I scrubbed a hand down my face. Way to go, Phoenix. Way to go.
Not wanting to be alone, I headed to the party. Surprisingly, I ran into Ryan along the way. We were the only two people in the hallway and I had to wonder if we were being tested.
Our gazes locked. He nodded as he passed me, our shoulders brushing. I shivered, and he sucked in a breath. But we never spoke. I couldn't help but experience a rush of disappointment.
At the mixer, I found myself alone—just as I hadn't wanted to be. Everyone was already paired off and things had wound down. Then Cara, who was laughing at something Erik said, spotted me and motioned me over.
Did I want to remain alone or become a third wheel? Not really needing to think about it, I clomped to them.
“Hey,” she and Erik said in unison. At that, they shared a laugh.
“Hey.” I sat in the vacant spot beside them on the couch.
“Heard about your punishment,” Erik said. “But you survived, I see.”
“Yeah. It was iffy for a while.”
He grinned. His arm was wrapped around Cara's shoulders, and he was tracing his fingertips up her arm. Cara leaned her head against him. They looked so in sync. So perfect for each other.
It was kind of sickening.
“Want some punch or something?” he asked me.
“No, thanks.” Why couldn't Ryan be that solicitous? “So what have you been up to?”
“The usual.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Class, class, and more class. Alien history is a real snoozefest. Rick Townsend actually did fall asleep. They made him pack his bags that day. Probably wiped his memory before sending him home, poor bastard.”
Wow.
“We've lost three boys already.”
I glanced to Cara. So far we hadn't lost anyone. I think, perhaps, it was only a matter of time, though. Jenn didn't have the instinct and if Emma's aim didn't improve on a more regular basis…. And if I didn't start obeying the rules…“I hate feeling like the ax could drop at any moment, you know?”
“Yeah,” he said. “But, hey, if you ever need anything, just let me know. I'd hate to see you go.”
What a sweet thing to say. No wonder Cara was wild for him. “Thank you.”
He kissed Cara's cheek, detangled from her, and stood. “Bradley's calling me over. Looks like Kitten's about to kill him.”
As he walked away, I found myself staring at his back. He was actually a pretty great guy. The world needed more like him. Hell, maybe Ryan should take boyfriend lessons from him.
Next combat class, I just might suggest it. Maybe that would pull Ryan from his ignore Phoenix phase. Well, a girl could hope.
13
A day that had seemed promising, then disappointing, then promising again gave way to a tension-filled night. Kitten and I were woken up after only two hours of sleep. One second our room lights were out, the next they were beaming brightly.
The computer voice said, “Please rise, Kitten and Phoenix. You have fifteen minutes to prepare for a tour. Meet in room three A.”
“A tour?” Kitten grumbled sleepily.
I yawned and rubbed my eyes. When would my internal clock adjust to these midnight hours? “This is cruel and unusual punishment. We're growing kids. We need sleep.”
“What kind of tour, do you think?”
“Of the building?”
“Nah. We've seen everything.”
“I don't think they'd take us out, though.” I hadn't seen sunlight, or moonlight for that matter, in weeks. Yawning again, I stretched my arms over my head.
Kitten lumbered out of bed and shook my leg. “Get up, sleepy.”
“No.”
“Up or I'll tell Ryan Stone you luuuv him.”
Frowning, I slapped at her hand. “Then I'll tell Bradley you want to have his baby. What do you think of that?”
“Ryan and Phoenix,” she sang, then she made kissing noises. “Up, up, up.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “I'm up. I'm up.” I eased into a sitting position.
We had a routine for getting ready. She got the bathroom for five minutes. I got it for the next five, then we did two minutes of running in place to get our blood pumping. So far, the system had worked.
“Think the boys are coming?” she asked as she strode into the shower stall, stripping along the way.
“God, I hope not.” They'd only be trouble. Fun, irreverent, and amusing, yes, but mostly trouble. Neither of us concentrated when the boys were around. We needed to start, though, since we'd begin classes with them when we reached the next level of our training.
If we reached it, which I was determined to do.
Dressed in our white shirts and slightly loose white pants (I guess we'd both lost a little weight), we headed to room 3A. The day before, Kitten had ripped the sleeves of her shirt and frayed the hem of her pants, giving the uniform a little personality.
As we jogged down the hall, I tied my top in the middle and rolled the waist of my pants, revealing a thin strip of stomach. Most noticeably, however, was the skull and crossbones I'd drawn on the back of my shirt. I'd had trouble falling asleep, had seen the pen and, well…hopefully I wouldn't get in trouble. But how could I? Defacing clothing was not mentioned in the rule book.
“I'm sore,” Kitten panted. “Already I need a break.”
“I just need a bed.”
We ran into a few of the other girls along the way: Cara, Lindsay, and Dani. They were a sea of pretty (but tired) faces. Ahead, I saw a door slide open and then Emma was racing from it. Our gazes connected briefly before she looked away.
I wanted to talk to her, to apologize, but now wasn't the time. “Where's Jenn?”
“Didn't you hear? She was booted late last night,” Cara said.
Shit! There was a moment of silence as the rest of us absorbed that information. “Why?” I finally asked, though I could guess.
“I wasn't told.”
At the entrance to 3A, we all had our hands scanned to prove we were there. Mia Snow was waiting for us inside, and I experienced a wave of déjà vu. The scene was eerily similar to my first night at camp. Only this time I was with friends and I knew what I was doing.
This time I belonged.
I was a part of something greater than myself and the knowledge filled me with pride. Suddenly I wasn't quite so exhausted. I couldn't allow myself to be sent home like Jenn. Poor thing, though she was probably happier.
“Good morning, girls,” Mia said. As usual, she wore black syn-leather from neck to ankle. There was a bruise on her chin, as if she'd recently been in a fight. I wanted to ask her about it, but didn't. I'd learned the woman did not like personal questions, and I hadn't yet mastered the fine art of insidious interrogation—getting answers without seeming like I was probing for them.