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Authors: Avery Hastings

Feuds (7 page)

BOOK: Feuds
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Five minutes passed. Then ten. Davis felt her toes reflexively curling, flexing, pointing. Curling, flexing, pointing.

Where was he?

“Hey,” said a male voice, and Davis turned, half expecting to find Frank waiting to escort her to her dad's car.

Davis's heart jumped a little, making her even shorter of breath. Not Frank.

Him
.

It was the guy from the party. Cole. Like the mere power of thinking of him had brought him to her. He wore a blue button-down and jeans, a silver dog tag decorating his neck. His sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows. Interesting DirecTalk; Davis hadn't seen the military style before.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you,” he said as Davis stood up. His brown eyes, the color of dark wood, bore into Davis's with an unusual intensity.

“I wasn't scared,” she replied, instantly feeling something buzz between them—almost as though the kiss Friday night had just happened, like they'd pulled apart only seconds ago. “Just startled,” she added, trying not to stare at his lips.

She straightened her shoulders, running one hand through her silky hair in order to tame it. “Are you heading to the PAs, too?” She looked at him then looked away, having trouble meeting his eyes. Was she the only one who thought the kiss was incredible? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just her imagination, tricking her into believing something she wanted to believe.
Why
couldn't she stop thinking about it? Especially now of all days, when focus was more important than ever?

A flicker crossed his eyes, and just as fast, it was gone. “Nah,” he said, keeping his voice even. “I'm done with all of that.”

So he must be older. Strange how he'd just appeared when she'd been trying so hard not to think of him. Like he had stepped out of her subconscious.

“Are you okay?” Cole asked abruptly, and she couldn't stop herself from blushing. “The other night, it was … scary.”

“Sure,” she told him, pasting a smile on her face. “Absolutely.”

“It's just…” He reached for her, almost as if he meant to touch her, and then pulled back before he could make contact. He let his hand fall back by his side. “Anyone would be shaken up.”

“What happened with Caitlyn after the party?” she asked then. “I called her parents and they said she's fine but they wouldn't let me talk to her. Did you find her house okay? Was
she
okay?”

“Yeah,” Cole said, avoiding her eyes. “I mean, I assume so. I dropped her off on, ah, Sherman and rang her doorbell, just like she asked.”

Davis nodded, relieved. That was one weight off her shoulders. “I guess it was some optimizer she'd taken … I don't know. I guess she's freaked since we're so close to PAs.”

Cole nodded, but his brow was furrowed, like there was something he couldn't figure out. Which was understandable. The whole thing was weird, what they'd experienced together. The kiss, then Caitlyn almost OD'ing—at least Davis assumed that's what had happened …

An image of Caitlyn at the party flashed through her mind. Blood coming from her mouth. She'd never seen blood like that before. She'd never even really seen anyone get sick before, aside from one time when Fia was a toddler and her temperature had reached dangerous highs. Back then, Terri and her dad had been thrown into a panic. Davis thought she knew now how they must have felt. The terror, an overwhelming rush of helplessness. Feeling out of control. She shuddered.

“I'm glad I saw you,” Cole said, looking concerned. “I was a little worried.” He stumbled over the last sentence, and Davis felt her face heating.

“Really, I'm fine,” she told him again, burning all over from his previous words. Everything he said seemed weighted, like his words held greater significance than they could possibly convey. “I promise. I'm really, really glad you were there to help.” It was an understatement.

Even more than that, he'd found her again. She hadn't dared hope to see him again, but she'd wanted it badly. And now he was here, and the space between them was magnetic.

“I'm glad I was there, too.” His eyes met hers, burning her with their intensity. Her body filled with the same indescribable heat she'd felt kissing him. Even a look from him rivaled a touch from anyone else she knew in its ability to make her skin react. She wondered if he'd kiss her again. She wondered if he had this same effect on everyone; the thought made her stomach turn, and she took a reflexive step back.

A loud beep interrupted them. Her dad's vintage Rolls-Royce, dating from the first half of the twenty-first century, was just rolling through the gates to the school. Davis took a large step back, praying her dad hadn't seen anything. If he had, there would be an awful lot of questions.
Impeccable timing, Dad.

“That's my ride,” she told Cole, but he was already starting to turn from her. “Hey, Cole?” she called after him. “Wait a sec.” He stopped but didn't move any closer. She trotted the few steps between them to close the gap. “Will I … see you again?”

“Yeah,” he told her, smiling a little. “I'll be around.”

Her heart sank. Maybe he hadn't felt what she felt, after all. Maybe he'd just checked up on her as a courtesy, not because he cared. If he'd cared, he would have made plans to see her again, asked for her number … or at least her last name. With cold shock, she realized that maybe Vera was right. Maybe he couldn't be trusted, and she'd fallen for something false—based on what? Her own feelings, and that was it.

“Davis!” her dad shouted through an open window. “Hurry up. We're running late.”

“Obviously. Whose fault is that?” She muttered it under her breath, but Cole had heard her; he looked back and grinned, and she gave him a small wave, trying hard to smile in return, but failing.

“Wow, Dad,” she said, sliding into the backseat next to him. She ran her hand across the car's leather interior. “You really pulled out the big guns for my PA. Sure this isn't a publicity stunt?” She hadn't meant for her words to come out with such bite, but there it was. Her dad never picked her up on a typical day, and she suspected this “special treat” had a hidden agenda.

“I'm here because I care about you,” he responded, his voice gruff. “This is what a good father does.”

Davis swiveled around to glance out the rear window, but Cole had disappeared. Her stomach clenched again. He didn't want to see her, it seemed clear. So if she happened to run into him again, she'd keep her distance. The dismissal was already too painful, and she barely knew him. She couldn't let her guard down like this again.

She turned back around in her seat and sighed, firmly pushing Cole out of her thoughts as best she could. She refocused her attention on her dad's words:
This is what a good father does.
She knew what a good father did. Her father had always been good. He'd sat through her practices when she was little, wrapped her feet with gauze on the rare occasions her toenails yielded to the pressure of the pointe shoes, made her pancakes for dinner in the years before her stepmother came along, held her when she'd had bad dreams. His whole life had revolved around her and Fia and making them happy.

Even his campaigns—the recent pull on his attention—were motivated by his love for them. At least that's what he'd always told them—that he wanted to make Columbus a better place for them to grow up in.

Even though he'd tried to hide it, before he met Terri, her father had been lonely. She'd seen it in his eyes, in the way he'd stared at the pictures of her mother and a few pieces of her clothing hanging in his closet next to his, as if nothing had changed. She'd seen his pain. Sometimes she still caught it; because you never really get rid of the sadness of loss.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Just nervous, that's all.”

“You'll be perfect,” he told her, reaching for her hand. For a minute, Davis felt like she was going to cry. She
had
to win the Olympiads. Her dad would be so proud; it would mean so much. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed until the feeling passed.

“So,” her dad said after a moment. “Who was that boy you were talking to?”

So he'd noticed. Embarrassing. “It was just a friend of Emilie's,” she said, turning toward the window. “He was at the party the other night.”

“Ah,” her dad responded, giving her a sidelong glance. “Someone special?”


Dad.
Stop,” Davis said, rolling her eyes and trying hard not to blush. “I just met him myself.” Her words were deceptively casual; she couldn't believe how convincing they sounded, when inside she was spinning and fluttery at the very thought of him. He derailed her, and she'd only just met him. Davis bit her lip, willing herself to maintain a placid exterior.

There was a long silence, and then her dad squeezed her hand harder. “Just be careful,” he told her. “Boys are devils. Particularly around girls like you.”

“What are ‘girls like me'?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty ones,” said her dad.

“Oh, whatever.” She sighed. “We're all pretty.”

“You're
especially
pretty,” he responded. “And I don't want you getting hurt.”

She swallowed. Sometimes it was hard, knowing how much he cared, how much he worried. She wanted to assure him that she would be fine, that no boy would ever break her heart.

But for the first time, she wasn't sure if that was true.

Outside, Davis heard the muffled sounds of chanting and shouting. She squinted out one of the tinted windows.

“What
is
that?” she asked. “What's going on?” There were crowds of people, some holding signs she couldn't quite make out.

“Protestors,” her dad said. Davis pressed her forehead to the window. One of the signs read
INTEGRATION MEANS FULL EQUALITY,
and they drove by another that someone pressed up right against the car, causing her to shift back in her seat toward her father while the chauffeur drove on. That one said:
WE SHARE YOUR STREETS—WE SHOULD SHARE YOUR SCHOOLS.

What would it be like, to have the Imps at school? Would it be dangerous?
There was talk that Parson Abel wanted to relax current segregation laws; Davis's dad was working hard to make sure that wouldn't happen. Davis had heard that the Imps were unevolved, prone to violence and aggression and unable to control their impulses. It was their carelessness—their lack of attention—that had killed her mother. She knew her dad's stance sometimes seemed a little harsh, but she could understand why. He would never let what happened to her mother happen again, to her, or to Fia, or to anyone. He just wanted a better world, a safer world, for everyone.

With only ten minutes to spare before her evaluation, the glass peaks of the Jenkins Center rose before them like a glittering castle. Davis took in a sharp breath, admiring the way its angles reflected light back into the street and onto the other buildings, creating crystal-rainbow patterns all around it. She'd always loved the Jenkins Center.

“Right up to the front, Gideon,” her father instructed the chauffeur. He had unceremoniously replaced Malik, an Imp Davis had known all her life, with Gideon just two months before. Davis had asked why and received no explanation other than that her father felt he was sending a mixed message to the public by allowing Malik to be a part of their lives. Davis had liked Malik, who had always slipped her a special good-luck treat—usually a square of caramel chocolate, her favorite—with a wink and a smile before competitions. She had been sad to see him go—she'd forgotten, in a way, that he was an Imp. Now that she was seeing some of the violence and anger in the streets, she wondered what had happened to him.

She stepped from the car, ducking her head against the sea of cameras that greeted her and her father. With the election looming ever closer, they'd been following him wherever he went. It made her uncomfortable, and even walking no longer felt natural. She wondered if the cameras would pick up on everything she was trying to keep inside. She ducked her head, folding into herself. Her dad pulled her close against him and wrapped one arm around her shoulders rather than ushering her through the crowd as he usually did.

“Smile,” he whispered. Davis glanced at him, and his own smile looked painted on. She did her best to straighten and smile anyway. Her dad patted her shoulder, releasing her, and Davis gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Good luck, sweetie,” he called out after her as she made her way toward the glass building. “Make your mother proud.”

Even though she knew he'd meant them to be encouraging, his words felt heavy on her heart. Not winning meant losing the best shot she'd ever had at making her father happy, at honoring their family and her mother's image. Winning would mean the world to her dad. It would make him smile. It would bring her mother back to life, if only for an instant. And that was everything.

*   *   *

“PA?” a nurse waiting in the lobby asked.

Davis nodded.

“That way,” the nurse replied. “On the left down the corridor. They'll give you your number.”

Davis walked to the enormous conference room that had been dedicated to this purpose. It, too, was glass, yet somehow she couldn't see the hallways once she was inside.
Double-paned glass,
she thought.
Only the best.
She walked to the registration table and swiped her P-card to record her arrival.

“Please press your thumb to the keypad,” an automated voice intoned from her DirecTalk. Davis did as instructed, firmly holding the pad of her thumb to the surface of a small, rectangular device glowing red and mounted to the back of a large computer at the registration desk in front of her.

BOOK: Feuds
4.28Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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