My school was a fucking piece of shit. The classrooms were always so fucking hot, and the fans barely worked. I remember when they turned them on, they were always shaking so much I always imagined they were going to fall over at any moment and crush everyone below. Besides, all the desks were broken, the basketball hoops didn't have backboards or rims or anything—although that didn't bother us that much because we didn't have any balls either—there was never toilet paper in the bathrooms—and you really needed it 'cause of all the shit overflowing the toilets—and we had a computer lab, but no computers.
And it wasn't just the facilities that fucking sucked; there was always at least one fucking idiot much older than everyone else in our group who for one reason or couldn't graduate and was always messing with us, and the teachers never did shit about it 'cause they were too busy trying to fuck the students.
Worst of all, none of us felt school was worth anything. It was no wonder why so many students just dropped out. They either joined gangs, became junkies, or disappeared overnight, never to be heard from again. We were used to it, but when Paco left, we really felt the change. We still went to practice magic, but it wasn't the same anymore.
One day we rented the only magic book from the library and were about to go to our usual abandoned building, but Juan told us:
"We shouldn't go there; there's a bunch of clowns outside".
That's how everyone called the members of the new gang, the one who killed the Kings. It was called "Joke," and its members wore clown makeup. Yeah, they all looked pretty dumb, but they'd kill at the slightest provocation, and they'd also beat up kids and teenagers every time they saw them until they ended up joining their gang. That's how almost all gangs are: if you're not with them, you're against them.
"But if we stayed," I told Jorge, "the evening guys will see us."
Our school had so many students, some of them took class in the morning, and the rest in the evening. I always went in the morning, and we all knew the evening guys were either gang members, junkies, criminals, or idiots who signed up late and couldn't get a spot in the morning turn.
"What if we go to your place instead," Juan asked me.
"We'd end up annoying my mom," I told him. "What if we go to yours?"
"Same," he said, and we both looked at Jorge. He shook his head. We never went to his place or learned anything about his family, but we were sure it was much worse than ours.
"Whatever," I said. "Let's go to our building".
Jorge and I walked towards the school exit, but Juan didn't follow us.
"So what if we learn magic?" he asked. "Nothing will change."
"You can do anything with magic," I said.
"You can't even move a fucking feather," that asshole replied.
""That's 'cause I'm doing something wrong, and that's why I need to practice," I said, and I was absolutely right.
Suddenly, that fucking asshole pushed me.
"All that fucking magic didn't help Paco" he said, trying not to cry.
"Maybe he comes back," I said, even though I didn't believe that as well.
"He's already dead!" Juan shouted what we were all thinking.
I remember really well that I wanted to tell him that it wasn't true, that magic can do anything, that there are many children who drop out of school and it's not because they die, that he should shut his fucking mouth because nobody had asked him.
But, as always, I kept all that to myself and kept my fucking mouth shut.
"This is all bullshit," he said and left.
Jorge and I just saw him running down the street until he turned right somewhere.
We didn't say anything for a while. Well, at least I did 'cause Jorge almost never spoke at all.
"It's not bullshit," I finally said, and Jorge shook his head. "He was just practicing that same spell, and that one was worthless."
And I kept talking:
"And besides, Paco was always telling him to practice more spells, and he never listened. He just practiced the same one over and over again. It was his own fault. Magic does work, magic can do anything, and that's why there are so many spells, not just one."
"He shouldn't blame magic; magic can make anything."
Then I looked at Jorge.
"You think Paco's really dead?"
Jorge shrugged.
"Wherever he is, he is somewhere else," he said.
And yeah, he could be anywhere doing anything.
"Maybe he even left to learn more magic, and maybe one day he'll come back like a really powerful magician, but I'm going to beat him 'cause I'm gonna practice every day and I'm not gonna quit, and we're gonna do everything with magic, and we're gonna show Juan that magic's not bullshit."
And I ran toward the abandoned building, and Jorge followed me. In the streets, you could still see the bodies of some of the Kings hanging from traffic lights and lampposts. There weren't as many as before, and that was 'cause there weren't any Kings alive anymore.
We arrived at the building, went up the usual stairs, and got into one of the rooms. I took out the book and my feather and started practicing, but no matter how much I read and reread and practiced that basic telekinesis spell, that damn feather just didn't move a bit.
"Move," I kept saying, but that piece of shit wouldn't listen. "Move, please. Move, move, move, move."
Nothing.
I turned towards Jorge, and he was practicing the same spell as me.
But his fucking feather was moving, it was always moving, and he didn't make any effort or anything, as if it was so easy that only a fucking idiot would have trouble doing it.
"How you do it?" I asked him, and he just shrugged. I don't think he didn't want to tell me; I think he didn't know either.
I stared at him for a while hoping to see what I was doing wrong, if there was a trick or something, but no, he just had his hand wide open, and the feather was moving.
"It's okay, I just need to practice," I muttered to myself, turning back to my feather. I tried that spell again.
But nothing happened.
And Jorge kept moving his like it was no big deal.
"Move, move, Moooooove."
But nothing happened.
"Move; move, please; move; MOVE!" I finally yelled, and then I closed my eyes, covered my face with my hands, and started breathing slowly. "Shut up, you asshole, shut up. That's why your dad always. You're such a nuisance to everyone."
I took my hands away from my face, opened my eyes, and my feather had moved a little.
I thought it must have moved 'cause of the scream, and that's why I didn't get excited or anything. I kept practicing until nighttime, but the feather didn't move again.