Page 130 of Kingmakers, Year Two

“Good. Help me change these sheets, then,” he says, indicating the two despoiled beds.

“I’d be glad to.”

We strip the sheets, and Dr. Cross carries them to his laundry. While he’s gone, I hear an aggressive banging on the door. My heart leaps into my mouth. I run to the door, realizing I forgot to unlock it. I quickly turn the bolt, opening the door to see Dean Yenin’s angry, sweat-soaked face. He’s holding his left arm pinned against his body, the shoulder at an awful angle.

“Get the doctor!” he barks.

I run to oblige.

Dr. Cross hurries back into the room, assessing Dean at a glance.

“We’ll have to pop that back in,” he says. “Girl—what was your name?”

“Cat,” I stammer.

“Hold him steady.”

I do not want to touch Dean Yenin. But I jump to action, by long habits of obedience. Gingerly, I take hold of Dean’s good arm, the muscle iron-hard beneath the skin. He turns to look at me, eyes narrowed, a strange expression on his face.

“Bite on this,” the doctor says, stuffing a strip of leather in Dean’s mouth.

Dean bites down hard as Dr. Cross swings his injured arm upward. Dean lets out a strangled scream, his good hand clutching convulsively at my skirt. He grabs my thigh, and I don’t even feel the pressure of his hand, because I’m distracted by how vulnerable Dean looks when he’s in pain.

He lets go of me abruptly. I do the same.

Dr. Cross manipulates Dean’s arm gingerly, ensuring that his shoulder joint is back in the socket.

“Better?” he says.

“Yes,” Dean replies, his face still pale and sweating.

“I’d better go,” I say. “I’d like to catch the end of theQuartum Bellum.Is it still going on?”

“It is,” Dean says, his eyes fixed on mine.

“Well . . . thank you Dr. Cross,” I say, edging to the door.

“I’ll follow you out,” Dean says.

I don’t like that one bit, but I can’t exactly stop him.

As soon as we’re outside the infirmary, I say, “I’m going to run to catch the end!” and I sprint away from him, with the paranoid sense that I’ll hear his footsteps chasing after me.

He lets me go.

Still, I’m too unnerved to even look over my shoulder as I run through the gates to the makeshift bleachers, hiding myself in the crowd.

25

ZOE

After several grueling hours, when our palms are hamburger and it feels like all of us are about to have our arms pulled out of our sockets like Dean, the Sophomores finally manage to drag the line of flags into our end zone.

We’re too exhausted to even cheer.

The crowd of watching students and teachers is equally tired of sitting in the blazing sun, and can barely muster a response as Professor Howell hoists Leo’s arm in the air, declaring his team the winners of theQuartum Bellumfor the second year in a row.

Leo, at least, retains a little enthusiasm. Sweat-soaked and reeling, he still flashes a bright grin, handing out fist bumps and backslaps to as many teammates as he can reach, while pulling Anna tight against his side with his free arm.

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