would love to meet you in the library after I’m done in the art room. Does six o’clock work?”
He nods. “Sounds perfect.” But when he leans down to kiss me, Hudson makes such an obnoxious gagging sound that there’s no way I can actually go through with it.
I duck my head and Jaxon sighs, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses a kiss to the top of my head and says, “I’ll see you then.”
“Okay.”
I watch him go, but the second he makes it around the corner, I turn on Hudson. “Seriously? Was the gagging really necessary?”
He resorts to the British stiff upper lip. “You have no idea how necessary.”
“You do realize that you are completely ridiculous, don’t you?”
Hudson looks like he doesn’t know what to say about that—or even how to feel about it. Half offended, half amused, all intrigued—it’s an interesting look on him, even before he says, “Well, that’s a new one. No one’s ever called me that before.”
“Maybe because they’ve never actually met you.”
I expect a snappy comeback, but instead there’s a contemplative silence for several seconds. Eventually, though, he murmurs, “Perhaps you’re right.”
I don’t know what to say after that, and I think maybe he doesn’t, either, because silence stretches between us—the longest silence there’s ever been, in fact, when one of us isn’t sleeping.
I do an about-face and head into class, leaving Hudson still leaning against the wall.
Something tells me the Physics of Flight isn’t exactly going to be the class I excel in, so I find a seat at the back of the classroom. I wait for Hudson to join me, but he actually does what I asked for once and leaves me alone.
Too bad.
40
Survival Is So
Last Year
“You should absolutely compete.” Class is nearly over, so I’m shocked when I hear Hudson’s voice next to me. “Thanks for saving me a seat, by the way.”
I’m sitting in the back of the room because the last thing I want is to draw attention to myself in a class I’m two months behind in—and definitely not because there are empty seats on both sides of me.
“Compete in what?” I mutter to him under my breath, but I’m not really paying attention to his answer. I’m too busy trying to scribble down notes that might as well be another language.
“Ludares. Although, it’s really just an excuse for everyone to try to kill one another doing really dangerous stuff.” He does a quick, “people are weird” eyebrow lift. “Most popular day of the year here at Katmere. Especially among the shifters.”
“Well, of course. I mean, when you put it like that, who wouldn’t want to take part in it? I mean, survival is so last decade.”
He laughs. “Exactly.”
I try to get back into Mr. Marquez’s lecture, but by now I’ve lost even the faint thread of what’s going on, so I decide to just snap a few pics of the lecture notes instead of actually trying to decipher them. If I can’t figure them out on my own later, I’ll ask Flint for help.
“Or you could ask me?” Hudson says a little sardonically. “I may be a”—he moves his fingers in the universal symbol for air quotes—“‘psychopath,’ but I’m a psychopath who got a ninety-eight in this class.”
“You took this class? Why?” A thought occurs to me. “Can you fly like Jaxon?”
“You make him sound like Superman.” Hudson rolls his eyes. “He can’t actually fly.”
“You get what I mean.” I wave a hand. “Whenever he does…whatever it is he does. If you don’t call it flying, what do you call it?”
“He’s got telekinesis. He floats. You know, like a blimp.”
That startles a laugh out of me. I mean, the description is awful, but it’s also kind of hilarious imagining Jaxon just floating around the top of sports stadiums like the Goodyear Blimp.
“It’s a good picture, isn’t it?” Hudson smiles slyly.
“It’s an absurd picture and you know it. Your brother is amazing.”
“So you keep telling me.”
The bell rings, and I pause our conversation long enough to pack up my things and make my way into the hall. It’s lunchtime, and normally I’d try to find Macy, but the thought of going into the cafeteria right now is too much for me.
Everyone staring at me. Judging me. And finding me wanting. At this rate, I’m probably going to have to repeat my senior year, too.
The whole thing sucks. It just sucks. And I think about getting it over with. Just walking into the cafeteria, standing on a