“You have a strategy?” Wren asked. “Does it involve kissing him?”
Wren wouldn’t leave the kissing thing alone. Ever since Abel had dumped Cath, Wren was on her about chasing her passions and letting loose the beast within.
“What about him?” she’d say, finding an attractive guy to point out while they were standing in the lunch line. “Do you want to kiss him?”
“I don’t want to kiss a stranger,” Cath would answer. “I’m not interested in lips out of context.”
It was only partly true.
Ever since Abel had broken up with her … Ever since Nick had started sitting next to her … Cath kept noticing things.
Boys.
Guys.
Everywhere.
Seriously, everywhere. In her classes. In the Union. In the dormitory, on the floors above and below her. And she’d swear they didn’t look anything like the boys in high school. How can that one year make such a difference? Cath found herself watching their necks and their hands. She noticed the heaviness in their jaws, the way their chests buttressed out from their shoulders, their hair.…
Nick’s eyebrows trailed into his hairline, and his sideburns feinted onto his cheeks. When she sat behind him in class, she could see the muscles in his left shoulder sliding under his shirt.
Even Levi was a distraction. A near-constant distraction. With his long, tan neck. And his throat bobbing and cording when he laughed.
Cath felt different. Tuned in. Boy—even though none of these guys seemed like boys—crazy. And for once, Wren was the last person she wanted to talk to about it. Everyone was the last person Cath wanted to talk to about it.
“My strategy,” she said to Wren now, “is to make sure he doesn’t meet my prettier, skinnier twin.”
“I don’t think it would matter,” Wren said. Cath noticed she wasn’t arguing the “prettier, skinnier” point. “It sounds like he’s into your brain. I don’t have your brain.”
She didn’t. And Cath didn’t understand that at all. They had the same DNA. The same nature, the same nurture. All the differences between them didn’t make sense.
“Come home with me this weekend,” Cath said abruptly. She’d found a ride back to Omaha that night. Wren had already said she didn’t want to go.
“You know Dad misses us,” Cath said. “Come on.”
Wren looked down at her tray. “I told you. I’ve got to study.”
“There’s a home game this weekend,” Courtney said. “We don’t have to be sober until Monday at eleven.”
“Have you even called Dad?” Cath asked.
“We’ve been e-mailing,” Wren said. “He seems fine.”
“He misses us.”
“He’s supposed to miss us—he’s our father.”
“Yeah,” Cath said softly, “but he’s different.”
Wren’s face lifted, and she glared at Cath, shaking her head just slightly.
Cath pushed away from the table. “I better go. I need to run back to my room before class.”
*
When Professor Piper asked for their unreliable-narrator papers that afternoon, Nick grabbed Cath’s out of her hand. She grabbed it back. He raised an eyebrow.
Cath tilted her chin and smiled at him. It was only later that she realized she was giving him one of Wren’s smiles. One of her evangelical smiles.
Nick pushed his tongue into his cheek and studied Cath for a second before he turned around.
Professor Piper took the paper from her hand. “Thank you, Cath.” She smiled warmly and squeezed Cath’s shoulder. “I can hardly wait.”
Nick twisted his head back around at that. Pet, he mouthed.
Cath thought about reaching up to the back of his head and petting his hair down to the point at his neck.
It had been two hours since they watched the drawbridge lock into the fortress.
Two hours of squabbling about whose fault it had been.
Baz would pout and say, “We wouldn’t have missed curfew if you hadn’t gotten in my way.”
And Simon would growl and say, “I wouldn’t have to get in your way if you weren’t wandering the grounds nefariously.”
But the truth, Simon knew, was that they’d just gotten so caught up in their arguing that they’d lost track of time, and now they’d have to spend the night out here. There was no getting around the curfew—no matter how many times Baz clicked his heels and said, “There’s no place like home.” (That was a seventh-year spell anyway; there was no way Baz could pull it off.)
Simon sighed and dropped down onto the grass. Baz was still muttering and staring up at the fortress like he might yet spot a way in.
“Oi,” Simon said, thumping Baz’s knee.
“Ow. What.”
“I’ve got an Aero bar,” Simon said. “Want half?”
Baz peered down, his long face as grey as his eyes in the gloaming. He flicked his black hair back and frowned, settling down next to Simon on the hill. “What kind?”
“Mint.” Simon dug the candy out from the pocket in his cape.
“That’s my favorite,” Baz admitted, grudgingly.
Simon flashed him a wide, white grin. “Mine, too.”