Page 51 of Flickerstate

“Want to play H-O-R-S-E?” I ask Vik.

He grins. “Sure. Let’s warm up first, though.”

I pass him the ball. He tosses in a layup and passes back to me. I miss a three-pointer, pounce on the rebound, and try again.Swish.

“Nice shot,” Griffin calls.

When I glance behind me, he’s walking onto the court, framed against the Academy’s spires-and-turrets skyline.

“That’s all I make,” I call over my shoulder, jogging for the rebound.

“You win your trial?” Griffin swings his arms, looking pleased, as he approaches.

Whatever it cost me.

I shake off that thought too.“If you want to talk, you’ve got to play.”

“Okay, let’s talk and play. First, were you two mud-wrestling?” He gestures to my dirty shirt.

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, Vik and I were mud-wrestling, Griffin.”

He grins. “Okay then. Second, I want to bask in my correctness. Now everyone knows what I’ve been saying.”

“What have you been saying?” I ask. “I zone out when you talk.”

“You’re a killer.”

“I don’t recall murdering anyone.”

“You scorched those beasts off the face of the earth.”

It’s pure speak-of-the-devil superstition, the fear people have that beasts manifest if you talk about them. But I’m surprised Griffin would risk it, mere hours after the near disaster during the trials. It’s like watching him smash a mirror for giggles.

“Ihelpedscorch them,” I correct him primly.

“Right. Can’t forget my buddy Vik here. You guys put on quite the show in flickerstate.”

I don’t want Griffin thinking too hard about whatever he saw. I try to distract him. “Had you seen me in flickerstate before yesterday?”

“You’re a fire.” He grins. “Red-hot.”

I ignore the cheesy innuendo. “I don’t think I’ve seen you navigate. What does your nav look like?”

He shoves a hand into his hair. “Depends who’s looking. Whose shot is it?”

Vik was right: Griffin’s squirrelly about his nav. And now that he’s changed the subject, I won’t make him suspicious by doing it myself.

“Mine. Bank swish.” I shoot. The ball bangs off the backstop and rockets through the net.

“Me next.” Griffin legs it past me toward the ball.

Vik’s face goes somber, as if an unpleasant thought has occurred to him. He glances around for eavesdroppers, walks close to me, and speaks low. “See anything strange at the trial? Before the manifestation, I mean.”

Prickles crawl down my spine. “Strange. As in what?”

Before Vik can answer, Griffin dribbles up to me. “Are we playing with nav?”

“No.” I turn too fast and speak too sharply; I sound like I’m scolding a dog.