When I finished the speech, I was surrounded by my Alchemy classmates (they called dibs).
It wasn't that I was such a desirable companion, or that popular, you see.
It was that I was a trophy, to be contested by both departments in a game of tug of war.
Except I didn't have the tensile strength of a rope.
I was already showing signs of strain.
They were getting me drunk, you see.
Or trying to.
"No," I said, as one of my classmates, Scott Claiborne, was trying to pour me another pitcher. "No more. One is enough, thankyouverymuch. My husband wants me sober."
I probably make Jack sound like a horrible tyrant, but I've found it rather convenient lately to use him as a get out of jail card for all social engagements.
You see, it's not that I don't like you, it's that my husband doesn't
