by Sophie Lark
Before I can ask her what’s on her mind, she pulls her sweater over her head so she can cool off in the sea breeze. She’s wearing a leotard underneath—dark gray, backless, with a mesh of fine straps crisscrossing over her spine.
Anna has the clearest skin I’ve ever seen. It’s smooth and flawless all across her shoulders and back, luminescent in the sun. The only marks on her flesh are the finely-drawn tattoos that represent all the people she loves: her mother, her father, her sister, and her brother. None for me, though. I wonder if she’d get one with me if I asked?
I have the urge to run my finger down the script written along the back of her arm, an urge so strong that my hand is already moving before I realize that’s weird, and I clench my fist in my lap instead.
“What’s up with you?” Anna says.
“Nothing,” I say. “Cramp.”
Anna takes my hand in hers and massages my palm with her fingers. She presses her thumbs firmly into my flesh, finding all the tired muscles, bringing them back to life. It feels good, really good. Her hands are so soft and so strong at the same time.
“I never think of you as a girl,” I blurt out.
“What do you mean?” Anna says, faltering in the massage.
“You know how some people are sort of a cliche of themselves? I never think of you as a girl, or a ballerina or whatever category. You’re just . . . yourself. Your own combination.”
“Thanks, I guess,” Anna says.
She’s not meeting my eye. I think I insulted her accidentally.
“There’s nothing wrong with being a girl,” I say, wishing I could explain better what I mean.
“I know,” Anna says.
“I only meant—”
“It’s fine, Leo. I understand you,” Anna says.
She always does. But she looks troubled. Not entirely happy all of a sudden.
“How’s your banking class going?” I ask her. It’s one of the only classes we don’t share.
“Fine.”
“Pretty dull with all those Accountants?”
“No. It’s not dull. I’ve always liked numbers.”
There’s silence for a moment while I try to stop myself from asking what I really want to ask. Anna is stiff, anticipating it.
“I hope Dean’s not giving you any shit,” I say, trying to sound casual.
I don’t like that they have that class together, without me there. It shouldn’t matter, but it irritates me, like something caught in my teeth. When Anna’s in that class and I’m in Torture Techniques, I keep thinking about her and that asshole sitting across the room from each other. I’ve seen how he looks at her. Like she’s a piece of meat and he’s starving. It’s almost worse than the actual torture techniques that our professor occasionally demonstrates on an unwilling volunteer.
“He isn’t bothering me,” Anna says.
I can see her cheeks flushing pink, and I know there’s something else to be said, but she doesn’t want to tell me.
“What?” I say.
“I . . . we’re working on a project together,” Anna says. “The professor assigned the groups.”
“Just the two of you?” I say. My question comes out harsher than I intended. I don’t know why my heart is beating so fast. It’s just a school project.
“Yeah,” Anna says, feigning casualness.
I try to sound even more casual. Like I don’t care at all.
“How’s that been?”
“Surprisingly good.”
My stomach gives a hard twist. It’s stupid—I don’t want Dean to be an ass to her. I don’t want her assignment fucked up—Anna’s grades are important to her. But somehow the fact that it’s going well makes me feel even more shitty and anxious.
“Well, he’s . . . smart,” I say grudgingly.
“Yeah, he is,” Anna agrees.
She agrees too easily. Too enthusiastically. My stomach clenches up even harder. My face is hot, the sun feels too bright. I pull my own sweater off, with unnecessary aggression.
“The weather’s all over the fucking place here,” I say angrily. “One minute you’re freezing and the next you’re sweating your balls off.”
“Not me,” Anna says, a strange edge to her voice. “ ‘Cause I don’t have balls. ‘Cause I am, in fact, a girl.”
“I know,” I say.
“Come on,” Anna says, standing up abruptly. “Let’s walk down the long way so we can go into town. I want to get more stamps.”
She’s always writing to her little brother and sister. Probably her parents, too.
My mom expects me to call every week, and my dad gets on the line for at least part of the time. He’s genuinely curious about Kingmakers. My mom’s questions are mostly intended to reassure herself that nothing horrible is about to happen to me here.
As Anna and I walk down the gentler slope toward the town, I find myself following along behind her again, so I can watch her without her knowing.
I’m strangely fixated on her smooth gait, her long legs striding down the hill. Her sheaf of silver-blonde hair swinging back and forth like a pendulum. The edge of her face in profile as she glances back at me.
For one brief moment, I remember the dream I had about Anna, our first week at school. And then I stuff that memory back down inside of me, like I’ve tried to do every time it pops up in my brain.
We’ve barely stepped foot on the main street of the village when we bump into Ares coming out of the post office. He’s got a couple of letters in his hand and he stuffs them into his pocket, not caring if they get crumpled.
“Hey!” I say. “I thought you were studying this morning.”
“I finished,” he says.
“I think you were just trying to get out of hiking.” I grin. “I don’t blame you. Chasing Anna up the cliff is brutal. Not everything has to be cardio you know, Anna.”
“Everything should be, though,” Anna says, smiling.
“You’re a masochist,” I tell her.
“What does that make you?” Ares says.
“A hedonist.” I grin. “I’ve been dreaming about fish and chips all the way down the hill. You want to come?”
“I just ate breakfast . . .” Ares says. “But hell yes, I want chips.”
Ares waits while Anna buys her stamps, then we all head over to the tiny restaurant that barely looks bigger than a phone booth from the outside. There’s no tables or chairs to sit down at once you’ve got your order. You just take your hot, greasy packet, wrapped up in newspaper, and it’s up to you to find a comfortable rock or curb so you can attack the food.
We order from the local who always scowls at us like he’s in a terrible mood, but still gets our order out in less than five minutes, in hot, crispy perfection every time.
“He doesn’t look like a magician,” I say, biting into a golden-brown chunk of bass. “But he’s doing some kind of sorcery back there.”
“His apron’s always clean,” Anna says. “And so are his hands. I bet his kitchen is perfectly organized.”
“Do you think the locals hate us?” Ares says, in an undertone. “Sometimes I feel like they’re glaring at us.”
“The village couldn’t exist without Kingmakers,” Anna says. “Most of the people on the island work for the school in one way or another.”
“Who cares,” I say. “As long as they keep cooking for us.”
Ares attacks his fish and chips like he hasn’t had breakfast in months, let alone an hour ago. He’s filled out a little since we’ve been at school, but he’s still lean. Apparently he’d need an IV drip of pure butter to actually get chubby.
Anna douses her chips in malt vinegar until my eyes are watering.
“What’s wrong with ketchup?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “I like ‘em this way.”
“It’s the European way,” Ares tells me. “Vinegar is better than ketchup.”
“Oh yeah?” I say. “What about fry sauce?”
“What’s fry sauce?” Ares sa
ys, looking concerned.
“Mayo and ketchup mixed together.”
“No,” he says firmly, “Only Germans put mayonnaise on fries.”
I’m starting to cheer up a little, sitting in the warm sun with two of my favorite people. Both Ares and Anna are supremely relaxing company. Ares is so laid-back that I think he’d stay calm even if he woke up with his room on fire. And Anna is just . . . someone I could be around forever.
As we’re eating, two girls from the school come strolling by, each carrying a little bag from the tea shop.
“Morning,” the girl nearest to me says as she passes. She’s got blue-black hair and straight brows that go up at the outer edges like a Vulcan. She’s in our Environmental Adaptation class—I think her name is Gemma.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask her.
“Crystals,” she says, stopping to show me. She pulls out several small crystals, wrapped individually in tissue. One looks like rose quartz, one might be amethyst, and I don’t know the others.
“Pretty,” I say.
“Thanks,” she replies, smiling at me like I complimented her personally, and not just the crystals.
“What are they for?” Ares asks.
“They have healing powers.”
I hear Anna let out a little puff of air next to me, which I know was a very quiet snort. Anna doesn’t think much of mysticism.
As quiet as she was, Gemma zeroes in on Anna at once, her dark eyes narrowing.
“Not a believer?” Gemma demands.
“No,” Anna says coolly.
“That’s fine,” Gemma says, tossing her head. “Most people don’t understand it.”
“It’s hard to understand things that are made up,” Anna agrees with maddening calm.
Seeing Gemma’s irritation, her redheaded friend quickly interjects, “Are you all coming to the party tonight?”
“What party?” Ares asks.
“A bunch of us are going down to Moon Beach once it gets dark.”
“You should come,” Gemma says, her eyes focused intently on me alone.
“Maybe we will,” I say.
“See you tonight, then,” Gemma says.
“Bye.” Her friend waves to Ares.
Anna crumples up the newspaper containing her last few fries.
“You’re coming, too,” I inform her.
“I don’t think so,” Anna says.
“What’s wrong? You don’t like those girls?”
“I like Shannon. She’s in my contracts class.”
I notice she’s avoiding mention of Gemma.
“Come on,” I coax. “You love parties.”
Anna looks at me, her blue eyes clear and steady. “Do you want me to come?” she asks quietly.
“Of course I do,” I say.
Anna’s silent for a moment, then she says, “I’ll come, then.”
“Good.” I grin. “I know Ares will be there. I think that Irish girl invited you particularly.”
Ares smiles, shaking his head. “She was just being friendly.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “I think she wants to be VERY friendly with you.”
Anna’s quiet on the walk back up to the school. Ares is talking about our upcoming Security Systems exam.
“I thought it was going to be security in general, but it’s almost all electronics and computer systems,” he says glumly.
“You’ll pass,” I say. “You’re in the library more than both of us combined.”
“Because I have to be,” Ares says. “I don’t just read something once and remember it forever like you two.”
“Just Leo,” Anna says. “I actually study.”
“I study, too,” I say, in a wounded tone.
“For five minutes before the test,” Anna snorts.
“That counts.”
As we head through the heavy stone gates onto campus, I can hear the buzz of students congregating in the commons. I hear a mix of excited whispers and groans of irritation.
Before I can even get close to the message board to see what’s been posted, a heavy hand claps me on the shoulder.
“Congratulations,” Hedeon Gray says, with a grimace like it hurts him to say it.
“For what?”
“They posted the Captains.”
I rush forward, having to see with my own eyes if what Hedeon said is true. Sure enough, a fresh white paper has been pinned to the board, bearing a single heading and four names in fresh blue ink.
Team Captains:
Freshmen: Leo Gallo
Sophomores: Kasper Markaj
Juniors: Calvin Caccia
Seniors: Pippa Portnoy
“You got it,” Anna says with real pleasure.
“Of course I did!” I say.
In truth, I wasn’t that certain, and seeing my name written down in undeniable script makes me overflow with excitement. I wanted that Captainship, I really fucking wanted it. And obviously I thought I was the best person for the job, but there was pretty fucking tough competition. I didn’t have the highest grades in our year, so it must have come down to practical performance or the student vote.
“Nice,” Ares says, giving me a fist bump. “I really didn’t want it to be some asshole like Bram.”
I just didn’t want it to be Dean. He was my biggest competition.
I look around gleefully, wanting to see the rage in his face when he reads the list. Unfortunately, he’s not around.
That’s fine. I’ll rub it in soon enough.
I feel high on triumph. Bursting with anticipation. I wish the competition started today. I’m so fucking ready—I’m gonna be the first Freshman to ever win this thing.
“Looks like most of the team Captains are Heirs,” Anna muses, reading the rest of the list.
I’d barely even glanced at the other names. Now I read them more carefully, considering who I’m up against.
I know who Pippa Portnoy is, because she was Anna’s guide on the first day of school. She looks the least intimidating of the Captains, being only about five feet tall, slim, and pixyish. But that doesn’t fool me—Anna told me before that Pippa is top of the Senior class in grades, and she’s sly as well as smart. She’s always surrounded by friends, who pay her obvious respect despite her diminutive stature.
“Where’s Pippa from, anyway?” I ask Anna, thinking I better do a little research on my competitors.
“She’s the heir to the Liverpudlian Mafia,” Anna says. “And she’s betrothed to the heir to the Real IRA, Liam Murphy. Her family specializes in drug trafficking and contract kills, so don’t think she’s a sweetheart just because she looks like Audrey Hepburn.”
“I would never think that about anybody at this school,” I assure her.
“Calvin Caccia’s the one Miles pointed out to us in the dining hall,” Ares says.
“Right,” I nod. “From New York. What about the other one—Kasper Markaj. Anybody know him?”
“He’s the only one who isn’t an Heir,” Anna tells me. “He’s an Enforcer for the Albanians. Big dude, longish hair—the one always playing soccer outside the walls.”
“Right.” I nod. Somehow the competition seems a lot more real all of a sudden. Particularly with the other Freshmen eyeing me, sizing me up. Hoping that they picked the right person to lead us. And some resenting me, since they wanted the Captainship themselves.
I’ll have to get them all behind me, one way or another. Or we don’t have a hope of winning.
I look across the commons at Bram Van Der Berg, who’s glaring at me with pure loathing, arms folded stubbornly across his broad chest.
I have to get them all in line, one way or another. Even the ones who hate me.
11
Dean
I’m lying on my bed reading a book when Bram comes storming in. Bram is moody as fuck, and he’s always getting riled up about something. They probably ran out of the bread he likes down in the dining hall.
“Fucking bullshit!” he cries, throwing himself down
on his own bed. His mass makes the springs creak alarmingly and he doesn’t seem to care that he’s getting his dirty boots on his blanket. He also appears to have a fresh bandage wrapped around his forearm.
“Problem?” I say calmly, turning the page of my book.
Bram glares over at me. As per usual, he tries to vent his annoyance on the closest person at hand.
“Why are you reading?” he demands. “I thought you finished that project with Wednesday Addams.”
Bram thinks he’s funny. Calling Anna “Wednesday Addams” is low-hanging fruit. It doesn’t suit her, anyway. She’s not gloomy and sarcastic. If I were going to liken her to someone from a TV show it would be . . . someone like Dark Phoenix from X-Men. Powerful and otherworldly.
Of course I’m not going to say that to Bram.
I’m not going to say anything to him about Anna.
He’s right that our project is finished. We got a perfect score, including bonus credit for the gorgeously illustrated chart Anna made to accompany our oral presentation.
I’ve been feeling dull since then. No more trips to the library together.
“I’m reading for pleasure,” I say to Bram. “Ever heard of it?”
“Only if it’s a nudie mag,” Bram snickers.
“Can’t help you there,” I say, turning the page again.
Bram is silent for a moment, glowering, and I know from experience he’s gonna throw another dart in my direction. He can’t help trying to make everyone as miserable as him when he’s in a bad mood.
What I don’t expect is for the dart to fucking sting.
“Leo Gallo got the Captainship,” he says.
I lay the book down slowly. “What?”
“They just posted the list down in the commons. That arrogant fuck got it instead of me.”
I’d like to tell Bram he didn’t have a hope in hell of getting the Captainship. I and at least three other people were better qualified. But how in the FUCK did Leo get it?
