Page 52 of Storm of Shadows
“It’s fine,” I say, not liking the pity I can see in their eyes. I don’t need sympathy. I’m perfectly happy with who I am. “I’m going to be scrubbing toilets, remember? My uniform is probably the best thing for the job.”
“Like I told you, the shadow weavers have people to do that for them,” Clare says, sliding her glasses up her nose. “I think you ought to wear something else.”
“Agreed,” Fly says.
“I might have something you can borrow,” Clare taps her fingers against her chin, “I’m smaller than you so it might be a bit short and tight–”
“Perfect!” Fly says, clapping his hands. “Straight men love short and tight.”
“Urgh,” I say, sticking my tongue out at him. I turn to Clare. “That’s really kind of you but–”
“Come on,” she says, beckoning us to follow her, “let’s go look.”
Clare’s room is in a tower a million times better than ours.
“Jeez,” I say, peering up at the walls which aren’t crumbling and the windows which actually let light through. “You must have come in quite quickly that first night.”
“Yeah,” she says, her face morphing a green color, “I don’t know how. I guess I got lucky.”
She rests her hand on the entrance door, then hesitates. “Just to warn you, there is usually a group of idiots hanging out, smoking and drinking in the entrance way. Best to keep your heads down.”
“Smoking and drinking?” Fly says hopefully.
“We’re not going to get invited,” I tell him. “You know that.”
He shrugs and Clare opens the door. Sure enough we’re greeted by a haze of smoke and through it I spy four or five guys lounging about by the stairwell: three sitting on the steps, two resting against the banisters.
I nearly jump right out of my skin when I realize one of them is Stanley.
Stanley with a face that is even more busted up than mine.
“Oh my goodness,” I blurt out. “What happened?”
He jolts and peers up from the cup he was staring into. He jolts a second time when he sees it’s me standing in the entrance way.
For a moment, we both stare at each other and is it my imagination, or is his expression different? Usually, it holds nothing but contempt and disgust – like he can’t quite bring himself to accept that once upon a time he slept with a girl like me. The expression on his face today is different. Fearful perhaps? No, that can’t be right.
“Nothing,” he mutters, although by the way the boys gathered around him all glance at one another, it must have been something. “What happened to you?”
I lift my hand to my nose. I’d almost forgotten about it. “Well, it wasn’t you for once,” I say, sneering at him.
Stanley’s gaze drops down to his shoes and the entrance hall falls into silence, everyone staring at me, then Stanley, then back to me.
Eventually Fly says, “Come on, we’d better get moving. You’re running out of time.”
Clare beckons us forward and the boys squeeze out of our way without protest as we climb the stairs.
As soon as we’re out of earshot, Fly hisses, “What the hell was that about?”
“We used to date,” I tell him simply, “if you can call it that.”
“He is your ex-boyfriend?” Clare says in amazement, peering down the stairs the way we’ve just come.
“It was a long time ago. We were just kids, and he didn’t look like that back then.”
“I bet he didn’t look too different,” Fly mutters.
“He was also the one who gave me the original black eye,” I explain.
