Page 115 of Trip Me Up

The lights at the front brightened on Niall, sparking his hair in bronze and copper and gold. His freckles looked pale in the harsh light, like he hadn’t been out in the sun for a while. Had he been home to the farm at all, or had he been stuck inside in events like this one? Had he told his grandfather and mother what I’d done? The cold pit in my stomach deepened. I’d hated lying to them when I was there. Now they knew I’d lied. They’d been so kind, so trusting, so welcoming. And I’d hurt the person they loved most.

I’ll admit it: I didn’t hear much of what Niall said during his talk. In the anonymous darkness, I watched him like a creeper, wishing I hadn’t ruined things between us. I wanted to wish I’d kept things strictly professional between us, that I’d never kissed him, never slept with him, hadn’t gone to his farm and seen his secret writing spot in the forest.

But then I’d have never known the taste of him, the feel of his callused fingers on my skin. The brightness that lit up my darkness like a Christmas light display. Like fireworks over the bay. I’d treasure those memories, like Gollum treasured the Ring, clutching them close to my chest as long as I lived.

But unless I apologized for what I’d done, tried to make it right, there’d always be a dull spot of regret alongside those sparkling memories.

He didn’t speak long enough for me to figure out a plan to sweet-talk Gabriela so I could apologize to him and then get past the security guard to escape. The lights came up and the question-and-answer session began.

The rear door beckoned in my peripheral vision. But now the officer had a partner. They guarded the exit, arms crossed. Were they watching me? I scrunched lower in my seat and slipped off the ball cap. It stuck out in the sea of suits.

“Samantha Jones” rang through the auditorium. I snapped up my head. It was that blogger again, Kari Singh, and she had a microphone.

“—a student at this university. What are your thoughts about artificial intelligence?”

Niall’s chest rose and fell the way it did when he’d been asked an unwelcome question. In the front row, Gabi turned and hit Kari with a murderous glare.

Niall cleared his throat. “Artificial intelligence has many uses, as my former tour partner would point out. Handwriting and speech recognition, for example. My agent, Gabriela Padrón, would love it if I’d adopt a handwriting recognition program and stop using her as a transcriptionist.” He paused for the audience’s chuckle.

“A.I. has the potential to benefit humankind in significant ways. However, as a creative, I have to admit I’m wary of A.I.s like CASE. Although, like many of you, I enjoyed readingMagician in the Machineand appreciated its unique use of language, its intriguing and unexpected plot twists, I think A.I.s that replicate human creativity have the potential to reduce or eliminate it. This is just my opinion, and I’d welcome a discussion on the topic between creatives like myself and programmers like Ms.—Dr. Jones and Dr. Martell.” He smiled, but his eyes were sad.

I didn’t realize I’d stood until the woman in the aisle nudged me with the microphone.

My heart pounded, and I couldn’t draw in a full breath as all eyes in the room turned toward me. Niall didn’t smile, didn’t show any other sign of recognition.

“F-for-forgiveness.” Shit, where was I going with that? I sucked in a deep breath and willed my mouth and brain to stop fighting for control. “How do you feel about forgiveness?”

He frowned, and every hope that’d risen from the chasm in my chest withered and died. “Do you mean as a theme in my work?”

“Um. Sure.” The woman held out her hand for the microphone. I gripped it harder.

Down at the front of the room, Niall turned and strode a few steps to his left as if he were including the audience in his response. “As most of you know, redemption—which, I feel, is related to forgiveness, a way to forgive oneself through atonement for one’s wrongs—is present in the first two books of the series. InSecrets of the Wood Elves,Nieven discovers he’s the son of a distant king. He sets out on his journey to reunite with his father. Spoiler alert”—Niall grinned, feral and dangerous—“he discovers at the end of the first novel that his father’s land vastly differs from the one in which Nieven was raised. Full of danger. Corruption. Treachery. Thus, the title of the second book. But Nieven, being a good little wood elf, thinks he can turn him. Another spoiler—sorry—he can’t. And now the story is set for a battle between them. You’ll have to wait for the third volume to see the outcome. To see if Nieven’s father can be redeemed. To see if Nieven can redeem himself for the danger he’s brought to his friends by leading them to the evil kingdom.” Niall spread his hands in false apology, and several people in the audience groaned.

“But—” My voice rang through the auditorium, surprising even me. “Can Nieven forgive Lobelia?”

Murmurs rose from the people around me. InTreachery of the Wood Elves,Lobelia was a helper, a friend to Nieven. She’d done nothing that required forgiveness.

“Ah.” Niall’s eyes glittered across the auditorium. “I see you’ve anticipated me. Here’s another spoiler, a small one. In the third book,Battle of the Wood Elves,Nieven learns Lobelia’s dark secret. You’ll have to wait for next summer to find out what that secret is and whether Nieven can forgive her.”

The woman in the aisle wrenched the microphone from my grasp and skipped down a few rows to hand it to the next person. I sank into my seat, not caring about the next question or about the campus police who’d surely recognized me by now.

He’d given Lobelia a dark secret. Of course that meant Niall couldn’t forgive me. Just like he’d written his father into the story as a villain, he’d written me in, too. As a betrayer.

Wetness on my cheek. No. I wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Maybe later in my room at Jackson and Alicia’s. I scrubbed away the drop with the sleeve of Noah’s hoodie and tugged the hood over my hair. Between the heads of the people in front of me, I gazed at Niall, and my heart crumbled to dust.

I owed him an apology. Maybe I could figure out some way to atone, too, and finally redeem myself. If I got out of there, I swore to whatever powers ruled the library, I’d go to his hotel. Forget the band, marching or otherwise. I’d apologize. And then, I’d give my entire first paycheck to the foundation. Anonymously. No, in Niall’s name. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start.

But first, I had to get out of there. I couldn’t apologize from the campus police’s holding room.

While the questions continued, I plotted my getaway. A door about halfway down wasn’t guarded. It could’ve been a closet. Or a passage to the next room, an escape. I’d wait until the end, and when everyone stood, I’d make my way to that side door. I’d slip through it. If it was a closet, I’d wait there until everyone had gone. If it led somewhere else, I’d follow it like Bilbo Baggins in the mountain tunnels. In fact, if I could inch in front of the people to my right and sneak over there—

People around me stood. It was my chance. I shuffled to the end of the row, and then I turned against the traffic to head down toward the front to the side door. It was just twenty feet ahead, but the readers moving toward the rear exit stalled my progress. “Excuse me,” I muttered. “Sorry.” Slowly, I inched toward the door.

At last, I stood in front of it. I grasped the steel knob. I twisted it left. No give. Right. Nothing. I pushed. It didn’t budge. I twisted and pulled it toward me. No. It was locked. I turned the handle, jiggling it. Please please pleaseplease.Nothing. I glanced up toward the main door. The first police officer was still there, nodding at everyone as they exited. Where was the other one?

I spotted him, making his way down the main aisle. He caught my gaze.Shit!He was one of the university police who’d picked up Jackson and me from the computer science building. He’d detained us for over an hour in their holding cell that smelled like vodka and bleach. His grim stare told me he recognized me, too.

He made faster progress than I did. People parted for him in a way they didn’t for me. He was a few rows up, and then he could cut through the empty row of seats to nab me.

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