Page 48 of Riot House
“Lord, don’t you start. You guys aremyfriends. You’re supposed to be onmyside.”
Lying on my bed, I stare up at the ceiling, trying not to think about the space above my head. The attic isn’t directly above my room. I haven’t been able to pinpoint the precise spot that it sits over; from my many educated guesses over the past eighty minutes, I’ve decided that it’s probably over the stairwell that leads up to the fourth floor and the entry way on the first floor, but I can’t be one hundred percent sure. Regardless of where the attic actually is geographically, architecturally, whatever, it feels like it’s right over my head, and Wren is up there already, sitting there in the dark, waiting for me like the eternally patient predator that he is.
“I am on your side,” I tell my friend. “He’s just so sweet.”
“And when was the last time you went all weak at the knees for asweetboy?” Ayala counters. “I know you, Elodie. Where guys are concerned, you and I are carbon copies of each other. We might think we want someone kind and caring to dote on us, but the moment that becomes a reality, we run for the hills. We’re both as fucked as each other. We like our boys bad and belligerent, or there’s just no spark.”
My cheeks grow very, very hot. “I don’t fall for bad boys, Al. I just don’t. Why wouldIwanna punish myself like that?”
Ayala’s boisterous laughter pours out of my headphones. “You’re kidding, right? You do remember Michael? The guy you lost your virginity to? He treated you like a goddess, and you broke up with him because he, and I quote,‘didn’t stand up for himself when you had a fight.’
“That’s normal,” I argue. “Who doesn’t defend themselves if their girlfriend’s being crazy?”
“So you were being crazy, then?”
“Yes! I was crazy all the time, and Michael just sat there and took it. Which meant he was even crazier than me! I’m not gonna date a psychopath like that!” I’m aware of how crazy I’m soundingright now,but I’m sticking to my guns on this one. Just because I wanted a guy with a backbone doesn’t mean I have a thing for bad boys. Ayala’ssowrong.
“All right,” she laughs. “Well, I’m gonna have to go anyway. It’s four thirty in the morning, and I need to go drink a gallon of water so I don’t end up with a hangover in the morning. We miss you so much, y’know. I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re not dead.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you’re not dead, too.”
“You know what I mean. Your dad’s such an asshole, Elodie. Seriously. If it wouldn’t earn me a whole heap of really shitty karma, I’d wish something really bad on the guy. Like two broken legs. Or that he’d be involved in some horrific accident while on a training exercise and his dick and balls gets blown off by an I.E.D.”
“I’d prefer not to talk about my father’s junk. But yeah, a couple of broken legs would be nice. I’ll wish it on him for the both of us and take double the bad karma if that helps?”
“It does. Night, girl. Please come back and visit us soon.”
“You come here and visit me!” No way Colonel Stillwater’s going to allow me to fly back to Israel for a vacation any time soon. If I could figure out a way to head back there without him knowing, that would be one thing, but my father would know the instant I left Mountain Lakes. He’d fucking kill me.
“Okay, okay,” Ayala says—I can hear her broad, infectious smile in the tone of her voice. “Call me, Elodie.”
“I will.”
The line goes dead. I just lie there for a minute, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the pressure of the headphones in my ears, not willing to take them out and admit the call is over just yet. It went dark a long time ago. The tiny lamp by my bed casts a fuzzy orange halo on the ceiling, warped and stretched by the pitch of the ceiling’s uneven surface.
I willnotcheck the time.
I willnotcheck the time.
I won’t fucking do it.
A door slams a few rooms over, and a gaggle of high-pitched female voices ricochet off the corridor walls as a handful of my fellow classmates head off out together somewhere. I close my eyes, fidgeting on the mattress, which still feels too new and too hard and not broken in yet.
Take a look.
What’ll it hurt?
Knowing the time isn’t going to knock the planet off its axis, dumbass.
Just open your eyes, for fuck’s sake!
I relent, even though I don’t want to. The clock in the top righthand corner of my cell phone’s display reads seven forty-nine in the evening. Eleven minutes to eight. Wren’s probably walking up the driveway to the academy even as I’m lying here, moping around like some sort of friendless, hopeless, moronic loser. I get up, pretending to myself that I need to stretch, which is so pointless and stupid that I give myself a firm telling off in my father’s voice. I know perfectly well that I’ve gotten up to look out of the window and trying to convince myself otherwise is pure folly.
Frustration sweeps over me when I realize I can’t see the driveway from the vantage point my window offers. Only the maze, and the sprawling expanse of lawn is visible from the east wing of the house, which means I won’t be able to see if Wren’s on his way here or not.
He won’t come. He’s testing you. He wants to know if you’ll jump when he commands. You arenotgoing up into that attic, Elodie Stillwater.
I don’t know why I’m repeating this to myself. I already know I’m not going up into the attic. I do have alittleself-respect.
