Maybe has never exactly been a quiet person, in all the years I have known her. But this little outburst is more than her typical. 

I know we have not had the best relationship since the incident, but calling me out as such in front of all our peers? As if there are not enough articles about the King’s failure son circulating weekly. 

The last thing I need is for her to make things worse, and I intend to find out why her tongue has become unusually forked the past few days. 

Once she agrees to speak with me, she marches over to the empty corner of the room in her thick, knee-high boots, beating me there out of sheer rage, as it seems.

The moment she reaches Professor Leffer’s desk, she spins around, arms crossed, and speaks surprisingly softly compared to her previous volume.

“Is this when you are going to clue me into your angle?”

I cannot pretend that her words do not shock me to a quick halt. Was I not the one who called her over here? And yet she is the one confronting me?

“What do you mean?” I ask as my brown furrows deeply.

Her large eyes roll like they often do. “Don’t play dumb. I know you’re not helping Allen out of the kindness of your sweet little princely heart.”

Ah.

Well, she was always quite smart.

Smarter than she gave herself credit for, and she gives herself a lot of credit.

If I tell her the truth, Allen will find out. And if Allen finds out, one of two things will likely happen, neither of which are ideal.

“Perhaps I am,” I lie.

Her eyes sharpen to a glare. Nearly three years now we haven’t spoken much, and still, she sees right through me. “Yeah, because all of a sudden other people are more important than how cool you look in front of your friends? That’s new.”

“What does that mean?”

She always does this. She always acts as if it is my fault we grew apart. Anyone who knows the true story understands that to be irrefutably incorrect.

But perhaps, in Maybe’s mind, that’s the easier-to-believe version of the story.

Regardless, she doesn’t give me a break. She’s in my face again, probably so she can whisper as loudly as possible and get her frustration across clearly.

As if it isn’t clear anyway.

“There is no way your friends are going to accept him, and I’m not going to see him tossed away like yesterday’s trash when you decide he isn’t worth it anymore.”

“That isn’t going to—” I begin, then pause. Is that what she truly believes happened three years ago? That is her foundation for the hate we’ve tossed around for years?

Worst of all, there is a certain sting in her tone that digs into me.

That reality—true or otherwise—still hurts her.

I don’t believe there is much I can do to patch up the past, and I am sure that is not even what she wants. 

But I do know fighting will only make things worse. 

So, I try sincerity. “I need you to trust me with this.”

There is a twitch in Maybe’s eyes as if she can sense the attempt and being genuine, before she says, “Give me one good reason.”

I take a deep breath.

Maybe and I were friends once. The best of friends. Since we were so young the first memories of our friendship are long lost to time. 

I let the hard feelings between us dissipate, at least for now, and trust her with the truth, “My life could depend on it.”

A softness creeps over her intensity and the squint in her eyes lessens. The small bit of hope I had that the truth would, if nothing else, help her back off of me while I work with the new kid glows brighter.

“W-what does that mean?” she stutters and I know that there is a small part of her that cares, even if a much larger part hates my guts.

I cannot look at her as I speak the next truth. If there is anyone who understands—more than my friends, more than my family—it is Maybe. “My father—”

“Oh for the love of—” Maybe cuts me off, nearly shouting before stopping herself and returning to a soft whisper. “What is he trying to do to you now?”

For a moment, I see a flicker of our old friendship: the mutual hatred we had for my father fueled much of our mischief growing up. One of many reasons my father disdained me from a young age.

“He wants to send me to the fight in the Fallen Lands.” I try to say it stoically, matter-of-factly. My goal is not to rile her up or even to worry her. I just need her to understand and back off for a few months.

I fail at all of those.

“What?! Why?” She actually shouts and the entire class turns to look at us once more.

I’m used to eyes being on me. Most of them do not bother me in the slightest. It’s the stare of the new kid that throws me off the most.

He’s still so clueless about who I am and, for whatever reason, seems to respect me more than I deserve.

Each new gaze from him drives him closer to figuring out I am not worth his time to trust.

And once that happens, I am as good as dead.

I turn Maybe so both of our backs face the classroom. “You have to keep it down. Do you know what will happen if people—”

“I don’t care!” she continues to yell. “You can’t just act like that’s not a problem.”

I talk low enough for the both of us. “Of course, it is a problem. You think I want to fight out there?”

Thankfully, she does lower her volume before continuing. “I know you and he never got along but… but that’s madness. You’re not a warrior. Why would he subject you to that?”

I sigh. The truth is a truth anyone who knows me knows, but it is not easy to say it out loud. I have to stare at my own feet even to say it. “Because what good is a son who can hardly use magic?” 

Maybe doesn’t reply right away and the silence kills me, so I continue unprompted. “He’s been trying to get me to stop dishonoring the family for years. Saying I volunteered to fight and got killed is a nice clean way to be rid of me for good.”

“That… that all?” Maybe finally squeaks after a few more moments of horrible, terrible silence. “I don’t understand. Why don’t you just, I don’t know, get better at magic?”

There is a bite, a venom, in those last few words. As if it is entirely my fault that my father treats me this way.

She may be right, but it still hurts to hear the implication in her tone.

“That’s not exactly an option either…”

“Sure it is,” Maybe pushes away from me so I cannot hold her back to the audience behind us any longer. She still speaks quietly, but with passion in every word. Passion she hasn’t directed at me in years. “Rhett, I’ve known you since we were five. Five. You were secretly blowing up trees with fireballs by seven. Seven-year-olds can’t do that kind of magic. Not that they don’t, Rhett, they can’t. What happened to that kid?”

This is the problem with old friends, really. Sometimes they know too much. Sometimes the history is more harmful than the reality of now.

I am not that kid anymore. That is the truth, and that is the only truth.

But I cannot say that to her. She will not understand.

Instead, I turn around and flick my head at the new kid, getting back to the point of it all. “If he doesn’t pass his entrance exam, I’m done for. If I can make him understand even the mere basics of magic, he can pass, and I get another year to find a path away from my father.”

Maybe shakes her head. The disappointment is more than apparent. “You have to tell Allen that.”

“I will not.”

“He deserves to know.”

“He’s already anxious about every aspect of using magic. I don’t think the extra pressure will help him any,” I say. One of the two scenarios I don’t want to become reality.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Maybe asks. The disillusionment grows every moment she continues to look at me. “Or are you worried if he finds out he won't want to be your pawn?”

And that, right there, is the second situation I fear.

I shrug. There is no real point in lying to her. “Either. Or both. What difference does it really make?”

At that, the last hope she so clearly had, that I am not the failure everyone says I am, crumbles. She once again throws a wagging finger in my face and says sternly, “You don’t have enough faith in him. And he’s my Homelife partner. Get your own.”

With that, she walks away, and I am unsure if this conversation helped or hurt.

Though it sure feels as if it is the latter.

As Professor Leffers walks through the door, I have to refocus on the only task that currently matters: he has to survive one more class.