Hogwarts School of Gifted Youngsters || Sam & Bobby
Sam staggered out the front door of her apartment and down the lobby, clutching the pack of beers tightly to her chest. It was only when she reached the elevator--leaning against the cold metal just to keep her steady on her feet--that she remembered: public intoxication was against the law, carrying your booze out in the open not classy, might get robbed, blah, blah, blah. She sighed, and, pulling up her baggy pant leg, tucked a beer bottle against her ankle then tucked her pants into her boots (she’d have hidden another, but the left pant leg was currently hiding a bottle of cheap vodka). By the time the elevator came (it was always so slow in this dirty, cheap, all-she-could-afford building), Sam had hidden the rest of the beers under various parts of her hoody and was googling directions to this strange “school” on her very outdated smart phone. It looked--and sounded--to her like Hogwarts.
Had Sam been just a ounce more sober, the name might have rang a bell; Xavier’s Institute, was, after all, an outstanding and, at this point, famous institution--it’s name came up nearly every day in the Bugle and competitive papers as everyone wanted to get their two cents in about the “mutant cause”--for the better and for the worst. On her better days--AKA sober days--Sam had taken to investigating the school, learned about its history, its founders, the wonderful people it had spit out at the end of their learning. It seemed legit, one way or another, but the idea of anyone reading her mind on her way there was slightly intimidating--not that it mattered when she got lost ten times and ended up in, according to her phone, the school’s back yard and gave up; her thoughts quickly became the “out loud” kind anyway.
“Bobby!” she called, staggering then quickly catching herself on the edge of a well-trimmed shrub. “Whoops.” She straightened, moving closer to the buildings, seriously contemplating throwing a rock, but this was not Romeo and Juliet or a We The Kings music video. “Bobby Is the Sweetest Drake, where are you?” she hissed, not turning toward what she very much hoped was the front of the school.