Page 16 of Breaking Isolde
I want to say “people,” but that’s not the answer she wants. “Wolves. In Yellowstone. Their removal caused the populationof deer to explode, which destroyed the vegetation and altered the riverbanks. When wolves were reintroduced, the system stabilized.”
She cocks an eyebrow, impressed. “Excellent. The wolves keep the world in check. Everyone else just pretends to.”
A few students actually clap. The rest go back to their own private musings.
I sink lower in my chair, hands trembling under the table. I force them flat, knuckles whitening against the composite wood.
Dr. K launches into a ten-minute rant about invasive species, and I let my mind wander. I imagine Casey sitting here, arms crossed, tapping her pen against the leg of her desk. She always tapped when she was nervous.
I try to picture her face, but it’s already slipping. All I see is the carving in the desk and the swollen, blue tint of her lips from the morgue photos I made Dad delete but never forgot.
The period ends with a shriek of metal as everyone stands at once. I stay seated. I run my palm over the words again, this time with enough pressure to leave a dent in my own skin.
When the room empties out, I pull a knife from my bag and start scraping the letters out of the surface. Not gentle, not slow. I want to rip through the damage, leave a scar deep enough to remind the next person who sits here that someone fought back.
I don’t stop until there’s a gouge in the wood and the words are gone.
I close my eyes, inhale the scent of wood.
I will not give them the pleasure of seeing me break.
I wipe the crumbs from my palm, stand, and walk out. The desk is still ugly, but now it’s ugly on my terms.
The library is built like a fortress, thick stone walls and slit windows. All except one giant bay window, one I can see the entire outer perimeter.
I find the biggest table in the reading room, already occupied by a dozen students with laptops, color-coded notes, and the casual confidence of kids who’ve never watched someone drown. They’re arranged in a loose horseshoe, backs to the windows, eyes tracking every moment I make.
I hover just outside the ring, textbooks jammed against my ribs, and wait for someone to acknowledge me. No one does. I count to ten, then step up and clear my throat.
“Hey. Is this spot open?”
The noise stops. Not just at the table—everywhere. I feel a hundred eyes burning through the shelves, but I keep mine steady on the group. A girl at the end looks up first. She’s classic Westpoint: expensive highlights, perfect nails, pearl necklace sitting above a sweater with a logo that costs more than my rent.
She eyes me, slow and surgical. “You’re Casey’s sister, right?”
I flinch, but only internally. “Isolde,” I say.
Another girl, brunette with skin like it’s never been in the sun, glances at Pearls and says, “We’re actually full up today. Sorry.”
There are three empty chairs. I shrug. “Okay.”
The boys at the table are smirking, like they can’t wait for the show. Pearls leans back, crosses her arms. “You know, Greenwood girls don’t last here.”
I smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “That supposed to scare me?”
She tilts her head. “No. Just thought you should know the odds.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I slide my books onto the table, keeping my hands flat to keep them from shaking and take a seat. “I just need to get some work done.”
No one speaks for a long minute, shocked that I sat even when I was unwelcome. When the tension finally breaks, it’s with a hiss of gossip between two boys at the far end. They say something under their breath—“Feral bait”is all I catch.
I ignore them, open my notebook, and start copying out my notes from Environmental Science. My handwriting is neat, controlled. I make sure my posture is perfect, my face unreadable.
Every so often, I look up. Every time, Pearl is watching me, blue eyes shark-bright and unblinking.
I finish a page, close my book, and stand.
“Leaving already?” Pearl says, voice dripping with mock concern.
