Page 40

Chapter 40

THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 14

Xavier thumps my back so hard that I lurch like a pinball flipper. His crisp black suit was definitely tailored to account for his biceps, but his bow tie threatens to snap off his thick neck any second. “Stop messing with your cuffs.”

“Okay,” I say as we walk through the crowds of other black suits heading to the mixer early, only to move on to my tie and collar. Apparently, sister academy students are walked over in single-file lines by instructors right before. Because if they weren’t, we would all run off into the woods and crash mouths.

Even though I haven’t spotted any girls yet, my eyes wander in search of Delilah. She must be coming tonight. I have to see her. I have to know she’s all right.

“Stop!” Robby says to my left, swatting my hands off my suit cuffs. His own suit, of course, is as put together as a celebrity’s. “You look good.”

Xavier and Robby seem adamant. I should believe them. A few months ago, the last place I would’ve guessed I’d wear my pack-in-case-of-emergency suit to for the first time was a hormone-ridden mixer, let alone one I wrote love letters for. Worse, Mom wouldn’t let me buy a normal black one. What about a shiny navy? It’s a classic!

Unspoken Guideline 17: Everyone owns a black suit, Mom .

Who I still haven’t called back. Getting yelled at is the last thing I need right now.

“You sure it’s okay?” I ask Xavier and Robby.

“Yeah, it’s chic or whatever,” Xavier says. “Like Mr. Stern.”

Never mind.

“Thanks,” I say through a yawn. Breaking news: It’s impossible to fall asleep after making out with your roommate. We went to our separate beds in silence. He eventually left at a prompt seven a.m. like usual. Now that the letters are done, he hasn’t told me yet if he’s moving back to his aunt’s quarters. Maybe the answer should be obvious.

Last night, he promised he’d stop me from being sent home, but there’s no way he will now. Not after everything I said or, rather, didn’t say.

Tonight is my last night at Valentine. I have to make it count.

Xavier and Robby halt on the path. I follow their gaze.

Horses. At least fifteen strapped in orange-and-black harnesses to fit the mixer’s Halloween in November theme, circling the stone steps of the ballroom, which partially hangs over Au Sable Forks Lake like a stilt house. Between the marble statues of Saint Valentine on either side and the Gothic architecture pulling me back two centuries, I expect classical music to fill the air, but all I hear is “Monster Mash.”

“They found ’em,” Xavier mutters.

My guilt over accidentally releasing the horses finally lightens. “I’m glad they’re okay—”

Robby screams, cutting me off, and makes a break for the ballroom.

Xavier yanks him back by the collar. “Self-control.”

“Xavier’s right.” Jasper’s voice comes from our left. “We have deliveries to make.”

I turn, and my eyes spread wide.

Jasper’s suit isn’t black. Not navy. It’s bright white, like the pristine-quality paper in his journal. Same for the vest, bow tie, and handkerchief folded in his breast coat pocket. His blond hair is worn down—a rarity. Tonight, he looks better than any poster or cardboard cutout version of himself. He makes eye contact with everyone except me.

It stings, even though I’m the one who caused this. His cross-body bag, which must hold the letters, is slung over a shoulder like he’s off to class. “Apologies for running late. Blaze and I were discussing a potential plan.”

Blaze steps out from behind Jasper’s back, wiggling his butterfly pose. He’s so small that I didn’t even notice him there. Instead of a suit, he wears a tracksuit uniform.

“First things first,” Jasper announces. “Is Ms. Delilah around?”

“She got in trouble because of us, dipshit,” Xavier practically growls, crossing his arms, his suit-coat sleeves stretching taut. “There’s no way she’d want to get involved with us again.”

A hand thwacks Xavier upside the head. He yelps.

“Wrong, as usual,” a familiar high voice says behind him.

Delilah.

Just hearing her voice has my spirits soaring. The moment she steps around Xavier, I pull her in for a hug, tucking her head beneath my chin. “You’re still in the clear?”

“Do you know me?” she says, squeezing me back.

I take in her sleek black gown that makes her blond hair and blue eyes—which are both a shade darker than Jasper’s—pop. Then the three-inch stilettos that could puncture my eyeballs. Threatening, but still beautiful. “How’s everything else? Student council?”

She tosses a peace sign, but her expression retains its usual deadness. “Your girl ranked high enough to run for student council vice president after break.”

“Seriously?” I squeeze her again, and it feels just like that time we hugged and shared goodbyes at the end of camp all those years ago. Like we’re those same best friends. But we’re older now. There have been so many changes. Even our friendship has changed from long-distance to real-life.

Maybe, with all these changes, we actually need to forget who we used to be. Instead, we need to work more on learning who we are now.

“What about you?” Delilah says through a grin. Like she expects good news.

My heart sinks as I pull away, knowing what I have to say next. That I’m leaving her behind alongside STRIP. “I ranked sixth. Not fifth.”

Delilah’s brow line soars. “What?”

“But it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not. That’s basically the top fucking five. Can’t they secretly shove some extra credit in your face?”

That fact that Delilah is willing to hear out yet another problem of mine pulls a bit of warmth to my chest, even when the conversation is as miserable as this one. “I doubt it, but—”

Jasper interrupts us with an awkward wave. That’s when I notice London and another girl from the sister academy standing beside Delilah. His eyes are only on the girls. “Apologies for the interruption, ladies, but may we ask for one last favor?”

Delilah scowls, shooting me a firm look that’s giving we’ll continue this conversation when we’re alone . “The fuck is this guy?”

He extends a hand for a shake before I can answer. “Jasper Grimes, miss.”

She glances at me. Jasper. Me again. “Is this—?”

“Principal Grimes’s nephew,” I cut in. “You must’ve heard of him.”

Delilah makes a face like she tastes Clorox. Even if I never told her more than Jasper’s first name back at camp, with him standing beside me now, there’s no way she isn’t putting two and two together that the principal’s nephew has been the culprit all along.

“Where are the rest of the top five?” Jasper asks. “Sophia? Mary?”

London, the antithesis of Delilah tonight in her hot-pink minidress, frowns at the question. “They’re too scared to help us anymore.”

Silence falls among the circle.

I turn to Delilah. “You’re okay with helping us again?”

Delilah clicks her tongue. “I finish what I start. And Valentine’s rules are pissing me off.”

So, Jasper stands before us all and addresses everyone but me. My guilt distracts me from paying attention. Knowing Jasper, he’d treat me like Foot Cody if he hated me. He would have no problem with looking directly at me, insulting me with the most pretentious vocabulary, and smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. What else would cause this?

My chest aches as I consider the only other possibility. Can he not bear to look at me because it hurts too much?

I know he likes me. He told me. But this much?

“The mixer is three hours,” Jasper is in the middle of explaining once I lock back in. “A hundred letters need to be delivered—preferably in the first two hours. Blaze will pass them out since he’s the quickest and smallest.” His face hardens. “Remember, not a single instructor can spot these letters. They’re the most intelligent educators in the nation. They’ll surely connect them to Delilah’s bag of letters if so.”

“Blaze will need to deliver fifty per hour, then,” Robby says. “Nearly one per minute.”

“Can’t Blaze sit his ass down somewhere and have people come up?” Xavier asks.

“That could pool a crowd, Xav,” Robby says.

“How is that better than Blaze running around like a headless chicken? If an instructor spots one letter, we’re done.”

“I’ve prepared for that,” Jasper says, rummaging through his bag more. He pulls out a white sheet and tosses it over Blaze’s head. From a hole ripped on the side, Blaze’s hand juts out and waves. Two more frayed holes barely reveal his eyes.

Everyone stares at Blaze the Ghost.

Next, Jasper pulls out a pumpkin trick-or-treat bucket and slides the handle up Blaze’s arm. “We have twenty minutes until this mixer starts. We’re going to spend that time rolling the letters into candy foil I found in my aunt’s kitchen and writing every recipient’s name on them. Then we’ll put them in this bucket.”

“You do know that we can see this ghost, right?” Xavier asks.

“That’s fine. Because Delilah, our lovely student council member, asked Blaze to pass out candy around the ballroom.”

“I did?” Delilah asks.

Jasper winks. “That’s the story you tell.”

“If any faculty walk up and ask for candy?” Robby asks unsurely.

Jasper yanks peppermints out of his pocket and tosses them at Blaze’s sheeted head. Blaze grunts. “He has spares.”

“And I always come prepared to cause a distraction,” Delilah says, patting the chain of a handbag slung over her shoulder. What she means by that is an enigma—possibly those sparklers she accidentally set oak trees on fire with at summer camp, or even homemade poison.

“Ladies,” Jasper says, turning to the three, “you’re the only ones who can match sister academy student names to faces. Direct Blaze in the right ways, please?”

“Simple enough,” London says. The other two nod.

“Anything to make everyone trust us again,” Xavier says. “I don’t want STRIP to die. Or to get kicked out either, but, you know.”

The words resonate deep within me, reminding me just how much this is all my fault. The knocked-over gate; the ripped bag. Maybe I have to leave Valentine, but if everyone else suffers the same fate, I’d never forgive myself. And they’d never forgive me.

Lately, I’m losing so much. I can’t lose them too.

Tonight, I’ll fix this once and for all.

“We’ll fight until the end,” Jasper says to everyone except me. “Ready?”