Students crowded in the foyer, the mood sober and tentative, rumors growing like weeds down throats as they swapped stories about what they’d seen. First period had been canceled and everyone was meant to file into the assembly hall after breakfast for announcements, but it was impossible not to notice which hallways had been blocked off or how there was a barricade in front of the faculty stairs.
It was said there had been police here last night. A body bag had been packed into an ambulance and whisked away.
Andrew chewed his lip and looked for Dove among the students trickling into the auditorium. Thomas had slipped off to the bathroom again to check he hadn’t bled through his bandages, and Andrew had forced himself not to follow. At least everyone was preoccupied with the fact that vines were growing out of the school’s walls and less interested in gossiping about which boys had locked themselves in the bathroom together yesterday, but he didn’t doubt Bryce would be foul about it soon.
Andrew had charged his phone and texted Dove a million times last night, but she still hadn’t replied. She was the one who’d told him off on the bus for missing her calls, and now he deserved a cold shoulder? He hadn’t done anything. Moths ate holes in hismind and their wings beat a frantic migraine behind his eyes. It was all he could do to stand up straight and keep his face blank and guiltless.
He finally saw her standing at the farthest end of the foyer and hurried over. She still wore her summer uniform of a short-sleeve blouse and perfectly straight tie. No stockings or even a blazer. Not usual for someone who always worshipped cozy things like cardigans and hot chocolate, but maybe she was preoccupied with the unsettling chaos.
“Hey.” Andrew slid beside her and blinked as she leaned away. “Are you… mad at me?”
“Why is everything always about you?” The frosted steel in her voice said, yes, in fact, she was mad at him.
Annoyance ticked in his jaw, but he swallowed it back. “I’m not the one ignoring you. I look for you all the time and you always disappear. You don’t study with us—”
“Studyforyou.”
“—and you don’t hang out with us—”
“I have my own homework, believe it or not.”
“—or eat with us in the dining hall.”
Dove shot him a sideways glance sharper than a scalpel. “As if you eat.”
He forced himself to take slow breaths. They bickered sometimes, but not like this.
“What do you want me to say?” His jaw clenched. “I know you fought with Thomas, but he’s my roommate. I can’t pick you over him. Stop—stop making me. And stop being like this.”
“Being like what? Being honest? One of us has to be.”
Andrew turned on her sharply. “Okay, what is your problem with me?”
She sniffed and looked away.
“Dove, stop it.” His voice rose, all animal panic. “I don’t understand. We didn’t have a fight? I-I don’t know what I’ve done. I don’t even know what you and Thomas fought about.”
“You do. If you really thought about it.” Her eyes shone, amber and glossy. “You should’ve chosen me.”
“What?” Andrew had lost all control of this conversation. “I’m not”—he hated how uneven he sounded—“choosing anyone. He’s your best friend, too. He’s both of ours.”
Dove’s mouth twisted, jealousy maybe, or frustration that he missed her point.
But he had no idea what she wanted him to say. Unless it wasI’ll give up Thomas for you.
He couldn’t say that.
He let numbness steal his heartbeat instead.
The foyer was almost empty as everyone found seats in the auditorium, and the urge to see if Thomas had already gone in ate at him, but he wanted Dove to come, too. He wanted—no,needed—the three of them to be okay.
“I have to go.” Dove gave him one last look, steady and scathing, before she stalked off. She didn’t look back.
He checked no one was looking before wiping at his stinging eyes.Get a grip, Perrault.They were siblings, they fought, they’d get over it.
He busied himself with his phone so he wouldn’t look pathetic trailing directly behind his sister, but holding it made the world spin in sick circles beneath him. All he could thinkof was Clemens dangling the phone in front of him with that condescending smirk. How the battery should be ruined. How none of this made sense. It was password protected, but he hadn’t checked his apps yet for tampering. When he opened his photo gallery, his stomach bottomed out.
All his old photos had been deleted. Instead, the reel had been crammed with black shots. Hundreds of them. He scrolled down the endless black squares, dread leaving malignant fingerprints down his throat. None of this was possible. Only Thomas and Dove knew his password, and they wouldn’t do this.
