Page 238 of Ominous: Part 1

Even Ms. Pensky turns to look over her shoulder, curly brown hair down her back shifting as she does. She winks at me, then goes back to cleaning, but I know she’s listening.

“Maybe.” I smile back, but I’m not feeling so sure right now.

Coach pushes up his glasses again and lets the clipboard dangle from his fingertips at his side when he’s done. “Maybe? Already screwed this up?” I know it’s a joke, but it takes a little extra patience from me to keep my smile hitched on my lips.

I grip my phone tighter in my pocket and shake my head. “You know me,” I say, sighing. “Always messing things up.”

I expect Coach to laugh, maybe tap me on the shoulder with the back of his clipboard and send me on my way. Everyone else has filed out and left, and darkness is falling beyond the double doors at the end of the hall. But surprising me, Coach’s smile slips.

“You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to his wife, who is pretending not to eavesdrop while obviously doing so, “I’ve never seen you bring a girl to a match before. I mean, there’s the one, with the red hair…” He trails off.

“Luna,” I supply. Her hair isn’t quite red, but I see why he’d think so.

“Yeah, her, and your little asshole friend who swims and drips water on my mat when he wants to piss me off.”

I nod once. “Dominic.” He’s come in before in the middle of practice when Coach was busy, just to fuck with me and, as Pensky said, drip water on the damn mats.

He’s back at school, and we’re okay, except for those times I kinda want him dead like his sister. I’d like to say I’m above jealousy, but clearly that’s not the case. Sometimes he walks with me and Eden in the halls, and it seems him and her have some sort of easy bond I could never even attempt with her. Like she said, things are always heavy between us. I refuse to believe it would be our downfall, connectingtoofiercely. But the thought lingers sometimes in my mind.

“And your dad, good guy.” Coach says it like an afterthought as he mentally scrolls through the people who come to my matches, like Dad is someone he’s supposed to mention.

I don’t have any fresh bruises to speak of, so maybe my dad isn’t so bad, I guess.

“Anyway, no chicks. But I’ve seen her watch you.”

I wait, not moving, and I’m not sure what it is I want to hear. Reassurances this isn’t all in my head? I’m not getting so wound up in someone who won’t tangle themselves in me, too?

That I won’t be like Dad?

“It’s like…” Coach smiles, flashing crooked teeth as he looks at Ms. Pensky again, and I see her shoulders shake with the softest laugh. “I don’t know,” he finally says, sighing and leaning against the doorjamb completely as he crosses his arms, eyes back on me. “I just think she’s really into you, so bring her to the damn tournament and take your shiny, stupid car too, if it’ll get her there.”

I don’t think Eden cares at all about myshiny, stupid car, but I nod anyway. “Will do.” Then he finallydoesclap me on the back with his clipboard in a dismissal.

I head toward the parking lot, shoving the doors open and pushing out into the cool air, but I don’t go to my car immediately which I moved after school so it’d be right here when I was done.

I pull out my phone and send Eden a text.

Me: Where are you?

I give her one minute exactly. She doesn’t answer, so I call her. It goes to an automated voice message which doesn’t even say her name.

I glance up at the moon, nearly full but not quite.

Sighing, I spin around and tip my head up, seeing the turrets of the castle, but just barely in the night. I drop my eyes, toward the front of the building. The parking lot with its orange glow of streetlights.

Then I grit my teeth and drop my bag off in my car, locking it behind me as I head toward the library.

It’s worth a look, at least.

It’s colder in here,down in the basement levels of Trafalgar. The lights are dimmed, orange just like the ones outside. The librarian isn’t at the desk when I walk in, the heavy wooden doors creaking closed behind me.

I sweep my eyes over the rows and rows of dark, polished wood, inhaling the scent of old books and leather and buildings built long before I ever stepped foot in them. Eden belongs in a place like this. As much as she likes the water, as much as she seems at ease in the gym, and beside me in my car,thisis the place for her.

Romance,she told me she wrote.

I looked into it a little, trying to understand the societal views on indie publishing now. It would be an uphill battle for her to be taken seriously as a self-published author attempting to go into academia, just like she said, but not impossible. I saw two professors who had done it, granted one was in Germany and another in Canada, but if anyone could do it, it’d be her.

I meant to bring it up with her at some point, but I rarely think of the future. Besides, she’s very reluctant to discuss her art, although that means it’s probably worth discussing.