For some reason

When he met James, Remus and Peter, he had chances to see if his power was really that secret. First, Peter. He was afraid of getting scolded at classes for being clumsy. Then, Remus (to be honest, there was no way he could just sit and watch the boy for a whole night on a monthly basis, come back with the lamest excuses — what dying, estranged great-great uncle would require whole family gatherings every full moon for months and not just die? Not to mention the scars and bruises. The Blacks could be wicked and twisted all they wanted, but at least they had the decency of fully healing their offspring before allowing them into the public eye again). After that, there was James. Who would say that the sunshine prankster had his eclipsed evenings? Sirius. Sirius would say that. And finally, the most heartbreaking of them all: Lily. He saw the Snivellus disaster coming two days into fourth year.  

Still, no one seemed to perceive Sirius the way he perceived others. That was until his 17th birthday. James, Peter and Remus decided to throw him a surprise party. A whole ass Halloween-themed party. And Peter even decided to go a few steps further to get Regulus to attend —to a genuinely unexpected success.

“I think he is hiding a third eye under all that hair”, James announced as he entered the Gryffindor Common Room with a box of records in his arms. “I could swear he looked at me as if he knew what I was thinking during breakfast.”

“I mean, Sirius is a dog and dogs can smell fear, so… you do the math”, Remus shrugged. “That probably just means you have to be more discreet.”

“Which is true, by the way”, Regulus pointed out as the set up the snack table with Emmeline.

“Oh, shut up, Arcturus.”

A few hours — and a lot of arguing — later, Remus grinned and declared:

“Showtime.”

People started to relax and mingle while he went on his quest: meet Sirius after his detention with Filch.

“What’s up with everybody?”, Sirius asked, tangling his own arm on the arm that Remus offered him (you can call them cheesy all you want, they just want to be in each other’s arms all they can).

“Nothing. Why do you ask?”

“No reason in particular. It’s just… everybody seems to be avoiding me lately and I can’t get why. And I am usually good at reading people.”

That was the only thing Remus feared in the whole process. At first, he seemed like the perfect candidate — better than Frank or Mary showing up, at least —, but it also meant the had to lie and improvise — and he was out of his cover-ups stock since the third year; all he had to offer were technical loopholes reserved for when they were caught by professors.

I can do this, he thought. It’s not that long of a walk.

“You are very special, Sirius. Did you know that?”

“Aww, thanks, babe”, Sirius got on the tip of his toes to kiss the other boy’s cheek. “As a matter of fact, yes. Mother used to say that a lot. She used less kind synonyms, though. Damaged, cursed, shame, embarrassment and disappointment, to mention some examples.”

“Well, if you take them as your standard, then something is clearly wrong with you, but if it wasn’t… would you be happy with your life?”

“Of course not. You wouldn’t be in it.”

“Sap”, Remus grinned. “But seriously, try to relax and stop thinking about what the others are thinking. You can’t do anything about it.”

You don’t know what you are talking about, Sirius whispered underneath his breath.

“Home, sweet home”, Remus sighed after giving the password to the Fat Lady portrait.

“Surprise!”, shouted a choir composed by every Gryffindor who had ever interacted with Sirius —special guest: Regulus.

“Happy birthday, mate”, said James, with a giant smile and ready to wrap him in a hug.

While people drank, ate, chatted and danced, Sirius walked around, contemplating their effort. Pictures of and with him adorned the walls, creating a museum-worthy collection of joyful moments, unlike the thousands of portraits in the Black manor, whose sole purpose was to keep a registry of those who had started there a both miserable and opulent existence.

            “Cut off the suspense”, Remus said, handing him the box. “You are killing the boy.”

            “Oh, shut up, you”, Sirius rolled his eyes. “This was him at his fifth year, I guess”, he passed the photo to Harry.

            In his youth, Regulus Arcturus was a thinner and slightly taller version of his older brother. It was very easy to say where the genes had come from.

            “He was a very reserved creature, but someone managed to break through that.”

            “Who?”

            “Your dad”, he said with an affectionate, nostalgic smile. “He thought it would be easy, after all, he was already friends with me.”

            “Oh, how wrong he was”, Remus sat on the bed by Sirius’ side.

            “Regulus and I were not on speaking terms at the time, so I cannot give you all the details, but what James told me was that he laid eyes on Regulus one night and it was as if the centre of the Earth had changed. He decided to make a move that very night.”

            “Ugh, that was so stupid”, Remus complained.

            “What did he do? Lit the main hall up with fireworks?

            “Nah, he considered it too pranky, so he followed Regulus into the dungeons after dinner and asked if they could meet by the Lake the following night.”

            “Let me guess: he didn’t show up.”

            “On the contrary. He did.”, Sirius shook his head, staring at the floorboard. “With Rosier and Crouch by his side.”

            Harry stared at Remus, who was ready to pick up the story from there.

            “And they asked where we were”, he pointed at himself and Sirius. “You see, Harry, they thought James wanted a duel.”

            “How did he get out of there?”

            “Well, because they wouldn’t agree that was just a misunderstanding and leaving would be admitting defeat, all of them were ready to wait for someone who would fight by James’ side to pass by.”

            “That was it? They waited?”

            “These people were all about rules. Even the ones about duels. That level of decency probably saved James’ arse that night”, Sirius spoke again. “Unfortunately for them, Minnie found them before we did. She gave them detention and took 15 points from each House. When they were cleaning old trophies, all they could do was to chat.”

            “That was James’ chance. He had to explain to Regulus that what he actually wanted was a date.”

            “And he also had to convince Regulus he was being serious. The hardest part of it all”, they laughed. “He was lucky my brother was feeling mischievous. I had just been disowned and he thought he could get away with anything, so he agreed to go on a public date. He also knew he had some time before school gossip reached his parents’ ears, so he went crazy on future dates, calling James the love of his life and even accepting some PDAs.”

            “That sounds mean”, Harry mentioned, frowning.

            “A little, but James was glad to participate in their disgrace. And deep down, he expected Regulus to run away as soon as he received a letter from home, so why not have fun while he could?”, Sirius scoffed. “That was until Walburga threatened James’ parents.”

            “What did she say?”

            “She would have them killed if he didn’t stop seeing James.”

            “And what did he do?”

            “He broke up with James”, Sirius sighed again. “It destroyed both of them. And we only heard of Regulus again on your parents’ wedding, because he sent a gift with a note. It said:”, he snatched some notes off his pocket. “I want you to be as safe and happy as one can be in this day and age. I swear I will try to buy you as much time as I can. In the meantime, please take care of my heart. It will be in your pocket from now on.”

            “Why are you telling me this?”, Harry stared at his godfather, his expression between confused and angry.

            “Because if I don’t, no one else will”, he answered, simply. “This is a side of your father he didn’t show to the rest of the Order.”

            “And how do you know all this?”

            “I read Regulus’ journal, obviously”, the man laughed, holding the snatched notes. “I gave it to Dumbledore and Moody, maybe there is something useful about Voldemort’s recruiting tactics there, but I decided that my brother’s relationships were off-limits, so I kept those”, he fanned himself with the papers. “Nevertheless, I want you to have the pictures and the drawings”, he gave Harry an envelope sealed with tape. The backside read: J.F.P & R.A.B. – 1975. “Now, Harry, the only bad thing James did to my brother was making him insufferably sappy, so for the sake of your old godfather, please open that when you are back at your dorm, will you?”

            ***

            It turned out Regulus Black loved drawing James Potter, especially during Quidditch practice — Harry noted that as time passed, he fell more and more in love with his muse. As an even more carefree young lad, James would smile all the time, as if he knew he was being watched by an artist.

            Regulus played a bit with photography too, registering snippets of their time together. Amongst the images, there was what Harry was both more curious about and feared the most: an unsent letter. The page had various creases and old damp marks.

            My dear James,

            I want to thank you for the time we shared. I also have to say that I hope you move on. I heard you are getting closer to Lily Evans. I reckon she’ll be good to you. And she will also be able to give you what I couldn’t. A safe life under the Order’s good graces, for starters.

            I was being honest that night: I will do everything in my power to keep your parents safe. That includes receiving a Dark Mark — please, I beg you, do not tell my brother, this is hard enough as it is already.

            I wonder if this isn’t some kind of elaborate torture — they forcing me to watch as you live happily ever after and not only that: they expect me to be ready to manslaughter your family on command.

            Despite all this, I need you to know I love you dearly and that is why I ask you to forgive me for insisting on leaving. And… maybe you could remember me as the lad who fell for you, not your best friend’s younger brother or the idiot who was forced to join the wrong side?

            With all the love in the world,

            Your Reggie.

            “What are you reading, love?”

            Harry rested his head against the sofa, trying to catch a glimpse of who was talking to him, although he knew very well who was it. He smiled, accepting the cuppa and the peck the other man offered him.

            “A letter to my dad.”

            “Oh… from whom?”, Draco snuggled up to his boyfriend.

            “His ex-boyfriend”

            “Wait, your dad was bi?”, Harry nodded with a little smirk. “Tell me all about it. Who was he dating?”

            Harry paused for a bit. Draco was more than well-educated on the Black family tree — he was part of it, for Merlin’s sake! He wondered if telling Draco about the past of a relative would be like poking a wound with a chopstick. Personally, he wasn’t interested on learning anything about the Dursleys.

            “I am waiting for the tea, Potter”, Draco let out an indiscreet laugh.

            “Did your mother ever old you about her cousins?”

            “You and I both know my mother has dozens of cousins, but I presume you mean Walburga and Orion’s sons.”

            “My father’s ex was Regulus.”

            “WHAT? He dated your godfather’s brother? Weren’t they, like, best friends?”, Harry nodded. “Well, I understand his perspective.”

            “What are you talking about?”

 “And… there”, said Mr. Jacobs, placing the last box on the wooden floor.

         “Thanks, dad.”

         “Have you got everything you need, honey?”, Mrs. Jacobs asked, looking around the room.

         “Let me see… books, clothes, computer, sheets, extra sheets, snack money…”, the young man rubbed his forehead, making his father giggle. “Oh, yeah. Can I have an extra hug?”

         The woman wrapped her son in a bear hug and kissed his cheek. “Take care.”

         “I will.”

         “Can we visit Sarah now, mom?”, Les begged, pulling on the woman’s skirt. 

         After one more hug and kiss, Esther allowed Meyer to bid their son goodbye.

         “If you need anything, just call us, ok?”

         “Alright, dad.”

         As the family left the room, David turned around to start unpacking his clothes. Halfway through the second box, he heard his mother’s voice again.

         “Medda, darling!”

         He rushed to the door, just in time to see her kissing the cheek of the theater star Medda Larkin. Of course renowned journalists and authors Esther and Meyer Jacobs would treat her as an old friend.

Maybe they really are friends, David shrugged. They had reviewed all of her shows, after all.

“Come here, honey”, Esther waved at him. “I want to introduce you.”

Long ago, David had learned to hide his shyness in front of his parents’ acquaintances, posing as the erudite, well-behaved, happy-not-to-be-noticed middle child. And he was glad to play that role, because it allowed Sarah to take on the intellectual discussions and Les to be the life of the room.

This time, the boy wasn’t interested in charming Miss Medda. He’d rather make someone behind the adults burst into laughter instead.  David looked past his mother’s shoulder to find his little brother telling jokes to a young man around David’s age — probably a freshman as well —, his hair covered by a vintage cap and dressed in a blue button-up shirt.

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, we have to pay a visit to our daughter”, said Meyer.

“Send Sarah my regards”, she waved

Of course Medda Larkin knows Sarah, David laughed to himself.

The house where Sarah lived with two other girls was a fifteen-minute drive away from David’s dorm. As soon as Sarah noticed them getting out of the car, she put a box on the floor and jumped into her father’s arms.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? The place is a mess.”

“How could we not come? Today’s David’s moving day”, Esther kissed Sarah’s cheeks.

“That’s the famous David Jacobs?”, said one of Sarah’s roommates, with bright brown hair.

“The one and only”, he showed her a tiny smile as they shook hands.

“We’ll be throwing a party this weekend. Wanna come?”

“I appreciate it, but I have a lot of things to unpack.”

“C’mon, little bro”, Sarah jokingly slapped David’s arm. “I can come over and help you. And besides, parties are mandatory credits for freshmen. Did you know that?”

“Who are you and what have you done to my sister?”, they laughed. “You used to be daddy’s little princess.”

“And you still are momma’s precious boy, I see.”

“Knock it off, you two”, Les demanded, pushing David so he could hug Sarah.

“She’s right, you know”, Meyer whispered in David's ear. “Not about the credits, of course, but socializing at this stage is very important.”

“Dad…”

“I just want to make sure you are well-adjusted to this whole thing.”

“Fine. If that will make you feel better, I can come to the party.”

“That’s my boy.”

With the rest of the family gone, Sarah drove David back to his dorm, advising him to lose the tweed vest to the party.

“Nobody will want to be your friend if you look like a professor.”

“Thank you”, he grunted, forcing the door open. “For the ride and the advice.”

“Anytime”, she winked at him and drove off.

He walked into the building as fast as he could, trying —and failing, to a certain degree — to avoid the annoying drizzle. He climbed the stairs back to his room.

“I have already picked out my bed”, a male voice announced before David could acknowledge his owner.

It was the young man who laughed at Les’ jokes earlier. He had hung his cap and changed the blue shirt for a pair of — apparently very soft — gray pajamas. They met in the middle of the room to shake hands.

“The name is Jack Kelly”, said he, pocketing his hands.

“David Jacobs.”

“Oh, so you are Les’ brother?”

From Sarah’s brother to Les’ brother. What an upgrade.

“I have never done this before. What do we do now?”

“I think we are supposed to become best friends by default.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“So, soon-to-be-best-friend, do you have any plans for the weekend?”, David asked.

Jack’s shoulders went down. “Probably write emails to my friends and draw a little. I’m a bit rusty.”

“I know a place where you’ll find a ton of references.”

Jack showed him a large smile.

“I’ll take my new pencils.”

David sent Sarah a text, just to let her know he had invited his roommate to her party, without giving his brain the time necessary for it to reflect on what was happening.

For the rest of the night, the boys sat in a comfortable silence, with David arranging more of his belongings and Jack sketching — to warm up the muscles for the art classes.

***

“Hey”, Jack said the next morning.

David’s response was a long, heart-felt yawn and a nod.

Jack put on his favorite blue shirt and a pair of jeans. All of his art materials for the day were packed — he even remembered to include some personal favorites along with the recommended list of brushes and paint. Medda had given him a debit card so he could get more supplies and snacks anytime he wanted.

This was his first official day at college and he wouldn’t let anything ruin it, not even a cranky roommate.

As soon as classes started that day, the notice boards of the dorms were flooded by colorful posters inviting freshmen to participate in the most ordinary or exquisite extra-curricular activities, clubs and teams or to join fraternities and sororities. Others, more discreet, announced part-time jobs at restaurants and shops nearby. Jack stopped by it, just to take a look — or so he said. Maybe something interesting would pop up.

“Do you mind giving me a hand?”, said a boy, holding a box full of pamphlets.

“Sure.”

Once he freed himself of that burden,  the boy attached another notice to the board: an invitation for the rugby trials.

“You can take one if you want”, he said, taking the box back. “It’ll be next Wednesday.”

“Thanks”, Jack grabbed a bright red piece of paper.

“I’m Race, by the way.”

“Jack.”

“See ya ‘round”, he waved and walked out of the building.”  

Despite not being late to his first period — art history, what a cliché —, Jack felt the weight of sixty eyes staring him down as he walked by the desks trying to find a free spot. A pink-haired girl dragged some of her stuff, clearing space for him to sit by her side — and protecting her drawing from potential “art thieves” (her words, not mine) in the process.

Everybody around him seemed so… creative and busy. It was almost like he could hear these people’s minds working to create this century’s Starry Night and Jack had nothing more than a few drafts in his sketchbook.

“You are capable of great things”, Medda used to say. “But remember to always run your own race.”

Medda had given Jack all kinds of advice — both as a parent and as an artist —, but that one had always stood out in Jack's brain. Maybe that was because if the world around him was a race, he was definitely losing.

The professor entered the room and the focused students immediately turned their eyes to the white board. Seventeen minutes into the lecture and he had already lost half of his listeners. Most of them were texting, the phones hidden under their desks, like in High School.

When the girl by Jack’s side started to doodle on her notebook — and she was doing a pretty good job on that beach landscape! —, he shook his head, in an effort to regain concentration. Medda worked very hard to find a school with an art program that suited him — not to mention she was paying for his tuition. He would not let her down. He took a deep breath, counted to five, let all the air out through his mouth and grabbed a pencil. Not to draw, but to take notes.

Ninety minutes later, Jack left the room, slightly proud of himself for having sat through such a long class — he would mention it in his next email to Medda, for sure. Now he was on his way to a more “artsy” class, at the carpentry workshop.

With a sigh, the professor told every student to take protection equipment from the locker at the back of the room as soon as they entered. Then, she proceeded to read the syllabus with her monotonous voice. The first project was going to be a medium decorative sculpture. They weren’t going to use the saw yet, but there were sharp tools involved, so they ought to be careful anyways.

Attached to the syllabus, there was a list of forbidden sculptures — tables, shelves, squares and any other kind of simple shape and so on and so forth for two and a half pages.

Jack turned his head to the left, getting a view of the front patio through the window. There had to be a loophole on this list he could explore. He just needed some help to find it.

The bell finally rang, prompting the students to return the equipment to their respective boxes and flee the premises. Jack’s stomach growled as he reached the cement path.

He had a free period before lunch was served, so he bought a snack — a bag of chips and a bottle of lemon juice, his favorites — and headed to the dorm, with the hope that he would have the place to himself.

But well, he was wrong. David was hunched over his desk, typing as if the wooden floor was about to open and shallow him.

 “How’s it going?”, Jack asked, letting the heavy backpack fall on the bed with a muffled sound.

“One day into this and I am already screwed.”, he rubbed his forehead and took a glance at the blank document he should be working on. “You?”

“I am thinking about dropping out”, David stared at him, his eyes wide open. “Relax, it’s just Carpentry.”

They stayed there, in an awkward silence trying to figure out how to kill that piece of free time.

“If you had to write an essay about a historical period, what time would you choose?”, David got Jack’s attention.

“Something easy, like the eighties or the nineties”, Jack approached the desk to read the text on the computer screen. The professor wanted the students to do some broad research — focusing on wherever they found interesting or important — and then, write a news article about it. “Or maybe the seventies. Then, you can write about the hippie movement and its impacts in modern society.”

“I liked your first idea better. I can dissect the millennial lifestyle. Maybe interview some people.” 

Then Jack decided to work on a portrait of Medda, based on a picture taken on the day he graduated from High School. It would make a good Christmas present when finished.

She started acting when she was seventeen, so all the changes time imposed on her were registered somewhere. At thirty-five, when she became Jack’s foster parent, she didn’t look like the star-strucking beauty she once was, but she was gorgeous, for sure. Now, ten years later, she was considered a maternal figure by pretty much everyone who laid eyes on her. However, he still found it difficult to represent her kind and soft gaze.

“Who is she?”, David said, over Jack’s shoulder.

“My mom.”

“That looks awesome, man. Do you take commissions?” 

I do now, Jack thought, nodding.

“Great. Can you paint a picture of my family? They would love it”, he started scrolling through his phone’s gallery. “This one is good. Can you do it?”

Jack studied the image. It showed a happy couple with their three smiley children in front of their double-deck house. He recognized the younger versions of David and Les, along with a girl — perhaps one or two years older than David.

“ I charge fifteen bucks per person plus ten dollars if the background is complex. So that adds up to…”, he pressed buttons on his phone’s calculator. “Eighty-five bucks.”

“Is it okay if I give you fifty bucks now and…”

“The rest when it’s done?”, Jack raised an eyebrow. “Fine, but only because I know where you sleep”, he laughed.

This guy has got a weird sense of humor, David thought, transferring him the money. 

“It is a pleasure to make business with you, good sir.”

***

“We should get going”, David announced on Friday night.

In twenty minutes, they were ready to go to Sarah’s party. Despite the chilly wind, they decided to walk there and take a look around the campus. They passed by fraternity houses and dorm buildings where blaring music could be heard through closed windows and people were already wasted.

He is hating this, David thought as Jack walked silently by his side. He’ll go back to the dorm and never talk to me again.

Jack didn’t. He just kept kicking pebbles along the sidewalk. Around his head, the world was covered by a dark blue cloth as the moon got up from behind the clouds.

Sarah’s house was the block’s church mouse when they got there. David walked ahead of Jack to ring the doorbell.

“Coming!”, an unknown voice announced. The girl took a glance at David before shouting louder: “Your brother’s here!”

“Thanks, Kath”, the girl seemed to have appeared out of thin air. “Evening, boys.”

She hugged David and extended a hand to Jack.

“I’m Jack, the roommate”, he said, shaking her hand politely.

“I’m Sarah, the sister. C’mon, the guys want to meet you.”

In the neatly-decorated living room, two boys were sitting in front of the TV, playing Mario Kart. On the other side of the room, three girls are discussing a book over cups of coffee. Sarah got a hold of David’s arm and dragged him through the little groups. Jack approached the snack table to have some soda.

“Can you fill this up, please?”

Jack filled a cup with lemon soda up to the top and gave it back to the boy who was leaning on the wall next to him.

“Thanks”, he drank a big gulp and burped. “S-sorry. I’m thirsty.”

“Oh, hi, Thirsty. I’m Jack.”

“That was terrible”, he chuckled.

“What? You almost spilled your drink!”

“That’s because I have weak nerd arms”, he flexed his left arm. “My name is Charlie, but everyone calls me Crutchie.”

Before Jack could open his mouth again, the boy showed him the crutch under his right armpit.

“So, how did you sneak in?”, Crutchie grinned. “The window?”

“Nah, Sarah’s brother invited me.”

“Which one is he?”, Crutchie fixed his posture to look around.

“The one with the black pants over there.”

“Hmmm… your boyfriend is pretty.”

“Not my boyfriend. Roommate.”

Someone turned some jazz music on with a loud giggle.

“C’mon, Jane. This isn’t a café!”, Crutchie said. 

“But it looks like one”, a girl replied.

All eyes in the room had turned to the argument going on, except for David’s. He was way too focused on his own conversation to care about people around him. He didn’t even seem to notice that the girls near him had basically turned their backs on him to participate in the “Jane vs. Crutchie” thing.

His hands had stopped mid-air, drawing visual aids for a story Jack couldn’t hear. Something in the scene reminded him of the Vitruvian man he had seen a thousand times in Arts classrooms.

He grabbed the sketchbook and pencil in his pocket and drew a circle. He could draw a basic face with his eyes closed, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t have trouble getting the hands right.

***

Sarah’s friends were very interesting, David noticed as she introduced him to each one of them. Especially the girl who opened the door.  Her name was Katherine and she was more than happy to follow Sarah around. Actually, it seemed that both girls were satisfied with the arrangement, because  every few minutes, Sarah would interrupt the conversation to look for Katherine.

Their other roommate turned some music on while people sat down to eat pizza and drink soda. David watched as Jack helped a boy fill his plate with mini pizza slices.

“You can ask”, Sarah placed a hand on David’s shoulder. “But don’t stare. That is rude.”

 Only then, David noticed the crutch on which the right side of the boy’s body leaned. It wasn’t thicker than a twig and was almost invisible against the yellow wallpaper. And his wide jeans covered any defects his leg could have.

Now Jack, with that button-up shirt he loved so much, was as bright as the Sun. Their conversation was inaudible from across the room, but Jack was smiling a lot — David liked to see him smiling, because that Carpentry project was gradually sucking his soul away.

  Speaking of assignments, David had his own problem to solve: a short story with tridimensional characters and a man vs. society and a man vs. self conflicts. That on top of all the other homework he had to do made his brain twirl. He knew he could make it, but he also wanted to run back to his dorm and type his fingers out.

Stop, take a deep breath and take a look around, was Esther’s advice every time her children had trouble writing. Maybe the universe has got a clue for you.

“So, Debra has quit for real this time?”, Sarah asked Katherine.

“Yeah. She got that position she was hoping for.”

“So you need a new assistant.”

“Correct.”

“You know, my little bro here studies journalism too. And he would love to join the newspaper.” 

“I see…”, Katherine looked at David with a raised eyebrow. “You start on Monday. Thanks, love”, she turned around to kiss Sarah’s cheek.

“Anything for you, dear.”

Sarah finally let go of David’s arm, just to grab Katherine’s waist and walk away. In a millisecond, David crossed the room and sat by Jack’s side, ready to whisper at his ear:

“I’m in.”

“The newspaper?”, David nodded with a huge smile. “That’s great, Davey.”

Davey. No one had ever thought of calling him that way. And when the word came out of Jack’s lips, it sounded like a brand-new symphony.

“C’mon, let’s celebrate”,  Jack offered him a hand.

“I thought you wanted to draw!”

“I have enough sketches for three months now.”

 They put their coats on and got out the door. Jack held it open to David by instinct.

“Why, thank you”, David smiled at him. “You are a true gentleman.”

“Mom taught me well.”

Again, they walked in silence to the empty bus stop. Around them, parties were still going on — and with no end in sight.

“I know a place that sells great coffee. They call it ‘secret blend’ or something”, Jack said, getting on the bus.

“Lead the way, then.”

They passed by the college campus and entered the city neighborhood — which was inhabited mostly by students nevertheless. The apartment buildings were not too high. It was like a toddler had placed some toy construction blocks in groups of four with strip malls under them here and there.

Cheap burger and coffee shops raised to the sky, their green spotlights bashing the sidewalks and streets. They stopped in front of an obscure shop, with a half-lit sign that said “Dale’s” in blue neon calligraphy. This time, David opened the door, which earned him a smile from Jack.

The place wasn’t busy, so they grabbed a seat near the window and waited for someone to bring them the menu. A girl their age — her name was Patricia, according to the little tag on her shirt — welcomed them to Dale’s Coffee Shop, the most trendy place in town and the unofficial home of the Gray Tigers.

 “I should start calling myself an unofficial member of the Gray Tigers”, Jack pondered as the waitress left. “At least, it sounds good”, he looked so determined saying that. Not to mention he had been training and talking about it non-stop ever since he met Racetrack. 

Jack ordered an espresso with one cream and five sugars and David asked for a vanilla cold brew. While waiting, the boys observed the movement on the street.

“I almost forgot”, David said, watching as an old man carried a seemingly heavy wooden box. “How is your Carpentry project?”

“I still have no idea what to do about that”, Jack sighed. “We are not allowed to use simple shapes or saws, so what can we do? I hate this class so much I can’t come up with a single thing.”

“You could take two square pieces, sandpaper them on the top and sides, nail them together and paint it red. Boom! You have a heart.”

“Thanks”, Jack gave him a shy smile. “Actually, do you mind if I use your idea?”

“Yeah. Happy to help.”

David’s mind once again wondered about the short story he had to write. The only thing he knew was that he wanted to discuss the desires and agonies of a young artist’s heart.

“Hey, Jack”, the boy looked up from his phone. “I have a tricky assignment to do. 

“And what is that?”

“A short story.” 

“That should be no trouble for you, a freshman and already a member of the university newspaper.”

 “The thing is: it has to meet some weird requirements and I was thinking I could use you as an inspiration for my main character?”

“Yeah. Just don’t give the poor guy an overly tragic death, ok?”

David nodded as a cup was placed in front of him. Jack was served immediately after and then, his world could be summarized to that slightly stained, chipped porcelain cup.

“You should at least try your drink”, David suggested. “It will get cold.”

“Oh”, Jack shook his head, now passing his gaze to David. He had a gulp of his coffee, perfectly made, as Race said it would be. “Do you have a plot for the story?”

“Kinda. I know what I want to explore, I just don’t know how.”

“Tell me about it. That might help.”

As David recited the concepts he had in mind, Jack noticed how his elbows leaned against the plywood table.

I wonder if he’ll think it’s rude if I do a quick sketch.

“What are you drawing?”

“It’s… hum… your character”, he finished the hair, parted in the middle, like David said. “See?”

“Wow!”, he stared at the small page. “It looks great! I love what you did with his hair.”

“You can use it to illustrate your story if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’ll give me an excuse to use the graphics tablet my mom’s friend got me.”

“Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it”, Jack wiped the air in front of him.

“Sorry guys, but I need you to leave”, the waitress approached them, followed by a tall, bald man (probably her manager). “We are about to close.”

“Oh, ok. Sorry”, said Jack, getting up. “How much do we owe you?”

Jack insisted on paying for the whole bill — he also left a generous tip. After all, he was the one who did the inviting.

“After you, good sir”, David held the door open.

“Aren’t they the cutest?”, the guy whispered  at the girl’s ear a second before the door was closed.