Graves turned on me, his detached expression unchanging as he glanced me over. I froze. “Now, I know the other new members from class,” Graves said, “but you are a theater student, no?”
“Yeah.” I stuck out a hand. He shook it, granite hand like a clamp. “Julian,” I said.
“Congratulations on your first performance,” he said, every syllable rigid. Maybe he actually meant it. It was impossible to tell. “You know,” he continued, “it isn’t too late to transfer between disciplines. A year and a half is just enough time to complete the basic elective requirements, and Sharpshooters are always welcome in the music school.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. I looked determinedly above his gray eyes, which were set deep into his tan face, piercing me. It took him about eight hours too long to look away.
“Traveler,” Graves said, doing an about-face, “let’s meet soon to talk about December. Dr. Caskey seems convinced that his son’s group will emerge on top, and that cannot be allowed to happen. I enjoy nothing more than embarrassing that man.”
Trav nodded, and Graves marched back up the steps.
I let out a slow breath, feeling uneasy. “Jeez,” I muttered to Nihal.
“He tried to convert me, too,” Nihal said. “He even talked to one of the Visual Arts teachers about it. Apparently he told her I was, quote, wasting my talent, unquote, which is insulting on about six different levels.”
I loosened my red tie, feeling choked. If Dr. Graves asked any theater teachers about Julian Zhang, the act would collapse. This whole thing relied so much on people’s disinterest in each other’s private lives—that if I stayed under the radar and out of everyone’s business, nobody would go out of their way to do much digging on me. If they did, they wouldn’t have to dig far before hitting gold.
Anabel lived in a single on the floor above mine. I knocked on her door and pressed my lips together, feeling the prickle and give of the purplish lipstick.
Anabel answered. “Jordan, hey,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Hey. Not much. I’ve just got a quick question.”
“Sure. You want to come in?” She held her door open. I glanced in and did a double take. I’d expected gleaming surfaces, designer bedding, some sort of meticulously organized wall calendar. Nope. Her room was a bomb site. Clothes were strewn everywhere, half a dozen pairs of heels decorating the mess.
“Nah, it’s okay,” I said quickly. “I was just wondering if—oh, wait!” I played up an I’m-an-idiot expression. “I just realized I never told you congrats on the musical. It’s going up soon, right?”
She smiled. “Thanks! Yeah, we’re getting pretty close, so . . .” She broke off, seeming to realize who she was talking to. A crease appeared between her neat eyebrows. “. . . so yeah,” she finished awkwardly and bit her lip.
I let the silence stretch.
“Look,” she said, “it sucks that they didn’t find a part for you. Like, everyone is totally on your side. I feel like they should be required to get you into the ensemble if you’re a junior.”
Excellent. “Yeah, well.” I grimaced. “I mean, altos, you know?”
Anabel let out an apologetic-sounding laugh. “Theater is so unfair sometimes. The voice part thing is so arbitrary.”
“It’s okay.” I shrugged. “I was actually thinking of auditioning next year for one of the a cappella groups or something. It’s senior year, why not?”
Anabel lit up. “That’s a great idea,” she said. “It looks so fun. Honestly, sometimes I wish I’d gone for the School of Music instead.”
“I feel you. And it doesn’t hurt that the guys’ groups are . . . you know.” I raised my eyebrows. “Appealing, or whatever.”
Her cheeks went red. “Seriously.”
I waited, wondering if I needed to prod further. In my experience, talking about guys was the absolute simplest level of conversation for Kensington girls. It required no thought and no effort. The concept of dating in this place and getting any privacy about it was totally foreign; so most people chatted about it reflexively, like they’d talk about the weather or an upcoming quiz.
Anabel tucked a curl behind her ear, bouncing on her toes a bit. “I’m actually sort of talking to one of the guys in the Minuets.”
Bingo. I feigned excitement. “Really? They’re amazing,” I said, nearly choking on the blasphemy. “And apparently they have a secret hideout somewhere, which is so cool.”
Anabel snorted, then covered her mouth. “Sorry. I mean, yeah, they do. But it’s—” She waved a hand. “Whatever.”
“Wait, you’ve seen it?”
“Yeah, but you know boys. They love thinking they’re so dramatic and mysterious and stuff, when it’s honestly not even . . . like, don’t encourage them.”
I laughed but felt a twinge. I’d thought the same thing about the Sharps before getting to know them—that they needed taking down a notch. It had seemed comical how seriously the groups took themselves, a product of narcissism or low self-awareness, but I understood now, as I remembered the hold of the red tie around my neck and the way it had looked on the eight of us side by side. It was impossible not to love the feeling of owning something and belonging to it in return.
“So, what,” I said, “they’re squatting in some vacant single somewhere and pretending it’s a secret home base?”
“I mean, not quite, but it’s not what it’s cracked up to be. And I have no idea what they’re going to do when it’s winter.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Connor would kill me if I told anyone I’ve been inside, let alone where it is. I . . . yeah.” She gave her head a shake, making her curls bounce. “So, what did you want to ask? Also, how have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you at all this year.”
No, come on, I wanted to say. Just tell me!
I couldn’t push. It’d be suspicious. This had to seem casual—a two-minute chat, something she’d forget within the hour. So far, she probably thought she’d steered the whole thing.
Besides, I had the sneaking feeling she’d already told me what I needed to know.
“I’ve been good,” I said lightly. “This year’s been pretty hectic—I’ve basically been living in the library.” I pulled out my copy of Lysistrata, which I’d brought along. “Anyway, I’m in Reese’s Greek Monologue class, and I saw you do this one last year, so I wanted to ask what you thought about this section . . .”
I tugged apart her words. I’ve been inside. I have no idea what they’re going to do when it’s winter.
Whatever building they were using didn’t have heat. With the brutal Kensington winters, that narrowed the possibilities down to practically nothing.