“Well, hurry! I want us both to make the cut for finalists.”
“Me too,” he says with a grin. I wonder if Armonk likes me as more than a friend. He never touches me in that oily way that Stiles did. Never strokes me with his eyes like Blane sometimes, when the heat of his body seeks me out and his eyes try to read me. Do I like Armonk in that way? It’s not easy to trust any guy after Stiles. I hardly trust my own feelings. Armonk is handsome and kind. Yet mostly we’re like left and right arms—friends who match up. Blane? Blane is fire, turbulence and hurt emotions. The playful tease. Blane is the one who frowns down at me from the window as I bask in the sun.
At dinner, there’s more banter about the contest. I’m hoping that the excitement of it all makes people forget about the Reds slowly decaying on the garden table outside. I need to figure out a way to help Thorn recover them, even if it’s only to lay the bodies to rest under a sand dune because they’re his contest entries. It wouldn’t do to have George Axiom claim them.
“There will only be four finalists from The Greening,” Blane reminds us. “And one will be me.” He stretches, revealing a taut set of abs. I can’t lie; the sight makes me swallow hard.
Bea frowns at him. “What makes you so sure you’ll make the cut?”
“Just a hunch.” He grins and sneaks me a look. He’s always sneaking a look and asking me questions with his mystery gaze. I don’t know what his questions are so there’s no way I could even attempt to answer them.
Since my talk with Dr. Varik, I’ve calmed down enough about my condition to at least eat one small meal, usually at dinner. In the morning, everyone’s too busy to notice I’m not eating, but at dinner, it’s harder since we all sit together. I choke down sea potatoes and work to move them past my throat.
Only Blane seems to notice these days. His eyes narrow and his face mists over in worry, but he says nothing. After dinner, people rush up to the workspace, eager for one of the last chances they’ll have to work on their projects before Axiom comes with his judges’ panel. Nevada goes up too, for last minute mentoring.
Lingering on second tier with Thorn, I kneel down to be eye level with him. “I’ve got a way to make it seem like someone else took the Reds,” I murmur in his ear. “You want that?”
He nods, following me with his eyes.
“Do you want to bury them? I’ll leave them at the roots of our lookout tree.”
He nods again. This time there’s a grateful grin on his face.
“It’ll take some doing,” I whisper. “Have to find a lizard to work my magic.” I squeeze his hand. “Go up and distract them, okay?”
He starts right upstairs, his little boy hand inching up the banister. On my way out the garden door I hear a racket from third tier.
“What are you doing, Thorn? You spilled that oil all over my boots!” Ooh, he’s in for it. That was Nevada yelling, and she’s wearing her best fringe boots.
Anything for the proper burial of a Red.
Chapter 20
“Those dead bird things are gone!” Bea clomps into the kitchen still wearing her burn suit and mask. It’s the morning after I’ve done my deed, just after breakfast and Bea was sent out there to check on the Reds. We scramble into our suits and clamber outside. The patio table is empty except for a smeared green blob and a trail of tiny footprints in greenish gunk that lead from where the Reds were, out to the field.
“Lizard prints,” Bea declares. “Lizards must’ve hauled them off.”
“Weird,” Blane mumbles. “Those red things were three times the size of any lizard.”
“What kind of lizard would want to eat rotting meat?” Radius screws up his face in repulsion. “Those red things were already kind of stinking.”
Nevada wears a skeptical frown. “Ruby, do lizards eat meat? Dead meat at that?”
“Dragon Lizards don’t,” I report earnestly, “but I’m not familiar yet with the feeding habits of the Spatters.” It’s not a lie, not really, even though judging by their tiny teeth and the lack of meat around here, I highly doubt that’s their daily fare. Not even carnivores eat rotted meat except for vultures. And they don’t live down here.
Thorn’s eyes dart over to me. There’s hilarity in them. If we lock eyes for any longer I’ll burst out laughing. Yes, my mind says to his, I found a lizard last night and dunked his feet in the creatures’ green runoff. And yes, I lay that perfectly devious trail.
“Ruby and her brother set this up,” Jan grumbles.
“Now how would we do that?” I ask with feigned innocence and syrup. “We were upstairs on third tier all evening, working hard on our projects.”
“True,” Bea defends me. “Ruby was trying on my outfits for last minute fittings.”