Manhattan (Charter Academy), New York

  I’d never been part of the limo line before.

  If you’ve never heard of it, it’s the line of black cars standing outside schools waiting for dropoff and pickup. Luxury sedans, SUVs, the latest Electric Vehicle model; they’re all worth more than an average New Yorker’s salary. Naturally the windows are tinted and the kids are accompanied by drivers, not parents.

  Coming from Chinatown where street vendors were hauling their food carts to the ‘best spot’, the local supermarket owners pushing on their shutters, plus the knockoff merchants hustling their way about the busy city already; it was jarring.

  Consider this. There’s a lot of homeless guys back in my part of town. They gather near construction awnings, wherever there’s a bench, near subway stations, and sewer vents because it’s cold and they need shelter from the rain and snow. They scavenge the alleyways near my local Mickey D’s because there’s always things to eat.

  But here, near Charter and all the other Manhattan’s most elite schools, you don’t see any of that. There’s no trash and there’s definitely no homeless vagrants loitering about. Even the construction projects work around the school’s schedule.

  There’s no chinese lady walking twenty blocks to open her off-the-rack NYC t-shirt store nor are there hot dog carts every two blocks. It’s just unmarked black cars and teachers with amazon wishlists that the PTA can mark off as ‘charitable giving’ on their tax filings.

  Abigail’s –no, Assad’s– limo fit right in.

  I fit right in.

  It was warm. It was comfortable. I wouldn’t have to do more than ten feet of walking when this limo pulled up to the front of the line and it was my turn to be ushered in.

  “I think I’m going to walk.”

  Abigail had been looking out the window. “Huh?”

  “If you find the place,” I blanched, “Just see me after school. If you don’t find it… you don’t have to bother.”

  “Jain?”

  “Thank you. For the ride. Really, I mean it.”

  "You're welcome." She replied, still baffled.

  I opened the limo door and walked out before my mood soured worse.

  Everything I said before? Add in four feet of snow. Or hundred-degrees summer weather.

  You begin to see the picture.

  Hwari floated out after me, and Wol was close on my heels. The black feline leapt up on the great mountains of snow piled on the side of the sidewalks, mirroring my path.

  Abigail had bought me more than just spare clothes. She’d bought me a black parka that hung to my knees that kept the wind out of… of everything. Duck-bill looking boots that kept my feet dry, gloves with this flying dinosaur’s fossil (same place as the jacket was from) and a beanie.

  ‘Practitioner?’

  “One second.” I took off the jacket.

  The wind had died down from the last few days. There was still a nip in the air, but the nice kind. The kind that turns the tip of your nose numb and gives you rosy cheeks. The snow hadn’t turned into gray slush yet, and it reminded me of snowmen, snowballs, and hot chocolate.

  ‘Practitioner?’ Hwari checked again.

  “I’m fine.” I gruffed out. The cold was somehow liberating, but even the black hoodie that Abigail got for me was insulated.

  “Are you going to tell us what's bothering you?” Wol finally asked.

  I gestured down at the line of black cars. A few of the more curious faces were looking through a crack in the window, which quickly closed when our eyes met.

  “That.”

  Wol didn't miss a beat. “Elaborate.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  I found it hard to articulate the words of why I felt this way. My whole life, I wanted to be one of those rich kids. Yeah, yeah. What a hypocrite I am. Pointing out their faults and going on and on and on about how I hated them because they were corrupt and bad people but secretly wanting to be one of them.

  But... doesn't everyone?

  I wanted to be rich. I wanted to be comfortable. I wanted to be part of the black limo line so bad all my life.

  I wanted to have friends. Not be picked on. Just walk into the cafeteria and know where to sit.

  Be welcomed somewhere.

  God, I had wanted to fit in. To just belong, you know?

  But it just didn't feel right.

  “It’s not fair.” I finally muttered.

  Wol gestured with his tail for me to go on.

  “You saw those old Chinese grandmas and grandpas pushing carts full of plastic bottles?”

  “Yes.”

  “Those guys walking through the snow to open up their stores?” I asked. “Those guys who were shoveling snow out of the public sidewalk to set up stands and food carts?”

  “Well, now I know the why.”

  “Look at this, Wol.” I waved my arms vaguely at the black limo line.

  Hwari nosedived into my shadow and reappeared a moment later. ‘They are safe. Warm. Most of them keep themselves occupied with a bright rectangle of moving pictures.’

  “As children should be by their parents. Protected and safe.” Wol agreed.

  “I’m not arguing against that.” I realized how petty my argument sounded against Wol’s point. He was right, of course. Children should be protected and kept warm. I wasn’t mad about that. “I’m just saying, don’t you think it’s unfair?”

  “What is?”

  ‘He feels pain for the ones who brave the cold.’ Hwari said in my place.

  Wol stopped in place.

  Frowning, I did too.

  “You feel upset at the injustice of this world, that some are born into wealth and enjoy the privileges of it all the while those who are born outside of it are unable to. That what people have by luck, they take for granted. Is that it?”

  I didn’t like how Wol phrased it. But I shrugged, “More or less.” I threw up my hands. "I don't know."

  “And why does that result in you risking sickness in cold and ice?” He asked drily.

  I must have looked crazy. You have to remember, normal people can’t see supernatural entities. I was standing next to a particularly highly packed pile of snow, seemingly talking to the empty air. I was close enough to the school that one of the security guards looked in my direction.

  His eyes ran over me, stopping at the expensive jacket. Then he returned to just keeping watch.

  Even that pissed me off.

  "Maybe I don't want to be one of them." I grumbled, but I only sounded petulant.

  “Practitioner,” Wol replied, “You are heir to two of the most powerful families the Practitioner world has ever known. If being born into privilege is what you are upset at, I'm sorry to say, you are one of them.”

  “Well, I didn’t grow up like that, Wol.” I groaned, “I grew up in a shitty one-bedroom apartment with my dad, the mighty Diabolist.” I waggled my fingers dramatically which earned an eyeroll from the cat, “I took the bus and train to school. And when it’s past sundown, you know what happens? My metrocard stops working. Then I would walk home. Or just beg the bus driver to let me in. Or jump turnstiles.”

  “This?” I pointed at all the black cars. “It’s not me, Wol. It never has been. And this… whole Practitioner thing, I don’t really know. Yeah, I want to Practice. Yeah, I want to get to the bottom of this whole thing. But me being one of the Valentines or the Baeks? Or being chauffeured in a black limo everywhere? I'm not sure I want that.”

  “Why not, Jain?” Wol’s tone was the same as before.

  “Because…” I hesitated.

  Yeah, why not?

  “Same answer. I just don’t want to.” I said weakly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being stubborn. Call it teenage rebellion. For now, I just want to walk. Even if it’s freezing cold outside.”

  Wol didn’t say anything.

  Hwari glided close to me, sitting just above my shoulders. ‘I shall brave the cold with you.’

  “Thanks.” I muttered and brought my hand close to her scales, feeling the oily cold on my fingers.

  Wol watched our interaction silently. The feline familiar seemed to be contemplating something. Finally, he turned with a flick of the tail, “As you say, Practitioner. But know that if you catch a cold, our part in this game will end before we even begin to play.” Then added over his shoulder, "I also can't help but point out you were perfectly happy until we reached our destination."

  "Yeah, well, maybe we'll take the subway next time. We'll see how smug you are when some homeless guy takes a shit with five stops left to go."

  True story, folks.