else as he starts perusing the list. Which should be a good thing—I mean, the last thing I want is for Flint to think we’re good friends again. But at the same time, I don’t like the way this feels, either.
I don’t like the distance between us. I don’t like this serious Flint who isn’t joking around and teasing me. And I really, really don’t like that every minute we spend in this hallway seems to make things more awkward and not less.
I miss the friend who roasted marshmallows for me in the library. Who made a flower for me out of thin air. Who offered to give me a piggyback ride up the stairs.
But then I remember that that friend never really existed, that even when he was doing all those things, he was also plotting to hurt me, and I feel even worse.
Flint keeps glancing at me over the top of Mr. Damasen’s list, but he doesn’t say anything. And that only makes everything feel even more off, until the silence stretches between us, taut and fragile as an acrobat’s wire. The longer it goes on, the worse it gets, until, by the time Flint finally finishes reading the list, I’m about to jump out of my skin.
I know he feels it, too, though, because this boy in front of me isn’t the same one who teased me when he first walked into the classroom today. His voice is more subdued, his attitude more hesitant. Even his posture is different. He looks smaller and less confident than I’ve ever seen him when he says, “The tunnels are on this list.”
His words hang in the air, haunting the space between us. “I know.”
“I can do them myself if you want.” He clears his throat, shuffles his feet, looks anywhere but at me. “You can photograph something else on the list, and I can run down to the tunnels and take the pics Mr. Damasen needs really quick.”
“I can’t take any pics on my own. I lost my phone in the whole…” Instead of saying the word out loud, I wave my hand in what I hope he understands to mean gargoyle debacle.
“Oh, right.” He clears his throat for what feels like the fourth time in a minute. “I mean, I can still go down to the tunnels alone. You can just wait here, and then we can do the rest of the castle together.”
I shake my head. “I’m not going to make you do that.”
“You’re not making me do anything, Grace. I offered.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you to offer. I’m the one getting a grade on it, after all.”
“True, but I’m the one who was a complete asshole, so if you aren’t fine going down to those damn tunnels with me, then I totally get it, okay?”
I rear back at his words, a little shocked by his sudden mea culpa but also a little pissed off about how flippant he sounds, like there’s something wrong with me for wanting to protect myself. Even knowing he felt like he didn’t have a choice—even knowing that he probably couldn’t have killed Lia without setting off a war between dragons and vampires—doesn’t absolve him of what he did.
“You know what? You were a total asshole. Beyond an asshole, actually. I’m the one still sporting scars on my body from your talons, so why the hell are you suddenly the one standing here looking all sad and wounded? You’re the one who was a terrible friend to me, not the other way around.”
His eyebrows slash down. “You think I don’t know that? You think I haven’t spent every day of the last four months thinking about all the ways I fucked you over?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what you’ve been doing for the last four months. I’ve been stuck as a damn statue, in case you’ve forgotten.”
And just like that, all the fire seems to leave him, and his shoulders slump. “I haven’t forgotten. And it really fucking sucks.”
“It does suck. This whole mess sucks. I thought you were my friend. I thought—”
“I was your friend. I am your friend, if you’ll let me be one. I know I already apologized to you, and I know there’s nothing I can say or do to make up for what I did—no matter how many punishments Foster gave me. But I swear, Grace, I’ll never do anything like that again. I swear I’ll never hurt you again.”