part iii

373 11 9
                                    

written by maddie, beta read by cat

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“S-Sorry?” Alek stutters. He’s staring at this girl across from him, claiming to be his friend, Dylan. No, wait; Deryn.

Her hair, blonde and short, is cropped just below her ears, and she’s looking at him with vigilant blue eyes. From faraway, she could pass as a boy. Nothing about her appearance seems girly – loose, baggy trousers and a man’s army jacket – not a splotch of pink in sight. Everything about her is familiar, masculine; except if Alek looks her in the eye. Her face is too pretty to be mistaken for a boy.

“Er, sorry,” she says. Even her voice seems boyish, not high-pitched and annoying like the girls that his father likes to set him up with. “Did I forget to mention – ?”

“That you’re a girl?” Alek finishes. “Yeah, maybe you forgot to mention that tiny detail!”

“I didn’t really think it was important.”

“It’s extremely important, Dyl – Deryn.” Her name is foreign on his lips. 

“Alek, I’m sorry I lied to you,” she apologizes, and she sounds so earnest he wants to forgive her. “But we met on the internet; everyone lies about who they are on the internet!”

Alek shakes his head. He needs time to process this, needs to stop staring at this girl, and most of all, he needs his friend, Dylan, to make him feel better because his head hurts.

But Dylan doesn’t exist, he has to remind himself. No, he never existed. Just this girl, Deryn.

“Aleksandar, the car is waiting outside,” Mr. Volger reminds him, tapping his shoulder and wearing a patronizing expression that screamed I told you so. Alek considers asking him what to do; the man has always been sound in advice. But seeing his pointed look, he decides that now is not the time to ask, especially with her standing only a few paces away.

“Am I still invited?” she asks somewhat meekly. He gets the feeling she isn’t usually meek. Dylan isn’t.

She is Dylan.

He nods, still frowning. He waves her forward sarcastically. “Ladies first.”

Deryn scowls at him. “Get stuffed.”

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