Chapter Twelve #3
“It’s a birth-month party. Our whole year is invited,” Griffin says. “Academy tradition. You like dancing?”
“She doesn’t,” Mirabel says, as if that should be obvious to anyone.
She’s right. I’m not sure how she knew. Uncomfortable, I change the subject. “Do the RAs not police our partying at all?”
Griffin laughs. “Don’t wave a Solo cup around in the hall and you’ll be fine.”
“No noise curfew?”
“At midnight, we put in earbuds and switch to a silent dance party. Ever done one?”
Maybe it’s because Candace and Bree are mad at me, or because I’ve become a paranoiac since the trials started—but this whole conversation, from the Academy’s birth-month traditions to its midnight dances, feels like a trap: a way of forcing me to admit that I’m a sad greenhorn from flyover country with no right to be here, wait-listed and accepted on a fluke. I hunch down uncomfortably in my seat.
“I don’t dance either,” Vik says. “If you come, you can stand in the corner with me.”
I examine his face. He doesn’t seem mocking, so I rein in my irritation. “What would we talk about in the corner?”
“More books, if you wanted.”
“Which books?”
He shrugs. “Let’s say, books that give you complicated feelings.”
I’m cranky, but that response makes me smile.
Griffin glances between Vik and me, leans forward, and murmurs, “But you’ll step on her feet during the first dance if you guys don’t start practicing.”
Vik frowns. “First dance?”
Embarrassed, I fake boredom. “Griffin’s marrying us off in his head again.”
Vik’s eyes dart to Griffin, annoyed and—hurt? Is our betrothal that offensive to him?
Mirabel glances around the table, sighs, and ignores us all in favor of her salad.
***
When I key into the block after dinner, Candace and Bree are sitting close together on the sofa, talking in low voices. They go silent when they see me.
“Uh,” I say. “I’ll grab my stuff and get out of your hair.”
Bree shakes her head. “Stay. We’ve figured out how you can make it up to us.”
“How?” I try not to sound overeager.
“We’re the only transfers to make it past the first trial,” Bree says.
“That’ll be great for our grades. You helped that happen by pushing us to practice…
But you need to relax. You went way too far, siphoning us.
And have you done anything but study and navigate since you got here?
So when it’s time, we’re all dressing up and going to the September Birthdays party. ”
“Is that…” I’m not sure how to finish. Is that all I have to do?
The thing is, I’m not sure how bad what I did was—how badly I need to atone.
Is siphoning your teammates like clipping another basketball player’s face with your elbow on a rebound?
Stealing $20 from a friend’s purse? Assault and battery?
Are Candace and Bree too angry with me or not angry enough?
“I mean, I’ll go with you. Though I implied to Griffin and Vik and Mirabel I wouldn’t show. ”
“Why?” Candace asks. It’s the first thing she’s said since I walked in. I’m relieved she sounds intrigued, not furious.
“They were acting weird.”
“Weird how?”
Under other circumstances, I might tell Candace it was no big deal, but I’m so glad we’re talking that I run my mouth.
“Mirabel was hostile. I guess that’s not weird.
But Griffin brought up this running joke about me and Vik getting married, which I guess he’d never mentioned to Vik, because Vik got quiet—quieter—and looked, um, wounded? Which was borderline insulting.”
Candace nods. “That tracks.”
“It does?” Bree asks.
“Simple,” Candace says. “Griffin was using Vik as a prop to flirt with Norah. Vik didn’t like it. And Mirabel’s hung up on Griffin dumping her, so she didn’t like it either. Case closed. But, Norah, before we close the case on the other thing… Why’d you do it?”
At this point, Candace sounds more curious than angry. She wants to understand.
My mouth goes dry. I can’t tell her and Bree the whole truth: I’m scared to die, and if siphoning them is what it takes to save myself and Dad—yeah, I’ll siphon them.
But I owe them part of the truth, at least. As much as I can afford to share.
My eyes drop to our hummingbird carpet. I can’t look at Candace or Bree when I speak. “Maybe I—I should’ve trusted you guys to reopen the channels before I lost my grip on our nav.”
“You should have,” Candace agrees steadily.
“It’s just… I’ve got…trust issues.” I grimace, the cliché sour in my mouth. “Last year I had a—a family emergency. And my best friend since forever—she ghosted me. After that…”
I grind to a stop. My throat’s too tight. I sneak a glance at Candace and Bree, sitting in judgment.
Except they’re not judging.
Bree’s blue eyes overflow with empathy, like she’s completely forgotten that a few hours ago I gave her a fricking nosebleed over—as far as she knows—a guaranteed A-. “I’m so sorry, Norah.”
I squirm. Maybe I don’t know exactly how bad siphoning my teammates was, but I feel like Bree should hold on to her grudge a little longer. I would.
And Candace… She’s looking at me like she sees me. “Thanks for telling us,” she says quietly.