Page 120 of A Heart of Bluestone

Hands tensing in the air, I watch as the little white ball, hollow and soft, hits the middle of the bench, then arches through the frosty air. It arcs for the potions.

And lands right in the festering brown one.

Serena cheers and grabs onto me. I rattle with her shove and pull.

Still, my face brightens with a silly grin.

We won.

3-2.

Then, my breath sucks through me. I grab onto Serena just as the gigantic bubble bobs too close—and swallows us up.

The bubble floats over the heads at the party. There is no one direction it takes, no goal it has in mind. It just floats around and around.

Faces angle up at us, Serena and I, and they brighten with a grin, some rude gestures chucked our way, others wave or laugh.

But Serena and I just chill.

On our backs, we lounge, watching the filmy substance cocoon around us, warp the shadows of the students under us and glisten with the moonlight.

Beside me, Serena rattles on, “Asta is fine. She is,” she shrugs, “aristos.”

The meaning isn’t lost on me.

I nod.

Asta plays by the rules, schemes, gossips, not to be trusted with secrets, but a well enough companion for shopping and spa days.

Asta is aristos.

“She is a friend,” Serena goes on, her voice soft, “but not… What did that made one call it…” she pauses, her mind churning, then she clicks her fingers, “a soul bond.”

Whatever that means.

I understand soulmate as a term.

Soul bond must be of the same cloth.

Again, I nod.

With so many aristos,withAsta, there’s no true personality beneath the polished surface of the masks we all wear. There’s rarely a sincerity in the laughter, or in the smiles, there’s no depth in the conversations shared over coffee or champagne.

Asta has all the shine of a diamond, but with the core of a crystal.

And I’m a lump of coal on the wrong shelf.

“I missed you,” Serena sighs the words, soft.

I turn my cheek to her. My mouth pushes into a pout and, silent, I prod at my throat.

Her eyes roll, a smile dancing on her lips. “No, not because the potion stole your voice. I sincerely missed you.”

I take the flask she offers.

I down the last of the vodka in it, every last drop. And the potion stole more than my voice, it’sallto do with my throat. I don’t even make a gulping sound as I shot back the drink, not a burping gurgle as the air bubbles up my throat.

Silence.

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