Page 28 of A Heart of Bluestone

Star Theory is one of those fewer lessons that take place out of the ordinary hours of school. Supper will be happening in the mess hall now, the meal after dinner, snacks and sandwiches and treats, teas and hot chocolates, and a snoozed peace to the hall. But here we are, calculating predictions based on the placements and the alignments of the stars in the Aquila constellation.

I spend the lesson thinking about supper and if I’ll make it down to the mess hall in time. Sometimes the doors will shut once the buffet is cleared, sometimes it’s open later, all the way to midnight.

Tonight, after class is dismissed, I find that the doors are open—and I am a tad greedy on the treats at the buffet.

My excitement is quick to abandon me.

Slouching over my tray, I prod my spoon into the gooey custard that has lumped and has a flimsy layer of skin stretched over it.

Supper has been out in the buffet too long. Hours too long. And so my gingernut biscuits are stale, and my tea is over-brewed, and the banana slice is too sweaty.

I make a face before I let my spoon clatter to the table.

James is dull dining company this evening, like he is most evenings. Across the round table from me, he just outlines the ghastly, stretched appearance of a poltergeist onto the thick page of his sketchbook.

I spare him a withering look that he doesn’t notice.

Courtney is droning on about predictions, and how her mother’s line must carry dormant witchblood that awakened in her and her brother, since her mother can always tell what roads to avoid before a truck overturns, and that’s not terribly unlike Star Theory—

And I just tune it all out.

Krums have been claiming witchhood since the dawn of time, but have waged a war upon it, too.

It’s all so tedious, but perhaps I’m simply in a mood because my custard is cold and lumpy.

To pretend Courtney has my attention, I hum every so often, spare a nod or two, and ignore my supper entirely.

My gaze wanders to the long table at the far end of the hall.

Most of the faculty have eaten and gone already. Now, it’s just Eric, deep in conversation with his advisor, Master Milton.

I think I stare for a while, because when I do blink out of my daze back to my surroundings, Courtney isn’t rambling on anymore. She’s got her nose buried in an atlas that her tray has been pushed aside for.

My shoulders jerk as a sudden shout splits the hall.

I throw a glare over at the table, on the other side of the mess hall, and more glares follow from the few students still hanging around.

Oliver has his arms in the air, hands fisted, a cheer of triumph. The shout came from him.

I guess he just won whatever card game is splayed out over the table. His faceless cards sparkle with gold dust and, before he drops his hands back down, he smacks them together in a too-aggressive clap.

Landon scoffs and tosses a few coins. They hit the table with a clatter, and the moment they do, the cards start to shuffle themselves.

Serena has her cheek turned to the game. She smiles around gentle spoken words to Asta beside her.

With a sigh, I’m about to look away, to maybe grab my things and leave the too-boisterous mess hall, before glass cuts my gaze.

I flicker my stare to the light blue eyes fixed on me.

My heart drops to my gut.

Dray is looking right at me.

Our gazes lock.

His jaw flexes.

Whatever I’ve done to piss him off is a mystery to me. It might be just that I’m here, alive, breathing.

---