Page 152 of Because I Killed Him
“Thought I was late,” Jack murmurs, dropping into the seat beside me. “Pity.”
“You are,” Edmund says. “But Fleming always shows up late on the days he plans to surprise us with a quiz.”
I never noticed this pattern. “You sound confident,” I tell Edmund.
“I am.”
“Confident enough to bet on it?”
He smiles, as if recalling the first time we made a bet and how it led us here. “Depends on the stakes.”
“If there is no quiz, you have to take Miss Deering and me to the Lotus Lounge tonight.”
“No chance, darling,” Jack cuts in. “They’re still sore at us.”
“More than sore,” Edmund says. “We’re banned for the rest of the year.”
I’m hardly surprised. They’re already banned from the Speakeasy and, according to Dickie, half the clubs on the Moonshine Mile. “How did that happen?”
Jack and Edmund trade a glance, half sheepish, half on the edge of laughter.
“Wouldn’t be gentlemanly to tell you that,” Edmund says. “You’ll have to pick someplace else.”
“All right, then. Let’s do something outside instead. Horse-riding.”
I suggest it mainly because it reminds me of home, of days spent riding with Mom and Vivian.
“Deal,” Edmund says. “But if there’s a quiz, you’re agreeing to a fencing spar with me.”
The enthusiasm in his expression crushes mine entirely. I want to say yes. More than anything, I wish I could lose myself in the rhythm of a fast, pulse-pounding duel with him.
“Perhaps in a few weeks,” I say, keeping my tone neutral.
Edmund nods—a slow, measured dip of his chin—and for a moment, I wonder if he can see how much it hurts me to refuse.
“I can be patient when I have to,” he says.
The lecture room dims as Professor Fleming sweeps in, shedding his coat as if it offends him and tossing it to a waiting Pinkie. He’s a broad, gritty Green with steely eyes that look like they’ve seen the inside of someone else and didn’t flinch. His suits are always pressed to a blade’s edge, and he shaves so closely it’s a miracle he still has skin on his chin.
Fleming steps onto his floating lecture platform and guides it to the center of the room, towering over us with his arms crossed. He waits until the students fall silent before hurling the wordspop quizat us like a live grenade.
Edmund’s mouth curves into a self-satisfied smile.
“You win, then,” I murmur. “What do you want?”
His eyes drift to my mouth again, but this time it’s clear he’s not thinking about what he wants it to say. “I’ll tell you soon enough.”
I draw in a breath and turn to the quiz, my hand seizing up as I reach for the stylus. When my fingers finally close around it, I force myself into the questions, working fast to steady the wild beat in my chest. As I write, I can almost feel Dad beside me, like he used to be on those late nights at home, curled up with me on the couch, talking politics as if I were old enough to understand the complexities of our world, while the news droned quietly in the background.
When I finish, I realize I’m one of the first. Jack, sitting to my left, chuckles to himself as he types. On my right, Edmund’s brow is furrowed, his fingers tapping the keypad of his tablet in sharp, clipped bursts, as if he’s racing a clock he resents.
It strikes me how differently the same quiz affects us. For me, it’s a doorway that keeps widening, each answer revealing more of the path ahead, and I want to follow it. For Edmund, it’s another wall closing in, another corner he’s being forced into.
The quiz eats up the entire period. When the bell rings and students begin shuffling toward the exit doors, Professor Fleming waves me over.
“Miss Waldsten,” he says, offering a cheery smile he reserves strictly for students who score well. “I wish to inform you that you are currently ranked third among the Greens in my class.”
“Truly, Professor?”
