Valhalla High (A Magnus Chase Fanfic)

Pancakes and Passion

November 19

    I woke up on a Sunday feeling excited and energized. This week had been exhausting between homework, presentations, and our essay in English. The weekend thus far had consisted of studying for exams and applying for colleges (I don't know why my father thought that would be a good bonding experience).

   I had learned a few things: college applications involved a lot of dumb questions, the essays topics were really bizarre sometimes (why was I being asked to imagine how I'd like to die?), and that it cost money to even apply to college. Like seriously, how many people paid to be told by Harvard or Yale or Princeton or whatever other elite university that they were not "the right candidate?"

      At least I was at the light of the dnd of the tunnel (only as far as college applications went). I had applied to 14 out of 15 I was considering attending. The plan was that I'd tour some of the campuses before making my final decision. I'd heard people say people in college were nicer then they were in high school, but I'd heard the same thing about high school as an eighth grader. I'd wait it out and sleuth the truth later.

    At least I was seeing Alex today. I needed a break from studying or I felt like my mind would shut down. I thought the point of a weekend was to get some rest, but apparently teachers thought it meant more time for us to do homework.

    I decided to make pancakes for my mother and I. I heated up the skillet while I mixed the batter. The first few were mediocre, but the ones afterward were much better-looking. My mother was smiling as she came into the kitchen. "Is that buttermilk pancakes I smell?" she asked.

      I returned her smile. "Fresh off the griddle."

      I moved the spatula to flip another round of pancakes over. My mother ruffled my hair. "They smell amazing. Thank you Magnus."

     She went into the dining room to read the news. In between flipping the pancakes, I washed and then sliced up some strawberries. When the pancakes were finished, my returned. We ate the pancakes topped with strawberries and oodles of whipped cream; it was positively delicious. "So, you have your little date today?" my mother asked.

    I nearly choked on the bite of pancake I had in my mouth. After recovering, I shook my head. "You're getting the wrong idea, mom. We're friends. It is not a date. I do not have a crush on Alex Fierro even if she is funny and passionate and creative."

     My mother didn't say anything, but she didn't need to; her smile said everything. It was only later when I was washing the dishes that I admitted to myself what everyone else already knew: I had a giant crush on Alex Fierro.

***

     Alex's grandfather's house was a lot like Alex: colorful, engaging, and full of surprises. The outside of the house looked ordinary enough, but once I stepped inside the living room, I could see why Alex loved her grandfather. The place was welcoming with colorful tapestries hanging from the wall. The place felled of a strangely nice mixture of wet clay and some sort of burning candle.

    Alex's grandfather invited me in and showed me to the studio. It was located opposite of his bedroom and was the largest room in the house. There were long cabinets filled with bags of different kinds of clays, glazes in every hue imaginable, and any tool a potter may desire (except maybe me). A kiln sat in the far right corner of the room and there was a large counter in the middle of the room where Alex led me.

She grabbed a hunk of clay and returned, giving it to me. Then, she returned a minute later with another hunk of clay for herself. "So what are we making today?" her grandfather asked.

"A drinking cup," Alex decided.

Alex's grandfather turned to me. "And you?"

Alex had a lot of Loki's features, but she was petite like her grandfather and I couldn't help noticing the similarities in how they smiled and gestured. "I'm not a master potter like you and your granddaughter," I said.

     Alex's grandfather chuckled. "Do you think I was making beautiful pots in the womb?"

    I laughed at the image in my mind and he continued, "Don't worry about perfection. Perfection is the enemy of art. Let your mind and hands guide you."

     Then, he started humming and working with the lump of clay he had. I watched him form a beautiful vase, pinching and smoothing even after it took shape. I realized I was staring and urged my hands to motion. Slowly, I began to divide the clay into pieces, intending to make a slab pot. Then, I caught sight of the serpent tattoo on the nose of Alex's neck and an idea formed.

    I grabbed the first piece of clay and instead of flattening it out, I rolled it between my palms to make a coil. I repeated this two with the other hunks of clay. Then, I started gasping the coils together to form a wide, shallow bowl. I lost track of time as I worked, finding a serenity in this studio that I never had in Sif's.

      Alex's grandfather suggested we stop and have a snack. I realized then how tired and hungry I was. We cleaned up the area and put the pots away in a marked cupboard. Then, Alex's grandfather showed us to the kitchen. "Would you like Chex Mix or my grandfather's cinnamon bread?" Alex asked.

    I laughed. "Is that even a question?"

     We sliced up pieces of the cinnamon bread and ate it on plates on the back porch. It was a cold day, but it was a nice change after being inside so long. "Your grandfather is a good baker," I said after polishing off the sweet bread.

     Alex laughed and leaned over to whisper in my ear. "Don't tell anyone, but this is the only thing he can cook well."

   I laughed. "I won't. I had fun today."

    "You'll have to come back another time," Alex teased. "I mean, you wouldn't want to leave your pot half-done?"

    "No," I decided, meeting her two-toned gaze. "No, I would not."