I slide in next to Crescentia. “Sorry, not all of us can hang our hopes on being a professional at going bare.”
The three of them stare at me.
“Getting drafted to a pro rawball team,” I clarify.
Cue three simultaneous eye rolls.
Ivo points a threatening finger at me. “Don’t jinx us. Joking about that shit isn’t funny.”
Orok waves off Ivo’s concern. “It’s the first week, Seb. You’ve been pulling crazy hours. You can’t keep this up for the rest of the semester.”
All the teasing melts away, Orok’s eyes latching on to mine, and it’s like I’ve been spinning in circles only to come to a crashing halt.
Between building a research plan, ignoring Elethior in the lab, and avoiding the fact that I’m failing this grant in the first week, I’m tantalizingly close to running on fumes.
The voice at the back of my head, the one I’ve been ignoring by working, working,working,whispers,You’re messing it up. The committee is going to see your refusal to get along with Elethior as a breach of the grant, and they’ll pull you from it.
I force a smile at Orok. “I won’t keep this up forever. This is me getting the foundation solidified so everything else is smooth sailing. Promise.”
“And Elethior?” Crescentia asks, elbowing me. “Need me to help stage a protest? Bet we can get him kicked out of the lab.”
I cock a startled look at her. “What? Really?”
“Hell yeah. You know how many people on campus are anti-war? Him being a student here has always been a source of contention, but for the most part, the board and all the people with money shut down any concerns. We can get people riled up, though. Have them worry that his access to a lab that high-level could bedangerousfor the rest of us.”
My face droops. Why am I not jumping on this?
It feels… slimy.
I mean, heisa danger by the mere fact of him being a Tourael, but he isn’t working on anything that could jeopardize the immediate vicinity or the school. Not like he’s in there manufacturing arcane bombs.
He’s just… studying the limitations of the connection between a conjurer and their conjured item. Whatever the hell that means.
I smile at Crescentia. “Thanks, but I can handle him.”
Orok croaks. “You—you said no.” He blinks at me. “Who are you, and where’s Seb?”
I pick up a menu with unnecessary flare and make a great show of reading it. “I’m taking the high road. I’m a reformed wizard now, gods damn it.”
Luckily, our waiter approaches, and we all order.
The shift in focus lets the conversation trajectory shift, too, and I ask how rawball practice is going and whether Ivo really does have a shot at getting drafted. Turns out, he does, and scouts will be at a few of their preseason games, which is another reason he, Crescentia, and Orok are all suiting up for the spring training season even though they won’t be playing next year.
They’re talking game strategy when our food comes, and I pretend I understand what they’re saying. All these years of supporting Orok, and for the life of me, I still can’t explain therules as written—what therawinrawballstands for. There’s a ball that has to make it to one side of the field for a team to score, and each team is comprised of tanks like Orok and Ivo, rogues like Crescentia, and wizards and healers and other classes that adhere to therules as written,but I swear to thegodsthey change those rules randomly to screw with me.
“—for Lesiara Founder’s Day,” Crescentia is saying, “we’re doing the game against the kids’ shelter again, but Coach said they want us in full uniform. Better photo ops.”
Chewing the last of my banh mi hot dog, I groan and wrestle my phone out of my pocket. “I have to do something for Founder’s Day, too. What day is it this year?”
“Same day it always is. Why don’t you remember—ohhhh.” Orok hisses between his teeth. “Becausesomeonealways gets a little too familiar with the Founder’s Day punch.”
Ivo cackles. “That’s right! Last year, didn’t you challenge our team to a funnel cake eating contest? Like, thewholeteam. Againstyou. Then—something with the powdered sugar—”
“He inhaled it.” Orok’s grinning. “Coughed white clouds all over himself like an asthmatic smoke dragon.”
“Nah.” I open my calendar app. “That doesn’t sound like me. When is this carnival that I have definitely never experienced in my entire collegiate career?”
“Friday before spring break,” says Orok, polishing off his third taco hot dog.
