“Is that a problem? Do you have to quote the source on common legends?”
“No, of course not. But if it’s not a known variant, like if there is a major particular detail that is very different, you could trace the source.”
“So what’s the point?” I take the stairs two at a time after him.
“Faye’s father unearthed that poem from a ship burial four years ago. This book, by Johann Vangarde? It was published nearly a hundred years before that.”
“So ask Anders about it.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a problem with that.”
?
?What?” Pulling information out of this kid is harder than getting extra bread in a chow line. And he dogged me for holding back info?
“I need to talk to my sister, first.” He’s reaching for his phone, but I stop him.
“You can talk to her tomorrow, man. Let it be for tonight.”
He sighs, nods, but doesn’t put the phone down.
“I may have gotten some local folklore on the crow stuff, tonight,” I say, and it works, he puts the cell in his pocket.
“You’ve been in the library?”
“Hell, no. I was talking to this woman who works here, in the kitchen. She knows Sonja’s mother.”
“She say where Sonja is?” When I shake my head, he asks, “What were you doing in the kitchen?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Maybe it is,” he challenges. “Maybe you need to stop keeping secrets. Why were you in the kitchen?”
I clench my teeth, breathe in. “I’ve been working off my fight with Marcus.”
“Doing dishes? That explains why your shoes are soaked every night when you come in. Okay, so you met this woman—”
“Constance. The cook. She’s part Native American.”
“Why didn’t you tell us you were punished for the fight?” he asks. I don’t answer, and he eventually asks, “So what did she say?”
“Tyrell, Erikssen, curfew.” Jeremy, my personal warden, calls from the dormitory steps. He needs to find a new project. One other than me.
“Come on, I’ll tell you inside,” I tell Julian, pushing past College Boy without meeting his eyes.
16.
Misbehavior
I give up on sleep sometime after 3 am, and shove the tangled sheets off my restless legs. My pillow is a mangled lump, smeared with yesterday’s mascara. Between crying over my idiot brother’s stupid mouth and doing my damnedest not to dream, I’ve slept maybe an hour.
The mirror isn’t kind this morning, either. I give it the finger and notice my nail is chipped. I find a file and my brightest red polish, Cardinal Rhapsody. If Julian wants to call me a slut, I’ll give him reason to.
Faye is already gone when I get out of the shower. A note on the desk says she is at the library and will meet me at the study room. I’d faked sleep when she’d come in last night, all glowing smiles and dancing in her boots. She’d reached for her phone twice, changed her mind and set it down. I’d almost ‘woken up’ to ask her if the performing arts cutie with the gingery hair was the one to walk her home.
I lace up my most outrageous sandals, tug down the hem of my shortest skirt, and smooth a flyaway wisp of hair into my ponytail before walking out the door, five dollar bill in my hand for the fanciest coffee I can buy. Extra caramel, too, please.
Faye and I aren’t the only ones up and out this early. Zoe and Danielle sit near the fountain. Closer to the dining hall, Ethan’s got his camera out. More than once, his lens focuses in my direction. I pretend not to notice. “How was Julian this morning?” I ask him when he slides into the line behind me at the coffee kiosk. “Still pissed off?”