Later, Sparrow receives a letter underneath his door. It reads as follows:
Dear Sparrow, I hate your stinkin' guts. You make me vomit. You're the scum between my toes. Love, Dexter
Sparrow frowns and snatches the paper up, then runs out without bothering to close the door behind him. He’s waving the paper in an agitated manner as he approaches Dexter. “That doesn’t rhyme at all!”
Dexter is taken aback at first until he realizes what exactly Sparrow is referring to. He sneers in a practiced way that only a dilettante can truly pull off. “It’s free verse.”
Sparrow gives him a dismissive scoff and turns without a backwards glance, assuming the entire thing to be over.
Dexter is not finished. Oh no, Dexter is not going to stand for his poetry skills being derided, especially by a Carly Fae Jepsen wannabe whose favorite band is My Chemythical Romance. Dexter metaphorically throws down the gauntlet by literally throwing his notebook full of notes from this morning’s Beast Training to the floor, which makes a satisfying thump when it lands on the shiny hallway.
“You want a rhyme? I’ll give you a rhyme!”
There’s a fire in his eyes that only one other person has been witness to before. Darling almost feels sorry for Sparrow. Almost. “Uh-oh, here we go.”
Sparrow looks over his shoulder before swiveling his entire body to face Dexter again, shifting into a relaxed stance. Oh, this is gonna be easy… or so he thinks.
Dexter snaps his fingers, then points at Sparrow. “You think you’re so great but you’re not all that, your haircut is dumb and so’s your hat.”
Sparrow’s face twists into one of extreme displeasure. “My hat is HIPSTER you wouldn’t understand—“
Dexter doesn’t let him finish his defense.
“Your attempts at music are so sad your name should be Sorrow, and if you ever wink at my sister a g a i n I will knock you into tomorrow”
Sparrow is silent, completely at a loss for words.
Dexter returns his stunned stare.
Darling shakes her head slightly at the whole event. She’s seen much weirder at this school; much stranger this week even, but somehow she knows that the scene that just played out in front of her eyes will be hard to forget.
“I’m in love,” Humphrey sighs. When Darling glances his way, he squeaks and hides his face behind his mirrorpad. That wasn’t supposed to be out loud.
The magic of the moment falls, and Dexter shifts. He’s his usual, awkward self again, all long limbs without the slightest idea of what to do with them. One hand comes to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other adjusts his perfectly-straight glasses. “I have no idea where that just came from...”
