Page 47 of House of Hearts
It doesn’t matter how much time I spend studying either subject—everything written on the page is an indecipherable blur.
“Word of advice, math class isn’t worth premature gray hairs,” Amber says that evening from the other side of the shower-stall door. “I can tell all those AP classes are kicking your ass.”
“Thanks, I’ll be sure to tell Mr.Bayer on exam day.” My voice is drowned out by the chug of water sputtering out of the faucets andthe screech of the plastic sliding on the metal curtain rod. “Sorry, sir, I got a zero on the test because my friend says I look ugly when I cram.”
She snickers on the other side of the wall. “Hey now, I didn’t say ugly, but otherwise? Damn straight. Tell him life’s too short to spend it wasting away over tests.”
My heart gallops at her words, but I’m getting better at not letting the panic kick in. She’s not wrong. Lifeistoo short.
For as much money as they pour into this school, the shower rooms lie neglected. A phlegmy pocket of yellow light flickers above our heads, and a run-of-the-mill shower divider cuts between us. Amber’s baby blue pedicure shines against the grimy tile, her shower caddy filled to the brim with products.
On the flip side, she’s got a view of my ratty sandals. They might be hanging on by the grace of God alone, but it doesn’t matter because no one else is in here but her. Typically in the late evenings or early mornings, you can count on this room being packed with students; girls belting out song lyrics, blasting hair dryers, gossiping over the sinks as they brush their teeth. It’s usually a competition of who can be the loudest, so tonight is a welcome respite.
“You’ve been quiet lately,” she observes, her accusation followed by a squirt of conditioner in her palm. “You, Oliver, Birdie—the three of you have been weirder than usual. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
I rub my scalp with the tips of my nails and massage the shampoo in. “I’m sorry. MV Calc isn’t the only thing kicking my ass. The club’s…taken its toll. Things are pretty heavy.” It’s as close to the truth as I can manage, but it still sits like a lie on my tongue.
“When it was Oliver, I could manage it, but the three of you? It’s like you’re speaking in code twenty-four seven and trying to figure outthe best place to hide a dead body. And it’s like, yoo-hoo, I’m literally right here with a shovel if you’d talk to me.”
I deflect with an exaggerated “awwwww.” “You’d help me hide a dead body? I’m flattered.”
She chuckles. “I’ll dig the hole and everything…It’d be more of a rabbit hole than an actual grave because I ditch PE, but I will bring the shovel.”
My blood runs cold. “What did you say?”
“That I’ll bring the shovel?”
“No, before that.”
I hear her rummage noisily through her caddy. “Uh, that I have noodle arms and could only dig a rabbit hole? Even that’s a stretch because that’s still several feet deep. Let’s throw them in the lake instead. Too morbid?”
I shake my head, then quickly realize she can’t see that and clear my throat. “No, you just made me think of something. I promise we’re not burying dead bodies, though.”
She snorts. “Okay, good to know. I guess the Cards are more boring than I thought.”
The faucet screams in protest as she shuts the water off. I go to follow suit, but she stops me with a reach of her hand beneath the stall. “Here, use this.”
“What is it?” I ask, staring down at the mystery goop squirted onto my palms.
“A hair mask. You’ll want to leave it in for like five or ten minutes. It’s really good, but it smells like cherries, and I hate that…Also your three-in-one hair-care bottle is borderline satanic. I swear I cross myself every time I see it in your bag.”
I work the product through my dead ends before tying my hairback in a bun. “ ‘Satanic Shampoo’ has a ring to it, though. You should patent that.”
“I’ll get back to you with a SWOT analysis,” she replies with a swing of her stall door. I listen to the soft pads of her retreating footsteps until finally I’m all alone.
I relish the hot water raining down my skin. I’ve always been careful to take quick showers at home so I don’t rack up a huge bill or make the next bath freezing for Mom. Here, none of that matters.
The only thing that does matter now is doing what I came to Hart to do. And even that’s morphed and shifted in the short time I’ve been here. No longer the tangible takedown I’d planned for. Some masked killer I could cuff and send to jail.
No, now I’ve got ghosts to summon.
Curses to break.
Rabbit holes to find.
Amber’s words sift back through my skull. Could the rabbit hole really be referring to a grave? Some deep burrow in the earth where no one could ever hope to find him? There’s no way he could bealiveif he was buried beneath the soil.
Hmm. I’m once again reminded of my night in the maze. Standing there in the dead center with the moon winking overhead, the Lockwell mausoleums surrounding me like an army of the dead. It feels wildly far-fetched, but perhaps he’s notliterallyburied. Maybe Em meant he was hiding inside one of the family tombs? Could there be some special passageway? It’s one thing to explore the tower, but breaking into a family grave is a pretty heavy extracurricular activity.
