Miss Mayhem (Rebel Belle #2)(43)

But I thought maybe David was thinking them, too, especially since his neck was red and he wasn’t quite meeting my eyes.

He sat down on my purple comforter and pulled an enormous book from his messenger bag. “I think I might have found something.”

I should not have been disappointed. Of course he came over to talk business. That was good. Hadn’t he promised to keep looking for more information about the trials? So, yeah, not disappointed at all. Pleased. Proud. Happy things like that.

“There isn’t much,” he said, opening the book on his lap and flipping to a page marked with a yellow sticky note. “Apparently they wanted to keep it pretty secret.”

“Makes sense,” I observed, twisting one of my rings. “Isn’t the element of surprise the whole point? See how quickly you can think on your feet without getting killed?”

David glanced up at me, his lips quirking. “Basically, yeah. But here”—he tapped the page—“there’s a story about a sixteenth-century Paladin, another girl—er, woman—like you, who went through her Peirasmos. It seems like the trials themselves are geared toward the particular Paladin. So, like, the first one was specific to you because of . . . the school, I guess.”

Taking a deep breath, I stood up and walked back to my desk chair, bracing my hands on the back. “Thanks for this, David.”

He gave an uneasy shrug, shoulders rolling underneath his gray T-shirt. Wait, David was wearing a T-shirt? A regular one without, like, a dragon on it or an ugly pattern? Then I took in the rest of his outfit. Jeans, and regular jeans at that, not those super-skinny ones he liked so much. Even his shoes were plain sneakers.

“Was there a fire at the argyle factory?” I asked, nodding at his clothes, and hoping that didn’t come out too mean. I wasn’t sure if snarkiness was something we could still do, or if it came off as too flirty now.

David frowned at me, brow wrinkling before understanding dawned. “Oh, right. Yeah, I, uh, threw something on this morning.”

I was probably reading too much into David’s wardrobe. We all had days when fashion seemed beyond us, right? Surely his dull clothing didn’t mean he was . . . bummed or anything. Why should he be? He was the one who had done the dumping, not me.

There was a sudden stinging in my eyes that I blinked away, turning to study the calendar on my desk like it was the most important thing in the history of creation. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you leave the book with me? I want to read a little bit more.”

I’d been aiming for “breezy,” but my voice was so tight it sounded like I was choking.

And then I felt a warm weight on my elbow. Glancing down, I saw David’s fingers curled there against my skin, and I let out a slow breath.

“Pres,” he said, his voice every bit as tight, and I turned to look at him.

His eyes were very blue, and the freckles across his nose stood out against his paler-than-normal skin, and all I wanted to do was tuck myself against his chest and breathe in that familiar smell of soap and printer ink that David carried on him.

Then I shook myself. No. He had called things off, and a girl had to have some pride.

I stepped back so that his hand fell from my elbow and folded my arms across my chest. “Thanks for your help,” I said again, and this time, there was no choking feeling in my throat. “But you should probably go now. My parents will be home soon, and they’ll freak if you’re in my room with no one else here.”

“Right,” he said, turning away quickly to grab his bag off the floor. “Good. Well, um. I hope it helps.”

“I’m sure it will,” I told him, forcing a smile.

I picked up the book instead of turning to watch him go. I’d just opened it when my phone buzzed. It was Bee.

“Azalea Festival? When do you wanna come over?” I glanced at the book on my bed, and then at my phone.

“Be there in fifteen.”

? ? ?

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

It was already the third time Bee had asked the question, so for the third time, I gave her the same answer.

“I’m great!” Earlier, when she’d answered the door, I’d said it with a sincere look in my eyes. Then when we’d come up to her room and she’d asked again, I’d tossed it over my shoulder as I flipped through the latest issue of US Weekly. Now, I didn’t even look up, pawing through my purse for mascara.

From behind me on her bed, I heard Bee heave a sigh, and I fought back one of my own. It wasn’t that I wasn’t thankful for her concern. I was, honestly. But I didn’t want to talk about David to her or to anyone else right now. It was all . . . yucky. Stressing over the trials, worrying about David being an Oracle, dealing with Bee being back—happy as that last thing was. Thinking about the breakup was too much on top of all of that, and for now, I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. That shouldn’t be so hard, right? I mean, David and I had gone years and years practically hating each other. Surely, it wouldn’t be that tough to downshift to not being in love.

Too bad my eyes stung as soon as I thought of the word “love.”

I located my mascara and did my best to act like all the blinking I was doing had everything to do with makeup application and nothing to do with David Stark.

“I’m super excited about the fair tonight!” I chirped, and Bee met my gaze in the mirror.