7
O muse, o alto ingegno, or m'aiutate;
8
o mente che scrivesti ciò ch'io vidi,
9
qui si parrà la tua nobilitate.

The Divine Comedy - The Descent

Solomon never rushed his morning routine. He'd go into the bathroom and empty whatever what was left of last night's dinner from his body. And then, he'd wash his hands (preferably with hot water) and brush his teeth (preferably with cold). Every once in a while, he'd look at himself, making sure he hadn't changed or mutated into something foreign. He had a thin brown face, not unlike his mother's in the past, and black-brown hair that, no matter how much he'd cut off, grew down to his shoulders by the time summer came around.

Above his top lip was the thin ghost of a moustache that had finally decided to darken over the past three months. His chin, however, was (still) as smooth as a baby's ass. Solomon had thick eyebrows and a sharp nose, and a small scar that skewed the direction of his bottom lip ever so slightly. His eyes were brown and often lidded, not out of boredom, but just out of the natural makeup of his own face and genetics. Compared to Sam, his mother, he was almost a direct clone. Save for his height, which was all of his father's. At only fifteen years old, he had grown to the staggering length of 6 feet and three inches. Which was remarkable, since he was born three weeks premature and would not open his eyes until he was two to three months old.

Samantha could've sworn it was a miracle, although, it also could've been the goat milk.

All of his limbs were long, and he towered over everyone, including his grandfather, who must've shrunk over these past few years. His middle was curveless and, save for the extra inch of fat on his torso, he was as thin as a lamp post.

He puts his toothpaste and toothbrush away and undresses. His chest still has scars, his arms still have scars. He threads a finger down one old incision and pauses before he pulls a black t-shirt over his head and black jeans over his legs. He slips downstairs in his socks; his gym shoes sat at the edge of the front door, along with his currently empty backpack, waiting for him.
"There's the sophomore!" his mom announced from her coffee cup. "It's a new school year, hun."

He half-smiled and sat beside her as she pushed a plate of eggs and toast, "Eat up. But don't take too long, your bus should be here at around 7:30." He nods and does what she said, "So," he says through a mouthful of bread, "Are you leaving work earlier to pick me up? It's always a half-day on the first and last day?"

She shook her head, "Not today, Solomon. A girl quit the diner last Tuesday, which means that I gotta work overtime until a replacement's found again."

"Oh." Well, that went that escape plan, "Besides, I'm sure your bus can make both ways."

He bit his inner cheek. Did she just forget what happened a few nights ago?! He didn't want to ride the bus going or coming, he just wanted to keep getting harassed! He swallows, maybe if he framed it in a different way, "Well...when you remember last week..."

"Don't worry about last week, Solomon." she sighs, "What's done is done and there's not much we can do about it but wait."

"Right mom."

He wanted to scream.

"Say, where's shicheii?"

"Hm? Your grandpa Seth? Dad's ran off to his usual spot. You know, where the gold is?"

"Or where he thinks it is."

"Right."

Which also meant that he wouldn't be able to pick him up in time, either.

"Fuck."

"Stop cussin'." He covers his mouth, "Yes ma'am." and drops his plate in the sink.

Shoes are laced just in time for his bus. He grabs his backpack and waves, but on the inside, he's still cussing.

The bus' gates swing open. The driver is one of the teachers, a squat white woman with graying red hair and freckles, she smiles. "Solomon."

"Mrs. Stanton."

They both exchange a glance of, ‘Here we go again', as he boards. ‘She saw the news. Everyone saw the news.' he thought as he avoided the stares. More than a dozen eyes burned a hole in him that day, he almost thought he'd burst into flames.

"Tch, Solomon, over here!"

He looks up, there's an empty seat in the back across from two other boys his age. One teen was shorter and rounder with a buzz cut and an ROTC uniform. He was lighter skinned and had hazel eyes, but the sharpness of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes made it clear that he was, at least, half-Navajo. The other one was rail-thin, with light brown hair that was long enough to reach his ears. He wore thick rimmed glasses and had a crooked smile framed by braces. His skin was dark, only a shade lighter than Solomon, but his eyes were green.

One couldn't tell straight away, but both boys were twins. Brian, the chubbier one, was the eldest one by an hour, while ‘Anthony', took his time to crawl out of his mother. The fertilization of two different eggs, instead of one, simply owed to how different they looked from one another.

"Brian! Tony!" he waves, and for a moment, things feel normal. He rushes to his empty seat, and with a gush of gas exhaust, the bus begins to move.

"Man, how've you been?" asked Tony

"Yeah, we heard about what happened with Virginia. I even even inboxed you!" proclaimed Brian, still unused to the idea of having a deeper voice than before. He sounded like a man, but he was definitely still a boy.

Solomon shrugs, "Sorry about that, I haven't been on since May."

"You still could've called, Solomon." said Brian.

"Yeah, Disneyworld was pretty fun." said Anthony.

He smiles, "Oh yeah? Well, maybe I can ask your parents if I can come with you guys next year?"

"Sure, but you're cleaning it up if you get sick." mentioned Tony "Remember how you threw up strawberry ice cream all over our dad in the Sixth grade on our way back from Houston? He smelled like breyer's for a week!"

All three laughed.

Brian, Anthony, and Solomon have all been friends since the second grade. Although, recently, they've seen less and less of each other during school, they do tend to stick around each other whenever there's free time. And, of course, the internet.

While their interests changed, somehow, Solomon still liked to be around them. Enough to consider them his only friends.

The bus finally stopped at their intended destination.

"Well, we'll see ya' at lunch, Solomon. I think we're taking Spanish II together, though, right?"

"Yeah." Solomon answered as they filed out of the bus, "6th period."

They waved and left Solomon in front of the school to check his schedule, "First period is chemistry," he read aloud.

That's when saw her, "Hey Solomon." her voice, southern and light. She almost sounded like a young country singer even when she spoke.

"Emily, hi." he just had to be talking to no one when she came around. Great.

She gives him a polite wave and melts back into her clique. Blonde hair flying behind her.

Emily Davis was one of the few white kids that went to his 99.6% middle school, and now, High school. She was blonde, with blue eyes, and never frowned from what he'd seen. She wasn't exactly popular, but she was known, and had a group of girls that seemed to shield her. Also as if they had protected her, from him, especially.

Also, Solomon was in love with Emily.

He knew he'd been in love with her since the seventh grade, when she moved into his district with her father, a dentist that had a practice in town, and he had been in love with her ever since.

He knew it was love, because, even though he knew next to nothing about her, he still felt drawn to her. That meant that you were in love, right?

At least he was able to speak to her more, now. Her group would disband at certains, so sometimes, he could catch her in the hall or the library, and luckily, 6th period Spanish.

He was in love with Emily Davis. He had to. He firmly decided this.

<...>

First period started off quickly, his teacher was a man in mid-thirties who had already begun to bald, and instead of assigning homework and schoolwork so suddenly, he only asked, "Stand up. State your name. Tell me something interesting."

Which was just as bad, as far as Solomon was concerned.

"My name is Thomas Chee. I'm a basketball player."

"I'm Maria Halwood, and my sister is going to be in the Miss Navajo Nation pageant this year."

"My name is Patrick Begay. And I'm gay."

"My name is..."

He bit his lip. He tried to rehearse his own line. ‘My name is Solomon Dinétsfósí and my mom co-owns a diner....My name is Solomon Dinétsfósí and my mom co-owns a diner....
My name is Solomon Dinétsfósí and my mom co-owns a diner....'

It was just about to be his turn to stand when a rapid barrage of knocks lands on his classroom door.

The chemistry teacher gets up to move and opens the door.

"You're late. Stand in front of the class and introduce yourself before you sit down."

Here enters the new girl. She was small, with equally light curves, which made her seem younger than she probably was. Her skin was dark; browner than most of her classmates, and her nose was flat against her face with a small upturn. Instead of brown or black curls, she had the most unusual shade of maroon he'd ever seen on a black girl, so he'd assumed that it was probably dyed.

She had wide eyes, black and slightly angled, with dark long lashes. And her outfit was eye-bleedingly bright; deep purple overall shorts, buttoned over a goldenrod t-shirt, and lime-green socks. She wore orange-red sneakers with a backpack that matched and a white mesh sweater. Side-swooped bangs were clipped back with a lemon-yellow barrette in the shape of a shooting star, and her fingernails were a deep shade of blue.

She was garish and loud, and she hadn't even said a word.

She stood there in silence, "Name?"

"Makeda."

"Minerva who?"

She turns back to look at the teacher and back at the class, "Makeda Minerva Dixon."
He checks his student role, "Ah, a Miss Makeda Dixon." he checks her name off, and she quietly tries to slip away, but she's caught.

"Wait... you didn't tell us anything about yourself." says one girl, "Yeah, you made us all stand up and say something, why can't she?"

She's unusually calm for a girl her age, most kids would at least blanche at this, but she seemed passive, almost bored by this.

"Miss Dixon, your classmates are right. You do need to share something with the class."

"Alright, I'll share." She moves back to the front and for a second, she shares eye contact with Solomon. And it almost felt like she sapped all of the color out of his face. This girl was weird. And she was about to get even weirder.

"I just moved here." On her back, you could see something grow. White light materialized into something physical.

‘Wings?'

They were white and quite large to be on such a small girl, but the thing that got him was; no one seemed to notice. Not even the teacher.

"Is that all, Miss Dixon?" the chemistry teacher pressed on. She's quiet again.

"Yes."

"Alright then, take a seat."

Solomon blinked. The wings. They were still there.
When she moves to take a seat behind him, he could feel it brush against his cheek. It felt warm, strange, and familiar.

Was he going insane?

Maybe.