Betrayal - By Lee Nichols Page 0,57

if it weren’t for me. His spirit would be sitting pretty in his grave with the rest of his body.

Perhaps that would’ve been better, Edmund said somberly. Neos has incredible power in the Beyond. It’s not inconceivable that he’d influence Coby.

I bore down so hard on my pencil that I broke the lead and hurt my damaged fingers. “Ow!” I said aloud.

Sakolsky turned from the board.

“The invalid’s acting up,” Britta said.

I shot her a look. Why did I have to suffer through two classes with her?

“Emma?” Mr. Sakolsky looked at me.

“I’m fine. I’m just … having trouble writing.” I shrugged and showed him my broken pencil.

“Take a break,” Sakolsky said. “I’m sure Britta will be happy to share her notes with you.” It was always hard to tell with Sakolsky whether he was completely oblivious to social tension or benignly Machiavellian.

“Great, thanks,” I muttered. Then Britta and I stuck our tongues out at each other. She always reduced me to middle-school behavior.

You’re actually worried, aren’t you? Edmund said.

That Britta’s not going to share her notes with me? I think that’s a given.

Don’t change the subject, young lady. Sometimes he could be so schoolteacherish.

No. I trust Coby. I always have.

I hope you’re right. Betrayal is a terrible thing.

He faded away then, apparently happy he’d planted the seed of doubt. I just wished I could keep it from budding.

In Fencing, Coach took one look at my hands and told me to take a seat. I climbed the bleachers to sit next to the ghost jocks, who were on their usual perch.

I nodded to them. Craven. Moorehead. Which sent them into peals of teenage boy laughter that almost brightened my day.

Actually, I learned a thing or two about fencing as I listened to them debate the matches. They were taken by a particularly flashy riposte executed by Sara against Kylee. As much as I liked Kylee, I wasn’t unhappy to see her get trounced—I’d been on the receiving end of her foil too many times. And it was good to see a little pep back in Sara’s moves.

Maybe I should try that. I fluttered my fingers. When I’m well again.

Nah, said Craven. You fight dirty.

Yeah, Moorehead agreed. Can’t teach that.

You have to be born in a gutter to fight like Emma Vaile.

Raised by streetwalkers, the other said.

I sighed. Why did I even bother?

I moved across the gym and ignored them for the rest of class. Sara caught up with me in the locker room. She was looking better than she had in days. The accessories were subdued and her hair was in a ponytail, though at least it had been brushed. And she was even wearing lip gloss, a good sign when it came to Sara.

“Hey,” she said with a smile.

“How’s Harry?”

“On lockdown in Boston. I called his parents and they met us there.”

“What’s it like?” I asked, as we started toward the doors. “One of those glitzy rehabs with gourmet meals and maid service?”

“I guess, but it’s still kind of grim. I just hope he’s okay.” Her rough voice lowered. “I think I need to talk to someone about all of this. I’m such an enabler.”

When Harry was twelve, he went through a shoplifting phase. Coby drifted into view. Sara drove the getaway bike.

Hey! I said. Girls’ locker room!

I’m dead, Emma.

You’re still a guy.

I pushed through the doors into the stairs leading to the main hall. “Talking to someone’s probably a good idea.”

“Is that him?” she whispered.

“What? Who?”

“I saw you looking. I can—I can almost feel something. Is it Coby?”

Don’t tell her I’m here, he said.

“Inside the girls’ locker room? Does that sound like Coby?”

“No, he’s too much of a gentleman.”

I nodded. “Yeah, he’d never sneak a peek, or tell anyone your secrets, like that time you rode the getaway bike when Harry shoplifted.”

“Coby!” she said, glaring in the wrong direction. “Promise me right now that you won’t be hovering around the bathroom or I’ll …” She looked at me. “What’ll I do?”

“Ouija-board him.”

“Yeah, upside the head.” Her smile didn’t quite cover her uneasiness. “Is he really here?”

Tell her I’ll be good, he said. And toss me that pencil.

I told her, then I tossed a pencil in the air. Coby caught it—and it hovered there. He waggled it toward Sara, and she laughed, her uneasiness gone. Coby nudged one end of the pencil into Sara’s hand, so she was holding half, and he was holding the other. They walked that way, holding hands through the pencil, upstairs and into the main hall.

“When