But Andrew’s jaw had gone tight and he turned away. “You two can go.”
“I need all three of us—” Dove started.
“And I don’t want to go with you.” He said it too sharp, and Dove wilted.
She liked to corral them, her boys, her two best friends, and usually he was relieved to follow dutifully in her wake, to feel safe knowing she made all the decisions and he wouldn’t have to. But right now he was too scared of what she might ask.
Maybe she would ask for Thomas, and maybe Thomas would say yes.
He was a hurricane and she the whole sky, and even now they were having a vehement conversation with their eyes as Andrew walked away. Neither went after him.
As he vanished behind the hedges, he heard Thomas say:
“You have to give him warning. You know he hates confrontation.”
“He could do something for me for once.” Dove sounded tired.
“… come on, let’s just go.”
Andrew felt sick, his stomach full of stones, as he trailed to the dorms alone, wincing at the two boys who bumped shoulders with him on purpose so he’d slam against the wall. This hadbeen his whole year, everything from snide remarks and casual shoves to his books being wrecked and disembodied hands shaking the shower stall while he was in there, shivering and terrified. Always, it was Bryce Kane behind it. Andrew wanted to tell someone, but Dove would report them and the bullying would for sure get worse because rich kids didn’t get more than a slap on the wrist at Wickwood. And Thomas would—well, he would start a war and beat someone into the ground for Andrew’s honor. And then he’d get expelled.
So Andrew kept his mouth shut.
At least his dorm room remained a luxurious, quiet sanctuary. The sun flung golden afternoon rays over Thomas’s bed and Andrew couldn’t resist. He could steal an hour, Thomas and Dove would be at least that long, and he could study the flash cards after dining hall to win back Dove’s favor. No one would catch him caving to this indulgence—dumping his books on his messy desk, toeing off his shoes, unbuttoning his shirt so that when he slipped into Thomas’s bed, his skin lay against where Thomas had been. It was an easy way to sate the craving of something he could never ask for.
Laundry and extra blankets had been tumbled on Thomas’s bed, and the cottony warmth dragged Andrew down into sleep. His muscles uncoiled, his stomachache eased. He pulled pillows over his head so his world muffled and all that was left was the smell of soft laundry and traces of paint and the warm, earthy taste of Thomas.
Somewhere, through the dregs of unconsciousness, he heard the dorm door open and then close. He wasn’t awake enough to care.
A cool hand touched his cheek.
He pulled from sleep hard, sucking in air like he’d been underwater. It felt like his heart had stopped. Like he’d been lost. Like he’d had a fist on a branch and then—
s n a p
But he was still buried under Thomas’s mussy blankets, sweaty and muddled from waking so abruptly. Someone had flicked on the lights and the glare burned his eyes. He sat up, blinking hard.
Ms. Poppy hovered over him, bangles clinking lightly as she placed a cool palm on his forehead.
“S-sorry.” He sounded slurred. He felt undead, not awake, like he’d slept under a thousand-year enchantment instead of just the afternoon.
The clock on Thomas’s desk read 8:39 p.m. Damn it, he’d missed dining hall and tutor sessions. Sending a teacher to find him meant incoming detentions.
“Darling, you’re a little feverish.” Ms. Poppy made a soft, distressed sound. “We had someone come look in here, but they must not have seen you under all these blankets. I need you to come with me.”
Sleep had left Andrew so foggy he couldn’t find words. He fumbled for a tee shirt, one of Thomas’s maybe. Paint flecked the hem.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled again.
“You’re not in trouble.” But the way she looked at him was infinitely sad.
He followed her downstairs feeling too wrecked to stay upright. Something felt off. The dorm seemed subdued, the usual boisterous games in the rec room dulled, and everyone stared at them as they hurried past.
Outside, the summer night felt sticky and loud, cicadas singing from the forest and tires gravel crunching in the parking lot. Wasn’t it late for visitors? The hedges ended and he saw it then. Cop cars and an ambulance, their blue lights still flashing.
Panic flooded his lungs, vicious and wild.
Ms. Poppy hurried him into the school, murmuring something that was meant to be reassuring, though he couldn’t hear her past the roar in his head.
