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“I see. So, while you were arguing with Frankie, Kira somehow retrieved her gun and shot at Frankie. You saw what happened and put yourself between Frankie and the laser, thereby saving her. Why did you do it, Angel?”

My cheeks heated. “I don’t know. I didn’t want her to fail.”

“So you’re her leader, then?”

“What? No.” I was taken aback by the comment. “I’m just her friend. I want her to succeed.”

“At your own expense?”

I looked down at my hands and then back at her. “I guess so.”

“Okay, thank you, Angel.”

I stood, feeling like I’d messed up more than I could have imagined. Slash would be so disappointed in me, and that hurt a lot.

I had a bad feeling my time at the trials was coming to an end faster than I expected.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

ANGEL SINCLAIR

The one bright spot in terms of physical fitness was my time in the pool. Hala and I were the fastest swimmers, though I was faster for shorter races and Hala had better stamina for longer distances. Unfortunately, my performance in the pool didn’t help me with the ups—the pull-ups, chin-ups, and push-ups. Our trainer, Mac, got me started on weights to strengthen my upper body. Everything hurt after one session. Subsequent sessions indicated I was weaker than a wet noodle.

Frankie was delegated to the treadmill, rowing machines, and working with some stretchy band things. All of us had a group yoga session on Wednesday that confirmed I had the flexibility of a sheet of steel.

Ugh.

Slowly we got into a routine with our classes, testing sessions, workouts, and each other. Frankie and Hala started foreign language testing—Frankie in Mandarin and Korean, and Hala in Arabic. The only foreign languages Wally and I knew were computer ones, and they were testing us out on them. I didn’t know what everyone else’s capabilities were.

Everything seemed fine until Thursday, when all of us—except Frankie—started to stress out about the upcoming trial on Friday.

Maybe in an attempt to distract me from my anxiety, Frankie started talking to me about Jax out of the blue.

“I like Jax,” she announced Thursday when we were on our way to lunch. “He’s smart and tough, but I bet he’s a softie beneath that rough exterior.”

“Why are we talking about Jax?” I asked. “The next trial is tomorrow. We have to pass it or we’re toast. That’s what should have our focus right now.”

“Oh, forget about the trial for a while. I’d rather talk about Jax.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” I glared at her.

“Stop being so grumpy. You never want to talk about anything. Come on, you have to admit he’s super cute.” Frankie slipped her arm through mine and smiled. “And he does seem to have his eye on you.”

I had no idea how to respond, because I wasn’t even sure what she meant by that. Asking for clarification would only encourage more discussion on this topic. The truth was I didn’t want to talk aboutanything. I wanted only to embrace my sky-high anxiety and shut everything else out, but Frankie wasn’t going to let me.

She wiggled her eyebrows at me. “He has that bad-boy vibe.”

“That’s not a vibe, Frankie. It’s real.”

“Ooh, is it? Well, I like him anyway.” Frankie gave an exaggerated sigh. “Too bad he’s not my type.”

“You don’t have a type. You like everyone.”

“Of course I like everyone.” She looked at me in exasperation. “That doesn’t mean I want todateeveryone.”

“See, what does that even mean?” I said. “This is exactly why I don’t like to talk about boys with you.”

“You don’t talk about boys with anyone.” She laughed again. “But don’t worry. You’ll get better at it. I promise.”