Fangirl

a question. “They were your words, right?”
    “Right.”
    “I mean, I can see why your professor wouldn’t want you to write a Simon Snow story—the class isn’t called Fan fiction-Writing—but I wouldn’t call it plagiarism. Is it illegal?”
    “No. As long as you don’t try to sell it. GTL says she loves fanfiction—I mean, she loves the idea of it. She doesn’t actually read it.”
    “Is your professor reporting you?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Is she reporting you to the Judicial Board?”
    “She didn’t even mention that.”
    “She would have mentioned it,” he said. “So … okay.” He waved his fork in a straight line between them, holding it like a pencil. “This isn’t a big deal. You just don’t turn in any more fanfiction.”
    It still felt like a big deal. Cath’s stomach still hurt.
    “She just … she made me feel so stupid and … deviant. ”
    Levi laughed again. “Do you really expect an elderly English professor to be down with gay Simon Snow fanfiction?”
    “She didn’t even mention the gay thing,” Cath said.
    “Deviant.” He raised an eyebrow. Levi’s eyebrows were much darker than his hair. Too dark, really. And arched. Like he’d drawn them on.
    Cath felt herself smile, even though she was trying to hold her lips and face still. She shook her head, then looked down at her food and took a big bite.
    Levi scraped more eggs and hash onto her plate.
     
    Sneaking around the castle, staying out all night, coming home in the morning with leaves in his hair …
    Baz was up to something; Simon was sure of it. But he needed proof—Penelope and Agatha weren’t taking his suspicions seriously.
    “He’s plotting, ” Simon would say.
    “He’s always plotting,” Penelope would answer.
    “He’s looming, ” Simon would say.
    “He’s always looming,” Agatha would answer. “He is quite tall.”
    “No taller than me.”
    “Mmm … a bit.”
    It wasn’t just the plotting and the looming; Baz was up to something. Something beyond his chronic gittishness. His pearl grey eyes were bloodshot and shadowed; his black hair had lost its luster. Usually cold and intimidating, lately Baz seemed chilled and cornered.
    Simon had followed him around the catacombs last night for three hours, and still didn’t have a clue.

    —from chapter 3, Simon Snow and the Five Blades, copyright © 2008 by Gemma T. Leslie

 
    TWELVE
    It was too cold to wait outside before Fiction-Writing, so Cath found a bench inside Andrews Hall and sat with one leg tucked beneath her, leaning back against the cream-colored wall.
    She took out her phone and opened a fic she’d been reading. (She was too nervous to study.) Cath never read other people’s Simon/Baz anymore—she didn’t want to unconsciously mimic another author or steal someone’s ideas—so when she did read fic, it was always about Penelope. Sometimes Penelope/Agatha. Sometimes Penelope/Micah (the American exchange student who only appeared in Book Three). Sometimes just Penelope, all on her own, having adventures.
    It felt like an act of open rebellion to be reading fanfiction while she sat in the English building, waiting to see Professor Piper for the first time since their talk. Cath had actually considered skipping class today, but she figured that would just make it even more painful to face Professor Piper the next time. It’s not like Cath could skip class for the rest of the semester—better to just get it over with.
    Cath’d already faced Wren, and that hadn’t gone nearly so badly as she’d expected. They’d eaten lunch together twice this week, and neither of them had brought up the scene at Muggsy’s. Maybe Wren had been too drunk to remember the details.
    Courtney didn’t seem to get that they were avoiding the subject. (That girl had the subtlety of a Spencer’s Gifts shop.)
    “Hey, Cath,” Courtney said at lunch, “who was that cute blond boy you were with Friday night? Was that your hot librarian?”
    “No,” Cath said. “That’s just Levi.”
    “Her roommate’s boyfriend,” Wren said, stirring her vegetable soup. Wren seemed tired; she wasn’t wearing mascara, and her eyelashes looked pale and stubby.
    “Oh.” Courtney stuck out her bottom lip. “Too bad. He was super cute. Farm boy.”
    “How could you tell he’s a farm boy?” Cath asked.
    “Carhartt,” they both said at once.
    “What?”
    “His coat,” Wren explained. “All the farm boys wear Carhartt.”
    “Trust