Annabelle was wearing the skirt version of the Harlow uni, which clashed angrily with her freckled, flaming red cheeks. Her cross-ties looked agonized, as if she had tortured the knot into submission.
Olivia hid a laugh. “No signet for you either, huh?”
“Technically I can say nothing, of course, giving respect to the secrecy of the process,” Annabelle seethed, “but let’s just say I won’t be letting any known Little Fool rent out my room anytime soon.” Noa raised her eyebrows. If Annabelle meant it, it wasn’t an idle threat: Annabelle made a boarding-school fortune renting out her dorm room for … illicit … activities and selling forbidden contraband. For this alone, Noa had been sure Annabelle would be tapped; you couldn’t get more indispensible when it came to debauchery.
“What’s the status on everyone else? What do we know?”
Annabelle scowled. “Well, no one’s talking, of course. You know, just in case the snobs change their mind—”
“But…,” Noa prodded.
“It’s what you’d expect. Carly Ann, Ansley, Leticia, Mary Jane are all in,” Annabelle said, listing Harlow’s most popular juniors. Noa looked down the hall, where pretty Carly Ann was beaming with pride, watched by a gaggle of impressed underclassmen. Noa wasn’t surprised: Carly Ann was the most beloved and outgoing girl Noa knew. She even dimmed Isla. Her coterie of girl-cadets—Ansley, Leticia, Mary Jane—looked like dim impressionist paintings when they stood next to her exquisite, elaborate beauty.
Noa, Olivia, and Annabelle couldn’t help but be mesmerized as Carly Ann strode victoriously past the row of lonely lockers lining one wall—so-called “commuter lockers,” for those rare students who attended Harlow but didn’t board on campus. Noa felt a little shiver creep down her spine as her eyes fell on them. Strange, since she’d never even met a commuter, half-believed they were a myth.
Noa turned back to Annabelle and Olivia, who was scowling. “Where are Ansley, Leticia, and MJ? Shouldn’t they be making their victory lap, too?”
Annabelle shrugged. “Probably out celebrating.”
Noa’s eyes lingered on those creepy commuter lockers. She had that feeling again, that feeling of something sublimating out of her grasp—
“Yo! Noa!” Annabelle snapped her fingers an inch from Noa’s eye. “You should be most pissed of all, a legacy and everything!”
Noa tried to look more disappointed.
Olivia laughed. “Pitiful. But I guess we forgive you. People lose all sense of priorities when they’re in lurrrrrve….”
Noa blushed furiously, tried to fight the immediate grin. It was true: it was hard for her to feel too depressed about not making Isla’s girl squad, not when she had … him. The boy who had transferred in … and changed everything.
Annabelle threw up her hands at Noa’s sappy look. “That’s what I need to make me feel better! A transfer student—”
“Correction: a super-hot transfer student,” Olivia interrupted.
“Right, a super-hot transfer student to come in, sweep me off my feet, and be my boyfriend-in-shining-armor. Then I won’t care about the Pitiful Little Fools either!”
Noa let her smile shine. It was true. Not even Isla had a boyfriend like him. She looked down the hall, almost as if she could feel him approaching, as if she could sense him, as if she carried a piece of his soul in her heart. She saw him in her mind before he even turned the corner: that coronet of curls, those dark, gorgeous eyes…
Judah.
“My, my, Judah Smith, showing your face in the halls?” Noa teased, as she half-walked, half-pranced up to her boy. She wanted to run but knew better than to fly so publicly to him. Judah was like an unbroken colt; he spooked easily.
One side of Judah’s mouth quirked up, the way Noa loved. “You’re doing terrible things for my rep,” he agreed. “People might start thinking I’m actually studious. It’s positively shameful.” He whispered the last word in her ear, leaning in close, his warm breath brushing her hair from her shoulder. A tingle raced down Noa’s neck. His hand slipped smoothly into hers, like a secret, and she sneaked a tiny glance back at Olivia and Annabelle. Olivia wiggled her brows, amused; Annabelle tried to cover her envious expression.
Judah followed Noa’s gaze and chuckled softly. “Your friends need better poker faces. I can practically read their minds.”
Noa smiled. “You wish. Besides, they know better than to play cards with the likes of you.”
“What? I am a paragon of virtue!” Judah pulled Noa close and pinned her back against the wall. His face hovered a centimeter from hers, eyes glinting. “Who else could be this close to you…,” he whispered, his lips closing in…
And then pulled back, smirking. “Only an angel could resist.”
Noa’s blood raced, but she managed a mischievous smile. “Dark magic,” she agreed. He looked smug, leaned in to collect his kiss—but this time she pulled away. “A magic I share,” she teased, as he growled a little.
“Noa! Cut the PDA and move your a-s-s!” Olivia called from down the hall, interrupting their game. Noa looked at her watch and jumped. “I have Chandler. You better move to get to—”
“Yeah, not going.” Judah’s hand held her fast. He lifted a brow. “How about you not-go with me?”
Noa bit her lip. Before she’d met Judah, she would never even have considered cutting History. It was such an Isla thing to do. But Judah somehow brought that out in her.
“I wish I could…,” she began. Judah scowled, not even really listening as she finished: “But with Parents’ Weekend tomorrow, I can’t risk probation. Isla was totally MIA this morning. I can’t let my parents come and have both their daughters be disciplinary no-shows.”
“You are always covering for Isla!”
“You don’t have siblings. You don’t understand,” Noa flared, immediately wishing she hadn’t.
Judah darkened and dropped her hand. “It’s not my fault I don’t have a family.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” She reached out to touch his arm, but his body caved inward, away from her. Noa knew how sensitive he was about being a foster kid, especially since nothing was known about his birth family. Smith wasn’t even his real last name.
“You’d better go, or you’ll be late anyway,” Judah mumbled, turning away. Noa didn’t try to stop him; she knew better. But surprisingly, he didn’t immediately stalk off. He lingered, scowling hard.
“Judah?”
“I also … I mean … I wanted…” He fumbled, pulled at his hair with annoyance when the words didn’t come easily. Finally he looked up, somewhere between fury and accusation. “Olivia told me there’s some stupid Alumni Ball coming up and said I should ask you.” He looked so angry, Noa had to press her lips together to keep from laughing.
Judah was watching her closely, as if trying and failing to read her mind. Finally he burst: “So … we should go?”
Noa laughed happily, leaned forward and kissed him. “You’ll look great in white tails.” Judah scowled again, but Noa saw the happy smile dancing in his eyes. She kissed him again, spun on her heel, and danced to Dr. Chandler’s room, not worried at all this time if he saw it.
• • •
When Noa twirled into the classroom, she was nearly knocked over by Miles Keenan, crashing adorably by her in a mess of sandy hair and sun-kissed freckles.
“Oh! Sorry, Noa!” Miles flashed her his trademark winning grin, the one that had led the lacrosse team to back-to-back championships. Miles was a living Harlow legend, the prized, heroic all-state superstar goalie who’d made them champions every year since his freshman year.
Noa blushed involuntarily by his proximity, temporarily starstruck. Part of what made Miles so popular was that he was a genuinely nice guy. If Harlow had secret societies for guys, Miles would definitely be their king—but then again, he’d probably invite everyone to join.
He was just that way.
Now Miles turned back to make sure Noa was okay while trying to simultaneously look frantically over his shoulder. “Did I miss it? Did he do it?”
Noa followed Miles’ gaze to his best friend, resident class clown Jeremy Robsen. Unlike Miles, Jeremy fit the boarding-school ass-hat cliché to a T.
Noa scolded herself: she had promised to try to think more nicely about Olivia’s boyfriend. It was a tall order, especially now, when Jeremy was wearing a stupid trucker hat, tilted askew, like he was above caring about the wardrobe infraction he would undoubtedly receive. Enough wardrobe infractions could mean Review. A moronic trucker hat seemed like a pretty stupid reason to risk upsetting the Man with White Hands.
Seeing Miles, Jeremy winked and cleared his throat. Miles hurriedly grabbed Noa’s arm—sending a little shock through her system, as if a celebrity had touched her—and pulled her with him to the two open seats. “Watch,” he whispered excitedly, like it was a secret between them, like they really were equals or good friends.
Jeremy turned to Olivia, whose pink hair was bent over her notebook, copying the day’s list of dates from the board. He cleared his throat. She looked over, and Jeremy jumped onto his desk, did an elaborate, ridiculous bow, and whipped off his stupid hat. Two long white rabbit ears popped up from a headband the hat had been concealing, and Jeremy jumped into a silly tap dance, turning to wiggle what appeared to be a cotton bunny tail. He was even wearing tap shoes.
“Olivia Lee,” Jeremy crowed with gusto, “you make me wanna wear white tails. Go to the ball with me?”
The class erupted into whoops and hollers, led by Miles, and Olivia’s cheeks turned a shade of pink that rivaled her hair. She nodded happily, even her trademark snark forgotten for a moment.
Noa couldn’t help but smile and silently apologize to Jeremy for her earlier critical thoughts. She didn’t love Jeremy, but she did love the way he made her bestie all atwitter, and the hat, the tap shoes, the dance—pretty gallant of him to risk all those Harlow strict no-no’s just for Olivia’s amusement. It was Harlow tradition to ask a girl in an unexpected, extravagant way. Judah’s nervous, private offer to go—because he wanted to make Noa happy, even though it was not a place he would feel comfortable—was special and rebellious in its own way.
“All right, settle down,” Dr. Chandler said with a laughing smile as he got up from his desk. Noa liked that he had allowed Jeremy to have his moment—even dance—without reporting him to Ms. Jaycee, and even though it cut into class time, when they had tons of lists of dates to memorize and recite. Dr. Chandler was a real teacher, down to the patches on his tweed elbows and ink stains on his fingers, and he never forgot teaching meant liking kids.
Miss Jaycee, Harlow’s vice headmistress, could stand to remember that, Noa thought with a shiver. Ms. Jaycee always smiled, sweet and polite, but no one scared Noa more. And not just because she could send you to Review with the headmaster, the Otec, whom the students whisperingly called the Man with White Hands. Most students like Noa had never seen the Otec, but Ms. Jaycee never let them forget that they all owed him their obedience and their gratitude for keeping them safe. It was very important not to upset him.
Luckily, good students had nothing to fear. Only the worst troublemakers ended up in Review and met him face-to-face.
Dr. Chandler began leading the class in their daily recitation: “1914, 1919, 1920…” Noa had long ago stopped wondering what actually happened on those dates. Classes always went like this: lessons involved writing down, memorizing, and repeating lists of numbers or names.
Noa’s pencil tip broke. Miles leaned across the aisle, handed her his spare. She took it gratefully—and froze when another shiver tingled down her back.
Miles looked at her quizzically. “You okay?” he whispered.
Noa shook her head minutely, tried to smile. “Nothing. A little déjà vu.”
“Me handing you a pen?”
“Sort of. More like you and me in class, you giving me something I’m not supposed to have…”
Miles smiled, whispered: “That’s me, pure rebel.”
Noa turned back to the front, trying to find her place in the recitation, but Miles leaned over to whisper again. “You get your signet today?” When Noa shook her head, he blushed. “Oh, man, sorry. I just thought, with Isla—”
Noa shrugged. “She sucks. I’m over it.”
Miles smiled in a lopsided way that for some reason made Noa think of a golden retriever. “Maybe she thought she was looking out for you.” Noa looked skeptical. He grinned. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t have a little sister.”
“Mr. Kessler, Ms. Sullivan? I don’t hear dates,” Dr. Chandler interrupted. Noa and Miles immediately faced front guiltily, joined in with the class.
But though Noa mouthed the dates in rhythm, her heart beat with different words, pumping icy shivers down her spine:
You don’t have a little sister.
• • •
Noa was still feeling shivery when she met up with Judah later in Lamont, Harlow’s smallest, most hidden library. Lamont had become their special place to be alone—rarely used by students and, even better, minimally staffed by monitors itching to report infractions. This afternoon was a perfect example: the solitary librarian stayed in her office in the corner, so unnoticeable and unnoticing as to fade into a background blur. Noa and Judah had slipped easily into a private alley in the stacks, completely out of sight from prying eyes.
Sitting together on the floor, backs to senior dissertations from decades past, Judah ran his fingers intently through Noa’s hair. He was trying determinedly to braid it, a challenge Olivia had given him.
Judah huffed in frustration for the twentieth time as Noa’s many blond strands slipped again through his fingers. “This cannot be this hard.”
Noa chuckled. “Game point Olivia.”
Judah sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Oh, can I get that on tape?” Noa gloated instantly, spinning to face him. “I’ve been looking for a new voice mail greeting….” Judah made a grab for Noa’s hands, but she deftly slipped his grip, pinning him back instead.
“Okay, I give up! I failed! It’s true!” Noa beamed as Judah laughed, loving to catch him in a rare carefree moment. But, as usual, it quickly disappeared. His shoulders knotted and his eyes fell. “Okay, so … I realize I didn’t do the whole big ball-proposal thing right.”
“Judah—”
He looked around, sharp-eyed, to make sure they were alone, then lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “I kind of… made this for you.” He avoided her eyes, embarrassed, as he gently took out a little pile of small paper shapes from his pocket, each with a careful, intricate pattern on one side. He shrugged. “It’s kind of stupid, just—”
“A puzzle,” Noa breathed.
Judah pulled back, cheeks flushing. “You hate it.”
“I love it,” Noa whispered, taking his hand. “But Judah—”
“I know, it’s against regulation to make stuff like this. But no one can see us here, and for some reason I felt like…”
“You were right,” Noa assured him, a strange and frightening warmth growing in her chest, odd yet so familiar, as from some long-forgotten place. “It’s perfect.”
Noa’s fingers shivered as she slid the homemade pieces to their places. The lines came together to ask, “Go to the ball with me?” beside an exquisite sketching of their faces.
It thrilled her.
Noa picked up an edge piece, the one that held his eyes, his curls, and then it happened again—that wave, that frisson, spinning through her cells. Like déjà vu but different, like the ground was upside down. But of course Noa had never had a puzzle of her own. She’d never even seen one. She gasped and dropped the piece.
Judah grabbed the pieces immediately, crumpling them in ang
er. “I’m sorry, I never should have … I knew it was wrong….”
Noa gasped again, shut her eyes tight, but put out a hand to touch him. “No, Judah,” she managed. “It’s like … it’s like something I remember….” She struggled for the words, opened her gray eyes to find his—
That’s when she saw her, just for a moment.
“Judah, look,” Noa whispered unsteadily, pointing behind him. Judah turned sharply—but it was clear he could see nothing.
Noa lowered her arm sadly, shook her head. The face—the small, fierce face—was no longer there. “I thought I saw … but no…” Noa brought her hand to the scar that fell across her chest. “There’s no one there.”
• • •
“What do you mean, you’re not going tonight? I need you!” Olivia cried in outrage, flinging up her arms in exasperation. Even the precise mathematic shapes of her tattoos looked disappointed. Noa’s eyes lingered on those concentric circles; they did not make her feel the same way as Judah’s secret puzzle sketches. Perhaps that’s why they were permitted, where ‘art’ like his was not. “Nose! Are you listening to me?”
“I’m sorry. I started feeling weird with Judah earlier…”
Olivia smiled dryly. “Your moody-meter finally break?”
“No.” Noa eyed her. “It had nothing to do with Judah at all. And he’s not moody. He’s just—”
“The poster boy for brooding?”
“O.”
“Just come tonight.” She picked up a tiny silver bracelet from the floor. “And hello? Wear this. Why haven’t I seen it before?”
Noa leaned forward. The chain was fragile, delicate, and there was a small charm shaped like a treasure chest hanging from the links, faintly glowing blue.
Noa furrowed her brow. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t think from where. “Must be Isla’s.”
Olivia shrugged, fastened it onto Noa’s wrist. “Finders, keepers. It’s yours now. And now that I’ve showered you with gifts, you must do my bidding and come. The Pre-Parents’-Weekend-Blow-Off-Steam-Bash only comes once a year!”
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