Page 42 of Nineteen Seventy-Six

“Yeah,” Evangeline said. “You said I should take my power back. So I did.”

Colleen folded her hands and leaned in. She took a drink from her water. “Tell me about it.”

Evangeline’s smile widened. “I’m learning kung-fu and I bought a gun.”

Colleen nearly spat her mouthful of water across the table. “You what?”

“I’m learning kung-fu and I bought a gun.”

“Why on earth would you buy a gun?”

Evangeline twisted her mouth into a near pout. “You’re the one who said to take my power back.”

“We apparently have a very different idea of what that means!”

“Why are you giving me a hard time?”

“Well.” Colleen pushed her water out of the way. “For starters, statistically, you’re more likely to have that gun turned on you in an altercation than you are to defend yourself in one.”

“Yes, my friend Ian, the statistics major, pointed that out as well.”

“Okay, and how about this: you’ve never fired a gun in your life?”

“Not yet.”

“What does that mean? Not yet? You waiting until you’re in an actual life and death situation?”

“No.”

“What am I missing? If you were sitting where I’m at, you’d be giving the same lecture, and probably be doing a better job at it,” Colleen said.

“Well, Leena, I might’ve prepared better if I’d known you were coming before, oh, yesterday.”

Colleen, in an abrupt rush of instinct, reached across the table and gripped Evangeline’s hands in hers. “I don’t like this, Evie. This, whatever it is, happening right now. Between us.”

Evangeline lowered her head. “I don’t either.”

“You think I’m acting strange, and I think you’re making strange decisions,” Colleen said. “But I just miss you. I miss us.”

“Yeah,” Evangeline said, lifting her gaze. Her eyes glistened. “I do too.”

“So instead of fighting, why don’t we go walk through the Common, and you can show me this place that’s changed your life.”

Evangeline smiled. “Don’t lose sleep over me owning a gun, Leena. I’m going to learn to use it, and I’m going to practice, and keep doing that, until it’s no longer this thing, but an extension of me, and a twitch on the thread of my instincts.”

CHAPTER 12

Dada

Dada. Dada.

Dada.

Dada.

Nicolas toddled around behind him, from room to room, practically screaming the word. The word should have been a salve, but instead it was something else, like napalm, but even more explosive. Dangerous.

For him. For Nicolas.

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