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I can even drive us so you don’t have to take the bus.”
    Owen only took the bus in the afternoons. In the morning, he ran to school and Hannah waited for the school bus, so thatshe could put his backpack on it. Most days, he beat the bus to school by several minutes. The cross-country coach had been devastated when Owen told her he simply didn’t have time to play school sports.
    â€œWorks for me!” he said, and then Mrs. Postma called for homework.
    Owen grimaced as he looked down at his assignment, but then squared his shoulders and handed it over. Most people who said things like “I’d rather face a dragon than take upper level algebra” meant it figuratively, but in Owen’s case it was the literal truth. He was only taking the class because you were more likely to be commissioned as an officer in the Oil Watch if you had maths and sciences on your transcript.
    â€œI talked with some of the guys during gym,” he said, as the paper shuffle went on around us. “They told me they’d never heard of Mr. Huffman doing anything like that before.”
    I thought about it for a moment. Our second Friday had been quite simple, just protecting a medieval castle, but it was still more exciting than regular class work.
    â€œHe did wish you good luck back at the beginning of the month,” I reminded him, finally. “Maybe this is his way of teaching you specifically. It’s not like it hurts the rest of us to learn it, and it definitely helps you, don’t you think?”
    â€œIt takes a village to train a dragon slayer?” Owen said skeptically.
    â€œSomething like that,” I said. I knew people were already starting to wonder if Owen would come back to Trondheim after his tour in the Oil Watch, or if he’d go where the money was, in the city. I hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to take on a dragon until he stoppedlooking so scrawny, and I knew he had his own doubts. He didn’t need my meddling. Also, I had that audition next week and we were probably going to have a pop quiz in algebra on Monday anyway, because Mrs. Postma was like that sometimes. “In any case, it was fun.”
    â€œMaybe next week, I’ll get to rescue you,” he said.
    â€œMaybe next week, you’ll be the dragon,” I pointed out.
    Whatever he might have said to that was probably more interesting than algebra, but since Mrs. Postma started to talk, I never found out what it was. For the next hour, there wasn’t much opportunity to chat. When the bell finally rang, we headed for our lockers. They were in the same hallway as everyone else in the eleventh grade, and I was surprised at how many people called out to wish Owen a good weekend in a way that seemed more genuine than starstruck. If I was Owen’s friend, I was clearly not the only one.
    â€œDid you tell your aunts I was coming over tonight?” I asked, wondering if he was looking for an out.
    â€œAunt Hannah told me to bring someone home,” he said. “She gets anxious when she thinks I’m not fitting in with the right crowd.”
    It dawned on me that Owen and I had been spending quite a bit of time together. None of it was particularly social, but my friendships had always leaned more toward “do you want to work on this English assignment” than “come over and meet my famous aunt.” Now that such an invitation had been issued, I had to wonder if my relationship with Owen was developing beyond something I was prepared to deal with. Still, the opportunity to meet Lottie Thorskard didn’t come along every day, even in a town as small as Trondheim. For that, I could at leasttry to be neoclassical for the evening.
    â€œAnd you think I’m the right crowd?” I said. I wasn’t exactly a crowd to begin with.
    â€œYou caught Pearson,” he said, as if that explained everything.
    â€œEveryone