like a couple a month. From the way Dad talks when I’ve ever bothered to call him, a couple a month is about the ‘Good Days’ she can mange now too. Last summer I thought about escaping the Asylum and seeing for myself. Free month with no one around, why not?
But I hadn’t.
Maybe I would this year. See her, tell her all about the Mancy, all about the Winter War. Pocket too, I guess. She’d like to hear I have a real friend. Val maybe . . . if this bit of glass wins her over. Mom always wanted me to have a girl I could love.
Love . . . there’s that word again.
I paused somewhere outside the Ultra dorms, knelt down, and picked up a handful of snow. Where’d this snow come from? Canada? The Rockies? Bering Sea? I crushed it in my fingers; let it drop to the white ground. It was so early in the day that the janitors hadn’t even gotten around to clearing the walkways. Wasn’t even much sun to keep me company, just the first peek of orange rays against the clouds.
Just snow.
Just love.
I sat down on a bench after I wiped off a bit of snow. Crossed my arms, watched the sun wake up. Ruminated.
Love, I thought. I’ve probably thought about love more than most. It’s such a foreign concept to me, of course I’ve tried to understand it more that everyone else. Other kids in my class, they just accept feelings and hormones and all the things making their nipples hard or their peckers stiff as love. Read about love in Languages. Shakespeare, Austen, Jethro Smith even made us read fucking Twilight when we pissed him off one week by playing paper football at the back of the class.
That’s some seriously cruel and unusual punishment.
Ain’t a bit of love in any of that stuff. Just the false yearnings and temptations we call love because the real thing is so damn ethereal, so hard to have, so fleeting. I guess maybe one in a twenty couples know real love. Maybe not even that. It’s the biggest joke in the world that we all think we need love, that we deserve love. It’s rare, man. You ever see a couple walk by with real love in their hearts? Give ‘em a cheer. They got something money can’t buy. They’re the lucky few.
The rest of us? We take what we can get, steal the rest.
Debra and Estefan . . . I think they really love each other. Why? Cuz real love is trust, complete trust in the other person with every cold, evil, fucked up emotion, feeling, and fear you have.
All them books get it confused. Start thinking about sacrifice and control and lust, even madness. Nah . . . ain’t none of them.
Trust.
That’s what love’s built on.
And me . . . I don’t trust no one.
Not Mom, not Dad. Not Ceinwyn. Not Pocket.
Don’t even trust myself sometimes.
So how I ever going to get there?
How I ever going to find love?
Find some chick I can trust with everything that’s inside of me?
More I think about it, more I think Val and I have something in common when it comes to trust.
I got the earthquake.
She’s got the inferno.
We both worry it will terrify whoever we show it to.
Better not to trust.
Better not to love.
Better to just be what we can be.
No one gets hurt that way.
Val found me there, sun finally showing itself. She didn’t say nothing, only sat down next to me. I glanced over quick, took in her black necromancer colors for the Winter War. They made her look pale, washed out the sunshine in her hair. Especially, they made those eyes without iris look dark and lonely.
“Did you steal it?” she finally asked.
“Made it.”
“How?”
“Glass, dye, anima. Same way Greenbrier has you make those fire crystals.”
“King Henry,” she blurted out, frost escaping everywhere from her breath, “Is that . . . how you see me?”
A girl dancing among the flames, free, uncontained, not a care in the world. “No, Val. You’re more complicated. What I made . . . that’s Boomworm I guess.”
She shocked the hell out of me by throwing a pair of arms around me in a hug.
Emotions again. I tried not to move.
She squeezed me tighter.
“Having trouble moving the lungs,” I croaked. Didn’t help that she had six inches on me for leverage.
She laughed and eased up a bit. “Thank you for the gift.”
“Anytime,” I said, giving a shrug.
She smirked. “Am I making you uncomfortable with this emotional outpouring?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Can I take you to the Winter Ball to make it up to you?”
I finally looked her in the eyes. “Really?”
“Still doubting yourself?”
“Still the Foul Mouth, you’re still Boomworm.”
“Well . . . I’d rather we leave the Foul Mouth and Boomworm for the Winter War and just be Val and King Henry tonight if you don’t mind.”
“One step at a time, I guess,” I said, staying calm and collected and all those smooth things while on the inside of fifteen-year-old-me my brain unleashed itself: HOLY FUCKING SHIT! IT ACTUALLY WORKED!
[CLICK]
Crowds again, more than ever, more excited than ever.
They sent a vibration running through my whole body.
It had been a long few hours waiting for the finals to get here. At the same time, the minutes had flown by. I’m not one for nerves but even I felt the tension
, it was worse on the others in my class.
We all started the day by gathering in the Cafeteria just like normal. Only no one ate much of anything. I settled for a cup of coffee and half a chocolate muffin. Pocket was one of the few with an appetite and went through two pieces of bacon, two eggs, a trio of sausages and finished off the other half of my muffin. Suppose it helps being a fernthrower, not having the whole match riding on you.
Val sat on my other side, chatting with me and teasing me. Raj and Miranda sat across the table. I felt bad for Raj. The guy’s Happy Miranda Time vanished the way of the dodo and all my ginger nemesis could do was glare at me for—in her own words: brainwashing my best friend into dating you, you disgusting little creep.
Not that I gave a shit—I rarely give a shit—but I instantly became the envy of the school. Got a lot of thumbs-ups from the older guys. Val got headshakes from the older girls.
Only two people were hurt worse by it than Miranda. Welf had gone into a complete daze and almost a denial about it, while Isabel’s crush on me had gone from squee-he’s-so-awesome! to what-a-jerk-I-want-to-punch-him!
Young love . . . once again it’s a shit game.
It’s just a dance, I kept telling myself. But I did really like Val. It was nice having her sitting beside me and she’s good people.
I think she’s the only girl at the Asylum I never worried about offending with my mouth. It was actions that bugged Val and actions were easier to control that all the f-bombs, a-bombs, b-clusters, s-smarts, and the occasional nuclear-fucktard.
Not that I ever keep my mouth under control even when a chick I’m interested in hates it . . . but it’s nice not to even have to think about it, ya know?
Although . . . that’s always how it was with Boomworm, so what had really changed?
Not a damn thing really.
Just one dance.
Weird.
Why’d something so small seem like a beginning to something so big?
If you only knew you fifteen-year-old little shit, if you only knew . . .
The whole class packed up from the Cafeteria, moved back to the Ultra dorms through floating snow and boos from the majority of Intras we crossed paths with. Most of the kids in my class weren’t used to the negative attention. Welf, Estefan, Hope, Val, Debra, Pocket, Naomi—the most popular Bi’s at the school before Operation Pancake. Still would be when things settled down, but for now they were up on the pedestal with me as the greatest villains in the history of the Asylum.
Only the Three Queens being our opponents kept things from getting too out of control. It’s hard to root for people that evil. Some students had taken on a Mutually Assured Destruction stance, rooting against both of us. Others swallowed the pill and just kept quiet on the whole thing, detached.
No heroes this year.
Guess that means it’s my year to shine.
Welf sat us down in the common room, gave us a pep talk, went over the plan again. Maps and plenty of bullshit. Estefan and Welf still couldn’t agree on whether we should focus on our strength or on ‘07’s weakness.
Coin-toss.
All about the coin-toss.
Fate going to give a blowjob or nutcrack me?
Val grabbed her book and sat down to read next to me. Pocket found some cards from somewhere and we went through a few games of War.
“So you’re like da Vinci or something now?” Pocket whispered to me.
Noise didn’t really matter, whatever was in that book had Val engrossed. Reading for fun . . . so weird. “Guy was an Artificer too.”
“Glass though?”
“Felt right.”
“Raj was telling me that it’s extremely rare for geomancers to manipulate glass.”
“That’s me, extremely rare.”
“Unique Butterfly.”
“Snowflake Deluxe. So . . . where were you the last two nights? All up in Sabine making her screams out zee French? What’s ‘Pocket’ in French anyway?”
Pocket predictably blushed. “I made sure she got her dress and everything, that Quilt knew we’re going together, stuff like that.”
“Should have seen Quilt when I told him about Val and me.”
“Surprised?”
“More like wounded . . . think he lost a bet with Ceinwyn about it.”
“Teachers sure do bet on us a lot.”
“It’s a cheater’s world, my friend, and mancers are the biggest cheaters of all.”
He snorted. “That or they’re just bored out of their minds taking care of us for eleven months a year.”
“Second year and still you think there ain’t some complicated conspiracy shit going on with this school? When will you learn?”
“Suppose when I graduate and they tell us the truth.”
“Truth ain’t given . . . truth is stolen.”
Welf clapping his hands dragged us out of our card game, Val out of her book, Raj and Miranda out of their chess game, Naomi’s girls and Hope’s girls both out of applying make-up meant just for the Winter Ball that night. Cuz you might as well look good while the Three Queens and the Blackjacks beat on you, right?
“Everyone get what you need, we’ve got an hour before the start of the finals and need to head on over to the Mound. Don’t forget winter coats for the breaks.”
Fuck yeah.
Time to rumble.
[CLICK]
Crowds.
Never seen crowds like this at the Asylum.
Not even for the Winter War finals last year. Not even for when the ‘06ers graduated either.
Students, faculty, the usual. But also the unusual. The possibility of the first Bi’s ever winning Winter War had brought out families in the know. Brought out Mancy big wigs from all over the country to the watch the match too. Welf’s parents were there in a special, marked off area. Other faces too I could guess at. Waldens, Huntings, Edwards, Daniels, even Naomi’s mom and all her brothers and sisters. Last summer, when the school was empty but I’d been forced to stay, Natalie Gullick had invited me for dinner one night. Nice woman, good mom. Frankly . . . Naomi’s snotty ass don’t deserve her.
If the crowd had stopped there it would have been bad enough, but it was worse. Alumni, Guilds in strength—including the Guild of Artificers and their cocksucking skullcaps—even generals in fucking uniform.
“Holy fuckballs,” I said to myself but everyone that heard nodded their agreement.
“Everyone just . . . stay calm,” Welf said in a weak voice not giving a bit of comfort to us. “It’s just . . . a normal match.”
“My parents are here . . .” Hope whispered in horror.
“My parents are here,” Miranda agreed, “and they placed them next to your parents.”
“Oh my God,” Hope said, “they’ll kill each other before the first game!”
“Stay calm!” Welf repeated, his voice a little bit more sure this time. “Get to the staging area and it will be closed off. We can relax until the match starts, get our bearings. Whatever you do: don’t think about family watching you.”
Like I said in the beginning of this, Winter War is our Super Bowl. Only . . . sometimes it’s the Seahawks and the Bengals and no one gives a shit. Other times it’s the Steelers and the Cowboys—then everyone gives a shit. Well . . . would be the Steelers and the Cowboys if Tony Romo could ever win a big game to save his life.
“You see your parents?” I asked Val and Pocket.
They both shook their heads.
No one bothered to ask me if I’d seen mine.
[CLICK]
Sorry about so many stops.
I keep getting pumped up remembering back on it.
Keep needing to cool off, go for a walk or do some pacing in my shop.
I really should buy a punching bag . . .
Hell of a day to remember.
One of the best days of my life.
[CLICK]
I felt calm while everyone continued to freak out worse and worse as minute by minute ticked away
.
No throw up. No shaking.
Winning over Val . . . that shit had been hard.
This . . . this was just what I did.
Fighting. Nothing to worry about.
Twenty-one Blackjacks to take on and the Three Queens behind them.
Administration approved fighting.
Fuckin’ heaven.
I watched the rest of my class as the sand piled up, watched them as they heard the laughter from the other side of the curtained staging area, where the Blackjacks spouted off about all the bones they would be breaking, where Mary O’Connell performed a giggling little hymn about last year’s Winter War, about what had happened to the kids in Class ’06.
Curt Chambers had an asthma attack, had to suck down inhaler.
Asa threw up, then a couple more people right after her, then a couple more right after that.
Humans, why we such pathetic pack animals?
“You okay?” I asked Val.
She nodded, but kept on clicking her teeth and shaking her leg.
“Remember that they’re more scared of you than you are of them.”
She shook her head. “A dog joke with me? Are you trying . . .” She got an odd look on her face, kind of sentimental. “Thank you.”
“Huh?”
“For trying to distract me.”
“Don’t thank me yet, might have to strip naked and dance the hula to keep this lot from breaking down.”
Pocket’s face went to horror. “Then we’ll all be throwing up.”
One of Root’s helpers put his head in, “Five minutes until the coin-toss.”
“Oh, hurry up already!” Miranda growled.
“Someone needs to get rid of the throw up, please! It’s starting to smell!” Hope complained.
Jason grabbed a bottle of water and opened it over the puddles.
“Now it’s just going to freeze!” Hope complained some more.
“Figured you’d like that,” Jason said back, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m so cold,” Quinn moaned. “It’s so cold . . . why can’t we do this in the summer?”
The Foul Mouth and the Troubled Boomworm (The King Henry Tapes) Page 31
