I noticed the flare of Max’s nostrils, the cord running through his neck. He’d been on edge lately, too, and just itching for a fight. And I didn’t know what had really happened to the letters. Maybe they’d fallen out. Maybe the janitor came by and threw them away while I was asleep. I couldn’t imagine spilled blood was exactly welcome in a school library.
“I made a mistake,” I said. “It’s fine.”
His eyes met mine, all liquid concern. He cupped my chin in his palm with a tenderness that surprised me. “Are you sure, Cella? If he did something to you, I swear to God, …”
“Really, it’s nothing.”
He released me and started pacing.
“Max, tell me you’re not going to do anything. Max!”
In his charcoal T-shirt, black hat, and jeans, he was the perfect impression of a thunder cloud. “Sorry, I was caught in a daydream in which I pulled every bone from Grant’s body. What were you saying?”
“Please, don’t do anything.” I regretted saying anything at all, especially with him all worked up like this. With monumental effort, he forced himself to take a breath and nodded. “Fine. At the very least, we’ve got to tell Dr. Robetresse.”
“No. She has enough to deal with, and I don’t want him to think he’s getting to me. He’s just scared. It’s his future at risk, and he’s …” I swallowed. “He’s just protecting it.”
“And what if he does something else ‘to protect his future’?”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
He growled, his eyes set on a spot in the distance. “Neither am I.”
Field Journal of Luce Montgomery
Basile was weird tonight, and for a moment, I thought about calling the whole thing off. It’s not like our little rendezvous in the field were doing me any favors. I still haven’t found the fungi, and I’m running out of time.
I stayed up after he fell asleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hands kept creeping to my neck when we were intimate. Cradling it, wrapping his fingers around it like he could crush the life in his hands in an instant. I knew I was going to see a different side of him eventually, no one was that perfect, but this one was rougher than I expected. Crueler. His hands tangled in my hair and pulled so hard my eyes watered.
But every time I think about ending things, something stops me. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met. It’s not just the theory that draws people to him. For all his fame and adoring fans, he doesn’t seem all that attached to living. He talks about death a lot, hovers on its precipice, flirts with its borders. That seems to speak to a lot of the young people following him. “Why should I be afraid of death?” he asked in one of his videos, filmed standing on the railing at the top of a building, with the hazy glow of city lights below. He spread his arms wide. “A philosopher fears death least of all men. For, as Plato says, it’s only in death that a true philosopher finds what he desires, the truth.” Then he took off his shirt and bared the tattoo inked in black across his back.
Saluta mortem.Greet death.
The comments went wild.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ilooked down at my phone, the blinking notification from a text I still hadn’t replied to.
I had an idea.
One that Max definitely, unequivocally, absolutely would not like, but I thought maybe if I could talk to him about it in person, he’d be less likely to flip. So I got in my truck and drove to his house.
Max’s family lived in a big farmhouse on the outside of town, with two pens for training horses and a greenhouse in back for his dad’s tomatoes.
I got out of the car, popping the back on and off my earring—I’d swapped out my bumblebee studs for ladybugs. I’d been here so many times before, but every time I’d come as a friend, a welcome guest. Now I walked up the front porch and felt dread brew in my stomach. I swung open the screened door and knocked, wondering what his mom would do. Scream at me, tell me to leave?
As usual, the house was bustling, loud, and chaotic, with dogs barking and kids screaming. Mrs. Middlemore yelled, “Oh, quit!” to the dogs jostling to get to the door, until all eyes landed on me.
She stared at me for one long moment, and I half-considered turning around and pretending I had the wrong house. Nothing to see here, just slide back in my truck, when her face broke into a huge grin.
“Cella!” She rushed toward me, arms outstretched.
There was more hustle and bustle as chairs scooted and Cheerios were hastily moved. I was sat at the kitchen table and introduced to various nieces and nephews staying for the week. Mrs. Middlemore set a bowl of tomato soup and a heaping plate of mac and cheese in front of me. Both made from scratch, of course. Not for the first time, I wondered if Max’s mom didn’t have some Magic of her own in those cast-iron pans.
She started chatting almost immediately. I was grateful all I was required to do was nod every so often.
“And look, Jason’s got himself a new leg brace and a walker. He’s going to do just fine. Janie’s not here, Max told you, I suppose. I swear, if the Devil himself had gotten into that girl, she’d be better behaved than she is now. Disappears for days, can’t ever call her mama to let her know she’s alright, has me worried sick half the time. But oh!” she cried, and turned to me suddenly. I jumped.
