“There’s a loophole concerning its name. Technically, it’s classified as a dragon and can be considered magical. Besides, who’d argue with a former battle mage?”

“She was in here earlier,” Morgan says. “Rummaging about and cursing.”

“Really? What was she looking for?”

“No idea. But she was after something in there.” He nods toward my dad’s office, tucked away alongside private reading rooms.

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve never heard an old lady use words like those before.” Morgan pretends to fan himself and I can’t help but smile as a few more knots of tension untangle themselves from my shoulders. This guy is not how I expected an ubermagical-mensch to be.

“My dad’s been out of town. This is his office.” I try the door, but it’s locked. Of course the caretaker would have keys, but still, something niggles in my belly. No one should be rummaging through his office while he isn’t around.

“What’s up?” Morgan swerves in beside me.

“It’s probably nothing,” I say as one of the ancient grandfather clocks Mom refused to let Dad keep at home starts ding-donging the hour. “I should be getting back.” I head for the coatrack. Skipping chemistry is one thing, but I don’t want to miss history. It’s one of the only subjects that doesn’t involve practical mageship.

He does that hair flick thing again and pulls on an acid-washed denim jacket covered in band patches and Sharpie-drawn anarchy a’s.

“It was nice meeting you, Morgan—properly, I mean.”

“Agreed, but I do have a question, if you don’t mind.” He looks nervous and I’m not sure what to expect.

I nod, braced for the worst.

“What pronouns do you use? Sorry if I’m a jerk for asking, but I didn’t want to get it wrong.”

I could cry. Right here, right now. Tears are welling up in my throat and burning inside my nose again. No one has ever asked. Everyone just assumes. In Finnish, everyone is hän, which makes life easier and less embarrassing. But in English, everyone makes assumptions based on what I’m wearing or the length of my hair or something else completely arbitrary.

“I—” I gulp air and swallow down the happy tears.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s just people don’t usually ask. It’s nice that you did. Thank you.”

He gives me a moment and then says, “So, your pronouns are?”

“Oh, right. I use they and them.” My face must be turning cherry red. I look down, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Cool. Kelly, our guitarist, they’re a they too.”

I look up and he’s smiling, the expression softer somehow.

“Maybe we can hang out again sometime?” I ask before my brain can think better of it.