IDs and Myths

Hades doesn’t trust me as much as he says he does. Sure, he swears up and down I’m his best friend and he’d put his life in my hands, but the look he’s giving me right now reveals the nitty-gritty truth. This boy thinks I’m leading him straight to doom.

Kudos to him though, he’s following me anyway. He may not trust me but he sure is loyal.

“I’m going to get expelled.”

“And that would be bad…why?” I pull one of his black hoodies over my head. “Alright, turn around.”

He turns from where he was leaning against the wall, eyes closed and facing away to give me privacy as I changed out of my bright bink overalls into something a tad more discreet. Luckily, he owns at least a dozen sweaters all in various shades of dreary grey, broody black, and depressed brown. All of them are so utterly eye-numbing that no one will even notice me.

“Do you have a hair tie?” I ask him, already pulling open his desk drawer to rummage around.

Hades shakes his head. “Why would I have a hair tie?”

I place a hand over my heart. “You always used to have at least one for me.”

“Yes, but then you started wearing your hair natural and got picky—” he pulls gently at one curl. “I don’t have any of the spirally kind you use.”

“Buy some then.”

“I will, I will.”

He grabs his phone off the desk and I tilt my head. I didn’t expect him to agree. Hades shoves the phone into his back pocket, twisting his pale hands together nervously. I have no idea why he’s actually going along with this. I thought he’d say no. Stealing his journal back is a pretty big offense at Bajomundo. His parents will hear about it, and that’ll cost him.

“So what exactly is your big plan?” Hades asks me, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You tell me where McLann’s office is. We sneak over there. I pick the lock. We get your journal, and we leave Bajomundo. Just for the weekend.”

“They’ll notice I’m gone.”

“You’ve never had an infraction before, the worst they’ll do is detention.” I wiggle my fingers in the air. “Maybe a suspension. And I’m not convinced they’ll notice. Didn’t you say you rarely leave your room on the weekends anyway?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “but there’s meals and stuff.”

“It’ll be fine. Come on, Hades. Don’t you want to come to Olimpo?”

The unspoken with me lingers in the air, and I know adding it would be too much. Hades spooked the last time I tried to insinuate any of this between us was more than childhood friendship, literally jumped three feet in the air. Says he’s read too many books with that trope to know it rarely ends well. I think he’s wrong, and I know he’d break if I actually tried to step over that line again. But I’ll respect what he wants. Arms-length and wrapped in childhood memories.

“Alright,” he finally says. “let’s do it. But if we get caught I’m throwing you to the headmaster’s mercy.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, kid.”

Hades opens the heavy wooden door, poking his head out and looking up and down the hall of the boy’s dorm. Boarding schools really should have more security. He snaps his fingers behind his back. All clear. He lets me slip out first, and we start inching our way down the dimly hit hallways. They only use these weird lantern things at Bajomundo, like they’re still stuck in the 19th century, that cast an orangey glow over the dark wood floors of the hallway. I get the aesthetic of it, I do. But it’s not really that practical, and it makes everything feel so dull all the time.

Bajomundo is the opposite of Olimpo in every way. Where Olimpo is marble columns and bright chandeliers, plush furniture, and greenery at every corner, Bajomundo is dark wood and low walls, wooden furniture, and iron touches. That’s not the greatest crime, though. From an architectural point of view, it’s interesting enough, if not my vibe. No, Bajomundo’s style isn’t what makes it so hateable. Its ideas do. It thinks by locking up its students, stifling their interests, and not allowing extracurricular beyond anything that has to do with their studies, it’ll create the best of the best. It doesn’t allow outside friendships, which is why I’m an illegal contraband. It doesn’t allow the arts, or humanities, beyond basic English classes needed to graduate.

Utter baloney. It’s like they’re all dead or something.

“Stop.” Hades sticks his arm out and I crash into it.

“What—”

He yanks me behind a wooden column, pushing me against it with the arm still wrapped around me. One hand clamps down on my mouth, stifling the yelp that he knew was coming. Footsteps pass nearby, but they don’t come closer. Hades remove his hand but keeps his arm holding me to the column as he sticks his head out to look around the corner. I take the opportunity to analyze his hair. It’s grown almost to his ears again, but it won’t be long before Bajomundo’s administration sends him to the barber to shave down the dark hair into a nice boy style again. He looks better when the hair is grown out over his dark eyes.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“Security guard. The only one in the entire building really. I’m not even sure why they pay him, no one here ever bothers doing anything like this.” He pauses. “No one put us, that is. He’s a sleepy guy, probably won’t come by here again till his third coffee.”

“You know how many coffees he drinks?”

Hades rolls his eyes. “Figure of speech, Seph. Point is, we’re good.”

“You writers and your figures of speech.”

“Alright, go.” He points me down the hall to the door we’re headed for. “Take my ID, open the door. I’ll be right behind you.

“Sounds dandy,” I whisper back.

Hades hands me the small card and I glance down at it as I hurry down the hall. Dìyù Zhao. 12th grade. ID Number: 791254. I’m the only one who calls him Hades, which is what his Chinese name stands for. We thought it was cool, as kids. Hades and Persephone. The myth come to life. But just friends of course. We wouldn’t want to let some dusty Greek myth dictate our lives, Dìyù says. Literature isn’t fate. But he still wants me to call him Hades. Just me. I try not to cling to that too much.

I reach the door and slide the ID card through the reader, the tiny beep sounding like a trumpet in the quiet hall. One panicked look behind me and all I see is Hades, reaching the door with me and motioning me through. He looks worried. He always looks worried nowadays. I wish I could fix that, but all I can really do is steal his journal back, and maybe, whisk him away to something different for a few days.