Andrew took the edge of Thomas’s quilt and flipped it off him. “I refuse to feel sorry for you when youchoseto be a jackass martyr. Get up.” He gently picked at the bandage on Thomas’sback to check the wounds. “It’s not too bad.” He winced only because Thomas had his face buried and wouldn’t see.
The bites had turned bright red, some scabbed over and others now swollen bumps, feverishly hot to the touch. He was riddled with them, and the pain had to be excruciating.
Thomas’s voice came muffled from the pillows. “I feel like a pincushion.”
“That’s because you are. But you have to come. I don’t know what art stuff to get, and I’ll come back with crayons or something.” He ran fingers over Thomas’s shoulder blades before realizing what he was doing. He snatched his hand away. “Get up.” He kept his voice light.
Thomas slithered boneless to the floor, but it was sort of progress.
Andrew left for the bathroom. He desperately needed Dove to tell him what to do. If they told her the truth about the monsters… well, she’d explode, furious and frantic. Thomas clearly did not want her to know, and Andrew understood that now. They could give Dove this, protection from things most foul and malevolent. Though he wasn’t sure if he most wanted to hide the monsters’ existence or how the nights belonged to him and Thomas alone now. He didn’t want her to know he liked that.
He missed his phone and their constant stream of texts. He was a rotten brother these days, but Thomas needed him. Andrew hadn’t meant to choose between them, but he had.
He checked on Thomas, who had put one leg in his pants with his eyes closed while mumbling something about coffee. Andrew grabbed his backpack and slipped outside.
He hurried down the garden path to the girls’ dorm, but couldn’t work up the courage to ask the girls lingering out front to get Dove for him. Apparently he could hunt monsters in the woods, but still not talk to people without his words cramping in his mouth.
One of the girls noticed him lurking and started to wave, but her friend knocked her hand down and began whispering. Smiles disappeared. Pity filled their expressions. His breakdown in the bathroom had not helped his reputation of being that highly strung boy who smashed his own hand last year.
Andrew fled.
Students already crowded the marble front steps of Wickwood as the bus pulled in. Andrew hung back, dread gnawing an acidic hole in his stomach. What if Thomas didn’t arrive in time? What if he had blood poisoning or an infection or—
Stop. He needed to just—stop.
Bryce Kane and his vultures were harassing the girls boarding the bus, but they cut it out as soon as Ms. Poppy appeared with a huge thermos and a dreamy smile. The art teacher wore a patchwork skirt the size of a small country and golden bangles against her dark skin. Every year the student council unanimously awarded her Most Lovely Teacher. Andrew started to relax knowing she’d be in charge of this trip, until he saw Professor Clemens stroll off the bus with his smarmy smile. He’d ensured both boys served a lengthy detention after Andrew had yanked Thomas from class to quell his panic attack, and even the sight of the professor made anxiety ripple through Andrew’s stomach.
“Why do you look like you swallowed a frog?”
Andrew’s heart punched into his throat as he whirled, but only Thomas stood there, yawning and scrubbing a hand through his matted curls. He looked like a cat that had been put through the dryer—pants wrinkled, collar popped, tie draped like a scarf, blazer missing, shirt untucked and flecked with old paint. He had sleepy eyes and a disgruntled mouth, and he kept scowling at the growing crowd of boisterous seniors like they existed just to spite him.
“Clemens is driving the bus,” Andrew whispered.
Thomas made a face. “He can eat nails. What’s in your backpack? Snacks? I need snacks. Sugar, specifically.”
“What you need is to be ironed.”
Thomas slumped his forehead against Andrew’s shoulder. “I need to be treated softly, like a delicate egg.”
Andrew gave a wry smile, but it slipped as soon as he saw Lana Lang thundering toward them. Her boots seemed to grow more violently purple every time he saw her.
Lana halted before them, her glare hard on Thomas. “Are youhungover? Because, wow.”
Thomas jerked his head off Andrew’s shoulder and put space between them. Andrew tried not to read anything into that.
“I amnot,” he muttered. “Take your judgmental self somewhere else.”
“Right, well, once Mister Bad Decisions gets kicked off the trip”—Lana turned to Andrew—“feel free to come sit with us.”
“He’s not hungover,” Andrew said quickly.
A muscle ticked in Thomas’s jaw. “And he doesn’t need you fussing over him.”
Lana crossed her arms, attitude simmering toward a boil. “Dove asked me to watch out for him, so I am. She told me everything about you, Thomas Rye, and I meaneverything. Especially about you and—”
“You know what? I don’t need this.” Thomas turned, tugging Andrew after him.
But Andrew stayed rooted. How had these two gone from zero to war in a matter of seconds? And did this mean Dove wasn’t coming on the trip? Now that he knew she and Thomas hadn’t made up and weren’t having clandestine make-out sessions in the forest, he’d reverted back to guessing they were still in a fight.
