Page 112 of Lessons in Power
“I’m glad you didn’t tell me,” Vivvie said fiercely. “I don’t want to know, Tess.” She swallowed, her thumbs worrying at the sides of her index fingers. “That’s what I realized, when I had a gun pointed at my head. I love what we do. You and Henry and Asher and me.”
The way Vivvie said Henry’s name, wedged between mine and Asher’s, was a knife to the gut.
“I love helping you fix things,” Vivvie continued. I could hear the tears in her voice before I saw the sheen of them in her eyes. “I like making people happy and righting wrongs. I like beingus. But I’m okay with letting someone else handle conspiracies and terrorists and things that can get people killed. I don’t need answers.” Vivvie pressed her lips together and offered me a teary, apologetic smile. “I’m not like you, Tess. Or Henry. Answers don’t matter to me.Peopledo. And if not knowing is the cost I have to pay to keepanyof us safe—I don’t need to know.”
There was so much I couldn’t tell Vivvie—about Henry and Senza Nome, what had really happened in that school, the fact that Daniela Nicolae was still out there, alive.
“Okay,” I told Vivvie. She was giving me permission to protect her. I loved her for that.
“I’m going to hug you again now,” Vivvie warned me. Before she could make good on the threat, the doorbell rang. Vivvie glanced out the window, then grinned. “You might want to prepare for a group hug.”
A second later, she flung open the door, and Asher bounded in. “Did I hear someone say ‘group hug’?” he asked, throwing an arm around each of us. “What’s next on the agenda? Might I suggest either an impromptu dance party or an epic battle of pillow fight proportions?”
“No.”
The answer to Asher’s question came from behind him. I looked up and saw Emilia standing in the doorway. For a second, as our eyes met, I saw her in the library. I saw her stepping out into the aisle. I saw her thrusting her chin out and facing Dr. Clark head-on.
“Asher’s been banned from pillow fighting.” Emilia’s voice gave no hint to whether or not her thoughts in any way mirrored mine. “Trust me,” she continued dryly, “when I say it’s a kindness to all involved.”
You gave yourself up for me. You risked your life for me.
“What?” Emilia shot back, staring me down. “Do I have something in my teeth?”
She didn’t want a thank-you any more than she’d given me one for taking on John Thomas for her.
“I could be wrong about this,” I told Emilia, “but I’m pretty sure they call it agrouphugfor a reason.”
I saw a flicker of raw surprise cross Emilia’s features before she hid it. Asher latched a hand onto his twin and pulled Emilia to the rest of us. Vivvie wasn’t one to question a hug, so within seconds, she had one arm wrapped around Emilia and one around me. Asher kept hold of his twin and pulled me tight.
A little too tight.
We started to topple. Asher threw his whole body into it and brought all four of us to the floor. Vivvie started giggling.
“The bat is in the belfry!” Asher told her, falling back into code.
Emilia tried to pry herself out from underneath her brother. “We are not related,” she told him.
Asher was unperturbed. “All we need is Henry,” he declared, “and some borderline illegal fireworks, and all will be right with the world.”
This was what it would be like, I realized, as I weathered the sound of Henry’s name. This was what I’d signed up for, when I’d decided to keep Henry’s secret—to make him keep it.
“Have you been to see him yet?” Asher asked me, propping himself up on his elbows. “The nurses didn’t want to let me in, but I can be very persuasive.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“I saw him,” I said, my throat tightening around the words.
Asher sighed. “I still can’t believe Henry got himself shot. Even I can’t one-up that.” He sighed. “Now I will never win the heart of Tess Kendrick through acts of derring-do!” The teasing undertone in his voice—the one that said that he wasn’t interested in my heart, but he thought that Henry was—cut into me with almost physical force.
Emilia rolled her eyes at her brother’s dramatics. “And I,” she added, “will never win the student council election.” She sighed and leaned back on the heels of her hands. “My campaign is dead in the water. Do you know what heroically surviving a terrorist’s bullet does to someone’s approval rating?”
I stared at her.
“Kidding,” Emilia clarified. “Mostly.”
Emilia’s taste in humor wasn’t the reason I was staring at her.
Do you know what heroically surviving a terrorist’s bullet does to someone’s approval rating?My mouth went dry, my heart pounding deafeningly in my chest.Too perfect. Too neat. Too clean.
Suddenly, I was back in my World Issues class. Dr. Clark was at the front, lecturing about flashbulb memories. She was asking what people would remember about the day that President Nolan was shot. She’d asked if they would remember Georgia Nolan’s rousing speech about her husband, the fighter. She’d asked if we would remember the record number of voters who turned out at the polls.
