Page 86 of Riot Act
Doubled over, panting, I brace my hands on my thighs. “How’s that headache?”
Dash raises a finger—please hold.A second later, he hurls into a prickly bush with little white flowers on it. He coughs and spits, and I, being the great friend that I am, fight not to laugh as I slap him on the back.
“Urgggh. Fuck,” he groans. “You’re insane.”
“Me?” I’m a picture of counterfeit confusion.
The color of cold ash, my friend straightens. “You just had me sprint upthatfucker.” He throws up a hand in the direction of the trail we just completed. “I ate a bagel before we left the house. A bagel. Do you know how hard it is to bring that shit up? Like…a fucking…wad of dough,” he says, still spitting.
“You didn’t need to keep pace.” I grin. “Could have just let me win.”
With a withering look, he bares his teeth at me. “Yeah. Right. Like that was gonna happen.”
His color has returned by the time we reach Riot House; he stuffsanotherbagel into his face on the short drive up the mountain. We’re already settled into our regular spots in English class when Wren and Elodie peel through the door together, looking disheveled.
Jarvis is just as stern in this class as she is in Creative Writing; she tuts disapprovingly at the almost latecomers. “I’m going to choose to believe that you came down from the girls’ wing and Mr. Jacobi was just waiting on you outside, Elodie. Come on. Get to your seats. We’re ready to begin.”
Wren hurls daggers at me as he throws himself down on the leather couch under the window. “The fuck? Why didn’t you come get us?”
I arch an eyebrow. “I’m your friend, not your drill sergeant, man. Far be it from me to order you around.”
“Mature. Really fucking mature.”
Also, I’m cool with carting my friends around, but I’m not Elodie Stillwater’s personal fucking chauffeur. I hope the two of them had to walk.
Chase is nowhere to be seen. On the other side of the room, Elodie sits besides Carina. I catch her grinning at Dash, who’s glowing next to me like some lovestruck moron, and something inside me snaps. I’ve had enough and then some. I snatch up my bag and get to my feet.
“Yes, Mr. Davis. What can I do for you?”
Jarvis looks at me with the same tiredwhat the fuck nowexpression that all of the other teachers at the academy wear around me. “I’m gonna hurl,” I say flatly. “I’m going home.”
She sighs. “You can’t just go home.”
“And you can’t just keep me here if I don’t feel well.”
“If you’re sick, you know what you have to do. You have to go and see the nurse.”
“Fine. I’ll take a thermometer up the ass if it means I can get the fuck out of here.”
31
PRES
Happy.
I wake up, and I’m actually happy.
The strangest thing.
I can’t remember the last time I was happy.
It was another lifetime, before that night at the hospital. Before Mara went missing, too? Damn, maybe it really has been that long. And even though I had to spend the weekend at the house, sleeping on the lumpy sofa in the sweltering hot living room, with Dad hovering over me, I was happy the entire time. Because the memory of being with Pax at Riot House, and then that crazy experience with him on the lawn, while Damiana Lozano bitched and moaned about Mercy…it was enough to sustain me. Without a shadow of a doubt, there will be more of that. I know Pax well enough to see how much he enjoyed our extremely public encounter. He wanted more. He wanted me to go over that night, for God’s sake. There’s hope that he’ll want to continue this little arrangement we have until graduation, and that is all I care about. Once I’m away from this godforsaken town, I won’t need such a dangerous distraction from my demons anymore. I’ll leave the nightmares and the hideous memories behind, and I’ll be able to start a whole new life.
Besides. Maybe…
Maybe there’s a chance that Pax might still want to see me after graduation. I don’t let myself dwell on that thought. Wouldn’t be wise. I have to keep this whole thing straight in my head. It’s just sex for him. He’ll go away to college and start fucking girls at Harvard, and I’ll be nothing but a distant memory. And that’s okay. I’ll have to make it okay.
Dad kisses me on the top of the head before I get into the car. He attempts, for the fiftieth time since Friday evening, to get me to move back into the house, but only half-heartedly this time. He knows what my answer will be before I even open my mouth.
