Shit. He saw me hug Ronan.
I’m allowed to hug other people. Especially since he refuses to see me for my own “safety,” I think resentfully. Yet, as we pass him, I desperately want to smooth those frown lines on his forehead.
Waiting to speak to Dean Christie after class, it suddenly hits me how stupid it is to meet with her. The woman is hardcore, she’s Old Testament, the angel that you paint lamb’s blood on the door and hope she’ll pass over your household and leave you alone. After that interaction with Cormac in her office, did she suspect anything? Did she wonder about me? What the hell am I doing here?
“Miss Chandler? The Dean will see you now.”
I’m going to die. No, you’re not! You’re a spy, for fuck’s sake! Act like one!
She’s sitting behind her desk, and for the first time, I see signs of disorder in her office. It’s usually rigidly spotless, with an empty desk and perfectly positioned furniture. There are stacks of paperwork crowding her workspace and three whiteboards tacked up on the walnut-paneled walls.
“Good afternoon, Dean Christie.”Thank you god, my voice didn’t wobble in terror.
“Good afternoon Miss Chandler, what did you need?” Fine lines are radiating from her eyes and around her mouth that I swear weren’t there at the Christmas party. Whatever’s happening, it’s getting worse.
“I won’t take much of your time, ma’am, some of the students wanted to hold a memorial for- for Lauren. The campus has been fractured by what happened, and we thought a memorial for her might help pull us back together.”
She’s just listening to me, no change of expression.
“It was Ronan Cox’s idea, actually,” I offer. “If you would approve the memorial, we’ll do all the work.”
There’s a painful silence that feels like it lasts six hours, but is likely closer to thirty seconds or so.
“That is brilliant,” she nods. “I’ll have the faculty pass the word around. Can you put it together by tomorrow night?”
“Absolutely,” I say gratefully. “I’ll just… be on my way then, thank you.”
“Miss Chandler?”
Oh, god I was so close…
Turning around, I force a smile. “Yes, Dean?”
“How are you doing this year? Any new pressures?”
I swallow with an audible clicky noise in the quiet room. “I’m doing fine, thank you.”
“I am sorry your brother isn’t here to share the year with you,” she says quietly. “Michael has been missed here on campus, but by no one more than you, I am sure.”
“I don’t want you to see this part…”
My nails cut into my palm as I squeeze it. “Thank you for thinking of him,” I manage. It’s her abrupt kindness, the surge of that memory, hanging upside down, covered in blood and broken glass… “Thank you for saying his name.”
She nods. “Of course.”
The next evening…
We will never be a normal student body. We’re the offspring of criminals, killers. But one of our own was taken and because of that, it looks like everyone has crowded onto the center square, a huge courtyard lined with carved granite benches and boxwood hedges in front of the Dean’s Building tonight.
The ever-present wind is whipping gleefully across the square, and we huddle together in our little groups, but the space between us all is a bit less tonight. I can taste the salt tinge of the ocean on my lips like a tear.
The sun is setting, sending out its last flares of red and orange over the flat landscape of the island when Dean Christie steps up on the podium. “This night is not about me, or the faculty. Lauren was one of you, and you should be the ones to speak for her. What we offer is a podium,” she smiles slightly, “whiskey, and a bonfire.” A cheer goes up from the students and as the bonfire roars to life, it seems easier to be together again.
Lucca stands up first. “Lauren is- was- one of only eight women in the Leader’s division. Watching her made me realize how much harder she was willing to work to prove herself. She shouldn’t have been required to. But she never let the assumed privilege of being a first-born give her an excuse to become entitled. She taught us all about humility, the responsibility of being who we were.” His lips tighten, and he takes a moment.“I’m committing here and now, to never forget what she taught me.”
Tatiana and I are clinging to each other, listening to Konstantin tell a funny story about his and Lauren’s first year in the Leader’s division involving a mistaken identity and a live carp. I’m trying to follow the story when I catch a movement in the corner of my eye. We’re standing on one of the stacks of granite, so I have a better view of the surrounding area. One of the tunnel entrances is behind the Library, and it’s landscaped in a way to be invisible… unless you know where to look. I can see someone step behind the boxwood hedge, and there’s no reason for it unless they’re going for the tunnel.
I don’t recognize them, they’re not one of the guards or the staff. It must be a student I don’t know yet. Squeezing Tatiana, I lean her slightly onto Mariya’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper and step behind them, silently heading for that corner of the center square. It’s dark enough now that the bonfire is the only effective light, and it’s easy to go from one shadowy spot to another until I’m behind the Library.
