Chapter 21
Aryl
GO BACK TO THE FARM.
The handwriting’s the same as the message on Ver’s door. We’ve come here for respite from that graffiti, to sit down and strategize, but we’ve only found more of the same.
Heads peek out of doors. Snickers echo. Several apprentices lean against the walls, watching Ver and me. Rhea, who’s leaving the showers wrapped in a towel, runs a hand through her damp silvery hair, smirks at me, and vanishes into her room.
“It wasn’t any of us, if that’s what you’re thinking,” says one of our dance teammates, before following Rhea.
The scene around me blurs. Memories take over: That time when I was eight and wore a Two-style hemp dress to school and got pushed down in the mud. That time I was thirteen and Ford’s first girlfriend told me to wash my hands before I touched Ford’s food so I wouldn’t stink it up or give him an infection. Mom never let me serve the Mercures, so I don’t know where she got the idea that I was Ford’s waitress.
GO BACK TO THE FARM. The child inside me is screaming.
I want to ask my friends, some of whom have been in the dorm all morning, why they didn’t stop this from happening. I want to decompose into a dirt mound on the floor. I want to run away.
But I don’t do any of that. Instead I turn to Ver and say, “Hey, we match now.”
Ver’s shaking so hard, the tip of her cane is bouncing all over the floor. She takes me by the arm with her free hand and heads back toward the elevators. I let Ver lead me out of the building and across the Institute grounds, past people curiously watching the two murderers, until we make it to the campus store. Inside, Ver clatters through the aisles, and I follow. She points to items on the shelves; I snatch them up and carry them.
We buy a liter of steel-colored paint, a roller, and a brush for twenty-seven Feyncoins, pooling the money from our dwindling accounts. The mindless robot cashier logs our purchases and says nothing.
Returning to the dorms, we cover up the hateful graffiti on my door. It’s late, and the hallway has cleared.
We go to Ver’s dorm and do hers. By the time we’re done, our eyes are wet. My heart feels full of too many things, like it’s gotten too big for my chest and might break a rib.
“What was the point of cleaning up their mess, anyway?” I say.
Ver lifts her eyes to mine and shrugs. “To show them they will not win so easily.”
Cutting words are no match for Ver’s spirit. I can’t believe I’ve been viewing her as a rival, a possible enemy, instead of realizing what an incredible ally she’d make. I hope she’ll stay at my side until all this is over.