Chapter 49
Given my obsession with books, it’s surprising how little time I’ve spent in the academy’s library. I inspected the place briefly when Carina gave me the nickel tour of the school, but I’ve only been back once to get my library card since then. Cool afternoon light floods in through the vast banks of windows that form one side of the massive space. Carina leads the way through the loaded book stacks, her hips sashaying as she weaves a route through row after row of reading desks, complete with Emeralites and piles of scrap paper, toward the desks that have been arranged right next to the glass, giving a view out over a steep hill that leads down to a large, immaculately groomed playing field with goal posts at either end.
“Wouldn’t have pegged Wolf Hall as a football kinda school,” I mutter, dumping my bag down onto the desk and unzipping it, rooting around inside for my notebook.
“It isn’t.” Carina shrugs. “The football field, the basketball courts, and the tennis courts are all for show. They’re to encourage parents who care about sports to enroll their kids here. Wolf Hall only cares about academics, though.”
It’s true, I haven’t attended a single P.E. class since I got here. Now that I’ve realized this, it does seem weird. “Surely they have to do some form of physical exercise here?”
Carina scowls. “Yeah. Well. Just wait until spring properly sets in. We’re cross-country runners here at the academy. Ms. Braithwaite says it
builds stamina, fortitude, and mental discipline.”
Cross-country running. Hmm. “Sounds like a riot,” I grumble.
“What the hell are you talking about, masochist? You voluntarily went on a six-mile run this morning. You’ll be just fine.”
I will. I know I will. Colonel Stillwater ran me, screaming in my ear like I was one of his shit-kicking grunts until I could easily clear fifteen miles. But still. There’s a difference between running because you want, to clear your head and escape your demons, and running because you have no other option. And running as part of a pack of people, all jostling and vying for the best possible time? Sounds like bullshit to me.
“That’s at least a month away, anyway. We have plenty of time to train for it if you’re interested. In the meantime, let’s get this assignment out of the way and ace this motherfucker. My mom promised I could go to Spain for spring break this year if I maintained my grades, and there’s this amazing tango festival in Granada I wouldn’t mind checking out. Hey! You should come! Oh my god, traveling through Europe together for a couple of weeks would be so much fun!” Carina’s enthusiasm is contagious. I find myself nodding along with her, getting swept away in the excitement, but there’s no way I’ll be able to go with her. My father would never allow it. He’ll either expect me to stay put at the academy or come back to Tel Aviv, and I am so torn between the two options. I miss my friends and desperately want to see them, but staying with him in that house? For two whole weeks? I honestly don’t know if I would make it through to the other side.
We study, flipping through pages of textbooks and reference documents, sitting in companionable silence while we work, and the calm of the library sinks into my bones. The place is serene and full of light. I love being able to look out of the window and see the trees stretching on forever into the distance.
At around midday, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s on silent, but the vibration’s still noisy enough to get Carina’s attention. Her dark eyes flick up to meet mine, her brow arching into a question mark. “You gonna check that?” she whispers.
I take the phone out, tight-lipped, dreading what I’ll find. And sure enough, there’s Wren’s name blazing across the screen, sending my pulse rocketing skyward. “I’ll read it later,” I say, turning the phone over in my hand.
“Don’t be stupid. We’re miles away from the front desk. They can’t see you over here. Read your message. We aren’t prison inmates on lockdown.”
It’d be weird if I refused. I think it would be, anyway. I can’t remember how to not act suspicious now, and I’m questioning every little thing I want to say or do. I flip the device over in my hand, opening the screen with my passcode and the text messages open up automatically. Wren’s message sits there at the top in bold, ready and waiting for me to read it. My hand trembles as I tap his name, my eyes quickly skipping over the brief message that opens up for me.
WREN: Where are you?
Three words. Gee. I mean, I don’t know what I was expecting but three short, clipped words that somehow manage to convey the bastard’s extreme arrogance—well that’s underwhelming, to say the least. Where am I? Like he have a right to know my location at all times? Uhhh, I don’t think so, buddy.
ME: None of your damn business.
“You okay, girl?” Carina asks, around the end of the pencil that she’s chewing. “You look like you’re about to hurl a chair through one of these windows.”
She’s too perceptive for her good. Or I’m just really terrible at hiding my emotions. I should probably work on that. I cut her a sorry smile, sighing heavily. “Yeah. Just my dad. He’s…difficult to please. We don’t see eye-to-eye on much.” The things I’ve just told her are one hundred percent true. Describing Colonel Stillwater as ‘difficult to please’ has to be the understatement of the century. And we don’t see eye-to-eye on anything whatsoever. I still lied to Carina by pretending it was my father who just messaged me, though. Wren Jacobi’s turning me into a liar, and I don’t fucking like it.
WREN: Are you at the academy or off-campus?
ME: I repeat: None of your damn business.
WREN: You might as well tell me. I’ll find you either way.
I send him the thumb emoji—the most passive-aggressive of all the emojis.
ME: Good luck with that.
I stick my phone back into my pocket, resisting the urge to growl. Tapping the end of her pencil against the pages of the open book in front of her, Carina studies me sympathetically. “I’m lucky I get on with my folks. Seems as though every other student in this place has fucking sociopaths for parents. What’s your dad’s damage?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, I know. Why’s he such a prick to you? Why does he treat you like dirt all the time?”
Because I remind him of my dead mother. Because I’ve seen what he’s capable of, and I know his self-righteous, holier-than-thou attitude is all an act. Because I could turn his world upside down with one tiny phone call.
“Because he’s my father. That’s just what he does,” I say softly.
She seems to stew on this for a beat. After a moment, she shoves away from the desk and gets to her feet. “You like chicken?”
“Everyone likes chicken.”
“Okay. I’m gonna run over to the cafeteria and get us some food. I’ll sneak it back in and we can eat here. They won’t even notice.”
I have no idea how vigilant the librarians are here, Carina knows better than I do, so I take her word for it. I offered to come with her, but she told me to stay put and save our spot for us. I get back to work, hunting for references and information that will be useful in our essays, but as the minutes tick by, I grow more and more restless. I can’t concentrate. Trying to focus on any one thing is almost impossible— “The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in the purple and gold…”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, adrenalin singing through my body, bringing my focus to a very sudden, sharp point.
“And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.”
I slowly close my eyes. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than quote grim poetry at me,” I ask, valiantly maintaining my cool, as the phantom owner of that voice comes to stand behind me. I can feel him there, his presence like a raging inferno at my back.
“I wouldn’t call it grim.” I nearly jump out of my skin when something touches me. My hair, specifically. I see his hand out of the corner of my eye, as he coils a length of my hair around his index finger, his nail still marked with the tiniest chip of black nail polish, rubbing the pad of his thumb lightly over the blonde strands.