Coiled (Book 1 of 2)

April 5th

We knew Reggie needed time. We knew, and we understood. It made complete and total sense. But that didn't make it any less difficult on Evan and I.

It'd been four days since our disastrous discussion with Reggie in the stairwell. Four painfully long, ambiguous days. And as far as Evan and I were concerned, any contact between the two of us was, as of now, strictly forbidden. As such, we'd taken great pains to avoid one another. It was a silent, unspoken arrangement that we'd hashed out and both seemed to understand perfectly.

... The least we can do out of respect for Reggie given the absolute bombshell we dropped on him.

A complete no-brainer, really. Whatever the situation might be between Reggie and I, or Evan and Reggie for that matter, Evan and I must steer clear of one another at all costs.

Don't flirt,

Don't touch,

Don't even look at one another.

Don't do anything.

... So it went without saying that the two of us ending up together alone in a tiny room, now of all times, was extremely unfortunate.

It all began when I spotted Pete at the far end of the hallway. The change between Thursday afternoon classes, and absolutely everyone poured into the hallways, transitioning to and fro. I'd just left Defence Against the Dark Arts and was adjusting my bag when I looked up and saw Pete staring back at me. And from the intensity I saw in his eyes, I knew that if he caught up with me, I'd be in for another unnerving encounter.

... It's been happening more and more often.

Though I hate to admit it.

I really, really just want things to go back to how they used to be.

And it's very odd, the way it happens - as though a switch flips inside him.

He changes. Goes from the Pete I know and adore to someone I hardly recognise.

... It's not just strange; it's downright scary.

And so, without hesitating or feeling even the slightest bit of guilt, I bolt, flying quickly as I can around a corner and down the corridor.

It's not mean. I've been rather patient.

And some days I'm exceedingly patient.

Today's just not one of those days.

I find my temporary shelter in the first door I happen across, practically ripping it off its hinges as I scramble to duck inside. Sighing and rubbing my eyes, I press my back against the door as I glance around.

Fantastic; absolutely nothing to do here.

Nothing to occupy me while I wait a bit for Pete to clear the area.

I've stumbled into a small room. Narrow, with a long line of windows dotting the upper part of the far wall. And practically empty, save for a bit of furniture, a few chairs stacked haphazardly and a long wooden table left in the centre of the room.

Huffing to myself, I pull my wand out of my pocket and begin pacing around the room. As I pace back and forth, I absentmindedly cast trails of golden sparks, which I manipulate into a variety of simple silhouettes: birds, butterflies, leaves. Silently patting myself on the back over my neat (but admittedly useless) little trick, I reconsider my current situation once more:

Long term, this is absolutely unsustainable.

I can't continue to avoid one of my best friends in the world.