[Phoebe Pope 01.0] The Year of Four

by Nya Jade

  “Please bow your heads for the Lord’s prayer.” The priest’s request pulled Phoebe’s gaze from Scott. She closed her eyes and listened to the congregation recite the words her grandfather had taught her as a child.

  “And give us this day our daily bread,” Phoebe said, joining at the part she remembered. “And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation . . .” Phoebe let her voice trail off for a moment, her mind having momentarily tortured her with visions of Colten with another girl. But then she returned to echo “Amen.”

  “In the Lord’s Prayer,” the priest was saying, tugging at Phoebe’s attention. “We say ‘Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.’ It’s because we all need to be forgiven for some of our decisions and our actions.”

  We all need to be forgiven, Phoebe repeated to herself. Would she be forgiven if the truth about Colten were to surface? Would they understand that she sometimes found herself wondering how he was doing? That she wondered what gluten-free meal he was cooking up. That she pictured him playing chess with an old man in a park or pumping out a painful tune on an accordion. It made sense to have these thoughts about the human Colten, not the Vigo.

  We all need to be forgiven, Phoebe repeated. But could her decisions and actions—or lack thereof—be dismissed as a rookie mistake made under the influence of misguided emotion? Would they listen if she were to list his altruistic endeavors and argue that no true Vigo would live his life that way? Or would she be sent straight to a traitor’s hell?

  “—and yes, the internal struggle with forgiveness is a difficult one,” Phoebe heard the priest continue. “But I ask you to consider this closing verse from 1 Peter 4:8. ‘Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.”’

  Phoebe put a hand on her chest. She struggled to breathe; it was as though the priest had known exactly where to punch her to inflict the most pain. The priest wished everyone peace and sent the congregation on its way, but Phoebe was frozen to the spot, unable to move a muscle. Those words he had chosen had broken the seal on the root of her conflict: whether he had betrayed her trust or not, she was in love with Colten. Really, truly, head over heels. But could love really compensate for the sins of generations of Vigos killing Shapers . . . of a Vigo killing her father? How could she have anything to do with him, trust him, forgive him? And did he even want her, or was he just using her? . . . Or even hunting her? Distantly, Phoebe was aware of her pew creaking under the weight of someone who spoke a soft “Hello.” Gabe.

  She looked at him for just a moment, and then stared down at her hands. “Do you think it’s true?” she said softly.

  “Is what true?”

  “What the priest just said . . . about love covering over a multitude of sins?”

  Gabe leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his bony hands tightly clasped. “I hope it is, lass. I hope it is.”

  When Phoebe looked over at Gabe, she found that his eyes were closed.

  I hope it is, she mouthed to herself.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  When Phoebe walked into the Gazette office, she found Cyn perched on a table, flirting with Miles, the sports photographer, a lean boy with a gelled mohawk.

  “You out-scooped the Globe? That’s awesome,” he was saying. Phoebe rolled her eyes; Miles only had eyes for Cyn’s chest, something Cyn was clearly aware of. Phoebe moved past a shelf laden with plaques and trophies and settled at her corner workstation.

  “I know,” Cyn giggled. “It just happened. My mom’s so pissed. But I told her I’d—” she broke off having just noticed Phoebe.

  “Just the person I’m looking for.” Cyn pulled up a chair next to Phoebe. “I know I said you were done, but I need one last portrait for this feature.”

  “Really?” Phoebe tried to keep the eagerness from her voice. When Cyn had first told Phoebe about the seven part Gazette feature, Phoebe had never imagined that she’d come to depend on the assignments to ease her mental limbo. She had become grateful for the distraction that kept her Above, grateful for something that made her feel more like herself. Reaching the end of the list had brought her a mild, unexpected sense of loss.

  “Yeah. They’re actually waiting in the portrait studio,” Cyn said cheerfully.

  “Right now?” Phoebe was surprised; she didn’t have her camera on her.

  Cyn observed Phoebe for a moment. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to do it though,” she said softly after a moment. “I can always put Miles on it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want to do it?” Phoebe asked, confused.

  Cyn and Miles exchanged looks.

  Phoebe spoke quickly. “I’ll do it.” Without asking for further details, she took off before Cyn could reassign the shoot.

  She burst into the photo studio apologizing for running late—she’d made a quick stop at the dorm to pick up her camera and one of her favorite lenses—and stopped dead in her tracks. Her hands went to her face, and her stomach constricted and seemed to form a block of steel in her gut. Colten was hunched over on a swivel stool, arms hugging his own chest, his gaze intent on her. His eyebrows were drawn down, his expression tired and pained. A few days’ growth of a patchy beard covered his jaw, a rough look that clashed with the stylish dark jeans and black sports blazer he was wearing.

  Next to Colten, Nicole was reading a magazine, perfectly coiffed as the first time they had met, and completely unaware of Phoebe. But then, upon hearing Colten say, “Hi,” in an uncertain tone, she glanced up, went immediately rigid, and said slowly, “You have got to be kidding me.” She looked between Phoebe and Colten. “She’s the one taking the photos?” She turned to Colten whose eyes had not left Phoebe’s face. “You knew she’d be involved in this, didn’t you?”

  Phoebe ignored Nicole. At that moment, only Colten existed. She stared at him and he held her scrutinizing gaze. Phoebe fought against the pressure building behind her eyes, wrestled the pain threatening to become fury, and forced herself to breathe. There he was, finally, the reason for her torment, the reason she found herself questioning what it meant to be Shaper, what it meant to love a Vigo. After weeks of silence, it had all been a mental exercise. And, now here he was, making it all real.

  “I can’t do this,” Phoebe said, speaking softly.

  Nicole snapped. “You can’t do this? Thanks to your ‘Runaway Date’ stunt I’ve been doing nothing but constant damage control. People want to know why any girl in her right mind would bail on Colten Chase. They want to know if he’s losing his appeal!” She paused for a moment, looking ready to burst. “We have too much of a full schedule, Colten, to waste time on this one.”

  “I’m staying,” Colten said, his voice calm, eyes never leaving Phoebe’s stricken face. “You can go ahead and leave if you want.”

  Nicole threw her hands up in the air, which Colten ignored. “Fine,” she said, pulling a pair of dark sunglasses from her purse and making a show of putting them on. “I’ll be in the car when you’re done.” Looking as though she would like nothing better than to grab Phoebe’s camera and smash it over her head, Nicole left the studio in a huff.

  “How’ve you been?” Colten asked softly, with caution in his voice.

  “How’ve I been?” Phoebe knew she was laughing, but it sounded like someone else, dark and humorless. “Oh, I’ve been great Colten,” she said, sarcastically. “How ’bout you?”

  Hurt flashed through Colten’s eyes. A moment passed and he said, “Sorry about Nicole. She’s just—”

  “Nicole? That’s what you’re sorry about?” Again, Phoebe heard that stranger’s laugh erupt from her chest. “No love lost there. It’s not as if she approved of me from the beginning, anyway. And how convenient for you that I look like the bad person in all of this,” she said with a vicious edge in her voice. “But I guess you can’t tell Nicole the reason I left, can you? Can’t tell her that her golden boy is actually a monster.” Phoebe watched Co
lten cringe at her words and finally lower his eyes, and she took a savage delight in his confidence faltering. He took a deep breath and raised his head again, seeming to gather himself.

  “Am I a monster, Phoebe?” he asked earnestly, searching her face. “Have I ever been monster-like to you?”

  Phoebe found herself shaking, and for a split second, Colten’s forlorn expression seemed genuine. It made her want to let go of her anger and her doubts. Maybe I should hear him out, she thought for a moment, pausing, but he’s an actor, she mused, snapping out of it. Could this all be part of some elaborate performance to make me trust him?

  “I’m not going to play some twisted mind game,” Phoebe said out loud. She had to guard her hearts. She stared at her feet, her rein on her emotions threatening to fail. She brought a hand to the pendant around her neck and squeezed it.

  “Look at me, Phoebe,” Colten pleaded. Phoebe looked at him then, held his gaze briefly, and then looked away, staring at the shelves of equipment. “If you’re so sure I’m the enemy,” he said, his voice low, “why haven’t you turned me in?”

  Phoebe stood frozen, as if struck. Colten’s question, one that she’d forced down within herself, had now sprung into her chest and burned. She still had no answer. And now Colten knew it too.

  Taking a step backward, she drew herself up and forced out the most professional tone she could muster, “I’ll arrange for someone else to take your photo.”

  Colten was on his feet and began to move toward her, eyes flashing, head slightly lowered as though he didn’t want to spook her. “I don’t care about the stupid article.” And then he was in front of her. “I came to talk to you.” He grabbed Phoebe’s hand and tightened his fingers around her wrist, then loosened his grip, as if fearful he was hurting her. “Give me a chance to explain so that you can understand—”

  “Understand?” Phoebe said, breathing heavily. She took several little gasps, trying not to hyperventilate. The situation had escalated so quickly, and his effect on her had never been more dramatic. She simultaneously longed to run her fingers through his hair and to tear it out at the roots. “Here’s what I understand: Vigos killed my father.”

  Colten dropped Phoebe’s hand like a hot iron and his face became stone. “I didn’t know,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

  Without waiting to hear more, Phoebe ran out the studio. In her confusion-hazed mind, she ran blindly, the students in front of her jumping out of her way. All but one, and Phoebe crashed right into him. Head lowered like a charging steed, the top of Phoebe’s crown smacked Scott under the jaw, and finally drew her to a faltering halt. Scott winced, dazed as Phoebe fought for her balance.

  “Whoa. Where’s the fire, Pope?” Scott dropped the soccer ball he’d been holding and seized Phoebe’s shoulders to keep her from falling back.

  Dazed, Phoebe looked up and took in his concerned expression. “Sorry I—” Phoebe started, breaking off at the sound of Colten’s voice behind her.

  “Phoebe, wait a sec,” Colten called, pleadingly.

  “Ah,” Scott said, looking over Phoebe’s shoulder and frowning. “Romeo’s back.”

  Phoebe turned on the spot to face Colten. “Leave me alone,” she said through gritted teeth. “Please.”

  Colten took another step toward Phoebe, but stopped when Scott inserted himself between them. “I think she just asked you to take a hike, friend,” Scott said, raising a hand mildly in a traffic signal “stop”.

  Anger flashed in Colten’s eyes, but then it cooled and one side of his mouth curled up in an almost sheepish look. “Fine,” he said, trying to catch Phoebe’s gaze before turning and heading off down the hall, seemingly dejected. Phoebe rested her head lightly on Scott’s back, inhaling the outdoor scent that clung to his blue and white Green Lane varsity soccer windbreaker. She kept her gaze to the side until Colten was out of view. She could feel Scott’s quick breaths against her ear.

  As soon as Colten had disappeared around a corner, Phoebe pivoted, turned on Scott and glared. “That wasn’t necessary,” she said. “I was handling it.”

  “Didn’t look like it.” Scott’s eyes were kind, and looked into Phoebe’s searchingly.

  “I’m sorry,” Phoebe said. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “I can take it.” He play-punched her chin. “Now tell me,” he said, his voice serious. “Did he violate my one toe policy?”

  “One toe?” Phoebe asked, arching a brow. Then remembering, she shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Sure? ’cause we can settle it like grown men.”

  Phoebe opened her mouth to argue, and then closed it, noticing the snickering group of girls that had gathered in the hallway, a self-satisfied Karli among them. Karli smirked at Phoebe when their eyes met.

  “That’s right,” Karli said with dramatic flair, “all you doubters pay up!” A few girls made a show of pulling out designer wallets and began handing her wads of cash. Waving the cash in the air Karli added, smugly, “I told you they were over.”

  “Hey,” Scott said, waving a hand in front of Phoebe’s hardened face. “Don’t pay attention to that. How ’bout we go somewhere quiet and talk?”

  “I—I can’t,” she said, shrugging off the arm Scott had protectively thrown around her shoulders. Phoebe knew she couldn’t handle getting into the kind of conversation Scott probably wanted to have. She shot him a vaguely apologetic look, and took off in the opposite direction from Colten.

  “That’s right, Phoebe,” Karli’s voice rang shrilly from behind her. “Do what you’re famous for and run!”

  Phoebe came to a halt. She dug her nails into her palms and exhaled air through her teeth. She turned and stormed over to Karli, passing Scott who was slowly shaking his head. Phoebe understood his message: leave it alone. But enough was enough.

  “You know what?” Phoebe said, her eyes wet with fury. She stepped to Karli, who stunned, took an involuntary step back. “I did make a fool of myself on the red carpet but at least I got invited to a movie premiere. And so what if the story got splashed in a lot of magazine? Haven’t you heard? All press is good press. At least people know who I am. Who the hell are you, other than some opportunistic celebrity-chasing bitch?” Karli began to make incoherent garbles, which were silenced by Phoebe’s seething stare. “So say what you want to say about me,” Phoebe barreled on. “I don’t care what you think. No wait, I lied,” she said, grinning wickedly. “I do care what you think about one thing: I made out with Colten Chase and it was hot, steamy, and spectacular!”

  A chorus of whoops and “hell yeah!”s erupted around them. For a moment, Phoebe was thrown by the noise. But she continued to stare daggers at Karli who had lost her grasp on the dollar bills that now floated to the ground like autumn leaves. Karli had also lost the admiration of a few of her followers who now stared at Phoebe, awed.

  Phoebe was still shaking as she turned to leave. She paused for a moment, taken aback by the size of the crowd that had gathered. She scanned the faces looking for Scott. He was no longer there. She wondered if he’d witnessed her tirade. The press of students parted as Phoebe started walking. Soon her pace became a jog, then a sprint out of the school building. Phoebe’s mind was reeling. She’d never stood up for herself like that before. It had felt good. Everything about her life made her want to scream. And the dam of pent-up frustration had finally burst, claiming Karli as its first casualty.

  TWENTY-SIX

  When a translucent moonlight rose over the campus, bathing the buildings in shimmering light, Phoebe finally returned to her room to find both Afua and Yelena sitting on her sofa.

  Startled, she dropped her backpack. “What’s wrong?” Phoebe asked, quickly closing the door behind her.

  “Scott’s been taken,” Afua said.

  The news hit Phoebe like an avalanche. Her body began to sway. If it hadn’t been for Yelena, who moved fast enough to catch Phoebe, she would have hit the ground.

  “I’m okay,” Phoebe stammered, r
egaining her balance. “How? When? I saw him a few hours ago!”

  “Sometime this evening,” Afua said. “His Blackcoat lost track of him after he returned to his dorm.”

  Phoebe screwed up her face. “You think he was taken from his dorm?”

  Afua frowned. “Other than the usual pizza deliveries and courier services—all of which were observed by Blackcoats—only students came in and out of the guarded exits.”

  Phoebe felt a growing madness whirling in her mind; a student entering and leaving would raise no alarms. A student by the name of Colten Chase. The thought that he might be responsible pressed heavily against her chest and she began to suffocate in the guilt. The week he had been absent had seen no incidents. Now, within hours of his confrontation with her, Scott had gone missing. And Phoebe had not missed the darkness flashing in Colten’s eyes when Scott had intervened earlier. Cold. Calculating.

  “We would like for you to remain in your room for the remainder of the night,” Afua said, barreling through Phoebe’s thoughts. “Four guards will be stationed right outside your door—”

  “Is it okay if I spend the night at a friend’s dorm?” Phoebe said, tugging at her white streak, an idea dawning on her. “I could use the distraction and you can guard me there.”

  Afua and Yelena exchanged quick looks.

  “It could actually be a good idea for her not to be in her own room tonight,” the blond Blackcoat said in a low voice to Afua who nodded.

  It is a good idea, Phoebe thought. But not for the reason that they’re thinking. There was something Phoebe needed to do, and she needed to be in Hayley’s room to do it.