Finn turns—the black book known as Sir Bird open in his hands—and smiles.
Seventeen
“I WONDER WHETHER THE ACADEMICS AT THIS institution are as rigid as they ought to be.” Finn looks pointedly at the slate I left on my desk. Someone has drawn a crude rendition of a woman’s body—mine, probably—along with mathematical equations for the size of her rather impressive bosom.
Go back to your island, rat is scrawled at the bottom.
“Yes,” I say, dryly. “Their calculations are entirely wrong. It reflects poorly on the school.” I drop my satchel at my feet. The sight of Finn in his dark blue three-piece suit sitting in my study carrel is too much. “What are you doing here? And what did you do at the hotel? You had no right!”
“I’m sorry about that. But I intend on taking up more of your time than you can afford to lose, and thought it only fair you have fewer responsibilities.”
“That’s not your decision! And—wait, what is that on my slate?” I lean over his shoulder, squinting. Next to the line about going back to my island is an odd symbol that I don’t recognize. It seems to have been etched there. I reach out a finger to run over it, but Finn blocks my arm.
“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”
Hugh, a lanky boy with a perpetual sniffle, stands up from his carrel three down from mine. “Can I borrow a pen and inkwell? Mine won’t seem to work.” A boy next to him hands one over. “No, this one won’t work either.”
“It was working fine for me, give it here. See?”
“But it won’t write for me! Neither will this pen.” Hugh growls in frustration and then sits back down out of sight. “Spirits below, what is happening? Not even my chalk will show up on slate. Here, let me have a go at yours.”
There’s low, confused murmuring. Again the other boy says, “It works fine for me.”
“Why won’t any of my instruments mark?” Hugh walks by, smashing a piece of chalk against a small slate. It leaves no mark.
Finn stands, moving out of the way for me to sit in my carrel. “Hmm. Puzzling.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with you, now, would it?” I ask.
He shrugs, long, slender shoulders lazily rising. “
I may have put a curse on whoever wrote that horrid thing. Just a small one. Though I suppose a month without being able to write something down will be inconvenient for a student.”
The laugh that bursts out of my mouth earns me the ire of everyone around us. I put my gloved fingers to my mouth, trying to push some of the mirth back in. “I am still very cross with you.”
“Making you cross with me is a full-time occupation.” He wanders to a leather chair near a series of shelves holding old newspapers and sits down. I follow him, shoving the needed book into my satchel.
“I have class.”
He waves a hand, mimicking my Melenese gesture perfectly. “Quit bothering me. I’m reading. This is a library, after all.”
“We’re not done discussing what you did at the hotel.”
“I should hope not.” His lips curl into a smile, but his eyes remain fixed on the pages of the book.
Infuriating boy!
When I return to my carrel that afternoon, Finn is still in the same chair. This time he’s thumbing through a newspaper.
“You can’t stay in the library all day!” I hiss, sitting next to him.
“This is a school. Studying is encouraged.”
“What exactly are you studying?”
He folds the paper and gives me his cat grin. “History students.”
My face burns, and I need something to do with my hands. And my feet. My whole body, really. I stand and gather my things, then stalk outside toward home until I realize I haven’t any work to hurry back to. “Curse you,” I mutter at my shadow. “You may be content with doing nothing, but some of us need to be busy.”