I ended up walking through the greenhouses, wondering if there was any truth to Snow’s ideology. I had always thought of him as the ultimate machine, fighting with what looked like cold logic and unfailing brilliance. I thought it was his wit and nerves that sustained him.
He was trying to tell me it was what . . . love?
The idea was laughable.
Still, I lingered after class to talk with Snow several more times. And I began to enjoy his sessions more and more, as the intricacy and difficulty of the instruction increased.
Now it’s become my favorite class.
I think that sentiment is shared among all of us who attend. It’s impossible not to respect Snow’s methods, or his skills, which hardly seemed to have dulled since his days as a champion.
Every one of the students is improving in leaps and bounds. None more than me, in my not-so-humble opinion.
I keep working with Kade, who shows flashes of brilliance when he can control his impulsiveness. Sometimes I pair with Jasper Webb, one of the better fighters in the class. He’s definitely the quickest, which is useful for honing my reflexes.
Even Vanya Antonov is developing, though he’s still sloppy and arrogant. I despise him, and the feeling is clearly mutual. He needles me every chance he gets, trying to goad me into losing my temper in front of Snow. I haven’t obliged just yet, but I’m aching to wipe that smug grin off his face.
I know a conflict is coming.
Vanya can’t beat me in grades or performance.
So I know he’ll be looking for another way to bring me down.
6
Cat
As I suspected, Lola has been increasingly aggressive since I embarrassed her in that Interrogation class. It was just a stupid exercise, it didn’t even count for grades, and yet she seems to have taken it as a grave insult. I suppose the insult is that I dared to show her up, when I’m supposed to be a pathetic nobody.
Well, I’m not that pathetic anymore. I’m actually doing pretty damn well in most of my classes.
And I’m not really a nobody anymore, either. Of course, I’d prefer to do without the kind of fame that comes from following Dean all over campus like his own personal butler, but it’s definitely made me stand out.
Anna and Chay have asked me twenty times if I’m okay, and if I want them to tell Dean to fuck off for me. I beg them to leave it alone.
“He’s not bothering me,” I say, unable to meet the combined weight of the girls’ concerned gaze. “We’re just . . . friends.”
“Friends?” Chay says in disbelief.
“If he’s threatening you—” Anna says.
“No!” I lie. “He’s not. We just, uh, like studying together.”
It’s ridiculously weak, but what can they do? There’s no law against making somebody carry your books around.
Lola is less easily appeased. She and Dixie Davis have taken to harassing Rakel and me every chance they get. Which is pretty damn often, considering we sleep within twenty feet of each other.
“What happened to southern hospitality?” Rakel grumbles after Dixie shoulder-checks her so hard that Rakel’s textbooks and papers scatter halfway across the Undercroft.
“I thought you said you were gonna pop her eyeballs out like cherry tomatoes the next time she did that?” I tease Rakel.
“Well they’re both so damn tall!” She scowls, furious at the injustice of genetics. “If we had one single bicep between the two of us, that might be helpful . . .”
“I don’t know which one’s meaner,” I say.
“Definitely Lola,” Rakel says. “She’s the boss of those two, which means that however nasty Dixie can get, Lola must be worse. She’s just a touch more subtle.”
“Not very subtle,” I say, remembering how Lola tore up my paper on banking regulations five minutes after I completed it. “Between the papers she ruins, and the ones Dean makes me write, I’m gonna need a double hand transplant before the semester is over.”
“Care to tell me why you’re writing all those papers for the Albino Asshole?” Rakel inquires for the hundredth time.
“No,” I say flatly, “so you can quit asking.”
“Well, I wish your master would let you eat lunch with me once in a while. I actually sat with Perry Saunders yesterday. That’s how desperate I was.”
“Perry’s nice!”
“She asked me if witches are real.”
“Well?” I say, trying not to laugh. “Are they?”
“I can’t believe her father works for the Malina. If he’s anything like Perry, I’d expect Marko Moroz to barbecue his kidneys out of pure annoyance.”