Page 31 of Switching Graves

“What’s your major?” Ava asks, ignoring her friend’s playful jab and my intrusive staring.

“Psychology with a minor in sociology.”

“Oooh, a girl set on saving the world. I like.”

Shrugging, I look toward my feet. “I just think there’s not enough compassion for people with mental disorders.”

“You must know someone who suffers, then,” Ava surmises. It’s not said in a rude or nosey way, just like she understands.

“I’m sure everyone does,” I say vaguely with a noncommittal shrug. Then, when I feel guilty for hardly answering, I go on to add, “Therapy is like planting little seeds of hope inside someone’s head. They’ve still got to put in the work, watering the seeds and nurturing the soil. That’s what I want to help with. Once we do that, the flowers that bloom are beautiful.”

The guilt disappears into mortification when a pregnant pause sits between us as they process what I’m saying with open mouths and eyebrows practically stuck to their hairline. I want to step back and slam the door to end the torture of this horrible, awkward moment.

Of course, I overshared and made it weird.

Beatrix is the first to recover. “That’s way better than studying documents written by old white men,” she jokes, and Ava swings her head toward her with a scowl.

“You’re the worst,” she says with a laugh, pushing her away.

I stand before them quietly, my mouth twisted into an awkward smile. Ironically, that’s exactly how I’ve spent my time at Ravenshurst so far.

Ava dramatically swings her body to give Beatrix her back, rolling her eyes. Then, her face grows serious. “I’m sure you’ll be able to save someone someday. I haven’t met a Valeria who couldn’t.”

Beatrix nods.

When I cock my head in confusion at how she knew Poppy’s bloodline, she holds her hands up to explain. “They have your bloodline listed in the chart they give me as RA. You know, so we’re aware of what shenanigans to look for.”

The scowl pinching my brows together finally relaxes.

No one knows my secret.

“Makes sense.”

A broad smile splits her face in half. “Although, I might call bullshit. Those eyes are Aeternum all the way. Are you a double legacy?”

“Nope,” is all I can manage to say, panic clenching around my chest so tightly that I can't get anything else out. All this work, and it’s going to be my eyes that give us away?

She shrugs, smiling as if she didn’t just send me into a deep spiral.

Luckily, they drop it after that, and I can finally breathe again when Beatrix shifts the topic to ask if I want to go eat dinner with them at the dining hall.

My knee jerk reaction is to decline, especially after I just embarrassed myself so thoroughly. But I’ve been here for days and they’re the first people who have gone out of the way to greet me—even if it was just an RA introduction. If I’m going to try to get a new start, I have to put myself out there more.

With that thought in mind, I accept their invitation.

15

Sonny

Ava and Beatrix seem to intentionally ignore my social awkwardness, filling the space with their own charismatic conversation. They pull me in just enough to make me feel involved without forcing me out of my comfort zone, asking questions about where I’m from and how I landed here while still peppering in little anecdotes about themselves.

It’s a small mercy that I’m grateful for. Especially when it gives me the chance to hear them talk about the university and how this all works. It’s so easy and comfortable with them. Like, there’s nothing out of the ordinary happening. No family bloodline magic straight out of a storybook or terrifying powers that could potentially end up in the wrong hands.

I guess it’s par for the course for them, since they’ve already completed a few years here at Ravenshurst.

The dining hall is large and brightly lit from fluorescent bulbs overhead that make my eyes burn. They overshadow the sun setting behind the mountains, serving as a pink and orange backdrop. Round tables are scattered throughout, with peopleeating in groups or comfortably on their own, and a kitchen is set off in the back corner, offering an array of options to choose from. I end up picking up a random sandwich and a juice from the cooler, then following them to an empty table.

“Who is your Clinical Psych professor?” Beatrix asks after I finish reciting my class schedule to them. They offered to walk me around to each building before our first day, so I’m not lost.

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