The way I roll my eyes and mock-laugh is strained.
I set my component belt on one of the player benches that runs along the short wall blocking off the stands from the field.
My hands are trembling as I let it go. Anger wafts up in a sweeping cloud, filling in the spot where fear tries to go.
One of the therapists called it PTSD.
But it isn’t. I’mfineand this is a dumb school event; my mom’s text meansnothing.
I head out to stand next to Thompson and Narbeth. They’re dressed down as much as I’ve ever seen them, and it’s always odd seeing suit-wearing professors in sweatshirts and jeans.
Thio removes his component harness and takes a place next to me. We face the crowd as Narbeth throws up a volume spell and begins speaking, his voice projecting:
“Thank you for coming to our first ever Evocation versus Conjuration departmental challenge! For those who don’t know me, I amDr. Rydel Narbeth, and I oversee the Conjuration Department here at Lesiara University.”
The crowd cheers.
“Instead of pitting Evocation against Conjuration,” Narbeth continues, “we will each be competing in teams of two, comprised of both an evocation wizardanda conjuration wizard. In order to cast any spells, teams will have to fight for their components—”
Everything fades out. Narbeth’s voice. The crowd’s responses.
My eyes go to where my belt sits on the bench, fingers clenching at my sides, wanting to reach for components I don’t have on me now.
I’m defenseless.
Your father has officially been named the next director of Camp Merethyl.
My mom wants me to congratulate him. It’d meanso muchto him.
Congratulations, Dad. Congratulations on overseeing the thing you chose over your son. The thing that you letbreakyour son.
It takes everything in me, every flicker of resolve I pretend I’ve built over the past six years, not to sprint over and grab my component belt.
Thio elbows me gently.
“Sebastian?” His voice is low. Narbeth’s still talking, going over rules I should probably pay attention to, but I can’t; air is a burr in my throat and it won’t go down.
I’m seeing things through a funnel. All other details are muffled and muted.
I need my component belt. Ineedit. I—
Thio’s fingers clamp around my wrist. “Sebastian? What’s wrong?”
His fingers on my skin. Focus on that. I look down and see his knuckles turn white. I want him to squeeze tighter, squeeze and squeeze until he rings my wrist in a bruise and the only thing I feel is him.
This isn’t Camp Merethyl.
This is a stupid school competition.
A breath goes in on a choking gasp.
Thompson gives me a concerned look, but he quickly refocuses when Narbeth claps and shouts, “Let the challenge begin!”
Narbeth and Thompson jog off to the right side of the field and vanish behind the divider wall.
Thio and I stay where we are, his hand on my wrist.
“We can leave,” he tells me. “We can go. I’ll make up an excuse.”
