some albums near the register.
“What
exactly is that ?” asked Jerry, eying Gwen warily as if she were an
extraterrestrial life form.
“You
know how they say everyone has baggage they bring into a relationship? Well,
with Cassie came that,” Ian said, cocking his head in Gwen’s direction. “Louis
Vuitton’s entire luggage department.”
“I
heard that,” Gwen remarked.
“You
were supposed to,” Ian chirped back.
“I
must say, I’m surprised you actually know the name of a designer,” she
countered.
“Well,
you only talk about garbage like that all day long, in between your crush of
the week and the next tactical plan of action to attack Stacy. I was bound to
pick up something through your yammering.”
“Hey,
my yammering is going to prove useful to you one day, when you finally decide
to let me give you a makeover.”
“Yeah,
because it’s my dream for you to dress me like a Ken doll. Then after my IQ
drops about twenty points, I’ll finally fit in with my peers by saying,
‘Seriously, dude,’ every other sentence,” said Ian.
“It
wouldn’t kill you to be normal.”
“Maybe,
maybe not. I’ve never tried.”
“You
know, you’re not a bad lookin’ guy,” said Gwen. “With a little help, you just
might be dating material.”
“A
little help?”
“Okay,
a lot. I was trying to be nice, but still.”
“Leave
him be,” I finally said. “The world is better off with one less humdrum wannabe
trying to submit to the imposed hierarchy of high school.”
“Thank
you,” said Ian cheerfully. “At least some people actually value individuality.”
“Coming
from a magician who looks like he stepped out of a Vaudeville show? Yeah, you
lose all credibility to us humdrums ,” remarked Gwen.
“You
just don’t appreciate our art,” said Ian.
“The
art of what? Dressing in fashions that outstayed their welcome by a good
century and pulling coins out from behind people’s ears? Oh, yes, you’re
comparable to Van Gough,” mocked Gwen.
“Spoken
like a true, over-worldly individual,” Ian responded, grabbing a red linen
cloth off the counter. “As children, our virtue grants us the ability to have
faith in the supernatural. As we get older though, and the secrets of Santa
Claus and the tooth fairy are revealed, our innocence is lost and we find
ourselves less captivated by life’s wonders. It is our pleasure as magicians to
grant skeptics the chance to be fascinated, even if just for a moment.”
Ian
rolled up his sleeves and draped the cloth over his bare left hand. He slowly
lifted the fabric and then whisked it away in a swift motion, revealing the
unexpected appearance of a single, long-stemmed red rose in his grasp.
Handing
it to me with a beaming smile, he said, “It’s in those moments that we return
one’s virtue, and hopefully leave them with the rare occasion of true
enchantment.”
“How
did you-” I started.
Ian
covered his mouth with his pointer finger.
“A
good magician never gives up his secrets,” said Jerry, equally spellbound.
“Seriously,
where did the flower come from?” said Gwen, going up to Ian and inconclusively
patting down his arms and torso. “Did you say you’re a magician, or a wizard?”
“Despite
your surly demeanor, I’ve made you into a believer,” said Ian satisfyingly.
“Yeah,
into believing that your dark powers really may have killed Archibald.”
“I
thought you were supposed to be on a hot-manhunt,” I said to Gwen.
“Jeff
isn’t gonna be here until after five. He’s playing a pick-up game with some of
the other basketball players at the park.”
“What
time do you want to head back to school?” I asked.
“Party
starts at six,” Gwen replied. “We’ll leave around a half past five so that we
can swing by our houses to grab our stuff.”
“How
on earth you convinced Cassie to go to a girls’ lock-in is beyond me,” chuckled
Ian.
“What?
It’ll be fun,” said Gwen.
“Yeah,
because I can’t
“What
exactly is that ?” asked Jerry, eying Gwen warily as if she were an
extraterrestrial life form.
“You
know how they say everyone has baggage they bring into a relationship? Well,
with Cassie came that,” Ian said, cocking his head in Gwen’s direction. “Louis
Vuitton’s entire luggage department.”
“I
heard that,” Gwen remarked.
“You
were supposed to,” Ian chirped back.
“I
must say, I’m surprised you actually know the name of a designer,” she
countered.
“Well,
you only talk about garbage like that all day long, in between your crush of
the week and the next tactical plan of action to attack Stacy. I was bound to
pick up something through your yammering.”
“Hey,
my yammering is going to prove useful to you one day, when you finally decide
to let me give you a makeover.”
“Yeah,
because it’s my dream for you to dress me like a Ken doll. Then after my IQ
drops about twenty points, I’ll finally fit in with my peers by saying,
‘Seriously, dude,’ every other sentence,” said Ian.
“It
wouldn’t kill you to be normal.”
“Maybe,
maybe not. I’ve never tried.”
“You
know, you’re not a bad lookin’ guy,” said Gwen. “With a little help, you just
might be dating material.”
“A
little help?”
“Okay,
a lot. I was trying to be nice, but still.”
“Leave
him be,” I finally said. “The world is better off with one less humdrum wannabe
trying to submit to the imposed hierarchy of high school.”
“Thank
you,” said Ian cheerfully. “At least some people actually value individuality.”
“Coming
from a magician who looks like he stepped out of a Vaudeville show? Yeah, you
lose all credibility to us humdrums ,” remarked Gwen.
“You
just don’t appreciate our art,” said Ian.
“The
art of what? Dressing in fashions that outstayed their welcome by a good
century and pulling coins out from behind people’s ears? Oh, yes, you’re
comparable to Van Gough,” mocked Gwen.
“Spoken
like a true, over-worldly individual,” Ian responded, grabbing a red linen
cloth off the counter. “As children, our virtue grants us the ability to have
faith in the supernatural. As we get older though, and the secrets of Santa
Claus and the tooth fairy are revealed, our innocence is lost and we find
ourselves less captivated by life’s wonders. It is our pleasure as magicians to
grant skeptics the chance to be fascinated, even if just for a moment.”
Ian
rolled up his sleeves and draped the cloth over his bare left hand. He slowly
lifted the fabric and then whisked it away in a swift motion, revealing the
unexpected appearance of a single, long-stemmed red rose in his grasp.
Handing
it to me with a beaming smile, he said, “It’s in those moments that we return
one’s virtue, and hopefully leave them with the rare occasion of true
enchantment.”
“How
did you-” I started.
Ian
covered his mouth with his pointer finger.
“A
good magician never gives up his secrets,” said Jerry, equally spellbound.
“Seriously,
where did the flower come from?” said Gwen, going up to Ian and inconclusively
patting down his arms and torso. “Did you say you’re a magician, or a wizard?”
“Despite
your surly demeanor, I’ve made you into a believer,” said Ian satisfyingly.
“Yeah,
into believing that your dark powers really may have killed Archibald.”
“I
thought you were supposed to be on a hot-manhunt,” I said to Gwen.
“Jeff
isn’t gonna be here until after five. He’s playing a pick-up game with some of
the other basketball players at the park.”
“What
time do you want to head back to school?” I asked.
“Party
starts at six,” Gwen replied. “We’ll leave around a half past five so that we
can swing by our houses to grab our stuff.”
“How
on earth you convinced Cassie to go to a girls’ lock-in is beyond me,” chuckled
Ian.
“What?
It’ll be fun,” said Gwen.
“Yeah,
because I can’t
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