When they got outside, it was much colder than Cath was expecting. “See you tomorrow,” Nick said as he walked away. “Maybe Piper’ll have our papers done.”

Cath nodded and got out her phone to call her room.

“Hey,” someone said softly.

She jumped back. It was just Levi—leaning against the lamppost like the archetypical “man leaning against lamppost.”

“You’re always done at midnight.” He smiled. “I thought I’d beat you to the punch. Too cold out here to stand around waiting.”

“Thanks,” she said, walking past him toward the dorms.

Levi was uncharacteristically quiet. “So that’s your study partner?” he asked once they were halfway back to Pound.

“Yeah,” Cath said into her scarf. She felt her breath, wet and freezing in the wool. “Do you know him?”

“Seen him around.”

Cath was quiet. It was too cold to talk, and she was more tired than usual.

“He ever offer to walk you home?”

“I’ve never asked,” Cath said quickly. “I’ve never asked you either.”

“That’s true,” Levi said.

More quiet. More cold.

The air stung Cath’s throat when she finally spoke again. “So maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Levi said. “That wasn’t my point.”

*   *   *

The first time she saw Wren that week, at lunch with Courtney, all Cath could think was, So this is what you look like when you’re keeping a giant secret from me—exactly the same as usual.

Cath wondered if Wren was ever planning to talk to her about … what their dad had brought up. She wondered how many other important things Wren wasn’t telling her. And when had this started? When had Wren started filtering what she told Cath?

I can do that, too, Cath thought, I can keep secrets. But Cath didn’t have any secrets, and she didn’t want to keep anything from Wren. Not when it felt so good, so easy, to know that when she was with Wren, she didn’t have to worry about a filter.

She kept waiting for a chance to talk to Wren without Courtney, but Courtney was always around. (And always talking about the most inane things possible. Like her life was an audition for an MTV reality show.)

Finally, after a few days, Cath decided to walk to class with Wren after lunch, even though it might make her late.

“What’s up?” Wren asked as soon as Courtney was on her merry way to Economics. It had started snowing—a wet snow.

“You know I went home last weekend…,” Cath said.

“Yeah. How’s Dad?”

“Fine … good, actually. He’s pitching Gravioli.”

“Gravioli? That’s huge.”

“I know. And he seemed into it. And there was nothing else—I mean, everything seemed fine.”

“I told you he didn’t need us,” Wren said.

Cath snorted. “He obviously needs us. If he had a cat, the man would be one bad day away from Grey Gardens. I think he eats all of his meals at QuikTrip, and he’s sleeping on the couch.”

“I thought you said he was doing good.”

“Well. For Dad. You should come home with me next time.”

“Next time is Thanksgiving. I think I’ll be there.”

Cath stopped. They were almost to Wren’s next class, and Cath hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet. “Dad told me … that he’d already told you…”

Wren exhaled like she knew what was coming. “Yeah.”

“He said you were thinking about it.”

“I am.”

“Why?” Cath tried really hard to say it without whining.

“Because.” Wren hitched up her backpack. “Because she’s our mom. And I’m thinking about it.”

“But…” It wasn’t that Cath couldn’t think of an argument. It was that there were so many. The arguments in her brain were like a swarm of people running from a burning building and getting stuck in the door. “But she’ll just mess everything up.”

“She already messed everything up,” Wren said. “It’s not like she can leave us again.”

“Yes. She can.”

Wren shook her head. “I’m just thinking about it.”

“Will you tell me if you decide anything?”

Wren frowned. “Not if it’s going to make you this upset.”

“I have a right to get upset about upsetting things.”

“I just don’t like it,” Wren said, looking away from Cath, up at the door. “I’m gonna be late.”

So was Cath.

“We’re already roommates,” Baz argued. “I shouldn’t have to be his lab partner, as well. You’re asking me to bear far more than my fair share of apple-cheeked protagonism.”

Every girl in the laboratory sat on the edge of her stool, ready to take Baz’s place.

“That’s enough about my cheeks,” Snow muttered, blushing heroically.

“Honestly, Professor,” Baz said, waving his wand toward Snow in a just look at him gesture. Snow caught the end of the wand and pointed it at the floor.

Professor Chilblains was unmoved. “Sit down, Mr. Pitch. You’re wasting precious lab time.”

Baz slammed his books down at Snow’s station. Snow put his safety goggles on and adjusted them; it did nothing to dim his blue eyes or blunt his glare.

“For the record,” Snow grumbled. “I don’t want to spend any more time with you either.”

Stupid boy … Baz sighed to himself, taking in Snow’s tense shoulders, the flush of anger in his neck, and the thick fall of bronze hair partially trapped in his goggles.… What do you know about want?

—from “Five Times Baz Went to Chemistry and One Time He Didn’t,” posted August 2009 by FanFixx.net authors Magicath and Wrenegade

ELEVEN

The hallway was perfectly quiet. Everyone who lived in Pound Hall was somewhere else, having fun.

Cath stared at her computer screen and heard Professor Piper’s voice again in her head. She kept forcing herself to remember the entire conversation, playing it back and playing it back, all the way through, forcing a finger down her memory’s throat.

Today, at the beginning of class, Professor Piper had passed their unreliable-narrator scenes back. Everybody’s but Cath’s. “We’ll talk after class, okay?” the professor said to Cath with that gentle, righteous smile she had.

Cath had thought this exception must be a good thing—that Professor Piper must have really liked her story. She really liked Cath, you could tell; Cath got more of those soft smiles than just about anybody else in the class. More than Nick, by far.

And this scene was the best thing Cath had written all semester; she knew it was. Maybe Professor Piper wanted to talk about the piece in more detail, or maybe she was going to talk to Cath about taking her advanced class next semester. (You had to have special permission to register.) Or maybe just … something good. Something.

“Cath,” Professor Piper said when everybody else was gone and Cath had stepped up to her desk. “Sit down.”

Professor Piper’s smile was softer than ever, but it was all wrong. Her eyes were sad and sorry, and when she handed Cath her paper, there was a small, red F written in the corner.

Cath’s head whipped up.

“Cath,” Professor Piper said. “I don’t know what to make of this. I really don’t know what you were thinking—”

“But…,” Cath said, “was it that bad?” Could her scene really have been that much worse than everyone else’s?

“Bad or good isn’t the point.” Professor Piper shook her head, and her long, wild hair swayed from side to side. “This is plagiarism.”

“No,” Cath said. “I wrote it myself.”

“You wrote it yourself? You’re the author of Simon Snow and the Mage’s Heir?”

“Of course not.” Why was Professor Piper saying this?

“These characters, this whole world belongs to someone else.”

“But the story is mine.”

“The characters and the world make the story,” the older woman said, like she was pleading with Cath to understand.

“Not necessarily…” Cath could feel how red her face was. Her voice was breaking.