“That would be the Halloween Festival,” Kevin put in. “It’s a huge deal. Costumes, games, carnival stuff. It’s pretty fun.”
“You both should come to the bonfire,” Dean said.
“Maybe,” Harper said. The first word she’d spoken all morning.
“I’ll take it,” Dean said with a laugh. “How about you, Ford? You’ll want to blow off steam after crew tryouts, for sure.”
“You’re going for crew?” Kevin gave another low whistle. “In addition to our beloved Dean, all the beefed-up jocks are on the rowing crew. Tucker Hill, for instance…”
He pointed at the rows of bleachers on our side of the auditorium, toward the middle front, where a bunch of “beefed-up jocks” sat. Tucker was taller, louder, and bigger than every guy around him, exuding the kind of chest-beating alpha-male superiority that bordered on psychopathy.
Speaking of superiority, why are you being a judgmental prick? He might have changed since that day at the park.
I doubted that. Moreover, I suspected the fact he was Emery’s boyfriend had something to do with my dark thoughts, but I chose not to investigate further.
“Last year, Tucker was captain of the rowandwater polo teams, as ajunior,” Kevin said. “And if you didn’t know that, he’d be happy to remind you.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Dean said. “Tucker can get a little hotheaded, for sure, but he’s a hell of an athlete and a great team player. You’ll see.”
Mr. Newman finally wound up his speech. “And now, to kick off what is sure to be another exceptional year, please welcome your Royal Pride dance team!”
The auditorium burst into cheers and applause a split second before being drowned out by loud, thumping, music—a mix of hip-hop and electronic genres. Twelve girls came on stage wearing short shorts and midriff-baring tank tops in the Academy colors—black and gold—with Emery at the front, her hair pulled up in a high ponytail.
The routine was impossibly fast, yet the dancers moved in perfect unison. It was provocative and athletic, sexy and gymnastic. The routine had a hundred moving parts, but all I could see was Emery; my nerves lit up when she performed a run of gymnastic handsprings on the hard floor.
Someone nudged my elbow. Dean was grinning at me and shaking his head. “Not that one, my friend. Literally anyone but her.”
“Oh, I wasn’t… I mean—”
“I get it. Emery Wallace is a goddess. That is a fact.”
Harper turned around and gave us a dark look.
Dean held up his hands. “Don’t kill me. I’m just pointing out the obvious.” He turned to me and shouted above the pounding beat, “I want you on my crew, Xander, preferably in one piece, so I’m warning you now. She’s Tucker Hill’s girl. Off. Limits.”
His words chafed me—Emery shouldn’tbelongto anyone—but I felt protective of her myself. That instinctual urge to keep her safe hadn’t diminished in seven years, be it from water balloons, tyrannical fathers, or anything else. It was irrational. Unscientific. But her well-being was my responsibility, and no amount of logic could change that feeling.
The dance ended to riotous applause. Emery ran to the bleachers, where Tucker grabbed her and spun her around. My stomach burned with an unpleasant sensation as he kissed her. After what felt like an eternity, he let her go, raised a fist and bellowed, “Royal pride, let’s go!”
The auditorium answered with more cheers, the band struck up a march, and everyone joined in on what I surmised was the school’s fight song. And Emery…
Emery Wallace was brutally beautiful—exhilarated, flushed, and still out of breath; her skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. While everyone around her laughed and sang, her blue-green gaze scanned the crowd. I didn’t know who she could be looking for; her friends and boyfriend were beside her…
And then she found me.
At least, I think it was me. She was halfway across the auditorium, but I felt as if her gaze was locked on mine. Her smile dropped, replaced by an expression I couldn’t read; her lips parted, and her chest rose with a sharp breath. Her hand drifted to her delicate goldnecklace, and she toyed with its charm absently. Then her little finger lifted and curled—twice. Two tiny motions, and I was paralyzed.
Is she waving at me? Do I wave back? Is she even waving at all…?
A girl grabbed Emery’s arm and swung her around, laughing and talking in her ear, breaking the spell. I jerked out of the warm, hazy moment into the loud reality of the auditorium and felt another pair of eyes on me. Harper Bennett had one eyebrow raised, amused, and a strange smile on her lips.
“It’s sort of like Schrödinger’s pinky wave, isn’t it?” Harper said, gathering her stuff. “She was both waving at you and not waving at you. The only way to know is to ask her.”
I stammered, feeling like I should explain myself, as if I were guilty of some crime. But then the pep rally was over, and Dean was jostling me to get going. By the time I got my backpack on, Harper was gone.
Chapter 8
Emery
