The flinch that strikes me is enough to drop my ass onto the bed.
But I soften—because it’s Serena and Asta sweeping into the room.
My muscles relax and I sag with a heavy breath.
Serena is alight with barely contained joy.
Asta turns on me as she shoves the door shut behind her, and her face is all sharp angles.
I throw a look down at my snowboots and let my breaths even out.
Serena gushes, all glee and bells, her steps thudding over the rug until she reaches her bed, “I can’t believe you said that! That is without a doubt one of my top three moments at Bluestone. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
I throw a dull look over my shoulder.
Serena drapes herself over the foot of her mattress.
Her storm eyes shimmer.
Asta sinks into the seat at the vanity and inspects her reflection in the mirror. “I must admit,” she says, brushing a strand of wintry blonde hair behind her ear, “it was a surprise. You and Landon share such loyalty.” She tilts her head, eyes flicking to mine. “Seemingly out of nowhere.”
There’s no answer in me, nothing more than the deflation of the adrenaline that was pumping through my veins and is now fading into post-slopes fatigue.
My shoulders slump before I reach for the zipper of my jacket.
I start to undress from the dampness of the snowsuit, my mind drifting to my beloved scalding baths—and the idea is fast to stamp out with the threat of that beast lurking out there.
“Did you see Mildred’s face?” Serena chimes, on the verge of outright laughter. “I thought her head was going to explode.”
Still, I say nothing as I go through the sluggish motion of changing into flannel pyjamas and bed socks.
Asta watches every movement in the vanity mirror, a cat stalking prey.
“Did you come up with that on the spot?” Serena baits me, rolling onto her front, elbows digging into the mattress, and she settles her chin on her fists. “I’ve wondered the same, that’s why I ask.”
My shrug is silent before I tug my hair out of its straggled braids. Strands come out in sections, in dire need of a wash and comb, but I just re-braid it as I scoot onto my bed.
Serena’s face shutters, the echo of irritation, annoyed that I’m not performing with her in all her fantastical elation.
I throw her another dull look—and with that, I communicate all I need to.
We’re not friends.
We’re not in this together.
Stop pestering me.
Her face firms, so she reads me loud and clear. It’s a look I’ve seen before on her. That old flicker of irritation.
The memory hits me.
On the swinging bench, the grounds of Thornbury Park all around us, and Serena shutting down before she shut me out.
I blink and it’s gone.
She’s smiling again, tenser this time, less sincere, but smiling all the same. “There’s a party on the ice rink,” she says, trying out new bait. “Everyone’s going.”
Asta adds, faint, from the vanity, “Maybe Mildred, too. But you are so brave now, so what does it matter?”
