Fourteen
Elodie
Ican’t help looking at the banquet of buffet options in Luminary’s cafeteria with a constant analysis of the nutritional value—and downsides—of each dish. I have no glim dogging me at the moment, but old habits die hard. I can’t quite bear to drop a scoop of creamy bacon fettucine onto my plate, no matter how delicious it smells.
As I pluck up a little salad here, a piece of roast chicken there, my friends don’t comment on my choices. I guess they’re probably pretty similar to what Other Elodie would have picked with an eye to keeping her figure slim.
As we circulate around the buffet, I follow Grady Tadros’s progress through the room ahead of us. His tall form is easy to keep track of. He’s only grabbed one of the pre-made brioche sandwiches, snatching bites while waving to some of the other seniors.
He points toward the doors that lead to the outdoor patio area, and a gaggle of other students follow his lead.
I wait until he’s disappeared outside before making a casual suggestion. “It’s pretty nice out. Why don’t we get some sun while we eat?”
Stella looks around the bustling cafeteria and gives a slight grimace at the scene. “Sounds good to me.”
When we emerge from the building, Grady and his companions aren’t sitting at the cedar patio tables. Only their blazers and sweaters remain, tossed onto a couple of the nearby chairs.
The guys themselves have roamed farther onto the stretch of field completely sheltered within the ring of school buildings. One of the other 16thyears tosses a black ball the size of a skull into the air.
“Oooh,” Mia exclaims. “The first bloomblight game of the year. Let’s sit where we can get a good view.”
Cadance glances toward the slope at the south end of the field, where the foreboding graduate studies building looms at the top of the small hill. “You want to sit on the ground?”
Madison strides forward with a challenging air, all Border Terrier sturdiness. “Oh, it’ll be fine. We’ll sit on our blazers. I want to see this too.”
I’m not sure how much I’ll learn about Grady and why Other Elodie was interested in him from watching him play our school’s favorite sport, but I did come out here to observe him. Might as well see what I can see.
As we skirt the playing field and climb partway up the grassy slope, more students emerge to join the two forming teams. I lay my blazer on a patch of clover where the sun beams warm overhead and set my plate on my lap.
The groups mark themselves with a glimmer of illusionary color across their white shirts: yellow for the bloom side, red for the blight side. They separate to opposite ends of the field.
It’s mostly older seniors, 15thand 16thyears, and mostly guys, although a few of the more avid female players have joined in. Performing well at bloomblight can be a way to raise your ranking if your academic skills fall short. The professors keep an eye on these impromptu games just as much as they do the ones organized in class.
Most of the faces I recognize only vaguely from my own reality and the few days of classes I’ve had in this one, but a tug of my heart drags my gaze to one dark form in particular.
Byron has joined in, standing a bit apart from his teammates with typical assured aloofness. I shouldn’t be surprised.
Byron snags my elbow as I turn away from my locker. “Hey. There’s a bloomblight game coming together after school—I won’t be heading right home.”
It’s not unusual for something to come up that means we can’t make the trek together. He’s holding on to his top rank by the skin of his teeth. But a trace of a frown must cross my face before I can smother it.
“No problem,” I say, but Byron is already drawing me closer.
His voice drops low. “I know you don’t like me playing, but I’ve got to keep proving myself every way I can.”
“And if you skip any part of the school experience, everyone will jump on the chance to criticize you. I know.” I smooth the collar of his shirt even straighter, just for the excuse to touch him back. Nothing can feel totally wrong when my matches are with me. “I just hate thinking about you getting beat up.”
A split lip last week. A burn across his shin the week before.
Byron shrugs off my concern. “It’s never anything I can’t handle. The nurses patch us up good as new.”
“I’d rather there was nothing to patch up in the first place,” I can’t help grumbling.
A slight smile crosses Byron’s lips. He leans in and brushes his mouth to mine. Then he murmurs, even lower than before, “You could come be my cheerleader. Watch your valiant match in action. Make sure I survive the journey home.”
Nothing makes me melt like seeing the heat that can light up in my most unflappable mate’s eyes when he looks at me like that.
A laugh that’s both amused and giddy slips from my throat. “If you want me there, I’ll be there.”
