Chapter 42
Trinity arrives at my dorm room that evening. We’re both wearing our dress uniforms as expected for the pledging ceremony. Her silver ribbon has been replaced with one in dark red to signal her recruitment to the E-squad. I avoid looking at it too closely.
Mine is purple, telling everyone I’m a cadet.
Telling my father that I’m a cadet.
“How are you feeling?” I ask as she drops onto my bed.
“Nervous. You?”
“Same. Have you talked to your parents?”
Trinity shakes her head. “No, and I’ve stopped trying. I knew this was inevitable. I understand it.”
I frown. “Do you, though?”
I kind of expect this behavior from my parents. But the Robinses? I thought they were different. They’ve always been so kind and understanding, the parents we could run to when we got ourselves into a scrape. The ones who’d speak on our behalf when we needed an adult in our corner.
But I guess they aren’t different at all.
How could they be? A bit of childhood mischief isn’t the same as going against your House, I suppose.
Everything they have hinges on their compliance with Society.
If they acknowledged Trinity, would they lose everything? They have another child to worry about.
Trinity gives me a sad look. “What else should I do?”
I hate that answer, but I have to concede she’s right. A moment later, Domino comes out of the bathroom, also dressed for tonight.
“Hey,” I say. “Ready to head down?”
She nods as she exchanges a tight smile with Trinity.
Neither has said anything to me, but I don’t sense much warmth between them. I’m not sure if Trinity is being a snob and Domino is picking up on that, but I brush past it because I have too many other things to worry about right now.
The Robinses aren’t expected at the ceremony, but I don’t have that luxury.
The stalemate with my father is about to end, whether either one of us wants it to or not.
. . .
The pledging ceremony is a splashy affair with fancy food, cocktails, and entertainment.
The parents get all dressed up to show off their kids and whatever meaningless assets they’ve accumulated since the last Society fete.
It’s Friday, and we have no curfew, so it’ll be a late night for everyone.
In fact, the celebration will continue through the weekend.
Journey meets us outside her door with a big smile.
“Hey!” She waves. “Who’s excited?”
Her enthusiasm chafes my already frayed nerves.
“Actually, you look a little green, Poet,” she says, peering at me. “You okay? You’re not going to throw up, are you? Should we get a bucket?”
I watch Domino lay a hand on Journey’s arm and give her a meaningful look.
“Ohhhh,” Journey says, smacking her forehead. “Riiiiight. You’ve got some family baggage to deal with, I guess, hey? Were your parents mad or something? What did they say? Are you in trouble now? What’s the deal when someone like you changes Houses?”
She’s talking so fast that my temples throb.
“I don’t think Poet wants to talk about it,” Domino says, and I toss her a grateful look.
“Yeah, yeah,” Journey says, miming the action of shutting her lips with a zipper and tossing the key. I rub my neck and will my stomach to settle, because she isn’t wrong.
Before tonight is over, I might actually throw up.
We enter Amery’s massive ballroom with high mirrored ceilings, ornately tiled floors, and crystal chandeliers.
Waiters dressed in black vests and ties circle the room, balancing canapés and flutes of sparkling wine.
Many of the school’s parents have arrived, dripping with jewels and dressed in their finery.
I can smell their expensive perfume from the doorway.
Domino and Journey hesitate a step behind Trinity and me, and I realize this is completely new territory for them. We’ve been to a million of these parties, and I can’t imagine what it must be like to see this with their fresh eyes.
I notice some of Trinity’s new friends waving her over, including the scary girl, Ruby. “I should go say hi,” Trinity says. “I’ll see you soon.”
She doesn’t wait for a response before she walks away. I stare at her for a few seconds, slightly put out by her abrupt departure. Shaking it off, I turn to Domino. “Are your parents coming?”
She nods as she bites her lip in a nervous gesture. “Yeah, but they’re going to feel so awkward. Everyone’s so fancy.”
As if on cue, I hear someone call her name.
A couple rushes over and hugs Domino. Her mom looks just like her, with her brown skin and shiny black hair, and she frames Domino’s face in her hands before kissing each cheek.
Domino told me the Parsonses run a successful hardware store and repair shop, and that’s how they were able to afford Amery’s tuition.
“I’m so proud of you,” Mrs. Parsons whispers, tears forming in her eyes. “Have I said how proud I am?”
“Ma.” Domino huffs, extracting herself from her mother’s hold and playfully batting her hands away. “Only about a thousand times.”
“Well, I’m just so proud! Journey!” she says, turning to her. “I saw your parents on our way in.”
“Mom, Dad, this is my friend Poet Graves,” Domino says. “We’re in the same dorm room and in cadet training together.”
The Parsonses’ gazes then fall on me, and their eyes widen.
“Hi,” I say. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Domino’s father says, holding out his hand and shaking mine. “You’ll be pledging with my daughter?”
He asks the question with a hint of hesitation, suggesting news of my defection has reached everyone.
“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
“Poet pissed off all of Fiama!” Journey says excitedly, with absolutely no self-awareness. “But I think that’s kind of badass.”
The second statement slightly softens the first.
Thankfully, I’m saved from more of Journey’s observations when she shouts, “Mom!” practically in my ear. The two families come together, talking excitedly, and I take the opportunity to extricate myself.
The room is filling up as more people arrive, and I swerve around several groups, some of whom are familiar. The ones I don’t recognize are obviously parents from the other Houses.
I search through the crowd for a friendly face, wondering if that even exists in this room.
I round a group of people, my breath catching when I spy Rook standing near the wall, holding a glass. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in his dress uniform, and the effect is . . . something else.
The fitted jacket stretches over his chest and shoulders and then tapers at his waist in a way that makes it look like the fabric is worshipping him. Thanks to all our training, he’s already put on more muscle, which both leans him out and makes him appear stronger.
Those solid thighs encased in fitted pants and his tall leather boots do something to me. His hair hangs half up, half down, with the top part tied back in a knot. Maybe he senses my attention because his gaze finds me in the crowd, causing liquid warmth to flutter in my stomach.
Since the night we snuck out of the city, we’ve settled into a sort of polite truce.
It isn’t exactly friendly, but it’s a little less prickly.
I’ve managed not to say anything entirely ridiculous for at least a few days.
Despite everything, he’s the only one who understands what I’m going through.
It’s not only nice but a complete breath of relief to be able to share my secret with someone.
And though he’s always guarded in our interactions, I think he feels the same.
Neither one of us could explain what happened that night when we held hands and weathered the storm. When, instead of pain, we both felt lighter than air. All I know is I hope we get the chance to do it again.
His mouth presses together, and the corners tip up in the barest fraction of acknowledgment before his tactile gaze wanders over me with a look I feel like a physical touch.
“Poet,” comes a voice to my left, breaking my connection with Rook.
Knox.
He’s also dressed up for tonight, and though he looks nice, it’s nothing like Rook. I admonish myself for the thought. I shouldn’t be thinking that about the only person in this room who’s even more of a pariah than I am.
Knox notices Rook, and they glare at each other. Knox has managed to stay out of Rook’s way as far as I’m aware, and I hope that’s the end of their little bro spat.
“I fucking hate that guy,” Knox says in a low voice. “He’ll get what’s coming to him soon enough.”
Or maybe not.
Knox looks down at me, his stare bright with accusation. “Right?”
I shake my head. “He’s just minding his own business,” I say, hoping that’s noncommittal enough.
“Was he minding his own business when he nearly choked me to death? When he punched me?”
“You started it,” I remind him.
“You’re defending him? That . . . that . . .” He cuts off, likely unable to come up with an appropriate insult. “Solitudes killed Raine.” He hisses the words, like Rook must be shunned because of what someone else did.
“Knox, what do you want?” I’ve truly had enough of this conversation.
He inhales a deep breath, I guess deciding it’s not worth making a scene about Rook.
“There’s still time to change your mind,” he says. “Your father—”
“Is he here?” I peer through the dense crowd, but I can’t see much over everyone’s heads.
“Yes, he asked me to come talk to you.”
I’m already walking away.
“Poet!” Knox calls, but I don’t look back as I search for my parents. I take a turn around the room, and then finally, I spot them talking to a couple who lives a floor below us. Their son is in a few of my classes.
They’re deep in conversation, cocktails perched in their hands, and I stop, struck by the sight. Seeing them makes me realize how much I’ve missed my mom.
My dad looks handsome but tired in an impeccable black suit, and my mother wears a sparkling red dress that sweeps to the floor. My throat knots, and I’d give anything to be that little kid who could run over and take comfort in the safety of her arms.
But I’m no longer a child, and I made a decision I knew would tear my family apart.
I don’t realize my feet are moving until I’m standing beside them. They don’t notice me, but I can feel a hundred pairs of eyes tracking our movements.
Without even saying a word, I’m making a scene.
“Mom, Dad,” I say, my voice cracking.
Knox catches up and appears at my side.
“Sorry, Grady,” Knox says, “I tried to talk to her.”
Grady? Right to his face? Since when does he— It doesn’t matter.
“If my father has something to say, he can say it to me,” I spit. The other couple takes a small step back, not for privacy but to give us more space for this little bit of theater.
“I have nothing to say to you,” my father starts, his green eyes flashing and his voice chipped with ice. “You made your choice. I have no children left.”
The words are uttered with such final certainty that my heart hammers in my chest.
“That’s it?” I whisper. “You’re just writing me off? I’m your daughter.”
My father’s gaze tracks over me, his attention pausing on the purple ribbon around my waist, his mouth pressing into a bloodless line.
“Mom?” I ask as she stands silently, clutching my father’s arm. She shakes her head as my father shoves her behind him.
“I warned you about what would happen,” he says. “I cannot have a child pledge to Aria.”
“You could,” I answer. I can feel tears coating my cheeks. I didn’t even realize I was crying. “It’s your own stubbornness that’s getting in the way. What difference does it really make?”
His glare hardens. “If it makes no difference, pledge to Fiama.”
We’ve gathered an audience, and this might be the most humiliating moment of my life.
“I wanted to pledge to Fiama,” I answer. “But you drove me to this. You won’t let me join the Storm Guard, and I never wanted to marry Knox.”
A few gasps circle around the room. I’m making everything worse with every word I say. My father tips his head and studies me, really looks at me for maybe the first time in my life.
“Knox is why you did this?”
“I tried to tell you,” I say. “You refused to listen. You never even asked.”
“You won’t make this my fault, Poet.”
He says it with such vehemence that it punches me in the gut. I glance at my mother peering over my father’s shoulder.
“Don’t look at her,” he says to me. “You won’t find an ally there.”
I swallow the growing knot in my throat.
“Poet, just pledge to Fiama,” Knox says. “This can all be over. You can continue cadet training, and when the time comes, we’ll discuss your role as a Breaker, okay?”
Didn’t he hear what I just said about marrying him?
However, I acknowledge that if I truly want to make things right, this is the perfect solution.
I look up at Knox. His expression is full of something earnest, but the thought of going back to him makes my stomach turn. They expected me to fight to become one of them, but they won’t fight for me at all.
In fact, the moment I stepped out of line, they wrote me off like I never mattered.
Until now, I guess I never truly understood that my worth to them was found in my compliance. Not my presence.
“No,” I say to him, then turn to my father. “I won’t pledge to Fiama. If you want to cut me out of your life, then so be it. But you chose this, not me. You won’t make this my fault, either.”
I blink back my tears and exchange a look with my mother before I meet my father’s eyes again. His jaw clenches, and the look he gives me unzips something down my spine. Like my insides are falling out, but they aren’t viscid and warm; they’re hard as bricks.
A testament to the girl, the woman, I was forced to become.
Neither one of us blinks. Neither one of us will be the first to crack.
I get my stubbornness from him, and maybe that’s always been to our detriment.
I don’t know if we can ever recover from this.
But the moment is over.
So, I turn on my heel and storm away.