Their Will be Done - Logan Fox Page 0,2

I miss prayer?

I peek down the hallway and spot a boy heading toward me, hair wet and a towel dangling from his shoulders.

“Sorry?” I call out, stepping into the hallway.

He takes me in with a frown. “Yeah?”

“Were there prayers this morning?”

“It’s Saturday,” he says, frown deepening as he moves past me.

I throw up my hands at his retreating back.

I risk a peek outside. There’s not a cloud in the sky and, judging from the position of the sun, it’s early. I should have checked my schedule. Were the weekend activities even on there?

Opening the door wider, I step outside to catch some sun on my face before heading for the dining hall.

I’m not the last to arrive—there are a handful of trays still left on the table. Including mine—bright pink post-it still intact.

TRINITY MALONE

I grimace before I notice there’s a little heart above each of the I’s in my name and then a butterfly starts fluttering around in my stomach. I grab my tray and turn to look for an empty spot.

On cue, the snickers begin. I spot a few gaps, but every time I get near, they miraculously close up.

Not all miracles are divine.

Assholes.

There’s something different about the boys today, but I’m too busy trying to ignore their awful giggles to figure out what it is.

Movement draws my eye. Apollo’s waving at me through the kitchen door’s window.

A second butterfly joins the first.

Zach said he’d send for me to discuss what they wanted me to do next. Is that why Apollo’s calling me? I hadn’t thought it would be so soon. I’d hoped to get my head straight by then.

I swallow and walk across the dining hall.

I haven’t had a chance to process the past twenty-four hours. I’ve never felt this conflicted in my life. I want to hate those guys—hell, of course I hate them—but after hearing their stories…is it any wonder they’re so fucked up?

But what about Father Gabriel? The stuff they told me about him? I can’t even begin to process that.

Zach told me Father Gabriel would be back tomorrow.

Apollo pushes open the door when I get close, and beckons me inside with a charming, lopsided smile.

“Hi,” I say, fumbling with my tray as I push a stray curl behind my ear.

He cocks his head and leads me to a steel door. Daylight streams in when he opens it. I step into a courtyard that smells of damp bricks. There’s a concrete table and four stools in the center.

There’s a sickly pot plant in one corner, and another steel doorway opposite. Someone left their boots next to that door.

“Where does that go?” I ask, digging the edge of the tray into my stomach and trying not to look like a complete idiot.

“You don’t have to wear your uniform on weekends,” Apollo says, his back to me as he pulls out a packet of cigarettes and lights one. I look down at myself, close my eyes, and curse inwardly.

That’s what was different about the boys. They were wearing normal clothes, not their usual drab brown.

Is that what Jasper was trying to tell me?

I am an idiot.

“Still have to get used to things around here,” I murmur, heading for the table so I can put my tray down.

“Why bother? Not like you’re going to be here much longer.”

My tray clatters onto the table. I turn to Apollo, mouth gaping. “What do you mean?”

He points to one of the stools. “Sit. Eat.”

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Tell me what that’s supposed to mean.”

Instead, he smokes his cigarette and stares at me through a gap in his blond hair. Did he wash it? I bet he has his own bathroom. “Sit.”

I sink down, wincing when the icy concrete touches the back of my thighs.

“Eat.”

Glaring at him doesn’t work, so I let out a huge sigh and tear the plastic wrap from my tray.

Someone cut my toast into the shape of a heart. I look up at Apollo, deadpan.

He grins with one side of his mouth, blowing cigarette smoke my way as he drags his hair out of his face. “For the shit food I made you yesterday,” he says.

I grab a piece of toast and start nibbling on it. “Please tell me what you meant.” Maybe good manners will help me get through to this guy because being rude sure as hell didn’t.

He puts his foot on the stool opposite mine, the table now between us. Taking another drag of his smoke, he leans his elbows on