The Lion Tamer

Chapter IV

in which Emil gets better before he gets worse

We start with the clothes. For outside of school, in case we have a rehearsal on the weekend.

'Do I have to look bland to be a normal guy?' he asks among rows of brown shirts in Primark. It took me at least two days to arrange a meeting with him outside of school, because he's 'busy'. What does a sixth-former have to be so busy about? I go training and volunteering, I still can make time for this impossible mission of reforming Emil Basinsky.

'Why, wearing black all the time isn't bland?' Now too, he's dressed in all black--black T-shirt, black jacket, black combat boots with steel in them. That's the one he always rebels against the dress code with.

'Not in the same way. Black-bland is cool, brown-bland is—' He lifts a shirt in front of himself. '—makes me look like a shit stain.'

I snort.

'Forget brown then.' I pull him back. 'Let me see your eyes.' He stares at his shoes, but that just won't do. I tap his shoulder. 'Look at me.'

He lifts his eyes and looks. I know his eye-colour is green, I've had enough chances to stare at it up close, when he pressed me against my locker, but I'm still surprised at how green it is. It sort of reminds me of the ocean on a good day.

'Are you done staring at me?' he croaks.

I step back, pondering my choices. There's also the question of his hair, we don't want a colour that disagrees with the red of his hair.

'Let's go with green then,' I decide.

I choose a couple of different T-shirts and a jacket in white, but he makes me put that back.

'I have a budget.'

'And how much is that?'

'One T-shirt worth of money. Choose wisely.'

I suppress a sigh. I'm not being fair on him, I know because if what he said is true, he doesn't spend his money on cigarettes, alcohol, or drugs. Actually, I haven't even seen him smoke. I ask him about it, but he just stares at me.

'You can't smoke where there're kids.'

'Okay, but outside or something.'

'I don't want them to smell it on me.' He pulls his T-shirt over his head. 'There're enough people you can smell it on.'

We're squeezed together in the changing booth, my chest just inches away from brushing his. I can see the slowly fading bruises in his torso again, and I'm tempted to ask after them, but I don't. The only thing I ask about is his absence.

'Hm? When?' He's so close to me I can feel the heat radiating from his body. I always thought that was just a shitty literary cliché, but it's true, and his warmth is overwhelming. I lean against the wall opposite him.

'On my second day of school. You weren't in the whole week.'

'Aww, you missed me?' He grins.

'I had my revenge plan to do. So?'

He doesn't look at me anymore, I see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. 'That? Zuzanna had a cold, and somebody had to take care of her.'

'Somebody,' I murmur. He says this somebody as if he wasn't one, as if he was no-one.

'So?' He spreads his arms with the T-shirt loose on him. 'How do I look? Does it make my eyes pop?'

I make him pivot a few times, just for the hell of it, faster and faster, until he's dizzy. Collapsing against a wall, he groans, 'It's some special torture, isn't it?'