Caleb and Lilli dragged themselves to the midterm at the beginning of November, both wearing hoodies with the drawstrings pulled tight. I said this made them look more conspicuous; they were hung over and told me to shut up. When I went to claim my usual spot, they forced me to sit in the empty back row with them so that I could hand in their tests at the end of the period (on the off chance the professor looked up from his grading and asked, "Who the hell are you?")
The boy in the red down jacket peered furtively around the hall before hunching over his exam, but I don't think he saw me.
"Really fucked up that whole section on monopolies," Caleb grumbled over a late brunch of corned beef hash.
"Yeah, I think you confused marginal revenue and marginal cost," I replied.
He flared his nostrils at me in false affront.
"Eyes on your own paper!"
I flicked a bit of potato at him and it splatted on his hoodie. He lobbed back a carrot stub. Lilli nibbled a triangle of toast.
"That guy," she said. "In the giant coat. He was sitting on the far left, halfway up. I think he's...you know."
"What?" I asked, forgetting my assault.
"Transfiguring," she mouthed.
Caleb snorted into his hash.
YOU ARE READING
Transfiguration
Short StoryA mysterious boy who never takes off his jacket. A temple where men talk directly to angels. An extremely boring college economics course. Curiosity gives way to confusion as our nameless, genderless narrator learns the reason behind their classmate...
