One class a day, five days a week, never quite enough time to shake off the pressure before it descended on me all over again. Maybe I wouldn’t have minded as much if I’d still had more to do in between, but now that I’d worked through the initial hurdles, being allowed to attend regular classes where I could have achieved a goal or two would have been too welcome a distraction, no doubt. These days all I had were my assigned teachings, maintenance duties, and twice weekly “counseling” sessions.
Most of the students were already getting up, but Trix had simply sat up straighter in her seat, raising her hand. My chest tightened. When I pretended to be so occupied straightening the stack of textbooks on my desk that I hadn’t noticed her, she got up, waving off whatever Ryo said to her, and strode toward me.
Hell, no. I’d promised myself no more investing in pointless causes. I didn’t need any reminders of how epically I’d already failed in the areas that mattered most, no matter what other emotions her determined air stirred up inside me.
I grabbed one copy of the textbook to prep for tomorrow’s lesson and ducked out of the room without so much as a glance her way.
Even with the heavy book tucked under my arm, my feet didn’t stop walking until they’d carried me right out of the school. The clouds congealing in the sky glowered down at me. I resisted the momentary desire to give them the middle finger—A DeLeon is never uncouth, my grandfather’s voice admonished me from the back of my head—and let myself wander all the way down to the main wall with its draping of thorny brambles.
I didn’t have to follow it far before I reached the scattered trees at the edge of the denser forest that would hide me from anyone watching from the main school building. There, my pace slowed. I considered the blooms I passed, stopping and studying the ruddy petals. This one looked fresh and healthy enough. This one was wilting along the edges. And this one—the outer petals were already half shriveled, threads of brown rot seeping down to the base. It wasn’t holding on much longer.
That was the way of things. Some beings thrived and others wasted away. There was only so much potential to go around.
I could tell myself that over and over, like the mantra it’d been since my childhood, but I couldn’t say I completely believed it anymore. This place had beaten the faith out of me. I couldn’t even believe it’d been the right faith to base my life around in the first place.
Although that epiphany I couldn’t credit to the school.
The book I was holding twitched against my arm. I held it out in front of me, and the cover swung open of its own accord. At this point, the sight of the pages flipping as if in a sharp but deliberate wind was familiar enough not to be disturbing. After a brief ruffling, the book settled open to page fifty-four. Behold, tomorrow’s problem. At least, tomorrow’s problem as this book felt like presenting it right now. Who knew how it might change once we got into it?
My body balked for just a second. Then I sighed and sat down on the patchy grass with my back against an oak’s trunk. Why put off work you can get done right away? That was the lazy route, and DeLeons weren’t slackers.
While everyone else in my room was settling in for the night, I roamed around the library and then the first floor rooms, doing my best to occupy myself and ignore the creeping fatigue that demanded rest.
I had to sleep, at least a little. No amount of self-discipline could remove that need. But if I held my eyes open for as long as humanly possible, the sleep I did get could be brief and intense, if not completely satisfying.
It was never going to be satisfying, no matter how long I lay in bed. If I couldn’t maximize the benefits, the most practical strategy was to minimize the unpleasant bits.
As I came around the staircase toward the dean’s office, my gaze caught on a flash of orange hair. I halted.
Trix was standing in the hall next to the stairs, studying one of the portraits as if searching for a deeper meaning within it. As I watched, she sucked her lower lip under her teeth, the uncertain gesture at odds with the resolve in her stance.
A pang shot through my chest. A dozen things I’d have liked to say, half of them contradicting each other, rose up to my throat. Rather than risk them coming out, I backed away to the sitting room and forced myself to sink into one of the armchairs.
After a few minutes, her footsteps creaked up the stairs. I waited another few and then ventured out again.
Maybe it was because of that brief sighting, or maybe I’d have made the gesture anyway, but I headed into the kitchen to see what pickings were left after the dinner shift. The napkin I spread on the counter easily held a pear that was probably mealy if the ones we’d eaten at lunch were anything to go by, a hard roll I sliced open and stuffed with an equally hard chunk of cheese, and a tin of sardines that might or might not appeal. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, as Trix probably would have said. And we were all beggars in this equation, really.
I knotted the corners of the napkin and headed outside. The clouds had partly cleared for the night, filmy strands drifting between swaths of deeper darkness that glinted with stars. The half-moon cast a thin glow over the lawn, but I’d walked this route enough times, with or without a gift, that I didn’t need it to make my way into the woods. Most nights, I ended up out here. The cooler air kept me awake that much longer.
Because I did come bearing gifts, I picked my way toward the deepest part of the forest rather than sticking to the easier paths closer to the wall. I wasn’t sure exactly how large the campus grounds were, but I could walk for nearly an hour in this direction before hitting the far end. Tonight, it took about twenty minutes at a steady pace before another set of feet crunched over the twig-strewn ground.
I stopped and turned around. The guy I’d been expecting stalked between the trees, his hands dug deep in his pockets and his hair so rumpled I could tell it was messy even in the barest glimmer of light that penetrated the leaves overhead. I guessed at this point, the way he was living, he didn’t see much point in bothering with a comb.
As soon as you let appearances go, you might as well throw it all away, my grandfather muttered through my memories.
Shut up, Grandpa, I replied silently. Words I’d never dared say to his face while I had the chance.
“Pickings were pretty slim, as usual,” I said, holding out the napkin.
The other guy took it and let the corners fall open. “Looks like a fucking feast to me. I’m not going to complain.” He looked up at me, his mouth slanting into a crooked smile. “Thanks. It’s always nice getting a little variety.”
He dug into the roll-and-cheese with a ripping sound that made me think about what he must eat out here the rest of the time. I guessed most of that time he wasn’t in a state where he cared.
I couldn’t have said exactly why I’d started making these periodic overtures. It’d just seemed like a natural thing to do when I was wandering the woods during these hours anyway. Maybe the impulse had been sparked by the memory of the guy in front of me springing to his feet in the middle of one of his first math classes under my watch and shouting, “This is bullshit.” A potent punch of honesty and anger that I’d never dared to express myself, as much as I agreed with it.
Not so different from the attitudes I appreciated in Trix, which I guessed was fitting.