Page 42 of A Mastery of Monsters

My backpack bumps against my body as I hurry toward the football field.

My last lecture ran long since the professor got caught up in answering a bunch of student questions.

I’m still early, but I want time to stretch and warm up.

I dodge other students flooding out of their morning classes and heading to get lunch.

I’m walking so fast that I almost miss a guy saying, “Hey, Jules’s sister.” I skid to a stop and turn at the same time, almost toppling over.

The guy who spoke is some white boy I’ve never seen before. He half smiles like he’s not sure if he should be. “Hey… We met, like, once, not sure if you remember me. Me and Jules were roommates in first year.”

There is something semifamiliar about his floppy brown hair under a baseball hat. I have seen him before. I met him when we dropped off Jules in his first year. Mom had told him I’d be heading here next fall. We hadn’t even gotten my acceptance yet.

The guy’s name is something with a G…. Greg? “You’re…”

“George.” Not Greg. “I was surprised that he’s not here this year. Or, I mean, I dunno, maybe not surprised.”

“Not surprised?”

He shrugs. “I know he was struggling with school after the stuff with your mom. He was distracted all the time. I can’t even imagine what that must be like. I’m sorry, by the way. Like, for your loss.”

I don’t tell him that Mom isn’t dead because I’m so distracted by what he said. Jules doesn’t struggle with school. He always does well.

My silence encourages George to keep talking.

“I saw you and figured I’d ask if he’s doing okay.

I tried texting, but he doesn’t answer. I feel bad ’cause, like, we asked him to join our house for this year, but he said he didn’t think it would be a good idea ’cause of the academic probation, and he didn’t even know if he’d be coming ba—”

“Academic probation?!”

No. There’s no fucking way. To be on academic probation, Jules would have needed to be doing poorly in multiple courses. Absolutely not. I don’t even think Jules has ever gotten so much as a B, and even in the days when I was obsessed with perfection, I’d gotten Bs.

My phone vibrates, and I check it, seeing an all-caps message from Virgil asking where I am.

“Fuck,” I say. “I’m sorry, I gotta go.”

“Wait, but, like, is everything cool with Jules?”

I don’t have time to answer George, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be the answer he wants. I race to the football field. Virgil, Margot, and Corey are in the stands along with a small crowd, I assume people who’ve come to watch the other competitors. Wonderful, now I have an audience.

I throw my bag into a pile with the rest of the candidates’ stuff and yank off the sweatpants and sweatshirt combo I wore to class to expose the bike shorts and T-shirt ensemble underneath. I’ve barely put my arm over my chest to stretch when Perez is blowing his whistle.

I guess my run over is as close to a warm-up as I’m going to get.

And now I have George’s words looping in my head. Jules was on academic probation? He never said anything about it. I’m a fucking walking, talking disappointment. If anyone would have understood, I would have. So why didn’t he tell me?

“You’ll be paired off several times today,” Perez says to us, ignoring the onlookers in the stands.

“Make no mistake—this is not just training, it’s a competition, and that doesn’t stop after you become a Bachelor.

Head-to-head exercises are important. I’ll pair you as necessary.

First drills will be sprinting heats. Let’s go.

Black with Mosser. Sharma with Thomas.” He continues to pair us off, and I fight not to groan as I line up beside Caden while Violet lines up next to another candidate.

“Can’t wait to get paired with someone it’ll look impressive to beat,” Caden says, keeping his head down, I assume so it won’t be obvious to the onlookers that he’s talking to me.

I ignore him and kneel on the temporary marker for the starting line. It’s just sprints. And there’s not enough lanes for us to all go at once, meaning we’ll probably run in heats and get breaks in between.

“On your mark!” Perez shouts. “Get set.” He blows the whistle.

I take off, sprinting toward the finish line and doing my best to block out everything beside me. Caden. The other candidates. Everyone in the stands. Thoughts of Jules.

The whistle blows again, and I look around, but I can’t be sure what I ranked.

Caden probably can’t either, because he’s gritting his teeth.

That means I stuck close to him. I smile a little.

I walk with the others toward the benches by the stands, ready for my break before the next heat, but Perez calls me again.

I glance around to see if anyone else gets called again, but I’m the only repeat. I get back in line for another sprint. He blows the whistle and I run.

We move on to the next station, which is tire flipping. I guess I should be grateful to Margot. She said a lot of bullshit that day, but she also trained me accurately. Perez is new, but must be repeating exercises from last year.

I expect that I’ll be benched for the first heat since I already ran twice in a row, but the professor calls my name again. Beside me, Violet’s eyes dart from me to Perez and back again. I hesitate.

“Did I stutter, Black?” he asks.

I shake my head and get in position next to a candidate whose muscled thigh is roughly the size of my face. I peer down the line and notice that the others are paired more evenly.

The whistle blows, and I huff, jerking my arms under the tire and using my legs to help me shove it over. Meanwhile, the guy I’m up against is destroying me. Dude is a beast, flipping the tire like it’s from a tricycle.

By the time we get to the end, it’s obvious I’ve lost the heat.

I’m breathing heavily, and sweat is already dripping from my forehead. I head for the benches, but Perez calls my name again. I stop and stare at him, and he stares right back.

This. Motherfucker.

I get ready for the next heat.

And for every heat that comes, Perez pairs me up, and makes sure I’m matched with people who I realize are the top of the class in physical endurance. And unlike the first heat with Caden, every time it’s obvious that I lose.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Perez says, “Final exercise is a long-distance run, five laps. Get in line.”

I line up with the rest of the candidates, and when the whistle blows, I’m the last to take off from the starting line. Almost everyone laps me. Some of them throw me pitying looks. And others are smugger. Violet and Bryce have the decency to ignore me.

I finish dead last.

As I walk over to get my bag, I’m confronted by Caden holding court near it.

I’m going to pick up my stuff and leave. That’s it. I’m grabbing the handle when he says, “Better luck next year. Though I guess you’ll need a new partner. I think yours will be underground by then, don’t you? Maybe you can visit him. Since you get along so well with the monsters down there.”

I crush my strap between my fingers. I stare at Caden, who’s looming over me, a grin on his face, his buddies crowding around.

What’s the point of holding back? He’s right.

I’ve lost. I’ll be cut on Friday. This whole thing is by fucking design.

Bernie was right. So why not take a couple slices of this piece of shit while I go?

I have the knives for it. They’re in my bag.

Razor sharp thanks to Mia. I know the exact one I’ll choose to pop out those pretty baby blue eyes.

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I jerk back. “I got it,” Virgil says. He pulls the strap from my hands and slings it over his shoulder. When he glances at Caden, the boy looks away. “Let’s go.”

I shrug his hand off and power walk off the field with tears pricking at my eyes.

I don’t want to deal with Virgil right now.

“I know,” I say when we’re far enough away. “I sucked. I don’t need to hear it from you.”

Virgil stops, and his jaw drops. “Are you serious?” He points toward the field. “You didn’t suck. That was bullshit.”

My shoulders slump. I hadn’t even realized that I’d hiked them up.

“You’re the only candidate who didn’t get a single moment to rest, and you were consistently paired with the people who are not just the most physically fit, they’re literal university athletes.

Most of the candidates he put you up against have already made varsity.

Do you know how messed up that is? Of course you lost. Anyone else in that lineup would have lost too.

But they never got a chance because he kept pairing them with you.

Plus, they got breaks!” When Virgil finishes, his chest is heaving.

“You did fucking amazing, and don’t let anyone else ever tell you differently! ”

It’s like I’ve sunk into a hot tub. My entire body feels flushed, and my cheeks are, mortifyingly, blooming and getting bigger and fuller, and fuck me, I’m smiling. “That statement feels greatly inflated.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to let anyone say differently? That includes you, by the way.”

I cross my arms. “Wow, bossy.”

“Also, just so you know, Margot was like two seconds away from coming down there to strangle the professor. I didn’t realize you could physically see veins throbbing on someone’s forehead like that.”

I laugh and wipe my eyes, the tears that were pricking there losing their fury and coming out in a rush of mirth.

Virgil continues, “You should have heard her. She was like a sports commentator or something. She was like, ‘Look at her form! She’s got perfect form! That asshole is lifting with his back. Look at the other lanes! She’s destroying the people in the other lanes!’?”

My face goes slack. “Wait, really?”

“Uh, yeah.” Virgil adjusts his glasses like he can’t believe he has to explain this.

“Like I said, he only paired you with the best. And since you were competing with them, you were going way harder. You did a lot better than the others. Perez just pulled that shit so he could put on paper that you lost every heat. Fuck. The professors are supposed to be unbiased and unaffiliated. But I can’t think that this is anything but a Traditionalist middle finger to Henry and Adam. ”

I shake my head. “It’s too late, it’s done. Do you think I’ll fail because of this?”

“I don’t know…”

Virgil doesn’t need to be over here comforting me. It’s clear Perez isn’t going to give me that recommendation. If anything, Virgil should be dealing with his own grief about this. But here he is. Trying to make me feel better instead of mourning the loss of his humanity.

I may forever regret this, but with a sigh, I open my arms. “Hug it out?”

Virgil’s jaw practically unhinges. I’m about to take it back when he rushes in, physically lifting me off the ground with the hug. I squeal, and he puts me down with a chuckle but doesn’t break the contact.

His stubble is itchy against my cheek, and all I can smell is my own sweat.

But it’s otherwise exactly how I definitely didn’t imagine.

He’s warm, and his body almost envelops mine like the perfect blanket.

I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone.

I stopped letting myself. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you,” I whisper.

He chuckles, his breath blowing against my ear. “Noted.”