Page 102 of Riot House
I make eye contact, gripping the strap of my bag, wringing the material in my hands. “Yes, I hear you. I understand.”
“It’s only natural that you’d want to go and be with him, Elodie. I can see just how traumatized you are by this news. But he’s currently being cared for at an army facility, and they've said that because you're a minor, there's no way you can go back to Tel Aviv by yourself. Your father signed guardianship over us here at the school while you're studying with us, so I'm afraid you're going to have to stay here until Colonel Stillwater recovers well enough to leave the hospital. I know that's probably the last thing you want to hear, but I'm asking for your help with this. I sincerely hope you won't cause trouble because you can't—”
“It's okay. I understand. I'll abide by the rules. I'm not going to cause any trouble.”
Harcourt looks relieved. She likely thought I was going to burn the whole fucking school down in my attempt to get to my poor, catatonic, paralyzed father. If only she knew the truth. “Well, thank you, Elodie. I don't know if you're religious at all, but I like to lean on Jesus during times like this. If you pray to him for your father's recovery, then who knows? Maybe he'll be his normal self again before you know it.”
“I believe in science, Dean Harcourt. I'd rather know what the doctors are saying, please. Specifically, how soon he'll be back on his feet?”
The dean’s mouth hangs slack, revealing front teeth smudged with her mulberry-colored lipstick. “I'm afraid...that is to say, the doctors think that it's unlikely your father will recover fully, Elodie. It's unlikely he'll ever walk again. And if he'll come out of this fugue state remains to be seen. That's why I mentioned prayer. It is a powerful healing tool, you see. I'm afraid that without it—”
She rambles on, but I've already stopped listening.
How many times did she say that she was afraid?
I'm afraid I have some bad news.
I'm afraid he's unresponsive...
I'm afraid you're going to have to stay here...
Such a weird term for her to use. She wasn't afraid. She was inconvenienced, and she was concerned, and she’s eager to get this matter hashed out quickly to avoid it taking up any more of her time.
I, on the other hand, have been afraid for a very long time. This news changes all of that. It’s looking like I won’t have to be afraid of my father ever again. And that’s all thanks to Wren. I’ve floated through the day, so numb and detached from my surroundings, that I haven’t taken a beat to analyze whether I’m afraid ofhimnow.
Worryingly…I don’t think that I am.
40
ELODIE
When I head backto my room, my bedroom door’s wide open. And there, sitting at the end of my bed, is Mercy Jacobi. She looks so out of place perched on top of my dusky pink comforter, but she seems to have made herself perfectly at home. She beams like a Cheshire cat when she sees me in the doorway.
“Before you start, I didn't touch anything,” she says, holding out her hands in a placating gesture. “I just wanted to drop off your costume for tonight.”
I scowl at her; it seems like the safest thing to do. “Costume? I don't have a costume.”
“Wren bought one for you, silly.” She jerks her head in the direction of a black and gold garment bag hanging from the back of my closet door. “I was at the house earlier, dropping off some booze and ice, and I saw my darling big brother punch a hole right through his bedroom wall with his bare hands. Seems he's quite upset. Wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?”
God, sheisgood at this—all of the pretending. I suspect that she knows all about me and Wren and yet she’s still feigning ignorance. “I have no idea what's up with him. Whoeverknows what's up with Wren. He's permanently pissed,” I say.
Mercy's smile is faker than her perfect white teeth. “Ahh. Shame. Nothing makes me sadder than trouble in paradise. Fair enough, though. You both want to be broody and miserable, that's entirely up to you. I'll leave you to try on your costume in peace.”
“I don't need the costume, Mercy. I'm not going to the party.”
“Oh, no. You have to! Everyone's going. You want to be the only person on your entire floor, sitting in your room like a sad sack, while everyone else has an amazing time?”
“Carina isn't going,” I say defiantly.
Mercy smirks as she gets up and waltzes out into the hallway. “Sure about that, Stillwater? Carina's all talk most of the time. I'd put good money on her attending this evening's festivities.”
“I'm not in the mood, Mercy. Can you please take the garment bag out of my room? If Wren wanted me to have it, he would have given it to me himself.”
“He's probably worried that if he gets within five feet of you, you'll freak out and accuse him of trying to murder you,” she says, with a feline smirk on her face.
Fuck.
So, she does know about what happened at the gazebo. I highly doubt that Wren told her, but who the fuck knows? I've been wrong plenty of times before. Like, a ridiculous amount of times. Wren could have told Dashiell, who then told Mercy? What does it fucking matter how she knows? She just does.
