THIRTY-THREE - Walk the Line

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Thursday, January 17th

Today, instead of wearing my usual clothes to school (and by usual, I mean jeans and whatever tee-shirt or hoodie is nearest to my bed on the floor), I thought I would make a concerted effort to improve my appearance. If that scrawny Lincoln can transform himself into a virtual lady killer with a little hair gel and a hand-me-down leather jacket, then I should be able to do the same. For starters, I'm tall, and while slight in frame, I'm not a walking skeleton like Lincoln is. In fact, I think I'm developing rather fine-looking forearms, probably a direct result of wielding an axe these past few weeks.

I chose to wear my black adventure pants, which are these outdoor hiking pants that my mom bought me just before she left. They have pockets and zippers and reinforced knees and crap all over them, and when I wear them I think they make me look like some kind of extreme thrill seeker. Up until now, I haven't had the guts to wear them to school, but I wanted to show Ivy she was wrong about my not having any confidence; I knew I could rock those bad boys.

I chose one of my dad's old t-shirts—a long-sleeved Johnny Cash, Walk the Line classic. It's well-worn but fits me like a glove. I figured it was an appropriate choice, given the fact that Johnny Cash's music was inherently cool—I'm talking the real deal—not like the new country crap people listen to now that is completely lacking in soul.

I finished off my ensemble with a scuffed pair of vintage Doc Martens boots, (a thrift store find I discovered last year, but again, didn't think I had the chutzpah to pull off), and a cloth coat that looks a lot like the one Jesse Pinkman wore alongside Walter White in that Breaking Bad series. Because, that guy, while messed up, was cool nonetheless.

When I left for school, Misty was walking Audrey around the paddock on the purple lead shank. She stopped when she saw me, and I thought she might be gathering steam to lecture me about her dad's and my midnight whiskey session in the barn last night, but thankfully, all she said was, jeez, Myles, you look great today. That gave me a little boost because despite her obsession with knitting Nepalese woollen garments, Misty actually has pretty good taste. Maybe Mark Twain was right when he said, clothes make the man, because I walked to school with a straight back and a very purposeful stride.

Once I got there, I figured things were going pretty well. I had a bunch of people compliment my shirt, and one guy wanted to me to trade my Docs for a 4-year-old iPhone. (Yeah, no. Sorry.) And Ivy kept giving me the side eye in English class. I figured she had been rendered speechless by the fact that I had morphed from Sheldon Cooper of the Big Bang theory, to freaking Noah Centineo, overnight. When she sidled up to me in the school kitchen as I was filling the kettle and whispered into my ear, "meet me outside by the combine harvester in 5," I figured I had it made. I was certain she was going to tell me that she couldn't concentrate in class today because of my sudden hotness, and needed to see me privately, STAT. Turns out I was wrong about that. What Ivy wanted, was to tell me that she had gotten a hold of Daisy Archibald's, grimoire. What's a grimoire, I had asked, and she had said, a witch's Book of Shadows, idiot (which I thought was quite rude).

Anyway, to make a long story short, Ivy had seen Daisy outside the drug store in the village, and when Daisy needed to go in and get a prescription filled, Ivy had volunteered to stay outside with Daisy's Chinese Crested dog, Ping, who needed to stay put in his stroller, because he was virtually hairless and subject to frostbite. While Daisy had been inside, Ivy had spied the grimoire in the stroller, and snuck a look. She'd actually managed to snap photos of several spells from this secretive book of Magick with her phone, and then asked if I could meet her tonight because she wanted to perform a confidence spell for me. She said we could meet in the den over her dad's garage, and that she would make sure there would be plenty of candles and incense and essential oils with which to create the right atmosphere.

I know what you're thinking; you're thinking I should have told her to take a hike; that I should have told her matter-of-factly that I had no need for such folly. Yeah, I did not say either of those things. but, come on...the idea of a private hang out with Ivy Irving in muted candlelight alongside some bottles of fragrant essential oil, is just too much.

I am, after all, a healthy red-blooded male.

You can be sure I will be writing more when I return this evening from this so-called (and hopefully romantic), spell casting. Wish me luck.

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