Sawyer

Caius looked around himself, making sure that the older student was, in fact, speaking to him. “Oh, uh,” Caius chuckled. “Sure. I can teach you to play one of the most classical pieces known to man. You probably already know the melody. Have you ever heard of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’?” 

“You had me for a second, I’ll admit,” Sawyer chuckled, shaking a finger at the younger student. He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Unfortunately, my ambitions were a little bigger than ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’, but thanks.”

“Sort of, my parents never really let me use sugar, or have it when I’m at home, so I use it when I can at school,” Rae replied. “They’re super into organic things and not having sugar and all that. They thing processed foods and sugar causes cancer. I on the other hand, like to live my life.”

Sawyer let out a low whistle at Rae’s explanation. “Wow. I completely understand, hell, I’d probably just start shoveling sugar straight into my mouth the second I got to school,” he exaggerated, obviously only joking. “Damn.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “Uhm . .  no? All I play is guitar and ukulele. Sorry bud. Why do you need to learn an entire classical piece of piano by winter break?”

“Those are nice,” Sawyer commented. They just weren’t what he was looking for. At Willow’s question, he smiled, “Well, I’m glad you asked. I wanted to play it for my aunt as a Christmas gift, but I’m realizing we don’t even have a piano at the house anyway, so that wouldn’t work regardless.” He shrugged, “I’ll just have to come up with a more practical gift I guess.”

“Yeah, there’s this one transition that I’m having trouble with, I want to see what you wrote, maybe it’ll help me,” Laurel replied.

Sawyer shrugged again. “Okay,” he responded, fishing his paper out of his bag and handing it over. “Hope it helps, but also I’m not making any promises that it will. Or that it’ll even make sense.”

“I still dunno why they gave me this badge, it makes no sense.” Alex laughed. “I do really do care about running in the hallways, though. I’ve seen kids get their faces all fucked up from sliding into the walls and such.”

“They were probably all on something when they decided it,” Sawyer chuckled. His brows knit together in a slight frown at what Alex said. “Damn, that sucks. In that case, I take it back. I’d be yelling at kids left and right to stop running in the halls.”

“I can play hot cross buns, my guy. That’s as close to a classical piece you’re gonna get.”

“Well, didn’t hurt to ask,” Sawyer shrugged. “I was being a little ambitious with that idea anyway.”

“Ooo, a conspiracy? You know how much I love conspiracies,” Laurel replied with a smile. “But in all seriousness, this History of Magic essay might kill me. Have you finished yours?”

“I do, yeah, it’s like I grew up with you or something,” Sawyer teased. At her question, he nodded, “I finished yesterday, why? You wanna see it? It’s kinda shit, but so is that class, so...” He shrugged.

“Baking anything really,” Rae replied with a light shrug. “Have you ever tried it? It’s really calming. I think since I learned though, I’ve kind of gotten a little crazy when it comes to being able to use sugar.”

“I haven’t,” Sawyer shook his head slowly. “But I’m decent at potions, so baking can’t be more difficult than that, right?” He chuckled, “You use too much now or something?”

“Hey, dude don’t run in the…” Alex watched as the younger student dashed through the hallways, but decided it wasn’t really worth it to pursue the student. “It’s Thanksgiving weekend, he can run this one time,” Alex said to no one in particular.

Sawyer held his hands up in a sort of surrender, shrugging his shoulders. “I get it,” he said, putting his hands down. “If I were a prefect, I’d probably be lenient around holidays too. And most other times, which is likely why I’m not a prefect.”

“Why do the professors hate us before we go off for holiday? Like I want to be in school, but I don’t want the words ‘death by homework’ written on my gravestone.”

“Maybe it’s a conspiracy. Or, they’re sadists.”

“If one day you can’t find me, and I’m just not in the kitchen, assume I’m dead, because if I’m disappeared, it’s most likely I’m baking cookies or something.”

“If you’re not baking, what could the ‘or something’ be?” After a pause, realization struck him. “Oh, did you mean you’re most likely baking cookies or something that’s not cookies? But either way, baking.”