Chapter 16
Analiese and I lounge on a blanket near the lake, textbooks and spiral notebooks and gel pens spread between us.
This is what we’ve always done. Studying in the common room on Tuesday and Thursday nights, lake or library on Sundays, depending on the weather.
This routine provides me with stability, even if so much is different now.
Studying has its own rhythm and order. I entrap myself in a bubble where it’s okay to get lost in the work, and it tethers me in a way my scattered thoughts can’t.
When Analiese asked why I’d been so absent this week, I created vague excuses.
I let her believe I was in my room when, in reality, I was showing William how to use my old phone and WhatsApp to send messages.
“Like a telegraph,” he’d marveled. And after I’d answered his ten thousand questions, he began sending texts one word at a time until I explained it didn’t really work like that.
There was another evening he’d rushed to find me in the Hyde commons and, voice low and urgent, said, “You must come see what’s going on in the toilets.”
“You know,” I’d replied, “it’s okay to keep some things to yourself.”
As it turned out, he was utterly fascinated by the concept of automatic hand dryers.
Other evenings, when Sumner was off doing god knows what, I took over trying to keep William out of trouble while simultaneously explaining the finer points of our current era—like why you can’t drink mouthwash and how “What’s up?
” isn’t a question that requires a literal answer.
Another time, he’d thrown a finger toward the sky and exclaimed, “Preposterous!” at an airplane, which then led to a deep dive on modern aviation.
Technology was another challenge. I taught him how to submit assignments from the library’s computer lab and how to check his class portal.
Watching him sit there, studying the screen, almost made me believe he could fit in.
Despite teaching these contemporary advancements, it’s started to feel like he’s always been here.
But then he opens his mouth and says things like, “That Stelmak is a splathering imbecile,” and I’m reminded that none of this is normal.
He’s been lying low with socializing as promised, taking a more observational route, but I don’t miss the stony glares students shoot him between passing periods. Word of his rudeness has gotten around. I’m sure the rowing team had something to do with it.
Yesterday in Honors English, Inessa claimed the seat next to me and said, “The new kid, Enzo, is a giant asshole, isn’t he?” then explained how he wore an expression of abject horror when she removed her uniform cardigan during class, as though her bare forearms were offensive.
“Well, what was so wrong with modest petticoats and engageantes?” he’d asked me later.
“Nothing, geez,” I had to explain. “We just have more choices now.”
All this to say, I don’t dare share anything else about William with Analiese. I’m hoping she’s no longer targeting him as the focus of her article. The more he avoids confrontation and blends in, the better.
I’m trying to concentrate on the assignment Mrs. Vidar-Tett expects me to turn in tomorrow, but every so often I’m distracted by shifts in the breeze and the faint woodsmoke and earthy soil scent it carries.
A promise of fall. The edges of leaves are tinged in rich reds and oranges.
Water laps at the creaky dock in the distance, soothing and methodical.
Beyond that, the gray-blue outline of the mountains hugs the horizon.
I categorize these moments in the folds of my memory, my own sacred collection.
I give up on the assignment. Instead, I retrieve my dad’s journal from my bag and begin flipping through it, pausing when I come across a passage.
We remain on this infinite search for meaning, only to be met with answers we may never get.
Our search for a greater significance is a comfort to our ephemeral existence.
Perhaps these mysteries propel some of us to dive deeper into enlightenment.
For others, uncertainty is unsettling. But if I had to put my firm belief in anything, it’s that we must know when to relinquish and embrace the unknown.
My fingers run over his words. I hear his voice so clearly an ache twists uncomfortably in my heart.
When I turn the page, I linger on a strange drawing.
It almost looks like the cent symbol, an elongated C with a line through the middle.
My brows pull together. There’s a detailed sketch of some kind of box on the following page, almost like a blueprint accompanied by complex equations.
Written at the top is the word isoborometer.
I’ve never heard of this before, but my dad always had his hands in different areas of theory.
He’s even written notes to himself in the margins.
Suddenly, overlapping chatter carries over from the lake. A group of guys are gathered on the dock, their attention drawn to someone in a canoe. I recognize Justin Lee and Luke Stelmak and a few others from crew, but only one of them is wearing a full suit of armor out on the open water.
Analiese’s gaze flicks toward the chaos. “They’re so stupid.”
Gooseflesh prickles up my arms as panic coats my throat. I slam my laptop shut and spring to my feet. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a strong feeling I know who’s involved.
“I’ve got to—” I start to say, but the rest of the thought dies as I sprint toward the dock.
Even though it’s not allowed, hazing happens. Nothing awful, nothing that leads to suspension or expulsion, but it’s humiliating, nonetheless. I have a strong sense that’s what this is.
My feet pound against the wooden slats as I draw nearer.
It’s chillier by the water. Some of the senior crew guys unleash uproarious laughter.
They’re gathered near a bobbing canoe, and that’s when I confirm William’s the one wearing the armor that’s usually displayed in Segner’s common room.
Metal on metal clashes as he shifts, the canoe tipping dangerously at the motion.
The protective visor clangs over his eyes and obstructs his view as his hands grasp either side of the swaying structure.
And then Luke Stelmak punts him away from the dock with a strong shove.
Without oars.
I push my way through half a dozen idiots until I’m standing at the very edge of the dock.
“Are you kidding me?” I whirl around, eyes flashing. “How is he supposed to get back?”
Justin steps around me. “Who cares?”
“Don’t worry, Delaney.” Stelmak’s wicked grin expands. “All he has to do is take off the armor and swim.”
Out on the water, William peels the helmet away and lets it land with a thunk by his feet. His frantic eyes find mine, round with panic.
Footsteps shuffle across the dock as the boys begin to leave.
“Where are you going?” I demand.
“Inside,” Justin calls over his shoulder. “Later.”
I withhold the urge to shove him in the water as William drifts further away. A two-seater practice boat is roped to one of the posts, dipping over tiny waves. I’ve never rowed in my life, but I have seen plenty of people do it in movies. That counts, I decide. It can’t be that hard.
I’m working the knot in the rope when a shadow falls over me. “What are you doing?” Sumner asks, casual, as if we planned to meet here.
“Transcendental equations,” I hurl over my shoulder. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like,” he says, “you’re flipping classic fairy tales on their head and saving the knight in shining armor.”
My fingers continue to pry at the rope. I can’t do this with him right now.
Instead, he pushes it further. “He’s fine.”
I glance out into the water and see William attempting to stand. He wobbles, legs shaking, then sits back down. Sumner palms the back of his neck, as if questioning what he just said.
“And if he, I don’t know, drowns in that armor? Don’t you think that may impact the course of history based on what we currently know?” A frustrated exhale bubbles from my lips. “I mean, did you even ask if he knows how to swim?”
“Why are you acting like this is my idea?” Sumner volleys. “I had no part in this.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
The rope finally loosens. I start to lower myself into the boat, but before I can push off, Sumner steadies his hand on the bow.
“Carmichael.” His gray eyes are bright in the afternoon sunlight. “Have you even rowed before?”
“No,” I admit through gritted teeth.
A fed-up sigh escapes from the back of his throat, and the next thing I know, he’s shifting into the seat behind me.
I reach for an oar. “No way you know your way around one of these.”
He gets to it first, securing his hands in position. This, I realize too late, pisses him off. His eyebrows pinch together, mouth tightening. And before I can say anything else, we’re moving. Steadily. The oars cut through the water like butter. His motions are shockingly agile.
My brain can’t resist the urge to launch another pointed comment. “Did your new friends give you tips or something?”
“Considering I’ve joined the team,” Sumner says through a grunt, “I don’t exactly need them.”
I whirl around. “Since when?”
“Since Monday.”
I face the open water. Sumner. On the rowing team.
The last sport I’d expect him to join. It does, however, fill in the gaps of his absence.
But Sumner does not have an athletic side.
A gaming side, sure, but he’s the guy with equations scrawled across his skin and a mental database of calculus so extensive it gives me a headache.
Except—maybe that’s not true anymore. He’s now also the guy laughing with Hailey Collins and getting on with a whole new group of friends. The very group that shoved William out into the lake.
Now he guides us toward the canoe with speed and dexterity I don’t expect. As we grow closer, I notice William’s removed most of the armor, all of which lies abandoned by his feet.
Leaving him very much shirtless underneath.