Page 6 of Atone

“It’s always about Sigma House.” Patience snaps her shoulders back, her voice bubbling with irritation. “Declan is their president. The worst of them. I swear I’m the only one who sees it. Sigma Sin has this whole town trapped under some spell.”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re escaping with Violet for the summer,” I remind her. “Even if it is for a boring internship.”

Patience glares. “Except now Kole is coming with us.”

“Did Violet say that?” I pretend I don’t know that Violet changed her plans so that he can spend the summer in LA with her.

“She didn’t have to. They don’t go anywhere without each other anymore. I’m not an idiot like everyone seems to think I am.”

“No one thinks that.”

“They might as well.” Patience frowns. “I’m screaming into an abyss while everyone around me bows down and worships Sigma House.”

“They just don’t see Sigma House the same way you do. The fraternity does a lot for the businesses in this town. They’re always donating to various charities?—”

“How do you think they get all that influence and money?” She cuts me off.

“What’s going on with you lately?” My eyebrows pinch. “I understand you’ve always hated the House after what happened with Alex, but you never used to care when I partied there. Or when I dated Marco. You’re not even that hard on Violet about Kole. What’s so different about Teal talking to Declan?”

“You and Violet didn’t grow up in Bristal. You don’t know any better. Teal does.”

“So Violet and I are forgiven for being naive?”

“That’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head. “But Teal comes from a family like mine. We were born and raised to bleed Sigma Sin. She knows what they do. Who they are.”

Patience stares at the stage, but her eyes feel like they’re looking somewhere else.

Somewhere in her past.

Once more, that rift between her and everyone elsedeepens. Invisible cracks with no bottom. Patience’s loyalty to her brother makes it impossible for her to see past anything when it comes to Sigma Sin, and eventually, it’s going to lead to her completely isolating herself if she isn’t careful.

Luckily, the music starts, cutting off my conversation and distracting Patience with the trapeze show. Performers take to the platforms high above the stage, smiling down at the crowd. A flier grabs hold of the bar, taking her step off the platform with no fear. Her red and purple outfit shines under the bright lights.

She releases one hand, trusting the strength in her other as she swings like an angel dusting the sky. Her body moves effortlessly as she grabs another bar with both hands, meeting a man at the opposite platform and trading places.

They do trick after trick. Sometimes together, sometimes apart. Until it’s just her, dangling. The bar no longer moves as she hangs straight as a pole in the center.

I wonder what it’s like to trust the net to catch her. To trust her own movement—her own aim.

The woman slowly lifts her legs, forcing her body into the shape of an L as she holds the bar as still as possible. The ache would have my arms shaking, but her every movement is smooth.

Slowly, she bends until her legs are flush with her body and the tops of her feet rest on the bar. Her weight shifts, and I can’t imagine how much it must hurt the tops of her feet when she releases her hands and slowly unfolds. Until she’s upside down, straight as a pole.

I’ve never been able to figure out how they don’t just slip off at that point.

A breeze shuffles my hair, tickling the back of my neck. Anticipation crawls through me as the music reaches itscrescendo. The entire audience is silent, not breathing, as the woman releases the bar and finally lets go.

Trusting that her partner will catch her.

Suspended in time as her body falls.

Around me, the room holds a collective breath.

And just as her hands twine with his, something brushes my bare shoulder, making me gasp.

I spin in my seat, and I swear I see someone at the back of the tent. Face paint. A skeleton.

A ghost.

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