Page 135 of Because I Killed Him
She pauses mid-stroke and looks up, her eyes bright with gratitude. “A civil credit transfer, Miss Waldsten. It enabled me to assist my brother as well. We were both below three hundred.”
Heat burns under my skin. For a second, I’m convinced I misheard. Only a few days ago, Edmund was lecturing me about giving strangers civil credits.
“Mr. Prew gave you civil credits?” I repeat, trying to hide my shock beneath a tone of curiosity.
Miss Ellsworth nods. “He found us through the Credit-Lift hashtag on Quill. We all make use of it whenever we are in need of civil credits.”
I know the hashtag. I’ve scrolled through it myself, my conscience burning as I read the desperate pleas for help from students near the arrest threshold. At first, I wondered why they didn’t boost their scores by getting married, which would grant each of them three thousand civil credits. But that thought lasted only until Vivian told me how thoroughly her relationship with Harrison had been investigated for fraud before the state finally granted them a marriage license.
Miss Ellsworth finishes the note, her hand trembling slightly as she signs her name. She passes it to me gently, as if handing over a newborn.
“Thank you, Miss Waldsten.”
As she skates away, Charlotte glides in behind her and plucks a water glass from the bar.
“What was that about?”she texts.
“Nothing,”I reply.“She just wanted to thank Edmund for something.”
But it isn’t nothing.
For the rest of the night, I can’t stop picturing him searching that hashtag and sending civil credits to low-citizens he’s never spoken to. The more hours pass, the deeper the feeling digs, like water seeping into a crack in stone and freezing there until the whole thing threatens to split apart. I feel too much at once: relief that Edmund isn’t angry at me, shock that he’s helping low-citizens outside his entourage, and a rising fear of what it means that his change of heart only makes me want him more.
Dickie disappears for most of the night. I only spot him when we’re about to leave, leaning against a wall and chatting with a freckled Orange girl who’s at least a head taller than him. Prying him away isn’t easy. His eyes are glazed with infatuation, and his grin is wide against the red flush in his cheeks as we catch a cab back to our dormitories.
Over the next few days, the Orange girl is all Dickie talks about—her laugh, her honey-gold hair, her freckles that match his—so much that by Sunday, when we’re all sitting around a poker table in Edmund’s private bar, he’s still rambling on about her.
“As a wise man, I know broads like her don’t come around too often,” Dickie declares, waving for a Pinkie to refill his chocolate milk. “I’m gonna ask her out.”
Charlotte pops the cap off a non-alcoholic beer with her teeth and snorts. “Ask her outhow? You’re not legal yet.” She tips the beer into Jack’s near-empty glass and gives him an encouraging nod.
Jack smiles in thanks, though his hands fidget on the table, almost trembling. His eyes keep drifting toward the liquor shelves behind the bar. Staying away from the hard stuff hasn’t been easy for him—he’s slipped a few times already—but we’re all trying to help. Tonight, none of us is drinking.
“I didn’t say I was gonna kiss her now, did I?” Dickie shoots back, planting his hands on his hips. “All of that’ll come when I’m eighteen.”
“Three years is a long time to wait,” I say, deliberately keeping my eyesoff Edmund, even as my thoughts keep circling back to him and to the steady stream of students who’ve approached me over the past few days, hoping to pass along their thanks. At this point, I’ve slipped at least a dozen notes to his Pinkies, each filled with gratitude for the civil credits Edmund sent them.
I haven’t told him I know. I don’t know how. The rush of emotion is too overwhelming as I think of him quietly putting distance between low-citizens and the guillotine. It makes me happy in a way I can’t hide from myself, even if I can hide it from him.
Edmund hasn’t spoken much tonight either. He sits across from me, his hands hidden beneath the table, glancing at me now and then with the same discretion I’ve been using to watch him. I’ve stayed past our scheduled time on purpose, waiting to see if he breaks off, as Jack and Dickie say he has over the past few days. So far, there’s no sign of it.
Dickie swivels toward me and scowls. “Real love exists outside of time. Not that you’d understand. You don’t even have a guy.”
The judgment in his tone rattles me more than I expect. “Maybe not now. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t.”
“Hold on. You dated someone?” Charlotte flicks a non-alcoholic beer cap at me playfully. “When? You only turned eighteen in Augu—”
She cuts herself off when I shoot her a look, but it’s too late. Dickie’s smirk is already spreading, and the whole table has realized that, when it comes to relationships, I’m still pedaling with training wheels.
But it couldn’t have been any different. Dating is illegal until you turn eighteen, which gave me one legal month before I came to Grandmaster. And here, I haven’t had time to notice men smiling at me. I’ve been too busy watching for knives behind their backs.
Still, when Edmund looks at me from across the table in surprise, a blush rushes up my neck, hot enough to make me want to cut and run. I glance between the plates, cups, and cards on the table, searching for my hair ribbon as if it could somehow dull my humiliation. “It was my choice,” I say. “Not because there wasn’t any interest.”
Dickie shakes his head with a loud chortle. “Maybe I’d believe you if you hadn’t tried to lie about it. But there’s no need to be embarrassed, broad. Not all of us can be charmers.”
I scoff and keep scanning the table for my ribbon. It’s not under the plates or cups, so maybe a Pinkie cleared it away. I push out my chair, ready to ask, when I catch sight of the dark green fabric in Edmund’s hand beneath the table. He’s holding my ribbon by the end, running it gently through his fingers as he talks to Jack about an injection for the alcohol withdrawal.
My whole body slows with surprise. Does Edmund know it’s mine? Or did he pick it up at random to fidget with?
