Infatuate (12 page)

“No idea.”

“It looks kind of vintagey, you know? And the boots. I bet she’s one of those girls who shops in thrift stores and somehow looks better than people who dress head to toe in designer everything even though she spends, like, three dollars. I hate those girls.”

“I’m sorry, that’s just how some of us roll,” I said as a joke. Sabine nudged her shoulder into me, acknowledging that me as a fashion plate was a humorous idea.

“That’s it. We’re going to find the nearest thrift shop and hit it together,” she said. Then, just as quickly, she turned back to Lance. They seemed to have so much to talk about tonight. I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. I didn’t like this feeling. I had had the sense, since earlier in the year, that he belonged to me, that we belonged to each other in some strange, unspoken way that transcended any typical, ephemeral high school relationship. We had gone through so much together, things that no one else could really, completely understand. I didn’t like the idea that I could be the kind of girl who would become so possessive.

Sabine’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “I’m running to the ladies’, be right back.”

Lance slouched in his seat, taking a sip from a hurricane. “She seems cool,” he said.

“I have crazy stuff to tell you,” I blurted out, unable to control myself now that Sabine was out of earshot. His face fell, not in fear but in disappointment, as though reality was trespassing on his good time.

“Is it life threatening?” he asked.

I thought for a moment. “No. I guess it’s not.”

“Then, later. Join me in being totally normal for a few minutes.” He looked around. “All of these people have nothing to worry about,” he said, shaking his head like it was a revelation. “That one”—he pointed in the direction Sabine had gone—“has no worries.” This, of course, couldn’t be further from the truth. But even so, I changed tack.

“So what do you know about Barthelemy Lafon?” I asked.

“What do I know about Lafon? What do
you
know about Lafon?”

“I know that he was an architect and city planner in New Orleans and that he’s resting much more comfortably tonight in a stunningly painted tomb, thanks to yours truly.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep, I painted his grave the other day.”

“You don’t have to be too obliging. I mean, what he did with the Garden District and the city’s grid system is awesome, but he ended up becoming a pirate and a smuggler.” With a straw, he speared at the ice left in his glass.

“Well, in that case, I’ll scuff it up a little tomorrow.”

“Now, if you get to Benjamin Latrobe, then let me know.”

“He did the U.S. Capitol, right? He’s on my list.”

“He’s a rock star in the architecture world.”

“I’ll take good care of him.”

The chair between us scraped back and Sabine plunked down in it, guzzling a hurricane. “Whaddid I miss?” she asked both of us, but didn’t wait for an answer. She pointed to her already half-empty glass. “These are amazing, especially when they’re free!”

“Um, not to be—” I started.

“Narc!”
Dante shouted, suddenly listening in. “
Narc!
Over here!”

I glared at him but turned back to Sabine. “I just mean, I think they . . . pack a punch.” I stirred my nearly full drink with my straw.

“That’s the idea!” she said brightly.

“So who bought it for you?” Max asked, leaning in.

“One of the guys who was with that hot blond girl.” She jerked her head in the direction of the interior bar. “His name is Wylie.” Her eyes danced as she said it.

“Of course it is,” I said.

“He’s
so
cute. I mean, did you see him?”

“He is. I don’t think ugly Wylies exist.” I was torn—I wanted to encourage Sabine, but without feeling like I was feeding her to the wolves. My scars were warning me that there was something off with that group. So I added quietly, “I don’t know about his friends, though.”

But Sabine was barely paying attention. “And I don’t see what the big deal is with these.” She held up her drink. “It doesn’t taste so strong. It just tastes delicious! What’s in here?”

“Rum,” Lance answered. “Careful.” That was the Lance I knew.

“Lots of rum,” I added.

“Huh.” She studied it, shrugged, and lowered her head to keep drinking. The level of the liquid sank fast. She popped back up. “I think I’m going to need another.”

Soon after Sabine pounded down her third hurricane, our group quickly reached the consensus that it was time to go. She had slumped back in her chair like a rag doll, on the verge of sleep. With Brody and Lance holding her upright, she stumbled out of the bar. The walk back to the house was just a few blocks, but it took a while, punctuated by some dry heaving that had us worried. We missed curfew. The house lay quiet, and if Connor heard our late arrival, he didn’t bother confronting us about it.

Brody flopped Sabine into her bed, where she landed flat on her back, limbs sprawled. I nestled a bottle of water into bed beside her, and we all said our good nights. As soon as everyone left our room, she rolled slowly onto her side, moaning as though she was about to be sick.

“You okay over there?” I asked, pulling my scrubs out of the dresser. I was sorry the night had ended this way. Clearly, we wouldn’t be having any serious talks with her in this state.

“Yeeeeeah,” she groaned. “I just need to sleep it off.”

A thought occurred to me: “Hey, you don’t think there was anything in your drink, do you? You took one of those leaves today, right?”

“Yeahyeahyeah, this morning. I have a few left. Don’t worry. This is all the booze.” She slurred her words. “I know the difference.” This came out sounding certain, without question. I was impressed. I still wasn’t sure if I would’ve been able to tell the difference between the toxins we’d once fallen prey to and just average, run-of-the-mill alcohol or food poisoning.

“Good, just making sure.”

“I’m not a bad person, you know,” she piped up, catching me off-guard.

“I know.” I laughed. “Of course not. I’m just sorry you’re feeling bad.”

“I gotta let off steam sometimes, you know?”

“Sure.” I didn’t know where this was coming from. But she probably wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning, anyway.

“Don’t you ever have nights like this?” she asked in a whimper.

The answer, of course, was no, for better or worse. But I pretended to think about it longer than I needed to as I finished getting dressed. “Well, I could argue that it’s a character flaw on my part that I don’t have enough nights like this. Maybe that makes me . . .
weird.
” I was being honest. Fitting in had never been my strong suit, but I was kind of used to it at this point.

“Lance thinks you’re insanely perfect.” She said it in such a way that it didn’t seem like a compliment.

I stopped. And turned around. “Whaddya mean?”

“He thinks you’re perfect. That’s what he said,” she went on, drowsily. “He thinks you’re too tough for your own good sometimes.”

Much as I wanted to hear more, I didn’t want Sabine to know how much I cared what Lance thought. “You’re crazy,” I said, trying to smile. “Get some sleep, okay?” I gathered my things to brush my teeth and was almost out the door when she let out a hopeless heavy sigh.

“Don’t you need a break from it all sometimes?” Her tone had softened. “To just forget about it?” I knew she was talking about us in the grander sense, what we were and this secret we shared. “Isn’t what’s on our shoulders kind of a lot? I don’t know why we got stuck with this.” She sounded defeated. I closed the door and sat down on the floor by her bed.

“I don’t know either. But I guess I feel like if I let my guard down for one minute, then that’s it for me,” I tried to explain. “I just, like, don’t trust the world anymore, you know? I feel like a target. I can’t afford to be anything less than completely present and ready for anything.” Fun seemed like a luxury I didn’t quite get to have, at least not in any sort of abundance.

“It’s so freaking exhausting, though.” Her lifeless arm hung over the edge of the bed. “Why aren’t you worn-out by it all?”

“I am. Trust me!” I shook my head. But getting to talk about this with someone new, someone besides Dante and Lance, was comforting.

Her heavy lids fluttered closed. “So sleepy . . .”

“Good, go to bed.” I tucked her arm back onto the bed and flipped off the light.

When I finally nestled into my bed, waiting for sleep to overtake me, I suddenly remembered to check my cell. Reaching down to my bag on the floor, I fumbled around and pulled out my phone. A new message lit up, received just after ten o’clock tonight.

Tomorrow you will begin training once more. Prepare for the unexpected, but trust in the merit of even the most unorthodox of practices.

Those few words found a home at the pit of my stomach. I was so lost in my worries that I almost missed the flicker of light—on-off, so fast tonight—from that house across the way.

9. I’m Sorry I Had to Do That

The relentless pounding on the door just wouldn’t stop. It shook the entire wall, then the entire room. I even felt it rattling in my head. I expected to open my eyes and be back at the Lexington Hotel, when plenty of bad dreams, and worse realities, had begun that way. But this time it was outside our door.

“Get up!”
a voice shouted, punctuated by a
BANG BANG BANG.
I sprang up in bed. Sabine just moaned and rolled over. The room was still pitch-black, probably hours before dawn. My clock confirmed it: 4:04 a.m. The pounding came again. I flew down the ladder to answer it, but before I could get there, the door burst open from a swift kick. I gasped as Connor shone a flashlight at Sabine in bed—she just turned her head away—and then at me, standing there frozen.

“Get up, ladies!” he barked at us. It was the version of Connor we had glimpsed at dinner, not the easygoing college guy who played pickup basketball games. “Never seen anyone move so slow! Five minutes to pack for the retreat. Meet in the common room. Go, go,
go!
”

I was too stunned to even string words together but hungover Sabine managed to croak, “Where are we going?”

“Four minutes!” he called on his way out the door.

“But we don’t even know what to bring!” she cried out after him.

“Three minutes!” He continued banging on other doors as he made his way down the hall.

I finally found my voice again. “What’s with that guy? He started out so nice.”

“Lunatic.” Sabine shook her head, then put her hand to it. “Owww.”

Minutes later, Connor ushered us all outside, with hastily packed duffel bags and suitcases in tow. Fast, fast, fast, he marched us down to a van waiting in front of our house.

The streets were deserted, the sky still black. No one spoke. The only sound was the soft, steady whoosh of tires on pavement as we rolled out of the city and onto empty country roads. Dante and a few others dozed. Brody played games on his phone. Lance and I took turns gazing out the window and watching Connor, who drove stone-faced. Even when our eyes connected in the rearview mirror, his glance betrayed not the slightest emotion. My mind raced through a million scenarios, all horrific, most involving some variation of Connor being one of
them.
As the first light of day broke on the horizon, we pulled off onto a dirt path leading back through lush tree-canopied land, the ground saturated beneath our wheels. “Off-roading, all right!” Brody whispered.

Connor pulled right up to a small dock with a lone boat awaiting passengers. He stopped the van, opened the door, and waved us out. “All aboard!” he shouted.

The deck swerved beneath me as I lunged to step in the boat, trying to secure my footing. A wooden bench ran down the middle of it, with seats on both sides. I took my place between Lance and Dante, who whispered, “So awesome. I’ve been dying for a swamp tour!”

Thick cypress trees lined both banks, their heavy branches drooping to touch the wet ground. From the wild, overgrown vegetation surrounding us to the murky swamp water below, the world here consisted solely of a palette of greens, some vibrant, others viscous. Birds called out at the rising sun; a chorus of insects chirped in unison. Sabine was the last to board the boat, hesitating on the narrow, warped pier. At first I thought she was going to be sick—she was so hungover—but her ashen face seemed to register true fear.

“C’mon, time to roll out,” Connor said, cutting her no slack. She shook her head, her feet rooted in place. Finally, he scooped her up in what would’ve been a bear hug under different circumstances and lifted her right into the boat. The rest of us watched, mouths agape. I squeezed closer to Lance and waved Sabine over to sit between me and Dante. She looked in my eyes only a second, then let her lids close. Her hands, folded primly on her lap, trembled. Connor took the helm and the motor sputtered and roared as we set off, skimming along the algae-coated water, cool wind whipping and a soft spray kicking up at us.

Sabine looked like she was in pain; eyes still closed, she sat hunched, arms crossed. I put my hand on her back and asked, “Are you seasick? If you lean down and get blood rushing to your head, you’ll feel better.”

“That’s not it,” she said flatly.

Connor steered us into a narrow bend where a tree seemed to be growing right out of the water, and he cut the engine. Dante walked over to the railing, reaching out and letting his fingertips graze the Spanish moss hanging like fringed sleeves over the cypress branches. Max joined him. Collectively, our group loosened up.

“I want y’all to breathe in that fresh swampy air!” Connor said, taking a deep breath. He pulled out a long stick propped against the engine and grabbed a white bag from the floor, tearing it open with his teeth. “Look alive,” he called to Dante, tossing something his way. Dante caught it and held it up: a campfire-suitable marshmallow.

“Yum! Are we making s’mores?” he asked.

“Nope!” Connor said cheerily. He speared a marshmallow with the stick and leaned over, tapping it in the water. “Check this out.” He waved. Everyone looked over, craning their necks. River got up to stand near Connor.