Chapter 7 #2
He shakes his head. Odd, sure, but some people aren’t glued to technology.
From the looks of him, he doesn’t seem like the type.
Maybe he’s Amish? That would explain his getup, at least. Or maybe it broke, like last year when Kaelee Shornberg shattered her phone, and her parents refused to send her a new one.
I rummage through the bin, careful to keep my voice low. “Do you know anyone in New York?”
“I don’t.” He’s watching me curiously. “Do you?”
I find a large Ivernia hoodie and toss it his way. “Well, yeah. I go to school here.”
William holds the sweatshirt in front of him, inspecting it curiously. I find matching joggers and hand them over. They seem like his size, if not a little larger. “You should change.”
“Why?”
“Because you just said you don’t have anything on you.” I withhold adding, And your current attire is giving “I jumped Willy Wonka and stole his outfit.” “You’re probably not going to want to wear that to bed, right?”
He tilts his head, then drops his gaze to the heap of material I’ve pushed into his arms. That’s when I realize—
“Oh, sorry.” I turn around to give him privacy.
His boots land with a heavy smack on the linoleum. “This is a peculiar place.”
His colloquialisms are different, I realize. It makes him seem wiser somehow. Or maybe it’s how everyone speaks over there. I’ve never been to London, let alone meandered anywhere outside the East Coast, so what do I know?
“I guess,” I say, because I don’t know what else to offer. “And, uh, you’re from London?”
“Dunbry Park,” he corrects. “A rural town outside the city.”
It’s important I don’t make an enemy of this guy. He currently holds the power to get me in trouble, since I am once again breaking post-curfew rules in favor of assisting him, even though it’s not my fault he ran into me.
“Listen,” I say as a weighty thump of fabric joins his boots on the ground.
I don’t even want to think about how clean these floors aren’t.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I had a shitty night and thought you were trying to stop me from playing this game of Capture the Flag, which is this tradition we have. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone I was here.
In Segner, I mean.” A muffled shuffling, followed by a light exhale.
I wait, then add, “So…maybe we can start over?”
There’s a long pause.
“All right,” I hear him say. “We may start over.”
Relief winds through my chest. I check my phone. Five minutes ago, Sabine sent: Need backup?? but Inessa still hasn’t responded. If she were out, she would have updated. My gut tells me she’s still inside.
My phone buzzes. Another message from Sabine. Mica and Brayden are heading back.
Well, crap. I’m going to need to move quicker.
“I’ve dressed,” William announces.
I whirl around. It’s like looking at a completely different person.
In less than two minutes he’s gone from Great Expectations to Instagram model.
Tossed aside is his hat with the remainder of his attire, cravat and all.
His deep sandy waves curl around his ears while the rest sweeps back to reveal round amber eyes, which give him a crushingly tender outward appearance when he’s not actively scowling.
He looks like any other Ivernia student.
Even under these unforgiving fluorescents, it’s hard to deny William is…
attractive. Angular nose. Defined cheekbones.
Slight divot in his chin. But he also puts effort into how he presents himself.
The way he’s careful not to slouch and how he smells like incense and patchouli and something else I can’t quite place.
It’s very regal, which isn’t a huge shock considering how he introduced himself.
Most students have parents who are lawyers and senators and CEOs. He’ll fit right in.
He begins collecting his discarded clothes in a bundle. “May I ask you a question?”
I start toward the exit. “Go for it.”
“Is it traditional for a lady to wear trousers here?”
I glance down at my corduroy pants. “Is that a diplomatic way of saying you hate my outfit?”
“I’ve offended you.” He slips into a frown. “Forgive me.”
“It’s not—you’re fine. Though maybe chill with the misogynistic undertones.” I stifle a yawn. I can’t remember the last time I stayed up this late. “We should get going. But we need to be fast, all right? I’m not supposed to be here.”
William doesn’t drop his gaze. “You know,” he says, as if about to present a mundane comment about the weather, “you have the most striking eyes.”
My heart stutters. No one has ever complimented me so confidently, without an ounce of sarcasm or insincerity, that it takes me a second to realize I’m waiting for a punch line that won’t come. William waits patiently for my response, eyes wide and earnest. It makes my face grow warm.
Then the fluorescents flicker again, and the trance breaks.
“I— Thank you,” I finally manage.
He nods. “Of course.”
“Well, okay then.” I place my hand on the doorknob. “Let’s go.”
But before I can push us through and escape undetected, the door behind us swings open.