“Hey, you wanna help me with something?” I asked Ryan, rising to my feet.
He quirked one auburn brow. “Is it the buttons on that dress? Because if so, then yes, very much so.”
It was flirty and jokey and I should find it charming and not slightly irritating. I reminded myself of that as I smiled back. “Not exactly. It’s research.”
The corners of Ryan’s mouth turned down and he flopped back on his bed. “Now that sounds like a great, sexy time right there,” he told the ceiling.
“It’s going to be fun,” I insisted, sweeping a pile of Sports Illustrated magazines off his desk chair and turning on his computer. “It features death and destruction and other things boys like. It’ll be like Hard Fists, only more . . . historical.”
Ryan was still lying on his bed, arms folded behind his head. He laughed. “Oh, man, Hard Fists. I hate that you missed it. There was this one part where this dude killed another dude using, shit you not, a ladle, and Mary Beth said—”
He broke off, and I pretended to be really involved in finding the perfect search engine. “So what kind of death and destruction research?” he said, finally.
“This king, Charlemagne. He had a bunch of knights who died fighting a—” I broke off, suddenly realizing that I couldn’t exactly get into all the Oracle stuff. “A bad guy,” I finished lamely. I’d read everything I could on Charlemagne’s Paladins on the internet, but there was hardly a mention of Alaric. Still, it couldn’t hurt to look again.
I rummaged around on Ryan’s desk, sifting through more Sports Illustrateds, a bunch of loose change, and a stack of video games. “Don’t you have a notebook or some paper or something?”
By now, Ryan had shifted on the bed, turning so that his feet were braced on the headboard. He was tossing the mini basketball that sat by his bed on the wall above. Catching it, he tilted his head. “You’re seriously going to do homework.”
I paused, my hand still resting on a video game, the box reading War Metal 4. “It’s not really homework. More like an . . . extracurricular project. I thought it might be fun if you were more involved in the stuff I do.”
“Why?” Ryan asked, tossing the ball again. “It’s not like you’re all that involved in the stuff I do.”
He didn’t say it accusingly, and didn’t even seem that put out by it. It was just a fact. “I cheerlead at your basketball games,” I reminded him.
He shrugged. “You were doing that before we even started dating. It’s no big deal, Harper, I’m just saying we don’t have to be all up in each other’s business.” He gave the basketball another thump before grinning at me. “Unless it’s in the carnal sense.” This time, I didn’t even try to hide my irritation. “You spend too much time with Brandon,” I muttered, and Ryan gave a bark of laughter.
“Right, because he knows what the word ‘carnal’ means. But please . . . don’t keep trying to fix us, Harper. We’re not broken.” But the thing is, we felt broken. Really broken. And the scary thing was, I wasn’t sure how we’d even gotten here in only a month. I’d been so busy worried about saving David, saving Cotillion, saving myself, that I hadn’t noticed my relationship was also in need of a hero. Could I fix that, too?
Ryan kept thumping the basketball behind his bed and I watched him, my Cotillion dress crumpled and uncomfortable, and thought about the scariest question of all: Did I want to?
Chapter 34
When I got to school the next morning, Bee was waiting for me in the parking lot. Leaning against her car, blond hair whipping in the wind, she frowned as I walked up to her. “You never texted me last night, and I called you like a hundred times.”
It took me a second to remember that I’d promised to text her, and why. Oh, right, the ugly scene at Cotillion practice. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I went over to Ryan’s last night, and I left my phone in the car.”
Bee pushed away from her car, tugging her knit hat a little further down over her forehead. “Are you guys okay?”
The words “Of course!” immediately leapt to the tip of my tongue, but I bit them back. Bee deserved better than that. “We’re trying to be.”
Kids were walking past us and up the stairs into Wallace Hall. I caught a glimpse of Mary Beth’s reddish hair before she disappeared into the building. Bee must’ve seen her, too, because she paused on the steps. “Mary Beth had it totally wrong yesterday. You and Ryan are perfect together, and you know that.”
“Are we?” I heard myself ask, and Bee’s head jerked up like I’d smacked her.
“What?”
“It’s only . . .” I thought about last night, sitting in Ryan’s bedroom, me on the computer, him tossing his basketball, sitting four feet apart, but feeling like there was an ocean between us. “I love Ryan, but—”
“There are no buts,” Bee said, taking my hand. “You said it yourself. You love him.” She shrugged. “That’s all that matters.”
“You’re right,” I said, even though I wasn’t really sure that she was. And when she added, “Besides, you guys have to get married, and then Brandon and I will get married, and we’ll all live next door to each other, and our kids will play together . . .”
She was smiling, and when she bumped my hip with hers, I knew she wasn’t totally serious, but I couldn’t make myself smile back. I wasn’t an Oracle, but even I knew that future was . . . wrong.
Bee lowered her head. “You know, I was thinking last night. Don’t get me wrong, your lessons with Saylor are really awesome. I mean, the other day, when she taught you how to disarm someone with a knife? Even I wanted to learn that.”
I smiled at the memory of last week, Bee sitting in the grass of Saylor’s backyard, her long legs stretched out in front of her, cheering me on as Saylor put me through my paces.
“And I get why you’re keeping it a secret,” Bee went on once we were inside the school. The burnt-hair smell of the ancient heaters assaulted my nose, and the squeak and click of hundreds of shoes filled my ears. “But . . . Harper, if it’s making people think you and David Stark have something going on, is it worth it? I mean, do you even need any more lessons? You looked pretty freaking skilled the last time I watched you.”
“After Cotillion,” I told her, giving her my favorite saying. “I have a couple more lessons, and then I’m totally giving it up. Trust me.”
But once again, there was that niggling thought. Even if I did manage to keep Blythe from doing her crazy spell and save the town, what would happen then?
No. One day at a time.
Bee nodded, but she was still chewing her lower lip. “Okay. So hey, since we don’t have Cotillion practice today, wanna hit up the Dixie Bean after school?”
A pair of freshman girls walked by, their arms linked tightly. They were laughing, heads close together, and something about them made my throat ache. “I have to meet Saylor today.”
Bee’s face fell a little, so I hastily added, “Do you want to come with me again? I think today we’re learning this cool move that knocks people out. You know, like that Star Trek thing.” I pinched the air with my hand, hoping Bee would laugh.
She just shook her head. “That’s okay. I think the twins are free, so . . .”
“Oh.” I dropped my hand. “Right. Well, y’all go to the Dixie Bean. Put extra whipped cream on your mocha for me.”
She smiled at that, but it didn’t reach her eyes. We made our way to our lockers. “I suwannee,” I joked. “Next year? I am so going to be one of those stereotypical seniors who stacks her schedule with easy classes.” As I said it, I tried to push away the image of me bleeding out on the steps of Magnolia House. I would have a senior year.
“But I guess that’s the thing with junior year. Between college stuff, and regular school, things are so—”
“Really busy right now,” Bee filled in, switching her backpack to her other shoulder. “I know. And it looks like things are about to get busier for you.” She inclined her head toward my locker, or rather, to the pale purple sheet of paper taped there.
That color paper only meant one thing. The headmaster wanted to see me.
“What?” I said dumbly, ripping the paper from my locker.
“It can’t be bad,” Bee offered. “I mean . . . you’re you.”
My hand was trembling a little as I pushed the piece of paper into my coat pocket. “Yeah, he probably wants to talk to me about SGA stuff. See you at lunch?”
Brandon came through the front doors then, whooping Bee’s name, and I never got a reply.
Turning away, I headed for the main office, Headmaster Dunn’s secretary waving me through when I held up the little piece of purple paper. The office smelled like coffee and leather, and the walls were covered in all of his various diplomas and awards for education.
The headmaster himself was a short, squat man with droopy green eyes and a fringe of reddish hair circling his bald head. I took a seat in the chair opposite his desk, and gave him my best Harper Jane Price smile. “You wanted to see me, Headmaster? Is this about SGA?”
In a way, it was.
His face folded with concern as leaned over his desk. “Harper, I understand that you’re very committed to this school and to your studies. But perhaps you’ve overextended yourself.”
“I . . . what?” The leather chair squeaked under me as I sat up straighter.
He pulled out a manila folder and began paging through its contents. “According to your teachers, your grades have been slipping. And you’ve been tardy to class . . . let’s see . . . three times in the past few weeks?”
Okay, so yes, I had gotten a B on my last history test, and I turned in one paper—one—late in English. As for the tardies, the first time had been after the janitor’s closet with David. The second had been because I thought I felt that David’s-in-danger feeling, but actually, I just hadn’t eaten breakfast. The third time had been because David texted me that he’d seen some weird dude lurking outside the school, but it had been the new lawn guy.