a coffee klatch.” I rolled my eyes. “He killed three suckers at the other Schola, Shanks. He’s good

protection.”

“I’m not worried about suckers just yet. I’m worried about him going crazy and opening you up like

a can of Pringles.”

I was getting to the point where that thought was losing its ability to scare me. “Well, then this will

all be academic, won’t it? And everyone will be ever so much happier without the problem that is

me hanging around.” I shuffled over to the side of the bed, picked up the sleeping bag and the pillow. “That’s what I’m doing. I’ll stash myself someplace nobody except Graves will think of to look

for me. You just hang out by the door until Benjamin comes to check in on me, and pretend I’m in

the room. And ta-da, tomorrow Graves should be back and calmed down enough to be reasonable

and we’ll figure out . . . something else.”

Like getting the hell out of this place. Hey, you can even come along. The more the merrier. I

sounded hopeless even inside my own head.

Shanks was looking at me weird.“He’ll be back tonight. I’ll stick around and wait for him, I guess.

You really want to do this, Dru-girl?”

I’d had about all I could take of boys looking at me funny, but I gave him a smile that hurt my face.

My split lip cracked a little, and the bruises all twinged. “Yeah. What’s the worst that could happen?”

As soon as I said it I wished I hadn’t. But Shanks just shook his dark head, opened the door, and

peered outside, sniffing. “It’s clear,” he finally muttered. “Come on, then.”

“Thanks. I mean it. For everything.” I shifted the sleeping bag around and winced when my arm almost cramped, the way bruises do when they settle down to the painful business of healing.

As usual when I thanked him, he shook it off and snorted. “Always was too curious for my own

good. Be careful, okay?”

“I will be.” And I set off down the hall before either of us could get any more embarrassed.

Jealousy

CHAPTER TWENTY

The metal shelf was hard, and I probably should have brought my sneakers down here with me. And

an extra blanket. But I just unrolled the sleeping bag and made sure the key was in my pocket for

the fiftieth time.

You know that feeling—you’ve got your bus ticket or something important in your pocket, and you

have to keep checking just to make sure it’s there? Like that. It’s like a nervous tic or something

when you’re traveling or really, really bushed. Or maybe I’m the only person who does it, I don’t

know.

Ash’s breathing was steady. He lay curled up under the shelf-bed, and there was another sticky tray