Page 8 of The Whispering Night
“AND IT WAS AMAZING!” This is from Fatima, who is now pulling back. Bretta, however, still holds tight—and is still jumping. Her corkscrew curls spring while she chants: “We’re hunters now, we’re hunters now!”
Winnie pries herself loose, though it doesn’t slow Bretta. Nor her sister Emma, who has joined their square and is managing a pretty decent jump despite her cast. “We’re hunters now, we’re hunters now!” She is singing along with her sister.
Actually, there are other people singing too—You’re hunters now, you’re hunters now!—because everyone in the hallway is feeling the ripple of exuberant Luminary joy. Becoming a hunter is a Very Big Deal; they all know that; and their smiles and fist bumps and applause parade by like the happiest of processions.
“We’re celebrating after Sunday training today,” Bretta says, finally pausing her jumps long enough to speak. Her cheeks are so bunched from smiling, the dimples within look fathomless. “Youhaveto come with us! We’re gonna go to Falls’ Finest tobuy things.”
“Mom’s out of town on networker stuff,” Emma explains. Her own cheeks are just as round as her sister’s—and her eyes may be a bit misty too. “She feels so guilty she missed Bretta’s big moment that she’s basically told us we can buy whatever we want.”
“And,” Fatima now inserts with a sly grin, her braces wrapped in bright orange rubber bands, “am I right in guessing you still don’t know what you want to be for the Nightmare Ball?”
Winnie cringes—a melodramatic face she knows will make her friends laugh. And they comply, their voices lifting up to the paneled ceiling. “How about an anatomically correct basilisk?” Winnie suggests. “Complete with poison glands on its crown and tendrils that don’t curl?”
Her friends are not impressed by this suggestion.
“Okay, you’re definitely coming with us.” Fatima hooks her arm in Winnie’s and hauls her toward their shared homeroom. “Especially because I haven’t even told you the most exciting news of all.”
Something about the way she utters this makes Winnie’s head cock.Then makes her eyes narrow as Bretta laughs mischievously. “Oh, you’re gonna love this part, Winnie!” she calls. “Just wait until you see.”
“Um,” Winnie asks as she follows Fatima into Ms. Morgan’s room—and the bell starts its croaking. “Gonna love what part, Fatima?”
Fatima ignores her. Possibly because the bell is so loud.
“Gonna lovewhatpart?” Winnie presses once they’re both seated in their desks. “Fatima, lovewhatpart?”
“That.” Fatima points at the front of the room, where a grouchy-looking Ms. Morgan stands with a stack of papers in her left hand.
“Time to vote for your Nightmare Court,” the teacher half moans, half snarls at the classroom. “These are the names that made it through to the final round of voting. Circle one person from each grade whom you think should… should… ugh,representyou on the Nightmare Court during the Masquerade next week. And please, for the love of god, my children,do nottake it personally if your name isn’t on this list. Winning one of these four crowns will have absolutely no bearing on your future in Hemlock Falls or beyond. It’s an antiquated tradition that conflates popularity with success. Name a single Midnight Crown winner who has gone on to do great things?”
“Theresa Monday is a councilor.”
“Patrice Thursday manages Falls’ Finest.”
“Hugo Sábado is the liaison with Mexico.”
“Your own boyfriend, Mason, is the Lead Hunter—”
“Okay, okay.” Ms. Morgan’s head slumps. “I get it. Good lord.”
The students don’t stop, and more names ricochet around Winnie while Ms. Morgan plods like a pissed-off droll down each row and hands out papers.
Oh,Winnie thinks as one lands on her desk.Now I see what’s going on.Forty names peer up at her, ten from each of the high school grades. Jay Friday is of course on the senior list, next to his fellow Forgotten bandmates: L.A. Saturday and Trevor Tuesday.
And right there, in the column next to Jay’s, is Winnie’s own name for year eleven.Winnie Wednesday, junior,it reads.
“I’m voting for you,” Fatima whispers. “And then you’re letting me do your hair when you win.”
Winnie only glares at her friend. Then crumples up the paper and slouches back in her seat.
“Bravo, Winnie!” Ms. Morgan cries. “Let’s all be like her, please, and refuse to engage! Who’s with her?”
No one responds. Pencils and pens scratch furiously. Fatima snickers nearby.
As Winnie shambles out the homeroom door, Ms. Morgan pops up beside her. “Winnie, you dropped these.”
A whiff of honey lilts up Winnie’s nose—and her stomach slams so hard into the floor that she physically lurches forward two inches.
Because of course, Ms. Morgan is holding the two pages from the cabin. They might be blank, but all it takes is one person asking,Hmmm, why does Winnie have paper that smells like honey?and then conducting a Google search. They’ll see real fast that honey is an easy way to write secret messages.
