Chapter 39
Harrisford
Unfortunately, I don’t get a chance to confront Gwendolynne before exams, because straightaway we’re launched mercilessly into our final revision period. Four days of study pass by like a whirlwind: a montage of cramming and late nights and far too many coffees.
I see Gwendolynne often, but at a distance, and usually insensible to the world because she’s studying.
Her being so ubiquitous is a little unusual, I must admit.
During every other examination period over the past seven years, she’s spent most of her time shut up in her room.
This time, though, she seems to be everywhere: the library, the courtyard, bolting down food in the canteen with her eyes glued to a book.
Other times, I’ve caught her holding some sort of small black rectangular object, frowning at it.
It’s not something I’ve seen before—I can only assume it’s some newfangled method of revision.
She’s omnipresent, both in physicality and within my mind. The woman I simultaneously want, and want to beat. It’s as though she’s been put on this earth purely to torment me.
I manage—just—to keep my distance. With the specter of exams hanging over us, I tell myself that Gwendolynne is extremely stressed and needs to be left alone. Plus, I can’t trust that I’ll hold myself back from yanking her into my arms and kissing her, and never letting her go again.
On Monday morning, final examinations start in earnest, and all (well, most) of my thoughts about Gwendolynne are chased out of my mind. I’ve no time to brood, what with the examiners putting us through our paces.
A third of the exams are practical, involving wrangling dragons, or demonstrating suture patterns, or giving tablets to aggressive, fire-breathing chimeras (which are almost as difficult to give pills to as the common household cat).
A third are oral, which means being stuck in a stuffy room with various associate professors who have affected perfect poker faces while flinging random, unrelated questions at us.
And the last third are written, with the entire year sitting at rows of desks in the converted dining hall.
It has had wards added to it so we can’t cheat by asking our familiars to look up the answers.
Officials from the Magical Education Regulatory Authority prowl up and down the aisles, scanning for evidence of other enchantments.
Since my surname comes before hers in the alphabet, Gwendolynne is always seated behind me, one row back and three to the right.
It’s exceptionally distracting; I can’t even count how many times the back of my neck heats, as I wonder if she might be looking in my direction.
Usually, my mind flits there momentarily before I’m able to focus once again on my work, but during one of the last exams—an internal medicine exam—I find myself unable to concentrate.
The words swim in front of my eyes, the small black text blurring together. With one finger, I push my glasses up—the hall is stifling, the bridge of my nose sweaty—and utter a curse beneath my breath.
Outline the etiology and pathophysiology of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy in the common garden gremlin (CGG) and its effect on cardiac function.
I wonder if Gwendolynne is looking at me.
Explain how disease prevalence impacts the positive predictive value (PPV) and the negative predictive value (NPV) of a diagnostic test.
I wonder if she’s thought about me much these past few days.
Describe, in detail, the physiological basis for fire breathing in the dragon. The use of a diagram is permitted in your answer.
I wonder if she’s thought much about the night we spent in Manchester, in her bed.
I wonder if she has, because I certainly have. Constantly.
After making a halfhearted attempt to scribble out an answer, I chance a glance over my shoulder at Gwendolynne. And I can’t quite believe it, because…
She’s looking right at me.
For a second she looks bewildered. Two red spots bloom on her cheeks, and she quickly ducks her head, staring hard at her page.
A fraction too late, I turn away too, only to sneak another look a second later.
She’s still staring—or glowering, rather—at her exam paper, now furiously chewing the end of her pen.
Gods above, she is adorable.
When we’re finally let out of the hall, I get swept along with the tide of students, feeling like an absurdly tall piece of driftwood being buffeted about by the sea.
There is laughing and chatting and cheering all around me—we have just finished our last-ever exam, after all—but my eyes are trained on the crowd, looking for Gwendolynne’s head of black hair.
It must be my lucky day, because a moment later I spot her, weaving through the crowd toward me.
She’s frowning, her brow creased, murmuring something beneath her breath, so lost in her thoughts that she doesn’t see me until she’s almost collided with my chest.
“Oh,” she says, blinking up. Then her eyelids slide shut, as though she’s trying to wish me away. “Briggs.”
“Chan,” I say, trying to keep command over my voice. I’m in too much danger of sounding overenthusiastic. I have a plan, something I’ve been carefully constructing over the past few days, but I have to tread carefully or I’ll risk scaring her off.
She opens her eyes again, scowling when she sees I’m still standing there. Her eyes are lighter, almost hazel, in the brightness of the afternoon light. A shard of sun streams through a stained glass window, throwing a geometric pattern of colors across her hair.
“Would you mind moving, Briggs? I left a book behind.” We’re still crushed in a press of students, being jostled by the crowd. It occurs to me that with my height and broad stature, there’s not much room to squeeze past.
I don’t respond for a second; I just stand there, smiling stupidly. Then, before I can lose my nerve, I blurt out, “Do you want to grab a bite to eat?” Goddammit. So much for being cool.
Startled, she says, “What? Together?”
“Yes, together.”
She doesn’t answer immediately, just eyes me suspiciously. “What for?”
“To celebrate.”
Her suspicion only grows. She narrows her eyes. “Celebrate what?”
I sigh. “The end of exams.” Then I add, “Obviously.”
“But…” She rubs at her temple, seemingly flustered. “Why don’t you just go to the party?” For weeks, a group of students have been planning a huge knees-up in Heywood Hall for end of term.
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “I just feel like doing something a bit more…private.”
She gives a dubious sort of frown. “With me? Are you sure I’m who you want to celebrate with?”
I cock my head and squint at her. “Depends. Your name is Alice Chu, right?” I grin when she whacks me in the shoulder.
But then I step closer, into our shared space. She stares up at me with those wide, guileless brown eyes, and immediately, I am lost in them. “Yes, Chan, it’s you I want to celebrate with.” A thrill rolls right through me when I see her visibly shiver.
She seems to gather herself, her chin jutting up, her expression defiant. “Why?”
“Because, next week, one of us is going to be awarded the top spot. And since we don’t know which of us it is yet, I figured we may as well celebrate us both.”
“Fair.” She pauses, as though contemplating my words. Then she flashes me a dazzling smile. “It’ll be me, though. You know that, don’t you?”
Fuck. I never realized how much of a turn-on a cocky Gwendolynne could be.
“That’s it,” I growl, grabbing her wrist. She lets out a little gasp but doesn’t wrench away as I begin to tug her down the hall. “Gwendolynne Chan, you’re coming with me.”