The Raging Ones by Krista Ritchie

Author:Krista Ritchie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

EIGHTEEN

Franny

Up the common room staircase, we walk. On the hardwood floor, we stop. Doors curve around a circular hallway, brass plates numbered: 1A, 2A, 3A, 1B …

“So…” I face Mykal and Court’s tired gazes while Influentials push past us, hurrying to their assigned dorms. Ours couldn’t be farther away from one another: 3A for Mykal, 2G for me, 1P for Court.

I gather myself for a short goodbye, the weight of the competition compounding on my shoulders as fiercely as it does on Court. On Mykal. We huddle near one another, their heads dipped toward me.

I hesitate to separate.

They hesitate.

Since I dodged my deathday, I haven’t spent a single night away from Mykal or Court. I didn’t imagine it’d be this difficult. Leaving them has always seemed easier than staying.

“So,” Mykal repeats before taking a step backward.

I force myself the other direction. Court watches Mykal and me turn our backs, the three of us splitting apart without another word. Our emotions speak louder.

I meander slowly along the hardwood, careful not to bump into fast-paced candidates. Emptiness festers, as though I’m missing something.

Someone.

Two of them.

Go back.

I halt and glance over my shoulder, the curved hallway shadowing my view. I’ve always been on my own. Relied on myself. But this call … this longing for someone else pounds at my body like a second and third heartbeat, electrifying the blood in my veins. Rushing to my head. Dizzying.

Go back.

I fight the call. Adding more and more distance. My stomach grumbles, then gurgles—empty but overly full. Which sounds mad in itself.

Rather than shoveling food in my mouth at supper, I tried to consume the five-course meal slowly. But before I even bit into leafy greens, porters carried out sweet pea soup and swept my salad dish away. It happened again and again.

To satiate me, Mykal and Court overate, filling themselves beyond full of lamb, garlic potatoes, gravy, and squash. Court also tried to eat a strawberry and Mykal nearly vomited. We’re a true wobbling mess when it comes to our link.

3F … 1G …

I wonder how many bunk beds will be in each dorm. At the orphanage, I used to clamor for a bottom bunk, colliding hips and arms for the chance to be low to the ground.

I have no problem rooming with other people—I’ve done so all my life—but what if they’re briny by what I do or say and it lasts for ages? I never had the chance to really befriend an Influential and I could easily botch that before it begins.

Passing 2G by accident, I shuffle back, the wooden door partially ajar. Instead of peeking inside, I just walk straight in—gods. There are no bunks.

Golden canopies drape over five humongous beds. All fitting snugly against paneled walls and consuming the small room.

Court briefly mentioned how his childhood bed in Yamafort had had a canopy. All to insulate him from the night’s chill. I imagined canopies would look like the tarps from Bartholo’s black market, not luxury that could exist within the Catherina Hotel.

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