JAYDEN

I slammed my forehead to the volume of A Short History of Fairy Tale spread open on the long table of mundane grey. The stack of scrap papers filled with nonsensical doodles flew into the air and fell in a shower around the perimeter of my seat.

A bespectacled girl two seats away glanced up from her MacBook and glared at me for the fourth time in that hour. She huffed in reply to my inaudible ‘sorry’ and turned back to her screen, the sound of her fingers hammering each key only grew louder with each passing second. 

With a sigh I crouched down to pick up the mess littered across the old beige carpet. The smell of drenched, moulding socks assaulted my nostrils and sent me straight back onto my feet again. God knows when they last refurbished the place, pre-Renaissance maybe.

A glance at the clock hung right above the librarian’s head made me sigh involuntarily. The equally old chair creaked a worn-out yawn when I settled back into it. 

Seven fifty four. 

It has been at least six hours and half since I sat down and poured over all kinds of books and tried more than a handful of ways to compose a picture. Yet, I have found near nothing about what I am supposed to be halfway done painting. Not the main subject, not the background, not even the librarian’s stern face resembling an evil stepmother could save me.  

My luck with inspiration just sucked for the day.

The hands on the clock continued to tick mercilessly to its own pace while my brain completely gave up its useless struggle. 

I thought going through fairy tales would help. Turned out? Going through tales you hear as a kid isn’t the same when you read them again as a jaded adult. All the life experiences, yada, yada, came flooding in and suddenly the prince-plus-princess-equals-happy-marriage concept just seemed too good to be true.

It wasn’t realistic. Heck, it was impossible even. Most of the marriages these days fail miserably. Period. What kind of evil would try to cheat kids into marriages at first sight?

I sighed for the nth times as I stared at the spines of varied thickness strewn all over the table. 

It was just impossible to paint when I have only a flea sized idea for the main subject. Another two weeks before the submission of our final project and not even a line on the damn canvas back home.

“Jayden Forst, you idiot…What the hell have you got yourself into?” I face-palmed myself, the illustrated spread of Disney’s version of Cinderella opened before me. The fairy godmother stared back at me with a smile hidden behind an oversized pink bow.  

“The last thing I am gonna do will be painting you,” I told her. She didn’t seem affected in the slightest. 

My own Muse had probably left the moment I went against old Bryan’s advice. Greek gods, Chinese mythology…anything! Even vampires had more information on them than the crone in blue. But no, my haywire brain just had to do this.

“Shit. Is that Cinderella you’re reading there, Jay?” 

The librarian snapped up and glared reproachfully when I snapped the book shut a little too hard. I mouthed yet another inaudible ‘sorry’ before turning to Trevor with a shrug. “Just bored waiting for you to drag your ass over.” 

Fingers crossed the librarian wouldn’t put a ban on us, I still have a life threatening project to research for here. 

“Sorry man. You know, it’s a guy thing,” Trevor shrugged as he plopped into the empty seat beside me, smoothing into the blatant excuse I came up with on whim when neither of us had actually arranged to meet up.

That’s Trevor Khoo for you, a.k.a. Trevor Cool (something he came up with himself). Future lawyer in training, special abilities included 1) talking himself out of situations and 2) talking himself into situations.

“The mascara and last makeup check right? Yeah, I know.” I nodded and he elbowed me in the ribs. I couldn’t help but wince. It’s surprising how strong the fellow who’s supposed to be all nerdy can be at times.

“Save that for your future girl.” He flashed me a conspiring smile that always meant trouble—at least for me. “Who might just appear today if you agree to follow me to Derek’s party.”

Thought so. 

Trevor’s name would be right next to the word ‘party’ if they were to rewrite the dictionary. There would be no Trevor without party and no party without Trevor. The two were soulmates, twin flames that burn brighter than hellfire, inseparable. 

“You know all the music and booze isn’t my thing.” I got up from my seat, stuffed the paper scraps into my bag and hoisted the books onto my arms.  “Sides, I have a project to work on.”

“It’s beer for heaven’s sake.” I could feel Trevor roll his eyes behind me as I slipped between rows of ancient-scented volumes. “Seriously when did you last update your speech-tionary? Sixties?” He picked the pocket version of Grimm’s Fairy Tales off the top of the pile on my arms, flipped through, groaned and slapped it back down—nearly toppling my makeshift hill of books.

“Watch it!”

“This is exactly why you speak caveman,” Trevor continued, walking a little ahead of me. “Dude, it’s been years…If you don’t start living human, rumours are just gonna get worse.”

I turned to him with a lopsided smile. “Let them talk. They have the time to waste, I don’t.” 

The rumours of me being gay were old news. A rubbish that was thrown in high school and now a decayed bunch of unidentified mess still rolling around. The only surprise was how anyone still bothered to keep them up now that we were in university. 

Poor fella must be too bored. 

I tucked Cinderella back where it belonged among the shelf frequented only by toddlers quarter my height. My fingers involuntarily brushed over the spine of the books, different versions from different eras of the same story, all in one place. 

If Trevor hadn’t yelled at me from afar—and got yelled at by the librarian in return— I might have continued tracing the names on the books’ spines like some pervy old guy and make kids run in the other direction. 

They probably wouldn’t understand if I told them I was here for references anyways. Just like those my age can never understand why I had chosen fine art while they take up Pharmacology, Psychology, Oceanology—all the other huge-sounding-logies. 

The artsy kids and PHD students were always the most misunderstood bunch. The former for having thoughts that are hard to understand, the latter for understanding thoughts that are hard to understand. 

  “Half the neighbourhood’s assuming you’re in the same league as Asher,” Trevor groaned and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Out of everyone you can live with, you have to choose that unicorn boy.”

I shrugged.

“Asher’s cool. You can’t blame him for his talent in sculpting.” 

After returning the last book to its place, I picked up my bag from the chair and headed towards the exit. Trevor jogged after me.

Sculpting class was where I had first met Asher. 

For someone who joined in the middle of the year, his miniature clay sculptures were top notch. His only shortcoming might be the fact that he only paid that much attention if he was sculpting fantasy creatures (note, unicorns). He could probably sculpt a David if he wanted to but knowing him, he would no doubt be more interested in a Davis with added rainbow of colours.

“Don’t you know he’s a—” Trevor curved his fingers into the form of a lotus and frowned. 

Asher’s orientation was no secret but other than that; no drugs, no alcohol, no gambling, nothing. Completely harmless. More decent than most of us added if I were to judge.

“I am not his type.” I marched on and caught myself humming to Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo. I shook my head and tried focusing on the evening sky of magenta that was slowly morphing into Prussian blue. Good enough to be on the canvas, maybe watercolour. “You might be though, with that tan and all.”

Trevor’s glare was sharper than the punch he dealt me with.

Not entirely a joke. Asher had mentioned how Trevor could be his Muse on several occasions when he came to visit. Sometimes going as far as saying how his fairy godmother had granted his wish for such encounters. 

Of course, Trevor didn’t need to know that. 

“Trev, have you ever thought of what happen to fairy godmothers?” 

“The F?” Trevor’s eyebrows shot up to the hairline of his dark, spiky hair. His brown eyes widened, apparent since his eyes were usually near non-existence. “Are you wearing pink dresses and singing to birds behind my back now?”

“Not before you.” 

He gave me the finger.

“Haven’t you wondered what happens to them after they grant wishes and stuff?”

He rubbed his chin before concluding with a shrug, “You know I don’t read children’s books.” I was tempted to remind him how brutal said ‘children books’ used to be before Disney toned them down for the kids but he cut me off before I could. “Is that the project you’re working on?”

A sigh escaped me. “Due in two weeks and not even a line drawn.”

I have no idea what form of devil persuaded me to choose fairy tale in the first place but Bryan had already approved it weeks ago. It would be too late to apply for changes now. If my university life was ever given a title, it might as well be ‘The Fool and His Blank Canvas’.

Trevor wrapped an arm around me and started in an apologetic voice. Note, only his voice sounded apologetic, not the grin on his face. “Exactly why you need to go to Derek’s tonight with me. I promise it’ll be great! You’ll have fun and there’ll be girls and—” 

As I said, this is the Trevor, the one with the ability to force a conversation in any direction he wants, however far-fetched.

Any party with loud music and plenty of girls in skimpy clothes makes a great party for him. Even if it was on the top of Himalayas or in Dracula’s own castle, as long as it gets his adrenaline pumping, you bet he will be there. If you have to sign a liability waiver before joining, all the better. 

But not me. I am the zombie of the group, the one permanently holed up in the cave. Sleeping for another few hours would always sound better than waking up with a splitting headache the next day. 

I flashed him an annoyed half smile before shrugging him off. Trevor staggered a few steps backwards and bumped directly into two girls behind us, their deadly heels clicked loudly on the asphalt road.

Like a cliché beyond cliché movie plot, Trevor stumbled. A shriek about a ‘creep’ later, a loud crash of crunched dry leaves followed. 

I whipped my head around in time to meet the gaze of one of the girls with cake on foundation. She flipped her bleached hair over her shoulders, sent a whiff of choking smoke-floral scent my way and stormed away. The other gave me a head-to-toe stare, her gaze categorized me a ‘species of Trevor’. 

Whatever that was.

Trevor grinned apologetically, arms and legs splayed out over the low fence that once protected the bushes he’d just crushed flat. Lucky for us, it’s one of the deserted houses, not one with a raging spinster inside. If it had been my previous landlord, Trevor would be made an instant tapestry. 

“You were saying?” I held a hand out to him and tilted my head towards the retreating backs of the girls. 

He took my hand, straightened and brushed off bits of crushed leaves dangling from his skinny black jeans. “Of course not,” he said, offended. 

I crossed my arm and gave him the stare-down treatment until he finally surrendered, arms raised.

“Okay, maybe some,” he consented, slapping his forehead. “But not all girls are like that. I’m telling you bro, you have to Get. Out. More. Even the Crone has a better sex life than you. You’re freaking wasting that pretty face.”

The only thing that got to me was how he would know the principal’s sex life but another part of me didn’t really want to know—both how he knew and how her sex life was.

I nodded as he droned on, my ears tuned out. It was almost a miracle how we were both still friends.

Since day one in high school, Trevor had been trying to rid me of the tabs I was labelled with and paired me with almost all the girls in his Facebook contact list—which, FYI, consisted of ninety percent of the neighbourhood community minus mutual friends. God knows how he even replies to all the messages that spammed his wall on his birthday. 

“You just don’t get it!” Trevor exclaimed melodramatically. “I don’t give a F if you ditched me for the past few parties. Those are minors. But this! This you have to come! Derek booked Black Labyrinth just for tonight! Everyone who’s anyone will be there, you can’t miss it without casting yourself right out of the circle.” 

At that, he made a swooshing sound combined with a wave of hand gestures and popping sound at the end, an inflated balloon rocketed into the sky.

I don’t remember being in any circles other than the artsy kids—who would never appear at said party—that I belonged by default. But Trevor being Trevor, there was no use in arguing with him. Again I nodded, almost perfecting the part of a bobble head dog. 

“Mila Lee will be there too,” he added, the twitch around the corners of his lips barely suppressed. “What do you say we go meet her and have a long overdue high school reunion?”

Mila Lee, my blank mind echoed a name long buried behind my conscious mind.

“When did you guys last meet? Graduation party? Dude, you have to see the girl! She’s… she’s like a totally different person.”

The rest fell on deaf ears as I zoned out, unknowingly stared at him in silence for a moment too long. The triumphant smile slowly spreading across his face said that he had guessed my response even before it formed on the tip of my tongue. 

I found myself to be in a constant struggle between wanting to punch him or just give up fighting against this ball of energy more than the half of the time we interact with each other. Usually settling for the latter.

“Okay, fine…I’ll go,” I surrendered and Trevor punched the air above him. “But just for a while and don’t expect me to stay till last call.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Trevor quipped, his mood took a sudden turn as he recited all the things to ‘look forward to’ and the people he wanted to introduce to me. I had drifted off long before he began ticking off the first alphabet on the list.

I’d known she was in the same university as Trevor but Mila Lee had never seemed the party kind. Asian girls from the olden days would be more of her image. A little plump with rosy cheeks, always so quiet, so prim and proper. 

She wasn’t typically beautiful according to modern magazines standards, but I couldn’t help smiling a little at the thought of her smile. Just looking at her felt strangely calm at times, a warm, welcoming sight. 

Not many people can do that.