Page 15 of Flickerstate

Our block’s common room is neat and airy. A pale-blue rug, patterned with roses and hummingbirds, mostly covers the hardwood floor. A matching stuffed armchair and sofa face each other across the carpet. An arched window looks onto the main quad.

All this for three students? Damn.

The armchair sits between two doors. The closer door is probably the bathroom. The farther door bears a brassA. In the opposite wall is another door labeledB.

I bump my suitcase over to room A. I expect a cubbyhole, but the single is bigger than the room I share with Jo at home. It’s furnished with a bed, a dresser, and a desk. A window with a pale-blue curtain gives me another view of the quad.

The front door opens. Candace’s voice floats through my wall: “—shouldn’t have told her.”

“I couldn’t avoid telling her,” a tenor says.

“You could have. Easily. You avoid telling someone a secret bynot telling them.”

“She was trying to help—”

“She failed.”

I feel weird about eavesdropping unseen, so I step back into thecommon room. Candace stands, arms crossed, staring down a tall blond guy who’s thrown himself into our armchair. He’s dressed like he rows crew or plays squash: a sea-green polo shirt and shorts with a handsewn red logo that looks like a marijuana leaf but probably isn’t supposed to.

I clear my throat. “Hi.”

The guy gives me a once-over. “Who’s this, Candace?”

I’m suddenly too conscious that I’m wearing secondhand athleisure scrounged from a West County charity store run by Pilates moms. “Someone who can speak for herself,” I snap.

“Norah,” Candace says, “meet my useless stepbrother.”

He clutches his chest in mock agony. “Useless?”

“Worse than useless. A saboteur.”

“Mirabel was only trying to—” He stops, glancing at me.

“Horse, barn door. I showed Norah the bites.”

He gives me another once-over, more considered. “She’s not shunning you.”

“I’m not,” I agree. “Because that would be moronic.”

“She swooped in and tried to rescue me from ostracism,” Candace says. “It is no thanks to you or Mirabel that anyone is talking to me.”

“Why would you need me if your new blockmate swoops and rescues?” He springs from the armchair and offers me his hand. “Nice to meet you, Supergirl. I’m Griffin Minter.”

I look to Candace.

She rolls her eyes. “Go ahead.”

I shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, useless stepbrother.”

“Okay, I’ll exit stage right before you ladies start throwing shoes at me. Bye, Candy.”

When the door closes behind him, I echo, “Candy?”

“In all seriousness,” Candace says, “never call me that.”

“Done. Mirabel’s the one who spread the word about your bites?”

Candace nods, dropping onto the sofa. “She says she told them I had healed bites to keep the other students from panicking in case they saw my arm. Because demanifestation is so rare, and because there were no articles about my case online, they thought she was lying when she said I was healed. They panicked anyway.”