I snort, then wipe the smile off my face as Lola glares at us.
“You think it’s funny that the two of you are worse than worthless?” she snaps, tossing back her mane of shining caramel-colored hair.
“Sorry, Great Leader,” I reply, in a tone of utmost politeness. “I didn’t know barking orders required both your hands and your mouth. Why don’t you pick up a log and help us?”
Lola’s pretty face contorts with so much venom that she barely looks human.
“You’re a parasite,” she hisses at me. “A worm under my feet. You don’t belong here. And you’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Rakel pulls me in the direction of the woodpile once more.
I’m quiet, thinking to myself how strange it is that whether Lola tells me I don’t belong at Kingmakers, or Dean tells me that I do, I feel offended either way.
Maybe it’s because I don’t know who I am, so how can they?
I thought I knew.
Until I killed Rocco, shattering my own image of myself.
Now I’m trying to pick up the pieces and glue them back together, wondering what form they’ll take.
Thinking of Dean makes me search for him over in the horde of Juniors. I easily spot his white-blond head and the rigid muscles of his back straining against the fabric of his gray t-shirt. He’s working next to Leo and Ares, already building the base of their tower. The three boys move in unison like a clockwork machine, swiftly and expertly stacking the logs in a tower formation that reminds me of da Vinci’s self-supporting bridge.
The tower Lyman and Sadie are building looks a lot less stable. Driven on by Lola’s relentless demands for speed, they’re not matching the size of the logs with much care, and the tower is already starting to lean to the left.
Claire Turgenev’s tower is the tallest of the three and looks reasonably stable, until a half-rotted log snaps, sending her structure crashing down.
I can see the fury on her face, but she doesn’t give in to panic, swiftly re-organizing her workers to repair what fell.
Kade looks decidedly more stressed, but he’s holding up under the burden of leadership, building a tower that is wide and sturdy, though the smallest of the four.
Despite my annoyance with Lola, I really am working as fast as possible, following her orders as best I can. I’m not as invested in winning this competition as the rest of my teammates, but I don’t want to let anyone down.
I’m willing to do whatever I can to help.
Until Lola seizes me by the back of the shirt and yanks me over.
“Up you go, Cat,” she orders.
“Up where?” I say blankly.
“Get that fucking flag,” she says, jerking her head toward our spindly tower.
I stare up at the fluttering green flag, which looks impossibly distant, bobbing on the flimsy wire.
“But . . . I don’t think the tower is ready,” I say.
Our tower is little wider than a ladder at the top. Its angle resembles the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and it seems to be swaying with the breeze almost as much as the flag itself.
“It’s a fucking race!” Lola barks. “You’re the smallest and the lightest. Get your ass up there and climb!”
Lola is correct that I’m the smallest student in the competition—including the Freshmen. But I still don’t think this rickety pile of kindling is going to support me.
On the other hand, I’m supposed to obey the Captain.
The rest of the team is staring at me expectantly, except for Rakel, who fixes me with narrowed eyes and gives a small shake of her head.
The other teams haven’t finished their towers—if I can make it up there and snatch the flag, we’ll win the first round.
“Can you at least have somebody hold the base steady?” I ask.
“Cameron, Belkie—stabilize the base,” Lola orders.
The two burly Enforcers rush to obey.
Their efforts help a little. I can still feel the entire structure swaying with my every movement as I begin to scale the side.
I’ve never been rock-climbing in my life. Haven’t even climbed a tree. I try to keep my gaze pointed upward at the enticing green banner overhead.
My fellow Sophomores shout up instructions and words of encouragement. I can barely hear them over the blood thundering in my ears. This tower feels more and more like a floppy, makeshift Mount Everest, and I can’t help wondering if Lola would prefer me to grab the flag and win, or break my neck falling down.