upside-down plastic bin Adam used as a bedside table.
Gansey stood and put on his coat.
“I think,” he said, “that if — when — we find Glendower, I will ask him for Noah’s life. Do you think that would work?”
It was such a non sequitur from the previous conversation topic that Adam didn’t immediately answer. He merely looked at Gansey. Something was different about him; he’d changed while Adam’s back had been turned. The crease between his eyebrows? The way he ducked his chin? The tighter set to his mouth, perhaps, as responsibility tugged the corners down.
Adam couldn’t remember how they had managed to fight so continuously over the summer. Gansey, his best friend, his stupid and kind and marvelous best friend.
He replied, “No. But I think it is worth asking.”
Gansey nodded, once. Twice. “Sorry for keeping you up late. See you tomorrow?”
“First thing.”
After Gansey had gone, Adam fetched the hidden letter. In it was his father’s rescheduled court date. A remote part of Adam marveled that the mere sight of the words Robert Parrish could twist his stomach in a muddy, homesick way.
Eyes forward, Adam. Soon it would be behind him. Soon this school year, too, would be behind him. Soon they would find Glendower, soon they would all be kings. Soon, soon.
13
T
he next day after school, Blue sat at the table with a spoon in one hand and Lysistrata , the play she’d chosen to analyze for English, in the other. ( It’s not easy, you
know, for women to get away. One’s busy pottering about her husband; poking the servant awake; putting her child asleep or washing the brat or feeding it. ) Gray drizzle pressed against the windows of the cluttered kitchen.
Blue was not thinking about Lysistrata . She was thinking about Gansey and the Gray Man, Maura and the cave of ravens.
Suddenly, a shadow the exact size and shape of her cousin Orla fell across the table.
“I get that Maura is away, but that is no reason to go around being a social tard,” Orla said by way of hello. “Also, when was the last time you ate a food that wasn’t yogurt?”
Sometimes Blue couldn’t take Orla. This was one of those times. She didn’t look up. “Don’t be offensive.”
“Charity told me that T.J. asked you out today and you just stared at him.”
“What?”
“T.J. asked you out. You just stared at him. Ringing bells?” Orla had long since graduated from Mountain View High, but she was still friends or ex-girlfriends with her entire class, and the collective power of all of those younger siblings served to provide Orla with a view, somewhat incomplete, of Blue’s current high school life.
Blue looked up (and up, and up) at her tall cousin. “At lunch, T.J. came over to my table and drew a penis on the unicorn on my binder. Is that the incident Charity is referring to?”
“Don’t Richard Gansey the Third at me,” Orla replied.
“Because if that’s what she meant, then yes, I just stared at him. I didn’t realize it was a conversation because penis .”
Orla flared her nostrils magnificently. “Here’s some advice: Sometimes people are just trying to be friendly. You can’t expect everyone to be profound all the time. There’s just chatting.”
“I chat ,” Blue retorted. The T.J. incident hadn’t offended her, although she’d preferred her unicorn non-gendered. It had just made her feel wearily older than everyone in the school. “Do you mind? I’m trying to get this done before Gansey gets here.” ( O Zeus, what throbbing suffering! )
“You can be just friends with people, you know,” Orla said. “I think it’s crazy how you’re in love with all those raven boys.”
Orla wasn’t wrong, of course. But what she didn’t realize about Blue and her boys was that they were all in love with one another. She was no less obsessed with them than they were with her, or one another, analyzing every conversation and gesture, drawing out every joke into a longer and longer running gag, spending
Gansey stood and put on his coat.
“I think,” he said, “that if — when — we find Glendower, I will ask him for Noah’s life. Do you think that would work?”
It was such a non sequitur from the previous conversation topic that Adam didn’t immediately answer. He merely looked at Gansey. Something was different about him; he’d changed while Adam’s back had been turned. The crease between his eyebrows? The way he ducked his chin? The tighter set to his mouth, perhaps, as responsibility tugged the corners down.
Adam couldn’t remember how they had managed to fight so continuously over the summer. Gansey, his best friend, his stupid and kind and marvelous best friend.
He replied, “No. But I think it is worth asking.”
Gansey nodded, once. Twice. “Sorry for keeping you up late. See you tomorrow?”
“First thing.”
After Gansey had gone, Adam fetched the hidden letter. In it was his father’s rescheduled court date. A remote part of Adam marveled that the mere sight of the words Robert Parrish could twist his stomach in a muddy, homesick way.
Eyes forward, Adam. Soon it would be behind him. Soon this school year, too, would be behind him. Soon they would find Glendower, soon they would all be kings. Soon, soon.
13
T
he next day after school, Blue sat at the table with a spoon in one hand and Lysistrata , the play she’d chosen to analyze for English, in the other. ( It’s not easy, you
know, for women to get away. One’s busy pottering about her husband; poking the servant awake; putting her child asleep or washing the brat or feeding it. ) Gray drizzle pressed against the windows of the cluttered kitchen.
Blue was not thinking about Lysistrata . She was thinking about Gansey and the Gray Man, Maura and the cave of ravens.
Suddenly, a shadow the exact size and shape of her cousin Orla fell across the table.
“I get that Maura is away, but that is no reason to go around being a social tard,” Orla said by way of hello. “Also, when was the last time you ate a food that wasn’t yogurt?”
Sometimes Blue couldn’t take Orla. This was one of those times. She didn’t look up. “Don’t be offensive.”
“Charity told me that T.J. asked you out today and you just stared at him.”
“What?”
“T.J. asked you out. You just stared at him. Ringing bells?” Orla had long since graduated from Mountain View High, but she was still friends or ex-girlfriends with her entire class, and the collective power of all of those younger siblings served to provide Orla with a view, somewhat incomplete, of Blue’s current high school life.
Blue looked up (and up, and up) at her tall cousin. “At lunch, T.J. came over to my table and drew a penis on the unicorn on my binder. Is that the incident Charity is referring to?”
“Don’t Richard Gansey the Third at me,” Orla replied.
“Because if that’s what she meant, then yes, I just stared at him. I didn’t realize it was a conversation because penis .”
Orla flared her nostrils magnificently. “Here’s some advice: Sometimes people are just trying to be friendly. You can’t expect everyone to be profound all the time. There’s just chatting.”
“I chat ,” Blue retorted. The T.J. incident hadn’t offended her, although she’d preferred her unicorn non-gendered. It had just made her feel wearily older than everyone in the school. “Do you mind? I’m trying to get this done before Gansey gets here.” ( O Zeus, what throbbing suffering! )
“You can be just friends with people, you know,” Orla said. “I think it’s crazy how you’re in love with all those raven boys.”
Orla wasn’t wrong, of course. But what she didn’t realize about Blue and her boys was that they were all in love with one another. She was no less obsessed with them than they were with her, or one another, analyzing every conversation and gesture, drawing out every joke into a longer and longer running gag, spending
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