SPELLBOUND

𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎

It seems like it was only yesterday when Mrs. Finch retired and moved to another country and we were introduced to Mr. Morrisey who, unlike Mrs. Finch, had a rather peculiar demeanor and didn't quite exude the same level of charm and humor. On a personal level, Mrs. Finch was incredibly supportive and helpful to me during some of my most stressful days, whether it was due to school life or normal teenage problems. She was like a second mother, in the most respectful way to my real one, and I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing now or why she was doing it. To my left, her picture was plastered on the wall with a small plaque underneath that spoke of her accomplishments and attributions to the school. Where everyone is usually the most distracted, this was study hall, yet no one could avoid making a memorial to combat the heartbreaking mood of an already heartbroken town.
"Who's that?" Dao wondered from beside me, pointing to Mrs. Finch's picture. Usually, I would sit at the back of the classroom to avoid distractions, but eventually, someone had to break that cycle.
"Mrs. Finch—she was like a mother to us all. Sadly, she retired last year and moved to Europe."
Dao hummed. "I guess I really did miss a lot being a new student and all."
"You're not that new." I glanced away from the book I was reading and at Dao, my eyebrows furrowed. "Plus, nothing exciting happens here unless it has to do with sports, parties, or pep rallies. Our teams aren't even that good either, so it's like watching a turtle and cheetah race. I suppose you already knew that."
Dao huffed. "I've never watched school sports in my life since I was never interested in them, and neither were my parents."
"Why not try?" I set down my book on my desk to slip in a bookmark before stowing it into my bag. "I bet they'd let you try out with how popular you are at school, even if you're not on a team with your friends."
"I won't do it unless there's some kind of deal involved," Dao relaxed in his chair, putting his hands behind his head, "because I don't think I'll go unembarrassed."
I sighed, knowing what sacrifice I had to make if we were going to become friends, whether I liked it or not. "Well, I'll just try out with you since you're doing something for me by joining the Photography Club."
"You've done sports?" Dao inquired, leaning forward and ditching his relaxing position to listen more carefully.
"Swimming, but I hate talking about it."
"Why?"
I rested my head on my hand and darted it away from him. "Drama ensued, enough said."
"Okay. Then, what other sport should we try if you're so traumatized?" Dao returned to his relaxing position.
"Maybe basketball, or at least something that requires staying on land."
"Well, I don't mind basketball."
"Good," I replied, sitting up straight, "glad we got here."
Dao snickered, his eyes nearly closing. "Is it just me or are you being feisty right now? Not very kind of you for being such an artsy person."
I scoffed. "Does liking art automatically make me kind?"
"Maybe, especially as a Photographer, someone who takes photos of things that deserve to be seen. Since those plants are alive, they're probably thanking you in one way or another."
I smirked, letting out a short exhale from my nose after hearing how priceless his statement was. "I should've guessed you were the kind one."
"Did you not think I was?"
I shook my head slowly, glancing at him. "No, not at all. Because of the girls, you just seemed like a desperate attention-seeker with an ego."
Dao snorted. "Well, I expected you to be very shy and too distracted with a book to care about what's going on around you."
"That's half true but only when I actually don't care."
Dao chuckled. "At least you're paying attention to me."
"For you're interesting. Who couldn't hear you talk for this long?"
Dao put his tongue in his cheek, his monolids going slightly narrower as we made eye contact. "Thanks." His voice had taken on a velvety, resonant quality, giving the impression that he truly valued my words. I responded with a simple smile and shifted my attention to the front of the class, where a group of students were engaged in a game of hangman, while the rest were either working or conversing. However, as I reflected on my conversation with Dao, I couldn't shake the feeling that our interaction was unlike any other I'd experienced. It left me pondering whether our connection could evolve into a true friendship, one that would prove if he had the guts to confront and support me through my past trauma.
    The situation I found myself in reminded me of a fight involving two opponents where both had equal advantages and disadvantages. Dao Zhang was plainly more experienced and had multiple charm points whereas I had nothing but tradition and rules stuck in my mind. Expectedly, he came to our fight with only himself and I spent my wasted time thinking of tactics and what I already knew about him, hoping to use it against him. Throughout our fight, Dao taunted me with his every move, causing me to feel worse as well as reminiscent of significant memories, memories that shaped a modern identity that I was still searching for. On his face, behind his mask, was that unidentified half-expression. My body abruptly stopped at the view, and I realized I couldn't move. This vision I was apparently going through seemed to reflect all the opinions I had of Dao or perhaps all the interactions we've had, including yesterday in detention. Before that specific day, I could easily remember every second of how I met Maryam, without Dao in the mix. Thus, whenever I tried to think of the library, Dao was always there to rain on my parade and force himself to be thought of. Like how I couldn't decipher his face, I couldn't decipher how I felt about him. Was he an acquaintance? A potential friend? Or a mass manipulator looking to hurt someone vulnerable? Either way, I didn't want our conversations to end, so I'd have to wait until he hurt me to solve those intentions.

After finishing classes for the day, I hurried to the gymnasium for my Photography session. It appeared that Dao had already left, so I presumed he had read the signup sheet and knew the location. When I reached the entrance of the gym, I pushed open the doors to find the usual group of students all unusually gathered around something. I furrowed my eyebrows before walking toward the commotion, only to discover the cause which happened to be Dao. I sighed to myself, feeling even worse about the ever-growing downfall of my reputation as the assistant teacher of the club.
"I apologize for being late, everyone!" Mr. Ramirez's strong tone cut through the uproar of swooning people's voices, causing them to focus on the arrival. "Just grab your cameras and head outside. Please stay by the door while I set up my equipment." While the group followed Mr. Ramirez's orders, I felt the sensation of someone else's hand on my shoulder.
"Hey," Dao cheerfully and exuberantly spoke with an eye smile, gradually removing his hand from my shoulder.
"Wow, aren't you cheery?" I teased, grinning at how the glint in his eyes changed.
"I hate to say that I am."
I chuckled. "You should be glad you're honest, though." Before speaking again, I strolled past Dao to grab a camera placed at the edge of the stage as Mr. Ramirez kept busy setting up his tripod to my left. While adjusting my camera settings, Dao mimicked my actions by grabbing a camera, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him studying the gym as if he were waiting. "You're not attached to me. Go take pictures, talk to the group," I remarked, closing the camera after verifying the settings.
"So you do mind if I follow you like a lost puppy. I thought you'd show me the ropes."
"You take pictures," I blankly stated. "It isn't as difficult as you think." I walked past Dao once more.
"But the angles!" he exclaimed, jogging to the side of me to keep up with my longer legs.
"It's art and it's subjective. There isn't a wrong way to do it," I clarified, opening the doors to the outside, resulting in a gust of wind slapping my face. "You really are passionate," I added.
"Grades matter, though," Dao retorted.
I tsked. "Not these, but who am I to tell you differently? Grades are my life right now."
"Does Mr. Ramirez know how hard you work?"
"Yes, or else he wouldn't have made me assistant teacher, even if no one asks me how to do something."
"I'll ask you," Dao commented, showing off his crow's feet once again. Yet, before I had the time to muster a rebuttal, Mr. Ramirez came through the door and instructed the club to start walking toward the greenhouse. On our way there, multiple people began to snap pictures of the beautiful scenery that awaited us while Dao and I distanced ourselves from the group. As we crossed a road, Dao began to converse again, mostly about his home life, his future, and how dorkishly keen he was about the club activities. For lack of a better term, it was charming, and I was forced to add another tally to my list of reasons why he was so adored.
Upon arriving at the greenhouse, Mr. Ramirez halted us in our tracks to give additional instructions, mostly to Dao who was our first newcomer in a while, which likely influenced Mr. Ramirez to ensure he wouldn't get bored and quit. After being permitted to walk inside, I instantly headed for the purple calla lilies and the red camellias and tulips near the outlying glass walls since they granted me peace of mind. Dao, of course, followed close behind, not once utilizing this moment to photograph anything, although I wasn't either. Once I reached the row of growing beauty, I held up my camera to capture not only the flower but the wall as well, wishing it'd turn into an interpretation of symbolism. In reality, my knowledge regarding the calla lily was very minimal, unlike the camellia and tulip, although the shape of it did remind me of a chalice. Considering the other types of flowers in front of me, a red camellia depicted passionate and romantic love and was meant to represent a samurai's bravery whereas the red tulip was an expression of everlasting love and lust.
"Why these?" I heard Dao question from behind, causing me to turn around and meet face-to-face with him.
"I don't know," I said, despite knowing exactly why. "They just look the best out of context and aren't your typical flowers."
"True, but," Dao was now the one to walk past, carefully reaching out with his fingers to grip a slender stem before gently plucking it from the rich soil, "there is always a meaning for something, and I think these ones, in particular, represent something quite unoriginal." Dao gracefully pivoted, captivating me as he presented a delicate tulip, causing me to gradually lower my camera in fascination.