Page 13 of The Girl Out of Time
Emmeline’s hand shook from the heated conversation, and she had to lean the stick on the floor to keep it steady. She followed John’s grin to Leon, whose side glance toward the other man indicated he wasn’t as interested in the polished wooden flooring as he was pretending to be.
She walked over to Leon. “How do you do it? Hit the disks so precisely?”
“Nothing special. Just calculations.”
She laughed, and that brought a smile to his face. “You sound like Father,” she said. Father might like Leon.
Only Father would never meet Leon because once this dream week was over, Emmeline would go back to her life—and whatever schooling institution her parents would lock her in—and Leon would go to his, and they’d never see each other again. Any attempts to continue their friendship would be moot; if she told her parents where she’d met him, their interrogation would eventually lead to the class he was traveling in, and then Mother would throw a fit, and Father would be on Mother’s side …
She wondered if they’d be as appalled if John and his brother won the game and they saw her walking around with Mr. Perfect Mustache. The fury in her reignited.
That wasn’t something she was about to find out.
“Show me,” she said to Leon.
His eyebrows raised in surprise, but he followed her to the start line, hesitantly moving behind her. Not close enough to press to her back—why was she thinking about that, anyway?—but enough for his jacket to brush the frills of her dress, sending a shiver of pleasant expectations down her spine.
With the lightness of a feather, his fingers grazed her wrists. “Feel the cue.” His breath tickled her ear. “And the disk. Step a touch furtherapart—yes, like that. Make sure you’re stable on your feet. You can sense the ship’s sway, yes?”
She closed her eyes. If she focused, she felt the rhythm: ever so slightly left and right, barely noticeable.
“Don’t think the ship is working against you. You work with it. Reach the equilibrium. Wait for the right time.”
She opened her eyes, keeping track of the swaying as one would of a song’s tact while dancing. One, two, three; one, two—hit!
The disk flew forward in a straight, determined line, right toward the center, edging ever so close, passing the nine, the five—losing momentum—inside the one’s space, almost past it, and—
“Ten points!” the blonde’s companion exclaimed, but Emmeline barely paid any attention to the rest as she screamed and cheered and took Leon’s hands in hers. He laughed with her, and she spun them until she got dizzy, and perhaps would’ve lost her balance if Leon didn’t secure her with a hand on her back. She paused, bent backwards, as if he’d dipped her while dancing, and locked her eyes with his.
She was being fanciful and severely exaggerating, but he looked at her like Lord Blair looked at Miss Ophelia inThe Heart of the Moors.
He cleared his throat and steadied her.
“We won,” she said, unable to stop her grin.
“You won.”
She finally broke his gaze and looked at the others. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that means—”
Her smile dropped. Down from where John stood, Father entered the deck and turned in their direction.
Oh, no.
“We have to go.” Emmeline grabbed Leon’s hand and ran.
Chapter 4
Emmeline and Leon whizzed past benches, wires, and the ventilators on deck. She led him around a funnel, so they cut line of sight, and spotted the perfect hiding place: a raised platform with a white-painted, solid wooden fence. They raced up the steps, and she pulled him down to conceal them. The small space was empty, save for a golden, tubular apparatus in the middle, housing a compass.
“Would you mind explaining why we’re on the run?” Leon’s tone carried a mild amusement.
Emmeline took a few breaths to calm down. “My father.”
“In that case, wouldn’t it be better if we—” He started to rise.
“No!” She tugged on his arm.
“We were only playing shuffleboard. What could possibly land you in trouble?”
