“Don’t soften up on us, bro,” he said lightly, still chomping so it was impossible to take him seriously.
“Whatever,” I swiped off and ran up the stairs, passing the librarian at the front desk, and headed straight for the huge stained-glass windows that overlooked the railway track and the front entrance of Castlehill.
This train was a small load of only three carriages, which I hoped didn’t all contain police, because damn, we didn’t want the entire college swarming in them. We still had to go to class and party and shit, so having them snooping would dampen our lives until this mess was over.
The campus police stood outside one carriage, and as each officer or investigator stepped off, they shook hands, trying to act professionally in front of their superiors, then had a friendly chat at the station with hands on their hips.
When people started disembarking from the other two carriages, I was surprised to see that they were students. I thought the faculty had delayed the arrival of more students until the police were settled in. They looked like seniors, so maybe they received special approval.
Four familiar faces poured off the last carriage and laughed aloud in jest, swiping my contacts for Sick’s number.
Me: Guess who’s back?
Sick: Eminem?
Me: What no. Guess again.
Then I realized he meant the old Eminem song, Guess who's back, back again?Shady's back, tell a friend.
Fuck. Bro. Now I’m going to have that song in my head.
Sick: Tell me.
Me: Yorkies.
Sick: You’re fking kidding me.
Me: No.
Sick: Gonna be a good year, bro.
He was being sarcastic when we had a campus war with the Yorks last year, to the point that the faculty asked them to transfer to another college. Of all the colleges they could have gone to, driven by their wealthy parents’ money, they still came back to Castlehill. So, this year is going to be more exciting than we thought with the cops, the Boleyn girl, and whatever else pops up.
I still have a scar from a knife fight on my forearm, and Ez got a broken nose and lost a tooth. Sickle always made it throughfights without injuries, apart from the occasional bruise, like he’s made of kryptonite or something. Anyway, the Yorkies came out worse in every fight. Well, that’s how I saw it. They probably had a different view of how each fight went and saw themselves as the winners.
Ez: Sick just told me, Yorkie boys are back! Lol
Me: Yep.
Ez: Do u think the Boleyn chick knew all along?
Was I missing something here? What did the Yorkie boys have to do with her?
Me: What do u mean?
Ez: The chick’s father married their aunt.
Wait. What? Let me get this straight.
Me: The Boleyn girl’s mother is the Yorkie boys’ aunt?
Ez: Stepmother.
Me: No shit.
Small world. Maybe it's a marriage of convenience? There seemed to be something strategic about everything, yet it didn't make sense to send his precious daughter into a warzone if Mr. Boleyn truly loved her.
After the passengers from the train disappeared with their luggage, I turned to leave, only to notice the name Ashthorn on the spine of an old leatherbound book.
