Page 67 of Flickerstate

He’s commandeered us a table near the dining hall’s cornucopia.Kids walking past double take when they spot the last two trial teams breaking bread together cozy-like.

The truth is, though, that when Griffin proposed a friendly dinner to celebrate our victories, no one wanted to do it. Candace glared at him like he was insisting, for the millionth time, that their family play a weird board game only he knew the rules to. Bree’s eyes flittered between Griffin, Vik, and Mirabel, like at any moment they might siphon her. Mirabel wrinkled her nose in disdain.

Vik stared at the floor. Since the trial finished, he hadn’t looked at me.

Griffin grinned and clapped his hands together. “No objections. Great. We’ll reconvene in the dining hall at six.” And, inexplicably, we did—a testament either to Griffin’s charisma or his perverse refusal to read the room.

“What’s exciting?” Candace asks Griffin. Her tone answers the question: Nothing. Nothing is exciting. She’s changed into a dizzying dress with a deep V-neck and a metallic pattern involving palm fronds: half Klimt, halfThe White Lotus.Its ferocious glitz gives her an aura of authority, like she’s secret royalty who could order us beheaded. If I were Griffin, I’d quake.

Griffin doesn’t quake. “Our triumphs, Candy dear. Now Daddy and Mommy will have to be proud of us.”

“They’re already proud.”

“Mommy is. Daddy likes results. Now he’ll have them.”

“From one of us.”

“If this a celebration, can we talk about something other than nav?” Bree pipes up.

“Like what,” Mirabel asks flatly.

“I don’t know. What’s the deal with Winter Formal?”

“It’s a formal. In the winter. Beyond that, there is no deal.”

Griffin takes pity on Bree. “The formal’s in the dining hall. They move the tables into the kitchen so they can cram us all inside.” He mimes crushing reluctant kids together between his hands. “There are colored lights and streamers. We put on our fanciest clothes, and I break out my rendition of the robot. Norah got a preview earlier.” He tips a wink at me.

Bree smiles. “Fun. How fancy are we talking? Fancier than the dress Candace has on now? Though no one’s going to top that. Candace, you lookamazing.”

Bree, Candace, and Griffin strike up a halting conversation about fashion. From time to time, Mirabel contributes a cuttingremark.

I can’t concentrate enough to join in. Vik sits, not talking, not looking at me, long fingers shifting his knife across the tabletop.

This morning those fingers were in my hair.

I pull my phone out and text him under the table:Basketball courts after dinner?

“Are we boring you?” Griffin asks with razor-like good cheer.

I shrug tightly. “I’m not sure I’ll go to the formal, so.”

“Too cool for our quaint traditions?” he suggests.

I don’t want to wait here staring at Vik, willing him to text me back. I see my opportunity to leave and seize it. “And too highfalutin to finish my dinner. Ladies, gentleman, excuse me.”

***

Outside, copper clouds ripple across the sky. A cool breeze rustles the leaves in the woods beyond the basketball courts. If I stand still, I’ll get chilly. I grab a ball from the racks and get going.

I’d hoped shooting hoops would send me into a smooth-brained state of concentration. No luck. My phone presses hard against my hip bone, as if my pants have shrunk two sizes. Every second I’m waiting for a buzz.

Not that I’ll know what to say if Vik does show up. Will I tell him we can’t keep doing whatever we’re doing now that we’re direct competitors? Claim that his cold feet don’t matter, because mine are two blocks of Midwestern ice? Or stage a country-song confession of my feelings, complete with a key change and a third-verse plottwist? Whataremy feelings?

When I miss two easy layups back-to-back, I cuss and call Jo.

I turn, murmuring, “Pick up, pick up.” Vik’s walking across the court toward me. He spies my phone, nods—without making eye contact—and scoops up the ball I abandoned.

The ringing cuts off. An automated message explains the concept of voicemail to me. Jo says: “This is Josephine Sullivan. I definitely saw your call. I didn’t pick up because who does that? Don’t leave a message. I won’t listen to it. Text me like a normal person. Bye.”