Forgetting her, he pushed open the stall door and stepped out to check his new appearance in the mirror. He’d have to be careful. He’d be wearing the same clothing until the Academy’s Visitation Day and needed to stay presentable.
Satisfied, he left the restroom and turned down the hallway, looking for a subtle, unguarded exit. After a few close calls, he stumbled upon an unmarked side door and snuck outside. Once he felt the sunlight on his skin, he knew he’d made it. Next came a long shuttle ride to Skyship Polaris before he could board the school ship to the Academy the following morning. He darted into the nearest alleyway and headed into the city, keeping his face down. He was ready. Madame wouldn’t be disappointed.
11
“Paulina was totally checking me during Bunker Ball yesterday.” Skandar reclines in a shady spot under a transplanted oak tree at Lookout Park. A vast green field stretches out beneath us, empty except for a team of students playing soccer in the distance. “Couldn’t take her eyes off.”
Lying on my back, I toss an antigravity ball up into the air. It hovers aimlessly for a few seconds before whirling around the nearest branch and dropping back into my hands. “There wasn’t much else to look at. The view from the bench is pretty boring. I should know.”
“Last guy standing.” He whacks my shoulder. “Nothing to be ashamed of there. The fainting? Well, that’s a different story, isn’t it. Now let me see the note you found.”
I set the ball on the grass and pull a crumpled note from my pocket. “It was slipped under my door when I came back from breakfast.” I hand it over. “It’s from Avery.”
Skandar unfolds it. “ Jesse Fisher,” he reads, “ Meet me in the library at six-thirty. I’ll kill you if you don’t come. ”
I quickly grab it back. “Okay, maybe it’s not the most romantic note ever written.”
He grins. “Man, she mass wants you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding,” he continues. “Tonight you’ve just gotta wait for the right moment and then lay one on her.”
“Yeah.” I chuckle, trying to imagine the alternate reality where that would happen.
“I’m serious. Girls love that kind of stuff. You’ve gotta take control. How long have you guys been all buddy-buddy?”
“About two and a half years.”
“See? You’re practically married.”
“When we met, I was twelve and she was almost fifteen. I don’t think she thinks of me that way.”
He shrugs. “All I’m saying is take a chance. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I sigh, picking up the antigravity ball and tossing it. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to look like an idiot. Again.”
“Trust me,” he replies, “You’ve got nothing to worry about with that girl.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He scoffs. “She’s as spazzy as you are, mate. Did I tell you I saw her outside the training room last week?”
“So?” I chuck the ball over a branch. “She gets bored. She’s all over the place.”
Skandar reaches over and grabs the ball as it falls, yanking it away. “It was the middle of the night.” He pauses to let his little revelation sink in. “She’s a weirdo. But hey, you’re into weirdos. That’s cool.”
I glare at him. He grins back.
“You gotta put some more spin on it, mate. Watch.” He crouches down and winds up his arm, tossing the ball in a curved pathway around the trunk. It spins up the tree, looping around three branches and back again before returning to his outstretched hand. “It’s all about the wind-up.”
I sit up. “Hey, that was-”
A soccer ball bashes into the side of my head, knocking me halfway onto the grass. Skandar’s first instinct is to laugh. Mine is to groan in pain.
The ball settles at the base of the tree. I rub my head, disoriented.
“Fisher!” A familiar voice cuts through the otherwise silent park. I turn to see August Bergmann jogging up the gentle slope to meet us. I don’t make eye contact, hoping that he’ll go away. It’s been the same since Year Seven. Just because he’s a year older than me and a Grade-A specimen of agentdom, he’s taken it upon himself to remind everyone exactly how much I pale in comparison to him.
“Fisher,” he repeats, closer now. “Hey Fisher, I’m talking to you!”
He stops a few feet away, panting. It’s not training time, but he’s still in full jock regalia. I think the outfit’s permanently affixed to his body. Sweat dampens his buzzed hair.
“So you gonna give me my ball back?” He crosses his chiseled arms, grinning.
Skandar grabs the soccer ball and holds it captive. “You mean the one you chucked into his head?”
He shrugs. “It was an accident.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Sure.”
He watches me cradle the side of my head, barely containing his laughter. “Jameson’s got one hell of a power kick. I guess you guys shouldn’t be sitting here.”
“It’s a free park,” Skandar replies.
August smiles. “Hey, at least you didn’t faint this time, right Fisher?”
I keep my eyes fixed on the grass. Bergmann knows about my little training room disaster-just what I need.
He turns back to Skandar, hands on hips. “You gonna give me that ball or not?”
Skandar nudges me. I pull my head up, glancing at him. He tosses the antigravity ball into my lap. I fumble to catch it.
“It’s all in the wind-up,” he whispers, clutching the soccer ball close to his body.
August rolls his eyes, annoyed. “Five seconds, Harris, or I pry it from your fingers.”
Skandar shifts the ball to his left hand, taunting August. I realize what he wants me to do. Retaliation’s not really my thing.
But I can make exceptions.
Skandar throws the soccer ball high up into the air and I switch the settings on the side of the antigravity ball to “boomerang.” Then I hurl it into the field. It curves to the left, hangs in mid-air for a second, and reverses its path. August looks up to the sky, oblivious. A split-second later the antigravity ball plows into his back, right between the shoulder blades.
He swears. Loudly. It echoes along the transparent fiberglass dome protecting the park.
Skandar slaps my hand. “Payback!”
August lunges straight for me. Panicked, I try to stand up and get away. He’s too quick. Before I know it, he’s pinned me to the grass, fist held up in front of me ready to punch my face into the dirt. He smells mass disgusting. The soccer ball lands behind him, rolling down the hill.
“Stupid move, Fisher.” He glares at me. “You don’t throw the first punch if you’re not prepared to fight.”
I try to squirm away, but he’s too big. Too strong. I wanna point out that it was actually him who threw the first punch-or soccer ball-but I know it’ll only make him angrier.
“What?” He slaps my face, keeping me pinned down with the other hand. “You gonna fight back? You gonna whip me with those little noodle arms of yours?”
I kick at him, pressing my heel against his thigh, trying to push him off or flip him over or something. But it’s like trying to move a slab of concrete.
Skandar leaps from the ground, eager to join the fray, but a hand pushes him away. Then it grabs August’s right ear and twists. His face contorts and he forgets about me, yanking his ear free and flipping around to sit on the grass.
Eva stands before us, arms crossed. “Boys.” She frowns. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Jeez, Rodriguez.” August cradles his burning ear. “What are you, my freaking mother?”
“No,” she replies, “But I don’t think your mom would be happy to see you picking on a Year Nine.”
“Fisher’s not a Year Nine.” August glowers at me. “He’s like… a Year Two.”
Eva sighs. “Not funny, Bergmann.”
He sneers, rubbing his ear. “I was just asking for my ball back.” He picks himself off the ground and backs down the hill, mouthing threats in my direction.
I keep an eye on him until he’s out of sight, then turn to Eva. “You know, I can take care of myself.”