The Bully (Kingmakers #3) - Sophie Lark Page 0,103
gold. Her mouth is as warm as the sunshine.
When we break apart, I feel light-headed.
Cat leads me further down the hallway, her fingers linked through mine.
“There’s no other Captains that won three years,” she says, examining the photographs. “Barely any that even won twice.”
“Mm,” I say, still distracted by the kiss.
“I haven’t seen any girls that did,” Cat says, those keen dark eyes combing the walls.
“There’s less girls that attend the school. Probably barely any in the olden days.”
“I’m not looking at the olden days,” Cat laughs. “We’re only twenty years back. Oh, here! There’s one . . .”
She runs a few steps down, looking eagerly up at the photograph of a black-haired girl with bright blue eyes. Her mouth is open in gleeful laughter after her first win.
“And look! She was only a Sophomore.” Cat says, highly impressed. “Then next year . . .”she follows down to the next photograph, where the same girl stands in the place of honor, right in front. This time she isn’t laughing. In fact, she hardly looks triumphant at all. Maybe it’s because the losing Captain is so bitterly angry that she doesn’t like him standing right behind her.
“It’s funny though . . .” Cat says, walking down a few more steps. “She wasn’t Captain her Senior year . . .”
“Maybe she didn’t win.”
“No look, she’s not in any of the pictures even in the background.”
I scan the photos, seeing that Cat is right.
“That is odd . . .” I admit.
Usually a winning Captain is voted back every year, unless they fuck up. If the girl won in her Sophomore and Junior years, you’d expect that the Senior class would be desperate to have her lead them again.
“Maybe she didn’t come back to Kingmakers at all . . .” I say, slowly.
Miles and Zoe dropped out. The girl might have gotten married.
“Maybe she didn’t . . .” Cat replies, in a strangely distant voice. Her eyes look unfocused and dreamy.
“What?” I say.
Ignoring me, Cat dashes back to the first photograph of the black-haired girl. Then she returns to the second. She goes back and forth several times, examining the winning Captain closely.
“What is it?” I ask Cat again. I come to stand beside her, trying to see what she’s seeing.
“Do you think she looks . . . skinnier in the first picture?” Cat asks.
I squint closely, looking at the girl’s slim, athletic frame.
“I don’t know,” I say. “She’s a year older in the second picture. But . . . I guess . . . ”
There is a slight difference in her figure, or at least I think there might be. It’s difficult to tell in her loose uniform. And she’s so much more serious in the second picture. But still, she might be a little bit fuller.
“What does it matter?” I ask Cat. “What does it mean?”
“This will sound crazy,” she says, softly. “But I think that’s Hedeon’s mother.”
We fly from Dubrovnik to Chicago, with a short layover in Berlin where we part ways with Chay Wagner.
Anna and Leo sit directly across the aisle from Cat and me.
Leo leans over to talk to us so often that one of the flight attendants hits him with the drink cart on purpose, just to remind him to stay out of the way.
I can tell he’s trying to make me feel comfortable, and I have to admit, when I’m not doing my best to despise Leo, his warmth is irresistible. He almost makes me believe there won’t be any awkwardness at all in finally meeting the people I was taught to hate and despise all my life.
Ignoring the glares of the flight attendant, Leo leans his rangy frame across the aisle once more to say to me, “You like movies? There’s this outdoor theater we can go to, they show all these 80s slasher flicks late at night down by the lake. It’s nice and creepy with the trees all around, and the water . . .”
“You hate horror movies!” Anna says to Leo. “You almost leap out of your chair with every single jump scare.”
“That’s just my highly-tuned reflexes,” Leo grins. “If there is a murderer behind us in a hockey mask, you’re gonna be glad I’m not laying back in my seat half asleep.”
“I’ll go!” Cat says, gamely. “As long as there’s popcorn.”
She glances at me to see if I’m amenable.
“In Moscow we eat sunflower seeds at the movies,” I tell her.