Page 60 of Impossible

“Hi,” I say abashedly as we take seats at the small table. For the first time, I breathe us all in together.

The sweetness and freshness and spice and smoke compound, overpowering the room. I vaguely sense other packs picking us up, shuddering at the strength. It’s obvious, so obvious. Indie catches it too.

“Whoa,” she whispers. “Do other packs smell so good when they’re all together?”

It’s such an innocent question; she truly has no idea.

“Not quite,” Hollis answers.

“It’s pretty special, huh?” Risk smiles mischievously. Hollis shoots him a glare, but that only makes Risk smile wider.

“Yeah,” Indie’s little nose sniffs the air again and I bite back a moan. She’s going to spike if she keeps going like this.

Leon reads my mind, leans over and whispers in her ear. Indie flushes red and a little burst of sweet orange fills the air. “Sorry,” she squeaks.

“You smell amazing,” I say without thinking. It would be an absurd thing to say to most omegas, but I’m eager to wipe the shame from her face. “Events like this are so overwhelming, right? It’s hard when you feel like you’re competing for air.”

Indie nods, her eyes locking on mine again. Vertigo.

“We were just asking Indie about her classes,” Hollis explains gently. “Apparently your substitute sucks.”

“Oh?” I ask. “How so?”

“He was teaching us Yeats today and just… he doesn’t get it,” Indie sighs, shaking her head with disappointment.

“Do you like poetry?” Hope blooms in my chest. My poetry nerdery has always been lonely. Leon and Hollis both read for pleasure, but Hollis reads stuffy non-fiction and Leon is a sci-fi fantasy nerd. Risk knows poetry, but only as a bridge to me.

Indie nods. I swell.

“Who are your favorite poets?” I ask.

“Rilke, Plath, and Wendy Cope,” she lists off without needing to think.

“Wendy Cope is a modern genius. I love Rilke too, though I think it really depends on the translation. Are you a Cummings fan?”

Leon bites back a smile. He knew I wouldn’t miss his little nickname for her. He and I share some very fond memories around Cummings.

Indie shrugs. “I haven’t read any of his stuff, though my—“ her voice breaks off and grief shadows her features. Instantly my stomach sinks. What did I say?

“Are you ok?” Leon asks, his hand jerking over hers, eager for the opportunity to touch her.

“Oh, yeah,” she recovers, shaking the sadness off. “My friend—printer ink,” she half-smiles at Leon, like it’s some kind of inside joke, “he liked Cummings.”

“Do we need to beat somebody up?” Risk asks. “I’m sensingyes.”

Indie laughs. She shakes her head no.

The electric overwhelm is fading. I drink in her almond-eyes and delicate ears and nails trimmed short and slightly knobby knuckles and the way Leon’s hand stays over hers and she pretends not to notice but most definitely does.

Then the doors to the event hall slam open and Headmaster Wilder marches through them, leading two suit-clad alphas I vaguely recognize from the Coalition offices.

“Joshua Midas!” he booms across the hall. Silence descends. You could hear a pin drop. “So good to see you again. Glad you’re, er,up and about. Since you’re feeling up to socializing, why don’t you come have a chat with us in the office? We have some questions for you.”

Hollis stands just as Wilder arrives at our table. Hollis dwarfs him. Wilder does a double take. I would laugh if I weren’t rooted to my chair.

“Is this necessary?” Hollis growls. “Joshua is going into the Coalition offices on Friday to give his statement.”

I never said that, but it’s a fair assumption for him to make after I promised Indie I’d be in class next week.

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