Eleventh grade, the cool thing was to get fake ID’s and go out bar-hopping. Ian wasn’t particularly interested in the alcohol, but bars had always fascinated him, and the chance to get inside one wasn’t something he wanted to pass up. It took a combination of lying, flattery, and a half-serious promise to be someone's slave temporarily, but he finally managed to get his hands on two ID’s–one for him and one for Gabe. The possibility of Gabe not being interested never occurred to him.
Until the moment that Gabe confiscated the ID cards, that is.
"It took me almost a month to get those!" Ian protested, vainly attempting to pry the cards out of Gabe’s hands.
Gabe looked unimpressed.
"I have to do Manny Black’s homework for a week!"
"Well, that won’t be difficult," Gabe pointed out, and dropped the cards into a trash can. "I’ll help you–we can do it on the bus, no problem." Well, that was true. Manny wasn’t exactly doing advanced thaumaturgy or anything else requiring actual preparation. "Besides, if your da found out he’d castrate you and lock you in your room until you were about forty." He had a point there. "So just forget about it, okay?"
Ian still spent the rest of the day ignoring his teachers and making schemes to get the ID cards back, but Gabe grabbed him as soon as classes ended, dragging him outside before he had a chance to do anything sneaky. They spent their time in the bus arguing over the homework Manny had shoved into Ian’s backpack when no one was looking, and by the time they got to Gabe’s house, Ian had mostly forgotten why he had Manny’s homework in the first place.
Ian never did go bar-hopping, but Manny got an A in math for the first time in his life.
divvy informal >noun (also divi) (pl. divvies) a diviner, or seer. >verb (divvies, divvied) divine something.
Ian has always wanted to be a divvy, as far as he can remember. His earliest, most vivid memory is of being at an auction house with his mum, watching all the people and one man in particular. In memory, Ian knows that the man was skating on the very thin edge of both sobriety and respectability (the two not having any given relationship with each other), but at the time he didn’t notice. All he’d had eyes for was the way the man reacted to the various items waiting for auction, the way he seemed to see them in a way none of the other people could. He’d wished fiercely, as only a very small child can, that he could see things in the same way.
Of course, Ian knows now that there’s no way he could ever be a divvy. He has, over the years, taught himself to read the surface of something, but he simply doesn’t have that spark that would let him see beyond that to what can’t be seen. (Gabe, on the other hand, does, and sometimes it is so very hard to not envy him that, and everything else.)
Not that it matters; even if he had the talent, his father would never allow him to make a living off of it. Divvying is a job for misfits and highschool drop-outs, and Ian is neither of these. He would never have the chance to use the gift, even if he had it.
But oh, how he wishes. . . .