Chapter 91: Back to Class

Astrid

Ivy was already dressed and standing over my bed when I finally cracked one eye open, and from the look on her face she’d been waiting there for a while, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed by how long I’d managed to stay unconscious.

"Are you alive?" she asked.

I pulled the blanket over my head in response. "Unfortunately," I mumbled through the fabric.

She yanked it back down without any sympathy at all. "Get up. Class."

I groaned at the word like it had personally wronged me, and she reminded me, with far too much amusement, that I’d been practically glowing with enthusiasm about my education back when we first met. I told her that was before education had started attacking me personally, and she laughed hard enough that I finally dragged myself upright, hair a disaster, and reached for my phone out of habit.

Three messages waited from Xander. Are you awake? Reed says leave her alone. He’s wrong. I smiled before I could stop myself, and of course Ivy caught it instantly, declaring me disgusting for grinning at a screen before eight in the morning. I denied it unconvincingly and threw a pillow at her for good measure.

Reed and Xander were waiting outside the dorm again by the time we left, which had stopped surprising me weeks ago. I asked whether they didn’t have their own classes to attend, and Xander shrugged like the concept barely applied to him while Reed corrected him flatly that yes, they did. When I pointed out I’d only been three minutes late, Xander said that was exactly the point, and I gave up trying to make sense of his logic and just kept walking. Reed fell into step beside me, asking if I’d slept, and when I reminded him he’d already asked that yesterday, he simply asked again, unbothered, until I accused him of being obsessed with my sleep schedule. Xander declared, with total seriousness, that he absolutely was.

Ivy peeled off ahead of us not long after, claiming she refused to walk beside the three of us while we did whatever it was we did, which she described as existing romantically at each other. My face went hot immediately, and Xander laughed loud enough that several students turned to look, clearly delighted with himself for having found a new fan in my best friend.

The whole academy got summoned to the assembly hall shortly afterward, where Aldrich announced something none of us had been looking forward to: the Semester Assessment Period. Every practical trial we’d survived since the start of the year, the forest survival exercise, combat fundamentals, the research project, the Integration Challenge, now required a full written report covering what happened, our individual contributions, what we’d learned, and an honest evaluation of our own performance. I thought, briefly, that it didn’t sound too terrible, right up until Aldrich added that the reports would factor directly into our final academic rankings. The groan that swept through the hall was audible enough that he had to pause and dryly note how thrilled he was by our enthusiasm. Someone shouted that surviving should count for something on its own, and Aldrich, without missing a beat, told them proper grammar would count for something too. The whole hall dissolved into laughter, mine included.

Afterward, Ivy started counting the trials off on her fingers, forest, combat, research, integration, and by the time she reached the end she looked genuinely stricken, declaring us both dead. I told her we had weeks to work on it, and she informed me that optimism looked deeply unattractive on me. Xander offered to write mine for me, which I refused instantly on the grounds that he’d exaggerate everything into something unrecognizable, and when he insisted he’d simply make me sound incredible, Reed pointed out that wasn’t actually the point of the assignment. Xander told him he’d simply never understood the value of good storytelling, and I laughed despite myself.

As we walked, a pair of students passed close enough that I caught fragments of their whispered conversation, something about both of them, the Ashwood twins, and then, she’s actually—, before the sentence cut off entirely. My whole body tensed with embarrassment, and of course Xander heard every word too, turning toward them with an innocent "Yes?" that sent them scurrying away twice as fast. I buried my face in my hands and asked why he insisted on doing that, and he asked, all wide-eyed innocence, what exactly he’d done. Reed just told me to ignore him, which was apparently becoming the standing advice for dealing with his brother.

Once the crowd started filtering out of the hall, I got briefly separated from Ivy and found myself standing alone for a moment, uncomfortably aware of people glancing my way, some curious, a few clearly less than approving. I still hadn’t gotten fully used to existing publicly as their mate, the whispers, the attention, the assumptions people made before they even knew my name. Reed noticed without a word, simply offering his hand, calm and unhurried, no pressure behind it at all. I looked at it, then took it, warmth spreading immediately through the bond between us. Xander appeared on my other side a second later, asking if he was interrupting something, and when I told him yes, he looked entirely too pleased about it. I didn’t let go of either of them the rest of the walk.

That evening, back in the dorm, Ivy and I sprawled across our respective beds surrounded by papers, staring at the assignment instructions like they might rearrange themselves into something less overwhelming if we glared long enough. She declared, upside down and dramatic, that she physically could not write anymore, that she’d known too much suffering to attempt an essay. I threw crumpled paper at her and started my own report on the forest survival trial, managing a few sentences before I paused, caught in the memory of the cold, the fear, Reed quietly making sure I ate something, Xander’s ridiculous jokes keeping me from spiraling when I was too exhausted to argue back. I realized I was smiling at the page.

Ivy noticed instantly and demanded to know what I was writing. I covered the paper too late, and she’d already caught the words Reed suggested before I could hide them, staring at me in mock horror and demanding to know why his name was appearing in my academic work. I explained, with as much dignity as I could manage, that he had, in fact, suggested something relevant. She called me disgusting, I called her dramatic, and when she pointed out I was writing about my boyfriend in a school assignment, I opened my mouth to correct her and then just stopped entirely, because boyfriend wasn’t quite the word for it anymore.

Mates.

She caught my expression and gasped theatrically, and I threw a second pillow at her, and the whole thing dissolved into chaos, her firing off increasingly ridiculous interview questions between fits of laughter, who saved your life, when did you realize you were attracted to them, until I was laughing too hard to properly defend myself. For a little while, sitting there surrounded by pillows and unfinished essays, I forgot entirely about the sabotage, the warning note, the strange second Eliza standing silent at the end of a hallway, all the questions I still couldn’t answer.

Tonight I just had homework, a best friend determined to embarrass me, two irritating mates somewhere nearby, and an academy life I never once expected to have. My phone buzzed against the sheets. Xander. Are you done with your report yet? No, I typed back. Good, came the reply almost instantly. Reed says you need help. Then, a beat later, from Reed himself: Ignore him. Take your time.

I laughed quietly to myself.

"You’re smiling again," Ivy said, watching me over the edge of her book.

I turned my phone face-down against the mattress. "Go back to your report."

"Disgusting," she said, grinning.

I threw one more pillow at her for good measure.