The Reckoning Page 5

  “Oh, of course!” Emmeline smiled, finally releasing his arm, and turned to talk to Hattie.

  Beckett looked at Jason, who raised his eyebrows as if to say I told you so, and then he looked over at Tristan, still sitting alone by the window. As Beckett turned back to his lunch, he saw Olivia staring at him from the table across from him. Her expression was unreadable, but Beckett somehow knew she was angry. He was sure she'd witnessed the whole conversation with Emmeline, witnessed how he'd said nothing and, just like every other good little minion in Emmeline's army, fell in line and took her at her word because it was easier than arguing.

  Appetite gone, Beckett stood, leaving the table with his tray.

  “Beckett? Beckett! Where are you going?” Emmeline called after him, but Beckett ignored her, dumping his lunch in the trash and leaving the cafeteria.

  Chapter 4

  On Wednesday, Tristan was called to the library early in the morning to help assist with shelf organization, which she genuinely loved, and not just because it got her out of morning classes. As far as she was concerned, the library was her safe space; it was cavernous and quiet, and, even if Emmeline or her friends did show up, the librarian, Miss Lewis, suffered no fools and no unnecessary talking.

  Tristan wove her hair into a braid and got to work, the morning flying by. The organization was tedious, but it gave her much-needed focus, so that by the time she went to the cafeteria to grab lunch, she was feeling much less anxious than she'd been the previous day.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Tristan looked up from her food, surprised to see Olivia and Evander standing beside her table in the cafeteria. “What's up? Are you guys OK?”

  “Fine. Are you OK?” Olivia asked in return.

  “Fine,” Tristan said slowly. “Why?”

  Olivia fidgeted for a moment, her gray eyes casually surveying the cafeteria in an effort to make sure no one was eavesdropping. Her skin was paler than usual, her whole demeanor more subdued, and Tristan knew she was still feeling the effects of Monday's crash. Evander looked much the same from his crash yesterday, and remained silent while Olivia led the conversation. Olivia nodded at him and Evander left, Tristan frowning as he went. She sat down beside Tristan and spoke in a low voice.

  “I have a bad feeling.”

  “What do you mean?” Tristan's stomach clenched.

  “I don't know. It's just out of reach, but it's there.” Olivia wanted to say more, but was hesitating, assessing Tristan instead.

  “You know I hate when you do that,” Tristan said. “Just tell me the rest. Is it about me?”

  “I don't know,” Olivia said again. “It might be. I think it's originating from Emmeline, so probably? But I can't tell yet. I just know something strange is going on, and it's no good.”

  “Oh,” Tristan's shoulders relaxed. “Well that won't be anything new. Whatever it is, I can handle it, O. I'm not afraid of her.”

  Olivia opened her mouth, but the bell rang just then.

  “We'll talk later. I have to go get my books.”

  “Take it easy, OK? I can tell you're still feeling off.”

  Olivia nodded.

  “I'll see you after school.”

  ***

  The rest of the day passed without incident. Ms. West had everyone break into partner groups during English, to work on their project, and Beckett seemed as subdued as Olivia had at lunch. Tristan looked at him curiously a few times, but he just looked back at her with an expression she couldn't decipher.

  They were nearing the end of class when Beckett finally spoke of something other than their project.

  “Any Halloween plans?”

  “No.”

  “Not even giving out candy? Isn't your house one of Lavelle’s most popular trick or treating spots? I seem to remember that your family usually goes all out. Didn't you wear silver body paint last year?”

  Tristan blushed, and Beckett grinned.

  “Oh yeah, don't think I forgot about that.”

  She'd been a weeping angel statue last year, and, while she had been painted head to toe, she'd also been wearing clothing. Very little clothing, but still.

  “Believe it or not, I'm not really a Halloween fan.” Tristan told him.

  “So no silver body paint this year?” Beckett asked, and Tristan looked at him exasperatedly.

  “No.”

  Beckett grinned at her again. “I'm just teasing. I like teasing you.”

  “You and everyone else in our class,” Tristan shot back, before she could stop herself. As she watched, Beckett's face fell. He nodded slowly before looking back down at his work, picking up a pen to resume writing.

  Tristan looked skyward. She didn't want Beckett as a friend, not really, but she also didn't harbor any ill-will towards him; lumping him in with their classmates when he really wasn't like them was not fair of her.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't m--”

  “No, don't,” Beckett interrupted, his expression grave as he looked up at her once again. “I'm sorry. For a lot of things, but right now, for teasing you. I know we're not friends, you don't know me like that, so I know it sounded like more of the same. I won't do it again.”

  He became preoccupied with the papers spread across his desk, then, and Tristan stared at him, taken aback. What did he mean, he was sorry for a lot of things? What things?

  When Beckett didn't look up again, Tristan got back to work herself, shaking her head just slightly. Something strange was definitely going on.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Tristan’s alarm went off at its usual time. She reached for her phone, but her arm would not move. Opening her eyes, which felt as though they’d been glued shut while she slept, Tristan groaned. Her whole body felt as though it weighed a ton and weighed nothing at the same time. Her alarm continued to chirp cheerfully, and she reached for her phone again, straining to lift her limb from the bed. With great effort, she grabbed it, taking a rest before lifting it to swipe the alarm off of the screen. She closed her eyes, unable to remember ever in her life feeling so exhausted. Her bedroom door opened and Olivia came in, eyeing her apprehensively.

  “Trinity?”

  Tristan opened her eyes again, her head flopping over on the pillow.

  “Still think you’re going to school today?” Olivia asked, folding her arms over her chest.

  “I have to,” Tristan said, her voice heavy with fatigue. “I told you. Two tests. Help me up.”

  Olivia pulled her into a sitting position, and Tristan took a deep breath, swinging her legs out of bed. She paused, closing her eyes once again.

  “This is pathetic,” Olivia commented, and Tristan slowly lifted her head, glaring at her sister.

  Olivia sighed, shaking her head.

  “OK. You’re going to have to take some of my energy.”

  “No. You have none to spare.”

  “True.” Olivia thought for a moment, then walked to Tristan’s door and called for Sol.

  Sol appeared a few minutes later.

  “Good morning girls. Trinity, are you OK?”

  “She’s crashing. She’s never crashed before, did you know that?” Olivia asked, and Sol shook her head.

  “I’m not sure how that’s possible.”

  “She doesn’t use her abilities much, Mom. She hasn’t in like, ten years or something.”

  “More like six or seven.” Tristan corrected.

  “And crashes don’t usually start until puberty, so that explains that.” Sol nodded. “OK, just relax, Trinity, and I’ll go get your mini-infusion ready.”

  “She’s going to school. Or she thinks she is.” Olivia raised her eyebrows at Sol.

  “I am. I have two big tests today.” Tristan ran her hand over her face.

  “Can she borrow some of your energy, Mom? Just enough to help her get ready for school? Once she’s there, she can borrow from everyone else.”

  Sol thought for a moment, studying Tristan’s face. Her eldest looked as awful a
s one could expect to look during a crash -- white as a sheet, eyes squinted against the all-consuming exhaustion, body sagging under the same weight -- but her jaw was set, and Sol knew no amount of arguing would keep her home that day. Nodding, she approached Tristan, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, and within moments Tristan began to perk up a bit.

  “There.” Sol stepped back. “It’s not as good as a mini-infusion, but it should get you through.”

  Tristan still felt like she weighed about a thousand pounds, still felt like she could lie down and easily go back to sleep for a week straight, but she no longer felt as though the most basic of tasks were impossible. She stood, assuring Olivia and Sol that she was OK, and slowly made her way to the bathroom.

  Everything took extra long that morning. Tristan had to take a rest after brushing her teeth, after brushing her hair, after getting dressed. She laid, eyes closed, in the backseat of her own car as Evander drove the three of them to school, an indignity she wouldn’t soon get over. When they arrived, she waved Olivia and Evander ahead of her, looking at the distance between the car and the Academy, wondering if not staying home was a monumental mistake. Moving as though she’d been pushed down the stairs the night before, Tristan made her way to her locker, enduring more staring than usual on the way.

  “Are you gonna blow chunks? You look like you’re gonna blow chunks.” An underclassman gave her a wide berth as she crept by, and Tristan just scowled at him.

  She reached her locker, resting her forehead against the cool metal and closing her eyes. Her knees felt weak, and her hand shook as she reached for the combination lock, spinning the dial from memory. It was another few minutes she didn’t have before she was able to open the door and pull out her books, and, when she had closed the door and turned around, she found Emmeline, Georgiana, Eloise, and Tara staring at her from across the hallway.

  “Wow. You look shittier than usual today,” Emmeline said, looking Tristan up and down. “I didn’t even know that was possible. Is this some kinda Halloween performance art, or have you not gotten to feed on the blood of the innocent recently?”

  Tristan was not going to engage. It was never worth it, she knew that, but when her energy had disappeared so had her tolerance for Emmeline Strandquest, so she whispered something unintelligible.

  “What was that?” Emmeline asked, leaning forward.

  Tristan moved close enough to Emmeline to make her uncomfortable, which she knew because Emmeline blinked her spangled eyelashes -- which matched the sparkly cat-eared headband she wore -- several times in quick succession, her nose wrinkling.

  “I said, I think I’m coming down with the flu.” Tristan coughed for effect, not covering her mouth, and Emmeline and her friends shrieked, scattering away in a flurry of glittery, animal-eared headbands and overwhelmingly floral perfume.

  “I swear to God, you are going to be so sorry if I get sick!” Emmeline yelled, practically running towards the bathrooms, covering her nose and mouth.

  Tristan laughed to herself, continuing on to homeroom.

  Word spread quickly that Tristan was ill and coughing on everyone who got close to her, so she got to enjoy a rare day of being completely avoided at all costs. A few times she was accused of faking, of putting on a show because it was Halloween, but even those people steered clear of her, just in case. Additionally, a couple of her teachers, upon seeing her, requested she sit in the back so as not to infect anyone else. As Olivia had instructed, Tristan borrowed energy from her classmates, not needing to touch anyone since the air was so charged, and made it through her morning Economics test just fine.

  Not hungry, Tristan opted to go outside for lunch, sitting on the bench she and Beckett had occupied by the lake. She leaned her head back, letting the sun warm her face, though it didn’t feel nearly as comforting as it usually did.

  “She’s here!” A voice called nearby, and Tristan cracked one eye open, slowly turning her head to see Beckett heading towards her.

  “Hey.” Beckett stood directly in her sunlight, and Tristan squinted up at him, annoyed. “Olivia and Evander are looking for you. What’s going on? Some kids swear you’re doing a Halloween act, but Emmeline was crying earlier that you have the flu and you coughed on her. Are you OK?”

  “She’s fine. Thanks for helping us look,” Evander said, approaching. His tone made it clear that he expected Beckett to leave, so, with a final curious look at Tristan, Beckett reluctantly did just that.

  “How are you holding up?” Olivia asked, sitting beside Tristan while Evander watched Beckett to make sure he really was going back up to the school.

  “Oh, you know,” Tristan said, but she was too tired to say more.

  “Yeah, we know.”

  The three of them sat on the bench in silence, and Tristan relaxed, thankful for their presence. This crash was by far the most challenging and strange thing she’d encountered in recent memory; she certainly felt sick, understanding now why Olivia had been groaning like she was dying on Monday morning, but she didn’t feel sick. It was impossible to put into words, because it didn’t make sense to feel sick without feeling sick, but Tristan decided Olivia had done a good job of describing it. It wasn’t just exhaustion, either -- it was so far beyond that Tristan decided she’d be able to turn cartwheels the next time she did feel that tired. She, appropriately, felt as though she’d lost all but the very basic energy required to survive, like a strong enough breeze would carry her away, or at least knock her over. She felt withered and one hundred years old, and an earlier glance in the mirror had confirmed that she was hunched over and a shade of white not usually found in humans, so she looked it, too. It was fitting that this had happened on Halloween, really, and Tristan suspected she’d hear from Beckett in the coming days that for someone who didn’t have plans for the holiday, she’d sure seemed to devote herself to the celebration.

  Lunch ended too soon, and Olivia and Evander helped Tristan up. She brushed them off, irritated.

  “I’m not your grandmother; I’m fine.”

  “You actually really do look like grandma though, right now, just a little less wrinkly,” Olivia said thoughtfully, and Evander snorted.

  “Sister of the year,” Tristan muttered, and Olivia grinned, squeezing her hand and bounding off after Evander, leaving Tristan to her own devices.

  By the time English class rolled around, Tristan thought she was actually going to die. Just close her eyes, put her head on her desk, and never wake up again. Unfortunately, her second and final big test was in this class, so, while she did close her eyes, it was to again borrow some energy from her classmates. When she opened them, she saw Beckett looking over at her, his brow knit in concern. Ms. West stopped at her desk, hesitating before she put the test paper down.

  “Are you OK?”

  Tristan nodded.

  “Fine.”

  “Are you sure? I can hold this for you until tomorrow, if you think you need to go to the nurse.”

  “I’m not going to be here tomorrow,” Tristan said, then quickly clarified. “At school.”

  “Hey Ms. West!” Jason Dalton, a big lughead of a thing and, inexplicably, one of Beckett’s close friends, protested loudly. “How come you never hold tests for me?”

  “Because you do the bare minimum, Mr. Dalton, and I’m not even sure how you got into this class,” Ms. West said unflinchingly, to the hoots and hollers of her students, not even bothering to look in Jason’s direction.

  “I’m fine,” Tristan said again, holding out her hand for the test.

  “If you take this and you fail, I can’t let you take it again. Do you want me to hold this until Monday? Last chance.”

  “I’m not going to fail!” Tristan said haughtily, offended, and Ms. West smiled.

  “There’s Tristan. OK. Godspeed.”

  Tristan closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then turned her test paper over. She just had to make it through this, and then she could go sit in her car until Olivia
and Evander had finished their classes.

  ***

  Beckett told himself not to follow Tristan. He had to be at football practice, and he didn’t want her to think he was stalking her. Still, he was worried. She looked awful, like something traumatic had happened to her, or like she’d come down with an intractable illness, and it was actually hard to watch her shuffle through the halls like she was seventy instead of seventeen. If she hadn’t looked around to see him coming when he’d found her on the bench at lunch, he would have thought she’d died right there by the lake.

  At first, he’d thought the gossip that she was pulling some elaborate Halloween stunt was probably true -- even though she’d said she had no plans and was no fan of Halloween, he’d gone to her house with his friend group every year for the last three, and he saw with his own eyes how into it she got alongside her family. As the day had gone on, however, Beckett realized the gossip was wrong. Tristan was legitimately suffering, and it shook him to see her that way.

  He hemmed and hawed at the back door of the school, watching football practice begin without him, torn between minding his own business, which he was sure Tristan would prefer, and going to check on her. It suddenly occurred to him that she might have attempted to drive home, which was what propelled him through the Academy and out into the parking lot to look for her car. His sense of alarm increased when he didn’t immediately spot the unassuming black Nissan, which in no way stood out amongst the many, many other black cars in the lot. He pulled out his phone to -- to what? He didn’t have Tristan’s number, or Olivia or Evander’s, for that matter, and there was no one else he could call without them refusing to help or telling him to forget it and to get to football practice.

  Beckett surveyed the lot one more time, more slowly, and blew out a long breath when he noticed her car on the far right end, parked beneath a tree with low-hanging branches. He approached the vehicle as the final bell rang faintly in the Academy behind him, and stopped in front of the open driver’s side window, taking a moment to look at Tristan, who had her head against the seat headrest, her eyes closed. Her skin was impossibly, unnaturally white -- Beckett didn’t think a living human could be so pale -- and she was just as still.