I think we lack mystery nowadays. We live in a society where we have instant gratification and we have instant information. We lack secrecy and that’s something I find so important for characters – Happy Birthday, Rebecca Ferguson (19.10.83)
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, REBECCA FERGUSON! (19 OCTOBER 1983)
I was going on 16 when I started acting in a drama series in Sweden. I went to music school. It was mostly vocals and choir singing. Circumstances had put me in a casting but I wasn’t really game for it. I didn’t really enjoy it, being put on the spot and people watching me. But I was given the part and I remember my first day, I felt like a fish in water. I loved the energy and I thought, Hey I could do this. I liked the camera. Somehow I felt kind of protected. It’s a paradox, I know, if you think about how many people see you afterwards, but I never felt like people were watching me. I felt quite hidden.
hey guys! new fic thing. potentially chaptered? let me know!
Surprisingly, it wasn’t a bad first day of school.
It could have been worse. Especially considering that I’m new.
A girl named Penelope saved my ass earlier in Chemistry, and when I came out from the lunch line, trying to see if there were any free tables left or if I’d have to resign myself to eating in the library, she waved me down and offered me a seat her empty table.
“Wow. How’d you snag a table all to yourself, Penny?” I asked her.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a deal with the local populars that congregate in this area. They won’t mess with me.”
“Scary,” I said wryly.
“Shut up, Simon,” she replied good naturedly.
I laughed and took my seat.
I was in the middle of taking a huge bite out my ham sandwich when I saw him.
He was dressed in all black. Black skinny jeans, a black long sleeved t-shirt, black combat boots, and black fingerless gloves. (Who wears fingerless gloves?) (Someone addicted to texting?) His hair was black too, and it hung like a curtain down to his chin. (I’ve never seen a guy who wore his hair long, actually.) (It’s kind of unsettling.) Even his eyes were a dark, murky gray. His skin, though… it was as pale as alabaster. Like the full moon on an inky night.
But the most mesmerizing thing was the zippo in his hands.
He absently flicked it open and shut, lighting it with just a snap and flipping it between his knuckles, still lit, as if it was nothing. The flames twisted around his fingers, hungrily licking his skin.
“Who’s that?” I asked around a mouthful of lettuce and chipotle mayo.
Penny glanced over to the boy and froze. “Oh. Him. You probably should stay away from him.” “Why?” I resisted the urge to stare at the effortless fireworks display in the boy’s hands.
She bit her lip. “Well… he’s Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. Most people call him Baz or Basil or something. He’s a year above us. Junior. And he’s just… kind of dangerous. We’ve got a social hierarchy, like most schools, but he’s kind of… exempt. Most people just leave him alone. But some people like to prank him and steal his zippo. Which is, by the way, a very, very bad move. It puts him in a rather awful mood.”
“What’s the deal with that zippo, anyway?” I swallowed the bite of sandwich and took another one. “Aren’t lighters and shit banned from school?”
“Yeah. Apparently his mother used to be principal here,” Penny replied. “She was supposedly really awesome, but she died a while ago. The teachers still remember her. As long as he doesn’t do anything too drastic, the teachers usually look the other way.”
I whistled. “Christ.”
Penny nodded. “Yeah. I know. Just stay away from that guy, alright? You don’t wanna get involved with him.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t get the image of Baz twirling his zippo out of his head for the rest of the day.
He was in an awful mood.
He had gym first period today. (Which always set him in an awful mood.) (Fuck gym.)
But after he’d finished changing in the bathroom stall, he had reached into his pocket for his zippo and it wasn’t there.
Because of fucking course someone decided to steal his zippo again.
“That Baz guy is looking kind of twitchy,” I commented at lunch.
Penny looked up from her book. “He’s not playing with his zippo, so I’m betting someone stole it again. Christ.”
He couldn’t keep still.
He drummed his fingers on the lunch table.
He sucked on his lip.
He chewed his hair.
He cracked his knuckles. (Again. And again. And again.)
But all he could think of was his zippo. His zippo. His precious zippo. In someone else’s hands. Probably failing at lighting it, unnecessarily wearing out the flint. Probably getting their dirty, oily fingerprints all over it. Probably laughing at how stupid he was for leaving it in his jeans, ripe for the taking.
God fucking dammit.
I absently strolled around the park, breathing in the crisp, autumn air. (The days were already getting a little shorter.)
But then I heard laughter – and not the laughter of the little kids swinging on the swingset. Raucous, boorish laughter.
“He just left it in his jeans, can you believe it?” “What an idiot.”
The sound of something sparking.
“What’s his deal with this thing, anyway? It’s just a freakin zippo.”
“He’s just a freak. A pyro.”
Something snapped shut.
“Yo, let’s go back to my house.”
The guy slipped the silver zippo into his jacket pocket.
I was frozen. Fuck. Should I?
The two were approaching the exit.
… Fuck it.
I jogged toward them and bumped into the guy with the zippo.
“Oh, sorry.” I smiled apologetically.
The zippo was obviously well used and cared for. There were dark spots on the metal casing, ones that couldn’t be removed by any kind of polishing. Other than that, though, it was perfectly clean.
A boy jogged up to him. (Baz didn’t recognize him.)
He looked up. “The fuck do you want?” He growled.
“Here.” The boy tossed something small and metallic to him.