Page 115 of The Black Table
How did my life get so confusing?I think.
At least the campus is pretty today. The leaves are all but gone, but that only serves to highlight the castle-like architecture, with only a few black spidery branches to block them. I pass Caliburn Memorial Chapel and look up at the front archway, thinking of how different things were when I burst through those doors my first day on campus. How he had been there too—Kingston—and just about as warm and fuzzy as he is now after knowing him for weeks.
I know he has this vow, knows that fencing ishis life, and school a very close second, but can he not have friends outside of the team?
Maybe not if they’re girls, I think.
Or maybe just not if they’re me.
A buzz against my leg snaps me back to reality. I fumble in my pocket and pull out my phone, only for my heart to plunge into my stomach when I see who’s calling.
Mom.
Who else?I think.Who else even cares enough to be in contact?
I chew my lip and slow my steps. I think about hitting the reject call button, about how I could tell her I was in class, or studying—deep on the B level where there’s no cell reception—but that would only be a temporary reprieve.
And if she’s concerned enough to call in the middle of her workday, it’s probably something I don’t want to let linger.
I suck in a breath, swipe the screen, and lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Why did the housing office say you no longer live in your dorm? And you missed your last two sessions with Dr. Riggs? What on earth is going on, Gwenna?”
My pulse spikes. Panic, bright and sharp as broken glass, cuts into me, but I resist. Instead, I clamp my mouth shut and try to marshal some words, unsure of where to start.
“Mom, hang on, slow down,” I say. “It’s fine, everything’s fine.”
“Is it?” she says, her voice quick and pointed as a poison dart. “I saw that your room and board payments were paused, so I called campus. And they informed me that there wassmoke damagein your room?”
Shit, I think.They had to be that specific about it.
“I don’t like this, Gwenna,” she says. “I don’t like it at all.”
“I…Mom. Mom! I’m fine.” It’s all I can think to repeat. I scramble for an explanation. “It was just…it was my stupid roommate. She loves these scented candles and knocked one over. It caught on one of her scarves and the whole thing…”
I trail off, my breath baited, hoping that my semi-reasonable, semi-finished explanation will be enough to satisfy her.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. I stop walking completely.
“Mom,” I say softly, “are you there?”
“I’m here,” she says, sounding irritated. Then, after another long moment. “You should have asked for a single.”
I roll my eyes to the sky. Well, if that’s all she has to say about it.
“Where are you living now?” she bores on. “Shouldn’t I be paying for something?”
“I…” Fuck. I didn’t think this far into my lie. Maybe there’s some version of the truth that will work.
“I’m rooming with the fencing team,” I say. “As their equipment manager.” Where that came from, I have no idea—so far as I know, the teamhasno manager. “They have an extra room so that I can stay nearby and keep on top of things, and I got really into the sport, so…”
“Thefencing team?”
Her tone is utterly incredulous. And I can’t say I blame her: a tipped-over candle is one thing. A sport I’d barely even heard of before coming to Caliburn is another. The skepticism is merited.
“I know, it’s really random,” I say, switching my phone to my other ear so I can shift my bag and walk faster. “But my roommate’s stepbrother is on the squad, and?—”
