“Yes. Everyone in the Academy is Strategia—the professors, kitchen staff, guards, the people who tend to the animals. You didn’t think we would allow a non-Strategia to be here, of all places, did you?” She looks at me incredulously.
“No, I guess not,” I say. Not only does she think I know what Strategia are, but if she’s claiming everyone in this school is one, then where does that leave me? I pour myself some tea, trying to figure out how to ask her to define it without putting a spotlight on myself. “There’s no technology taught in this school.” Assassins and spies need tech. “Why is that?”
Layla shrugs. “Waste of time. We only get four years here. We can learn tech skills at home. And it’s not really a priority when everyone has tech specialists in their Family.”
Tech specialists, compulsory work for the Families, the Council of Families that Layla mentioned last night, and whatever the students are…It’s sounding like these Families are self-governed, self-reliant, and powerful.
Layla gives me an odd look. “Now hurry up and drink your tea. We’re still going to the dining hall to meet Ash.”
* * *
“Do we need to bring textbooks or something for class?” I ask as we head down the stairs. Our entire day yesterday was eaten up with tours, assessment, and visiting various class options. But we never actually participated in one.
Layla shakes her head. “With the exception of poisons class, most of the advanced students don’t use textbooks or take notes; we learn.”
I follow her through the foyer and out into the vine courtyard. “What does that mean?”
“Why are you constantly asking me what things mean?” she says, still giving me the suspicious look she adopted over morning tea. “I wouldn’t do that in front of other people if I were you.”
I keep pace with Layla’s fast steps. The coldness that crept into her demeanor yesterday after I sat with Aarya at lunch is still there.
I open my mouth to respond as we step into the garden lounge, and we almost smack into two guys having a quiet discussion. One is the confident archer with the platinum hair who winked at me yesterday. His friend is similarly tall and handsome and has a tattoo of ivy peeking out from the rolled cuff of his shirt. He doesn’t have the same commanding presence his friend does, though. Just by seeing them talk together, you can tell there is an imbalance of power between them.
“So it’s the new girl,” the confident archer says, shifting his attention and flashing me a grin. His accent is British.
His tattooed friend crosses his arms. “You’re not going to introduce us, Layla? Where are your manners?” He sounds French and has a lilting voice. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a singer in a band.
“Brendan”—Layla gestures toward the archer, and then toward the guy with the French accent—“and Charles. This is November.” Layla’s tone is flat, like she could be reading off a grocery list, just trying to accomplish the task at hand. Great. I’m a grocery list.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Brendan says, and bows, but there’s something duplicitous about his friendliness. He’s nothing like Ash, who always seems to be assessing; Brendan’s positive attitude feels like a lure. “Have you enjoyed your first two days at Phantom High?”
“Phantom High?” I say with a smirk. “Clever. Well, all I can say is the food’s excellent…when it’s not poisoned.”
Charles laughs, but it’s not an easy laugh and I can’t help but feel like I’m participating in some elaborate dance I don’t know the steps to. I look to Layla for clues as to who these guys are, but her expression remains neutral. I can tell by the tension in her stance, though, that she wants to get the hell away from them. And if she isn’t doing it, I can only assume she doesn’t feel comfortable dismissing them.
“Oh, great, the royals and the nerds talking to each other,” Aarya says in an American accent, walking up with Ines. “What is the world coming to?”
“It’s a world where you’re irrelevant, Aarya,” Brendan replies, and once again I sense something cruel behind his upbeat tone.
“Oh, boo-hoo,” Aarya says as she walks away. Ines touches her arm, which seems to be a signal for Aarya to stop.
I take a better look at Brendan and Charles. There is clearly some dynamic here that I’m not understanding. Layla’s tense around these guys and Ines doesn’t seem to want Aarya to get into a conflict with them.
But of course Aarya turns back toward us just before they enter the building. “I don’t matter to you, Brendan? However will I go on?”
“Maybe you won’t,” Charles answers, and unlike Brendan, the threat in his tone is direct.
Aarya rolls her eyes and goes inside like nothing happened, but Ines frowns.
Layla takes the distraction as an opportunity to walk away from them, and I follow.
“They’re all running from us,” Charles says, and they both laugh.
I look over my shoulder briefly before we enter the building on the far side of the courtyard, and the hair on my arms immediately stands up. Brendan and Charles are staring directly at me. If attention from Aarya is bad, my gut tells me that this is much worse.
I look at Layla with newfound appreciation. She might be uptight and closed off, but at least she lacks the menacing vibe these other students have.
“Layla, what I said last night…about you being right about Aarya,” I say quietly.
Layla scans the foyer with the displayed shields, but no one is near us.
I keep my voice low. “I just wanted to say that I haven’t learned my way around here yet. And yes, I definitely ask too many questions. But I’m going to do my best to keep up. I get why you think I was being reckless. And…my loyalty is to you. One hundred percent.” I mentally wince, remembering what Ash said about me being impulsively loyal. But this is who I am. I don’t betray my friends, even the new ones.
Layla looks at me and I swear I catch a glimpse of vulnerability behind her stony expression.
“I just want you to know that I am listening to you,” I say. “And I’m grateful you’re taking all this time to explain everything in detail.”
She gives me a quick nod, and I can already tell that some of the hardness has left her demeanor.
We walk toward the dining hall in silence. Then, casually, she says, “Ash told me what happened with Felix and the fork,” and steals a glance at me.
I smile. I know an acceptance of an apology when I hear one. I walk a step closer to her, keeping my voice quiet. “What are the chances that Felix knew about the search last night?”
“I want to say he did,” she answers. “Because the timing is suspicious, and if there’s one thing we’re not, it’s random. But the only way he could know about a search is if a faculty member told him, which is forbidden. Unless he overheard something he wasn’t supposed to. I just don’t know.”
I nod. “What about Ines? How does she fit in with Aarya and Felix?”
“Ines is Aarya’s roommate,” Layla says, and pauses in front of the dining hall door. “She’s also one of the best tactical students at this school, but she doesn’t talk to anyone except for Aarya and Felix, mostly Aarya. And she’s probably right not to.”
I want to ask her what she means by that, but she pushes open the door and I follow her inside. The dining hall at breakfast is nothing like at lunch or dinner. It’s almost lively. Students congregate in groups, and there’s even some light laughter—which I now attribute to the fact that the teachers’ table is empty.
As we walk between the tables, I spot a broad-shouldered guy and a long-haired guy watching us approach. They exchange a few words, and it’s obvious I’m the topic of conversation.
Just as we pass the broad-shouldered guy, his chair moves backward and smacks into my leg. Across the table, his long-haired friend smirks.
“Ow. Watch it,” I say, rubbing my leg.
The broad-shouldered guy stands up, and he’s a good six inches taller than me. “It’s not my problem if your reflexes are bad,” he says. He’s got an Italian accent similar to my aunt Jo’s, and his tone is just short of threatening.
Layla must hear it, too, because she looks from me to him like she’s trying to sort something out. “And it’s not her problem that you’re too big for these chairs, Matteo,” she says calmly.
My jaw drops. Layla didn’t say boo to Aarya or Brendan and Charles, but she’ll mouth off to this huge guy? Matteo, I think. Italian for “gift from god” or, as it happens, “tax collector.”
He lifts a playful eyebrow at Layla, but when his gaze returns to me, it’s not gentle. I get the sense he knows something I don’t and he’s not happy about it. Gift, shmift. This guy’s a tax collector. “You’re lucky you’re with Layla.”
“That I know,” I say lightly, and I catch a glimpse of approval in Layla’s expression.
He walks past me and his shoulder knocks into mine hard enough that I stumble backward.
“He’s all bark,” Layla says.
“Sure,” I say, pretending it doesn’t bother me as I watch Matteo walk away. “But what’s all the hostility about?”
I turn back to Layla, but she’s walking again and I need to pick up the pace to catch her.
“Everyone is testing you,” Layla says. “Give it a couple of months.”
She stops at a chair across from her brother, whose eyes are just as hard to meet as always. I audibly let my breath out. Months? No chance. My conversation with Ash about how no one leaves for the holidays replays in my mind, and my unsettled feeling cranks up a notch. I suddenly feel the need for some air and a place to quietly think.
“Is there a bathroom down here?” I ask Layla.
“Through the door to the right.”
I walk back between the tables, careful not to make eye contact with anyone so I don’t provoke any more aggression. I’ve never felt this way. My town is friendly. My school is friendly. There probably isn’t a person in all of Pembrook I don’t know by name, address, and pizza preference.
I open the door and slip into the quiet hallway, walking a little way down from the guard who stands outside the dining hall. I lean my back against the stone for a moment and close my eyes. This is the first time in my life that I haven’t been excited about meeting people, when I’ve wanted to be away from the crowd instead of in the middle of it. I could go outside, maybe sit in that garden. I shake my head. That would take too long and I’d probably freak Layla out that I was messing up her schedule.
A door creaks and my eyes pop open at the sound.
“Shit,” I breathe.
Matteo walks out of what I can only guess is the bathroom. His eyes narrow when he sees me. He probably thinks I followed him, but saying I didn’t is only going to make it look like I did.
“You look like her,” he says like he’s disgusted, but keeps his voice low enough that the guard in front of the dining hall can’t hear him.
My heart thuds. I can’t imagine who from his life I might look like. The only person I’ve ever been compared to is my mom, who Dad claims I look exactly like. But how on earth would Matteo know that?
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I keep my voice steady and neutral, imitating Layla, and I repeat her words in my thoughts: He’s just testing me.
Matteo scans my face, searching for something. A denial, maybe? “You’re an idiot for coming here,” he says. “And even more of one for having followed me into this hallway.”
My hands clench. “I didn’t—”
But I don’t get my rebuttal out, because a fist the size of a grapefruit is suddenly headed for my face. The impact with my cheekbone rattles my entire skull and I slam back into the wall, sliding to the floor.
My hands immediately fly to my face, the left side of which is already swelling. I can hear the guard’s boots pound against the stone as he rushes over. My nose isn’t bleeding yet, which at least makes me think it isn’t broken, but the pain is unreal and tears involuntarily flow down my left cheek.
I peer up at Matteo with my unswollen eye. The guard is restraining him now, holding his arms behind his back, and a crowd is already forming in the hallway, spilling out from the dining hall. The guard pulls Matteo away from me and he doesn’t resist.
Layla helps me up by my arm. I can see her questioning with her eyes if I’m okay, but she doesn’t say a word. I grab at the wall behind me. My head pounds like someone’s playing the drums on it. I want to scream at Matteo, but there’s a lump in my throat and I’m afraid if I open my mouth I’ll angry-cry.
The crowd parts to let Headmaster Blackwood through. She looks from me to Matteo, like she’s trying to cherry-pick information from our body language.
“Down,” Blackwood says, and the guard forces Matteo to his knees. She turns to me. “Well, go ahead.”
No “Are you okay?” No “I can see that you’ve been knocked out by a guy twice your size—maybe we should get you to a doctor.”
I stare at her in horror. “Go ahead?” I ask.
“An eye for an eye, just like I told you,” Blackwood says, looking at me expectantly. “Only, I didn’t expect it to be quite so literal or quite so soon.”
This isn’t just an odd school with creepy rules. The people here are actually vicious, even the ones who are supposed to be regulating law and order.
“You want me to hit him in the face?” My voice cracks in disbelief.
“Do it!” Aarya yells from somewhere in the crowd, and I catch a glimpse of Brendan’s white shock of hair. He and Charles watch with interest.
My stomach flips. Blackwood raises her hand and Aarya shuts up. I look at Matteo. He seems calm, like he did exactly what he needed to.
“Uh, um,” I stammer, still in shock.
“Well, get on with it,” Blackwood says, and I can’t believe how cavalier she’s being about this.
“I…I’m not going to hit him,” I say, and I can feel the surprise ripple through the onlookers. I’ve never hit anyone in the face in my life and I’m definitely not going to start with a guy whose face will probably do more damage to my hand than the other way around.
“Do you think the rules don’t apply to you?” Blackwood asks.
“I didn’t say that. I just…What will punching him prove?” And as I think about it, the answer occurs to me. “The real problem is that he hit me in the first place, not that I won’t hit him back.” I want to tell her exactly what I think of these students with their “tests,” and her archaic punishment system, but my emotions are running too high and I can’t get my thoughts clear enough to do it without sounding like I’m scared.
Blackwood lifts her chin and raises her voice. “Apparently November believes that retaliation is beneath her. So if any of you are looking to blow off some steam, she’s an easy target. She won’t hit back.”
My mouth opens and for a moment I think I must be hearing things. Did she really just tell all the students that they could hit me? Frustration wells in my chest and a lump forms in my throat. Now I know exactly what Conner meant when he warned me that I might not survive here. I catch Layla’s eye in the crowd and she frowns.
Matteo hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and now he mutters, “Like I said, you’re an idiot.”
Anger begins to bubble inside my already clenched chest—anger that I was hit, that I haven’t understood a single thing since I set foot on this campus, and that I’m even here at all. This is the most screwed-up school in the world.
“This is your only chance, November,” Blackwood says, like maybe I don’t get what she’s offering me.
I step forward. I can’t have people thinking that they can hit me whenever they want. I’m sure there are already about six onlookers who would jump at the chance. B
ut I also can’t believe I’m in a position where I’m being encouraged to hit another student in a school, and by the headmaster. All I want to do is walk away and fly straight back to Pembrook.
I pull back my arm and my fist shakes.
Matteo laughs, and the sound grates on my last nerve. The only thing worse than being punched for no reason is then being laughed at for it in front of everyone.
Screw this. I step forward with my left leg, pulling my right one back, and I kick him in the balls with all my might.
Matteo’s eyes widen; he grunts and crumples to the floor. Blackwood raises an eyebrow.
“I slipped,” I say with an edge in my voice.
“Well, now you’re even,” she says. “There will not, and I repeat, there will not be retaliation later. This is it. You walk away with an even score.”
“Understood,” I say, even though I really don’t. And just like a switch has been flipped, everyone starts moving at once.
“That was your third mark, Matteo. Meet me in my office after class,” Blackwood says. He stands up and I reflexively take a step back.
“Come on,” Layla says. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”
Matteo walks past me and Ash says something to him, only I can’t hear what it is.
LATER THAT EVENING I sit in front of the fireplace in our room on an ancient-looking rug patterned with trees. I watch the fire pop and dance over the logs and lift my hand to lightly touch my bruised eye. The strong-smelling poultice the nurse left on my face all day brought down the swelling, but I’m positive I’m going to have a shiner for a good two weeks. If people weren’t gossiping about me before, they will be.
I’ve decided to talk to Blackwood tomorrow. They might not have a phone here, but there has to be a way to get in touch with Dad. There’s no chance he would want me staying at a school where students attack me in the middle of the hallway and teachers expect me to hit them in retaliation.
Killing November Page 8
