Page 61 of The Kiss Of Death
“You can have the roof,” the voice of wisdom of the group sneered. “But we’re keeping your buffoon. He’s entertaining.”
I snapped my eyes to the small figure with slumped shoulders beside them. Michel. He had become the guinea pig of the Pioneers who could sniff out vulnerability from miles away. Michel took a tentative step toward me; desperation etched across his face as he reached for my shirt. I recoiled; when was everyone going to learn I didn’t like being touched, for fuck’s sake?
“Levi, I don’t want to go with them, please,” Michel pleaded, his voice a desperate whisper for only me to hear, drowned out by the group’s jeers. “The Pioneers got me at Hazing Night, and I failed their tests. I cried when they told me not to cry. I went to the headmaster for help, and since then, they won’t leave me alone.”
Pioneers and Tacticians tried not to get involved with each other. Otherwise, it’d be a bloody war on campus. If Michel went running to the headmaster to denounce them, the Pioneers were entitled to be pissed. Their reputation was at stake. He’d betrayed a pact as old as time. A tradition.
“That’s not my problem.” I gestured dismissively, signaling the group to depart, while Dalia watched with scrutinizing eyes.
“Levi,” he implored again. “Talk to them, tell them—”
“Grow a pair, Michel.”
The Pioneers hooked an arm around his shoulders, dragging him away from my roof. Pioneers didn’t hold grudges for long,but they were emotionally intense. Impulsive. Dalia crossed her arms, facing me with a lifted eyebrow.
“Is he going to be okay? He seemed like he needed help and—”
“He’ll be fine,” I said. “They’ll get bored of him in a week and find another person to torment, and he’ll have learned a valuable lesson in the meantime.”
To never reveal weakness to bullies. To never let them sink their teeth into you—life was a power struggle you had to face alone. The sooner you faced and learned that, the sooner you’d become invincible.
“You can’t be that soulless,” she fired back.
“We already had that discussion, but by all means, if you want to help him, go after them and be their next target. I’ll be watching.”
She clamped her mouth shut. That was what I thought.
“Lesson number one, little thief; if you care about what others think of you, you’re as good as dead. The only person you hold accountability to is you. Be more selfish.” I sat on the edge of the roof, her wide eyes on me. “Worried about me, now?”
“I don’t want people to think I’ve pushed you to your death.”
“See, selfish. You’re learning fast.”
“That’s actually your special place.” Her smile lit up her features. “You can’t stand that someone else apart from you is here.”
“It’s not,” I grumbled, irritation gnawing at me from within.
Laughter emanated from the gardens, a sound fueled by the very Pioneers I had expelled. Michel was making a non-athletic run for it back to his dorms, running insanely slow for someone in such a hurry.
“Sure.” She beamed. “Something is distracting you? Are you perhaps keeping an eye on that student from earlier? Maybe a part of you wants to check on him, see if he’s—”
“No.” I cut in. “Now, don’t make me waste my time. Play for me.”
She posed her violin case on the ground, followed by the music sheet she rewrote. “You’re the worst possible audience.”
“You don’t have the luxury of being picky.”
Last time I tried to have a stab at sight reading the music score, I destroyed a violin and wasted a week of my time on a worthless computer program.
“I still don’t know why the answer to the code was seven measures,” Dalia said, probably stalling.
“Do you know binary?” I counterbacked, and she shook her head. “Seven in a binary count of four beats represents 0111.”
“Binary. Like the butterfly you named 1111.”
So we were back on that topic. But yes, like the butterfly.
“What could it mean?” Dalia asked.
