As soon as I get a chance, I dart to the nurse’s office. Doyle has just arrived and is still turning on his monitors. He looks smug, even with the nasty bruise around his eye.
“Let me guess why you’re here,” he says.
“Where is he?” I ask.
Doyle was not expecting that question and his face shows it. I feel transparent.
“He gets hurt a lot,” I say. It’s an honest reaction, if not completely true. “We were in a fight over the weekend—”
“Yes, I am aware of that. He’s here, and he’s no more injured than any other day. Mr. Lir recommended that Fathom be kept out of large group settings in case of another attack. There was also concern that the boys he attacked have brothers and sisters who go to this school. Funny, I thought you were going to ask me to reassign him.”
“Would you?” I say, trying to make it sound hopeful rather than laced with fear.
He stares at me for a long time. His eyes feel like they’re flipping me over, looking at all my angles, studying every corner and edge. It makes me want to crawl behind a chair and hide.
“You have been a good influence on him, Lyric. He trusts you,” he says. “Maybe there’s something about you that calms him down.”
“An Alpha thing?”
He shrugs. “Does he know?”
I shake my head. “Only you.”
“Not even your friends?”
“It wouldn’t be fair to put them in danger.”
“Quite a burden to carry around,” he says, shaking his head in sympathy. I’m not sure I believe it’s sincere, but if it is, maybe I can make him understand.
“That’s been my life for three years, Mr. Doyle. Hiding, worrying, panicked that I’ll be discovered.”
“Like the Benningfords. That was unfortunate,” he says. “Why don’t you go to the beach? Your mother’s people would protect you.”
“It’s not an option.”
“Why?”
“My mother picked the wrong team.”
He stares at me for a long time. “Give me one more week. Five more days and I’ll put him with another kid.”
“And then I get the envelope?”
He nods. “Do you know where you’ll go? You know what? Don’t tell me that.”
“I wasn’t going to, Mr. Doyle.”
He smiles. “Smart girl. You’re learning. Come see me on Friday, Lyric, and we’ll say our goodbyes.”
Chapter Twenty
The first hesitant steps to get to know the new students are occurring all around me, tiny buds peeking out of the soil: an introduction, a small smile, a nod of acknowledgment when Ghost or Luna walks past. A girl compliments Arcade on the metal glove she wears and asks if she can buy one herself. When Bumper drops a book, three kids bend down to pick it up for her. Most people still steer clear of Surf, but miracles take time. Doyle said he’d make this place work, and as I watch it happening, I can’t help but give the man his due. He is a mad, coffee-addicted genius and a manipulative liar, but I can’t argue with the results.
“I wish I had my phone,” Shadow says as we walk down the hall. “This is something my fans should see.”
I wish I had mine, too, so I could play a game of “I know something you don’t know” with my parents. Doyle has given us a ticket out of town, and now he’s given me an exact day when it will happen. No more “We have to live beneath the smothering blanket of the unknown.” In five days we can grab our things and walk through the blockade.
“You’re in a good mood,” Bonnie says when I show up for my meeting with Fathom. “Wish I could say the same for him.”
“Grouchy?”
“I was going to go with surly,” she says.
“Well then, I guess I’ll see you guys in a few minutes when I storm out of there,” I say.
Terrance chuckles to himself and opens the door. “Good luck, Ms. Walker.”
I review a list of reasons I have compiled all morning on why my feelings for Fathom are stupid, embarrassing, and self-destructive.
1. Fathom has a fiancée.
2. Said fiancée has swords that come out of her arms.
3. Fathom is a brooding grouch, frequently horrible, and violent.
4. Your life with him would be an endless street fight that he doesn’t have the sense to walk away from.
5. You have a history of poor decision making, so these feelings cannot be trusted.
6. You are leaving town in five days.
7. FIVE DAYS!
It’s a very rational list. There’s no arguing about these facts. I have wrapped my brain around each one and come to the obvious conclusion that it would never work between us. I feel good about my decision. I can do this, I tell myself, then I step through the door.
Fathom stands in the middle of the room. He isn’t wearing a shirt.
“Not fair,” I whisper.
“What did you say?”