“Dang,” I said. “That’s nuts.” I met Adrian’s eyes, and all it took was him smiling at me to make me feel like there was no way I could sustain eye contact for anything longer than half a millisecond. So I looked down, at his shoes, and saw that the toes were covered with ballpoint pen scribbles, including Clash lyrics that I recognized. Writing lyrics on the toes of your shoes. It was cheesy as hell but also kinda sweet.
I looked back up at him. “You like the Clash?” I said.
“Yeah, they’re my favorite band,” he said. “Why? Are you surprised?’
“No,” I said, quickly. Then, “Well, yes.”
“What, you take me for more of an Ableton and Auto-Tune kinda guy?”
“No way,” I answered. “It’s nothing personal. It’s just that most people seem to like stuff made in this century. Not me, though. I haven’t liked anything that came out since I was born.”
“Ha,” Adrian said. “I get it. What about you? What’s your favorite band?”
“That depends on the day,” I answered. “And I tend to go more by favorite albums instead of favorite bands, but off the top of my head, I can’t think of a single favorite album of mine that came out after 1998.” I was well aware that this was the kind of answer that sounded like a cop-out, but I meant it, and Adrian smiled like he knew it.
“Nineteen ninety-eight was an incredible year for music,” he said.
“The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill,” I replied.
“Hard Knock Life.”
“Celebrity Skin.”
“Moon Pix,” he said, and the mention of Cat Power would have knocked me on my butt if I weren’t already sitting down. Was he for real? Was any of this for real? Was it all just a dream, and if I looked down I’d discover I had paws for hands?
But instead, for some reason, I decided to test him. “Wide Open Spaces,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows. “I have no idea what that is,” he said.
I smiled. “Dixie Chicks. It’s, like, a Kansas-girl thing,” I said. “But no discussion of the best albums of 1998 can be had without mention of…” Then we said “Aquemini” at the same time. I blushed, and Adrian laughed.
“Wow,” he said. “I guess we’re just a couple of music snobs, then.”
“I don’t think it’s our fault that we have good taste,” I said. He was doing that thing again, where he was looking at me, and I didn’t know what to do back. I had no idea what to say to him, and at the same time I felt fear gripping my stomach, panic that if I didn’t somehow keep the conversation going, he was going to get up and leave. “So,” I said, casting around for something else to talk about, “what was it like growing up with the Synod?” As soon as it was out of my mouth, though, I wanted to bite my tongue off. That was a superpersonal question, and I’d known Adrian for all of five minutes. But, he didn’t seem to care.
“Sometimes it was cool,” he said. “Especially for me, you know? I wasn’t born with powers, and when I was younger they made the whole losing-my-family thing more tolerable. I’d pretend I was a character in a book or a movie, like a chosen one who was rewarded with powers and magic for enduring all of this mortal suffering. But that wears off as you get older. You realize that life with magic is still life.”
His words felt like someone had taken a spoon and dug right into my guts. I didn’t know how to convey just how much I knew what he was talking about, that I could have said those exact words myself. It felt like a whole ravine of conversation had been opened up, and we’d both fall in. I looked down on the couch, where somehow our knees had moved so that they were touching. Not much, just barely kneecap to kneecap, but still, it was enough to make me feel warm. Only, there was a curfew, and it almost certainly had to be time for us to go.
I looked back up, and I could tell that Adrian knew it too, because his eyes were scanning the elevator and everything behind me. “Okay, lightning round,” I said. “You’re a total normie human. What’s your dream job?”
“Taco taste tester,” he said, without missing a beat. “You?”
“Nail polish namer,” I said. “Who trains otters in her spare time.”
“No fair,” Adrian said. “You didn’t tell me we also got to pick a side hustle!”
“Hey,” I said, “it’s not my fault you’re lazy.” A beat of silence followed.
Then another, and I couldn’t help but hear the music again. “Oh, listen,” I heard myself saying, “it’s that date-rapey Christmas song.”
Adrian laughed, and listened for a moment. “At least it’s just the instrumental version,” he said.
“I really hate Christmas music,” I said, and he laughed again.
“All of it?” he asked. “Or just the old standards that paint coercion tactics as romance?”
“All of it,” I said. “If there is a cool Christmas song out there, my ears have never heard it.”
“Not even the Waitresses?” he asked.
Huh? I was stumped. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“Oh man,” Adrian said, a grin spreading across his face. “Look up ‘Christmas Wrapping.’ It’s catchy as hell. Sometimes I even listen to it in July.”
I smiled. “Okay, I will.”
“It’s almost curfew,” he said, standing up. “We should probably get back to our rooms.” I nodded and stood up too.
“Yeah,” I said. “See you around.”
“Good night, Esme Pearl,” he said. “See you around.” And with that, he turned and walked away.
I felt like I was buzzing the whole way back up to my room. Half my brain was a halftime-worthy happy dance; the other half was going, “Huh, weird.” I flashed back to the hollow-heart nervous feeling I’d had the first time I saw Adrian, at the library. It felt like more than just lust at first sight. It had felt, if I was being totally honest with myself, a little like a warning. A warning of what, who knew? That a shiny black crow would break into Janis’s car? That Cassandra would start slipping away? That the Sitters were coming? That the Sitters were coming and that Brian planned to force me to host a party while wearing a reindeer beanie? It could be any of these things. Or all of them.
I slipped into my room just a few minutes before curfew. The room was still in a haze. The TV was on, all the lights were on, the bathroom floor was covered in puddles, and there was a wet towel on my pillow. But Ji-A had gone back to her room, and Amirah was out, a satin eye mask on as she snored away.
I got ready for bed, turned all the lights and the TV off, and then climbed in bed, adjusting the pillows so that I wasn’t sleeping on the damp one. For my first night at the Summit, it could have gone worse. And as for tomorrow, I had no idea what to expect, but I knew it wasn’t going to be boring.
For once, I didn’t sleep late, but still, by the time I woke up, Amirah was already gone. I was kind of impressed she’d managed to get ready without making any noise, especially since, judging by the detritus spread across the room, and the makeup-dusted sink, and the still-on straightening iron in the bathroom, she wasn’t exactly low-maintenance.
I managed to find my own weekend bag amid all of Amirah’s stuff. It was the first time I’d looked in it since I’d packed, and I was not impressed. I was good at getting dressed, but horrible at packing, even with infinite time, and yesterday morning, with only five minutes to gather stuff for forty-eight hours’ worth of outfits, had left my options limited, to say the least.
I had one skirt, but it was one I’d found thrifting and had never gotten around to shortening, so it remained a scratchy plaid wool that hit right below my knees. I had an oversized bomber jacket, a pair of chartreuse jeans with zippers at the ankles, three T-shirts—all black, one that said “Eat More Figs” on the back in white lettering—a pair of silver tights with a hole in the toe, a blue slip dress (which was really just a slip), my leggings, a striped short-sleeved sweater (not
practical), my sweatshirt, a denim button-up, my Docs, a beret (really, what was I thinking?), a bleach-dyed denim shirt, jean shorts, a pair of leopard-print ballet slippers, and green rubber snake earrings that Janis had given me last Valentine’s Day. I was the polar opposite of those fashion articles that are always encouraging you to invest in the basics.
I still didn’t know what today was going to entail, so I decided to keep things pretty comfortable. The last thing I wanted to do was end up having to climb a rope in a slip dress. I put on the fig T-shirt, my black jeans from yesterday, my Docs, the denim overshirt, and the snake earrings. At the last second, I said frick it and added the beret. When Cass knocked on my door to go down to breakfast, I answered it as a snake-charming, fig-eating beatnik. She was, of course, wearing the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, though she did look well rested.
“How are you?” I asked, as I closed the door. “Anything—”
Cassandra shook her head before I could finish my question. “I’ve been fine,” she said. “But have you seen her? The bathroom woman from last night?”
I shook my head, and Cassandra looked up and down the hall.
“I keep thinking about what she said, that she had something for me. I know she said Sunday, but if we could find her today, maybe…”
I was silent for a minute, then just said, “Maybe we can.” I recognized something in Cassandra right now: hope. Hope and I were well acquainted, and I knew how dangerous it could be.
“Where’s Ruby?” I asked, trying to change the subject as we headed down the hall. Cass shrugged. “Did you ask her more about what she had learned from her grandma?”
“No,” Cassandra said, offering no further information. She pressed the down button for the elevator, then pressed it again and again and again.
“Did you talk to her at all?” I asked, frustrated by her lack of communication. I was trying to help. And so was Ruby.
The elevator doors opened and Cass answered, “Not really,” then walked on.
I rolled my eyes behind her back. “You should talk to Ruby. She seems really nice, and it seems like you two would get along. You know, she’s a boxer.” Cass responded with a grunt.
“I just hope we can trust her,” she said, jamming the Close Door button over and over. “That little redheaded girl too.”
“Mallory,” I said. “And I don’t think that either she or Ruby are going to tell anyone.” Something in my gut told me they wouldn’t go blabbing unless, as Mallory had said yesterday, Cass started to put other people at risk.
“They’d better not,” Cassandra said, “because I don’t care if I am cursed, if they blow up my spot, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
“No one’s going to blow you up, Cassandra,” I said. “This isn’t us against them. We’re all an us. That’s why we’re here. This isn’t a reality show. We are here to make friends.” At the mention of friends, I thought of Janis, my best friend, who I’d lied to and then ignored, and it made me feel like crap. Janis was the person who made my non-Sitter life bearable, and I wasn’t doing a very good job of paying her back for that. If I could get ahold of her, I could at least offer her some excuse and also check in to make sure she was okay. “Hey, can I borrow your phone for a second? Do you have Janis’s number?” I asked Cassandra.
“Sure,” she said, and whipped her phone out of her back pocket. “I think it’s in there somewhere.” As soon as she passed the phone to me, I was sorry I asked. The screen was shattered, and the battery was at 2 percent. I opened her contacts to find it entirely empty. She had not saved a single number. “Do you mind if I look at your texts?” Cassandra shook her head, so I opened her texts. I recognized my own number, which she hadn’t saved, and there were two others. I gleaned that one was Brian’s, and the other—from the string of straightforward directives she’d issued, like “get pizza”—was Dion’s.
So, no go on that, but maybe I could at least look up the song Adrian had mentioned. Cass did have a streaming service, but she had apparently never logged in, because it asked for a password as soon as I opened it. The Waitresses would have to wait. I passed Cassandra’s phone back to her. “Thanks,” I said.
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. “You get what you needed?” Cassandra asked, pocketing her phone as she led the way down the hall.
“Yep, sure did,” I said, stifling a sigh. I’d have to figure out the Janis situation later, and it wasn’t Cassandra’s fault. Right now, I needed coffee, because there was no way this day was not going to require caffeine, and a lot of it.
We walked into the dining room for breakfast, and Cassandra headed directly to the buffet and started filling her plate. I followed suit, then hit the coffee station. I made my own iced coffee, which was really just coffee-flavored room-temp water, and then sat down with the rest of the Runaway Bunnies. I wondered whether Cassandra would relax at all, because neither Mallory nor Ruby dropped any hint about what had happened yesterday after dinner, but she just grunted into her plate like a goblin and made no attempt at conversation. Ruby seemed to have given up on befriending Cassandra and barely even looked her way. I guess I didn’t blame her. Cass would never be an easy roommate, and I would have imagined that now, when she was feeling extra vulnerable and even more on guard, she would be especially hard to handle.
Amirah was still wailing about her ex-girlfriend, Mallory was gorging on oatmeal and orange juice, and Ji-A was doing a crossword. She also appeared to be listening to Amirah with one ear, because every once in a while she’d nod and say something like, “She clearly needs help, but you knew that when you started dating her.”
On the other side of the room, Brian and Clarissa sat with some of the other Counsel and a few members of the Synod. I saw Wanda, still looking at her phone, come into the dining room, grab a piece of bacon from the buffet, and then go right back out. I thought I was being sneaky about trying to find Adrian, but apparently I wasn’t.
“Who are you looking for?” Mallory asked. The question caught me off guard, and I choked on my coffee.
“I bet it’s Adrian,” Ji-A said, still not looking up from her puzzle. “I saw you two chatting last night.”
“You did?” I asked, surprised. I didn’t think anyone had seen us, but then, when I was talking to Adrian, I was focused on Adrian. And his eyes, and his hands, and his taste in music, and…
Ji-A finally looked up. “Yep,” she said. “But you two seemed pretty into each other, so I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“You know him?” I asked, and she nodded. I noticed that Ruby and Mallory were nodding too.
“He’s been around forever,” Mallory said. “Wanda used to bring him to Sitter family weekends.”
Jeez! I almost kicked Cassandra under the table. Sitter family weekends? What the eff else had Cassandra and I been missing out on our whole lives?
“He used to be the cutest little nerd boy,” Ruby said.
“And now he’s a hot nerd boy,” Ji-A said, giving me a wink. I tried not to blush.
“He hasn’t been around that much since he got his powers,” Mallory said. “I guess he was kind of embarrassed by the controversy.”
“Powers?” I said. “And what controversy?” The questions tumbled out of my mouth faster than I would have liked, but…
“Oh yeah,” Ruby said, peeling off a piece of grapefruit. “Wanda issued a special dispensation to grant Adrian powers, and a lot of the Sitterhood wasn’t happy about it.”
“What kind of powers? Why weren’t they happy?” I asked. Adrian had mentioned his powers last night, but he hadn’t gone into detail.
Ruby looked at Mallory to confirm. “This was a couple of years ago, right? Like when we were like thirteen or something?” Mallory nodded, and Ruby continued. “So, you know how Sitters have spells and kinesis. The spells are what we acquire, and the kinesis is what we’re bor
n with, right?” I nodded, because I did know this much. “And Counsels can use spells, of course, but they don’t have a kinetic power, because that only belongs to Sitters. Except that Wanda gave Adrian a kinesis, and a lot of people weren’t happy about it. My grandma was one of them. She said it was a perversion of magic, and she didn’t like it at all. But Wanda really pushed it through.”
“What can Adrian do?” I asked. “I mean, what’s his kinesis?” Now I was kicking myself that I hadn’t asked him more last night. Mallory and Ruby looked at each other, and both kind of screwed up their faces.
“Something to do with air, I think?” Mallory said, and Ruby nodded. “That, or he might be able to fly? You’ll have to ask him.”
I kind of felt like I’d been struck dumb. What could I say to two people who had been raised in a world that was so fantastic that a boy who could maybe fly barely even caused their radar to blip? I had a million other questions, about Adrian and about what went on at Sitter family weekends (like, what did they do? White-water rafting and three-legged races?), but I wasn’t going to lob them out there now, and anyway, Ji-A had finished her puzzle, pushed back her chair, and announced it was time for us to get to class.
* * *
—
Our demonology session was being held in the hotel gym, which, for Summit purposes, had been renamed the Fran Fine Fitness Center. When we walked in, Janine Guillot was wearing one of her tweed suits and sitting on a weight bench, her legs crossed as she drummed her red fingernails on the vinyl seat. On the floor next to her was a giant crate with a heavy padlock. When she saw us, she smiled, then raised her palm at the door and muttered something.
“Hello, girls,” she said, in an accent I couldn’t quite place—she could have been French, or from Louisiana. “I’m so happy that you are all here. Please find a seat.” I wasn’t the only one looking around wondering where to park their butt. Amirah took another weight bench, Mallory perched on something that looked gynecological, Cassandra sat on what appeared to be a torture rack, and Ruby, Ji-A, and I leaned up against the StairMasters. We were sharing the session with the Very Hungry Caterpillars, who sat in a row on the floor, and their easy small talk with everyone in our group but me and Cassandra further confirmed my fears that the rest of the Sitters were basically besties from way back.
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