Page 93 of Flickerstate

“We tried to break into the Highwall Collection last night,” I tell Candace. “But Mr. Davis got there first. He was sneaking a donor inside.”

Candace closes her eyes. “I keep wondering, does my mom know? Does Griff? Or did my stepdad tell them he’d fix everything as long as they didn’t ask questions?”

At orientation, Candace told me that her possibility wound had healed, she wanted to unlock the mystery of how, and she thought the Archive might hold the key. And that was true. It just wasn’t the whole truth. She wanted to unlock the mystery of her healing, yes, but not out of pure, hungry curiosity. She wanted to understand what her family had overlooked or participated in to save her. That question—it would be too sharp-edged, too damaging, to yank from her chest and put on display for the loud, bossy blockmate she’d just met under a creepy tree.

But I’m guessing that seeing my bite made her feel like she owed me the truth: She got a chance at healing I never had because her mom married a Connecticut finance bro named Terry. I’m guessing she feels sick, guilty, in debt. Like she doesn’t deserve to be alive.

That’s not fair to her. She didn’t ask for this.

“We’ll give the cure to everyone,” I promise her. “Here’s our plan.”

I lay out the steps: During the Winter Formal, she keeps eyes on Mr. Davis and Griffin while Vik steals the keycard from Griffin’s dresser. Vik and I go to the Archive, where we use leaguing to identify important documents quickly. As soon as we find the cure, we flee.

As I describe the plan, Candace starts frowning. “I avoid Griff at large social gatherings. Audiences make him insufferable. If I stick close to him at the formal, he’ll get suspicious. But more importantly…over break, he told me he asked you to the formal, Norah. He said he wouldn’t bother going this year unless you said yes, since he has so much to get done in the Archive.”

My stomach drops. “For real?”

“Griffin asked you to Winter Formal?” Vik asks tightly.

“Uh.” I avert my eyes and keep my voice casual. “Yeah. He told me not to answer right away. I was brainstorming how to let him down easy.”

“You could say yes instead,” Candace says. “If you’re his date, you have a perfect excuse to keep tabs on him all evening.”

Vik’s an unignorable presence in my peripheral vision, but I tamp down on my overwhelming feelings of awkwardness and think through her suggestion. “If I have to play lookout, we’ll need you to search the Highwall Collection with Vik. Which means we’ll have to teach you to league.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Will that be difficult?”

I’d like life to assign me a manageable task for once. Make Jo’s semi-complicated chocolate hazelnut birthday cake. Run a slow10K. Read a novel in smallish type. Anything less difficult than (a) leaguing or (b) teaching someone else to league. “The first time Vik and I got it right was an accident,” I say. “When we banished the beasts after the first trial. It took us almost a month to manage it again, and it’s still… Yeah, it’ll be wildly difficult to teach you.”

Candace lifts her chin. “Great. I love wild difficulty. Ihadplanned to drop in on the formal, but I’ll put that on hold for the greater good. You can thank me later. Or now. I take chocolates, tennis bracelets, and poems in praise of my beauty. Extra points for a villanelle.”

“Thanks,” I say. “You’re hot AF.”

“That’s not a villanelle. Okay, to summarize: Norah surveils Mr. Davis and Griffin, Vik lifts his keycard, and Vik and I search the Highwall Collection. Norah, you should join the search after the formal if the coast is clear.”

“The formal’s the week after next, and my dad—” I can’t make myself say,I don’t know how long he has. “We’re teaching you to league on a tight schedule. Meet back here tomorrow at six?”

“All right. See you guys,” Vik says. Without looking at me—or Candace, to be fair, though that feels less pointed—he heads up the footpath.

When he’s out of sight, Candace says, “I heard Eden Ragsdale asked him to Winter Formal yesterday, and he very politely turned her down.”

Eden sits two desks from me in AP Stats. She has a mommy’s-got-money wardrobe and pretty hazel eyes that she accentuates with purple eyeliner. I thought I liked her fine, but nowthe memory of her LV Monogram suede boots makes me want to growl. “Okay.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

“Well, holistically I’m not. We’ve reviewed why.”

“Uh-huh. Why’d you break up with him?”

“I told you.”

“You said something vague about him being a bad idea. What was the real reason?”

I feel trapped and exposed. My shoulders tense like I’m bracing against a slap. “Being close to someone with a bite—”

“Do you think people were justified in treating me like a leper?” Candace interrupts.

“You’re healed.”