Throw.
There’s no tingling electricity, no heightened senses or self-awareness that I always feel whenever Will is near. But . . . could there ever be?
Throw.
It would make much more sense on paper than Will and me. That and the fact that Will seems to like Eliza anyway.
Will probably thinks of me as the sister he never wanted.
Extra hard throw.
I stand back and look at my work. All three Stars have hit their marks and stuck, shearing in deep. My practicing is starting to pay off.
I take an extra step back from the throwing line, my shoes scuffing against the wood in the bright warmth of the gymnasium. My final Star zips through the air and catches its teeth in the white space, just edging the bull’s-eye.
Mrs. Percy erupts into applause so sudden it startles me.
Then the doors to the gymnasium burst open and Eliza strides through, past the wall of trophies encased in glass. She is accompanied by another student and is dressed in a fencing jacket, with a mesh mask under her arm.
Mrs. Percy waves at her. “Plenty of room for you and your sparring partner, dear.”
Eliza nods and brandishes an epee.
“And room for one or two more, I do hope?” a woman says, following on Eliza’s heels. She’s dressed in a sharp skirt suit, and her hair is pulled into a black chignon. She beckons to a skinny man bearing a large camera.
“Hello, Daisy,” Mrs. Percy says. “How are things at the Post?”
“Busiest time of the year. The interest is already high for how things are shaping up for the tournament.” Her mouth turns down. “Perhaps because everyone wishes to take their minds off of other more . . . unpleasant developments.”
Daisy sniffs, then points to a spot on the floor.
“Darien, set up here,” she directs the photographer. “Get some shots of Eliza. She won two events last year, riding and dance, and this year she will fence in addition. Is that right, dear?”
Eliza nods in agreement, her face fresh and pretty.
“No one from Sterling has ever won three events in the same year?” Daisy continues, her inflection somewhere between a statement and a question.
“That’s what I’ve been told,” Eliza says.
Daisy writes this down in her notepad. Darien adjusts his tripod. I throw another Star.
“You’re quite driven?” Another statement-question from Daisy.
“I thought—?why not? Why not try for something that’s never been done before? Really, anything I can do for Sterling, to lift people’s spirits during a trying time,” Eliza says graciously.
Daisy notes this. “Wonderful,” she says. “Well, carry on with your practice. I want to get some action shots to run with the article—?we’d love to show the dedication that leads to local history being made.”
Eliza’s blond ponytail bobs with a nod. She puts her mask on and steps forward in short strides until she finds a blind spot in her partner and jabs.
I hurl three Stars in quick succession, pretending not to notice that anyone else is there.
“Good, good,” Daisy says. “I want a clear shot of her lunging.” As Darien’s camera clicks, I pluck my Stars from the target. Walk back to the line, careful to avoid their razor-sharp edges.
“And you—?what is your name?” Daisy calls.
It takes me a minute to realize she’s speaking to me. “Aila Quinn,” I say. “Aila Cummings Quinn,” I add, after a pause.
Daisy doesn’t react to this. “And you’ll be competing in Stars this year?” She flips to a fresh page in her notebook. “Darien, when you have that shot, move this way. We haven’t had a representative for Stars in ages. What prompted this attempt?”
She looks up at me expectantly, as if she is waiting for something profound. My mind, predictably, goes blank. “I just . . .” I start. Look down at the Star in my fingers. “I saw something I thought I might be good at, and wanted to do what I could.” My eyes flit to the back of Eliza’s head. The mask is pulled down over her face, but I can practically feel her rage at Daisy’s diverted interest. “I hope I can contribute something for Sterling this year.”
As Daisy writes, I push away the silky voice of hope I recognize. The one that used to whisper Your mother will get better. Your father won’t be drafted.
William will notice you.
Sterling will embrace you.
“Well, I’d love to see what you’ve got,” Daisy says. “Darien, be sure to get a few good shots of Aila practicing.” The tall, skinny man who is Darien moves closer to me. A few students, their uniforms wet with the sweat of their own practices, have trickled in and are now watching.
I toe the line, my nerves buzzing. If a crowd this small makes me nervous, what will happen when all of Sterling is watching?
I wind up and throw. My first Star tears through the air and lodges in the target. There is some obligatory clapping. I don’t turn around. “Yes,” Daisy says to Darren. “I think we’ll definitely want to do a piece on this one.”
At that, Eliza begins jabbing at her poor sparring partner with everything she has. The gathering students clap at Eliza’s small victories, and Daisy’s attention swings back to her.
“We should expect quite a showing from you this year, Miss Patton,” Daisy says. “You’re such an accomplished young woman. Some see you as the unofficial representative of this town’s youth. What is it that drives you?”
Eliza’s gloved fingers adjust their grip on her epee. “Growing up here, being a part of this community—?it’s a sense of pride and belonging that I just can’t explain,” she says pointedly. “That’s what drives me. I’m flattered that so many want me to represent them in that way.” Eliza pauses to take a sip of water and waves winningly at the small crowd.
I shoot another Star at the target. It barely lodges at the outer edge. I have to walk past Eliza to retrieve it.
“Looks like someone needs more practice.” Eliza twirls the epee in her hand. “Out of curiosity, do you even know whom you’re going up against?”
I yank the Star from the target fabric and don’t respond.
Eliza stores her epee. “Because if you did . . .” She trails off. “I think you’d find a better use for your time.”
Her eye catches something at the door. Will is leaning against its frame, watching. Just one look is all it takes for me to know that it’s still him, will always be him, who I want.
I tuck my practice Stars away. My muscles have begun to ache pleasantly.
“I think I just did,” I say, and walk to where Will is waiting to accompany me home.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I pull the red hood of my coat over my hair and follow Will outside, where snow is falling in thick wet clumps. Will dusts me with a handful of Embers. The cold recedes, and we walk in a halo of pleasant warmth.