Pippin lifted his eyebrow, throwing a secret sort of guilt at her. He was the only one who could do that, and she didn’t like him for it. “Riot? Or are we on to someone new these days?”
“It was Riot, but thanks for that.” She unlaced her boots so she wouldn’t have to look at Pippin. The adrenaline drive that had kept her moving from Kale’s office to the rec room to the boys’ locker room was draining fast. Stillness crept in. “I caught Sylph trying to hollow out Tanner’s face in the ring. He’s talking trash about Riot and me.”
“Tanner’s going to wash out if he doesn’t get under control,” Pippin said. “Is that what you’re worried about?”
Chase nodded. Could she have hurt Tanner so much that he’d drop out of the academy? She scrubbed her face. “Feels like watching him crash and burn.”
“It is, in a way.” Pippin’s eyes were on her, hard and bleak. “You shouldn’t have played with him. He had real feelings for you.”
“I wasn’t playing, but I do feel like I’m stuck on a Ferris wheel. Same problems over and over.” Guilt dumped on her like an avalanche. “Riot said he loves me. Ugh.”
“And you told him he doesn’t know you?”
“How do you…”
“That’s what you always tell them. Say, I got an idea. Why don’t you let him know you?”
“I don’t trust him.” She waited for Pippin’s snappy answer, but it didn’t come. “Maybe I just have to. To escape the pressure of the trials and whatnot. Kale understands.”
“I assure you Kale does not understand your romantic conquests.” Pippin turned a page in his notebook. “And your ‘have to’ moments are getting worse.” Maybe he meant Tanner or Riot, but it felt like he was saying more.
“Pip, today…you didn’t think we were going to die, did you?” Riot had sounded stupid when he said it, but now Chase saw her stunt from Pippin’s perspective. The ground so close. The fall seemingly irreversible…
He plopped the headphones over his ears instead of answering. The marching base of “Ode to Joy” leaked through, and she flashed to his frantic humming as they careened toward the earth. She’d frightened him. That’s why he was being so weird.
“Sorry,” she forced, but it didn’t help. Maybe the word was broken.
“I am sorry,” she tried again. Pippin jotted in his notebook like he couldn’t hear her. She tried to peek. “You know there are already words to ‘Ode to Joy.’ German words.”
“They’re lyrics, not words. And I hold to the observation that this song is not about joy.”
“What’s it about then?”
“Apology accepted, Chase.” He folded the notebook across his chest. “You’re not interested in my music. You’re pretending because you feel bad.” He waved his hand like a wizard. “I release you of your guilt.”
His gesture might have worked if he didn’t immediately cross the room to sit at his desk. She settled back on his pillow, glancing over his family pictures stuck between the bars of the bunk above. Dozens of snapshots of his three younger brothers, his padded-hipped mother. Even one of his father, a man who he defined as “straight as a flagpole.”
Chase’s thoughts flew by her own pre-academy memories. Loneliness shifted in like a cloud. It’d been years since she’d seen Janice, but Chase still smelled smoky hair and heard the tap of glossy nails when she thought about her mother. The woman was a waitress, an addict, an all-around failure of a human. The day Kale showed up at their door with an invitation to the Star was the best moment of Chase’s life. Well, second best. The first time she hit the sky in Dragon was never going to be surpassed.
When Chase arrived at the Star, she realized how strange Kale’s in-person summons had been. The brigadier general hadn’t shown up on everyone’s doorstep.
Just hers.
When she asked him about it, he said he knew her father, and she avoided the rest of the subject as though it were radioactive. But not before Kale added, “It’s good you have your mother’s last name. It’ll be best if the other cadets never find out who your father is.” Chase believed Kale. The truth of her parentage was a secret so well guarded that even Pippin had been warned off of ever broaching the subject.
She found herself tracing the stitched letters of her last name above her chest pocket. HARCOURT. The name still felt strange. Slightly alien. She’d only had it for a couple of years.
Chase sat up, desperate for other thoughts. Phoenix appeared like a brilliant flare shot into a dark sky. Flying with him—why did she keep calling him him?—felt like a tease. A flirt. She remembered how they’d popped Mach 3 in tandem, their jets tearing high unlike any flight she’d shared with Sylph as her wingman.
“Who is he?” Chase muttered. She imagined that red helmet, stripping it off in her thoughts with a flourish. She swapped skin tones and features onto an unknowable face, each one bearing a smirk. He was cocky. She got that much from how he skirted close when he flew. How he jet washed her like it was nothing more than a playful bite to the shoulder.
“Pip, why a secret third Streaker? Why can’t I know about him?”
“Drop it, Chase. Remember what I said about Crowley? They’ll take your wings if you keep this up. Even if you’re Kale’s favorite.” He twirled his headphone cord. “There isn’t anything worse than a pilot without wings, but I’m pretty sure you would cease to be a person altogether.”
Chase ignored him. “That pilot has to be young, right?”
Pippin rubbed his eyes. “No. He just has to be in top shape. It’s possible he’s in his twenties, like some Olympic athletes. The Streakers need strong bodies. Massive endurance.” He paused. “Wait, why are we calling the pilot him?”
“I keep asking myself the same question. Five bucks says he’s a guy.”
Pippin groaned. “Chase, you don’t have the hots for the Phoenix pilot. Say you don’t. He could be a robotic lizard beneath that helmet.”
“So you admit he exists!”
They laughed together, but it phased into silence a little too fast.