Bloodlines (Bloodlines, #1)(34)

“Fine,” she said. “A lot better.”

I didn’t comment on that but secretly had my doubts. Jill did look better this morning, but she’d hardly had a solid night’s sleep.

In fact, she’d woken in the middle of the night, screaming.

I’d leapt out of my bed, expecting no less than a hundred Strigoi or Moroi assassins to come bursting through our window. But when I’d looked over, there’d only been Jill, thrashing and screaming in her sleep. I’d hurried over and finally woken her up with some difficulty. She’d sat up gasping, drenched in sweat, and clutching her chest. Once she’d calmed down, she’d told me it was only a nightmare, but there’d been something in her eyes . . . the echo of something real. I knew because it reminded me of the many times I’d woken up thinking the Alchemists were coming to take me to the re-education centers.

She’d insisted she was fine, and when morning came, the only acknowledgment she gave of her nightmare was to insist that we not mention it to Eddie.

“It’s only going to worry him,” she said. “And besides, it’s not a big deal.”

I conceded that point, but when I tried to ask what had happened, she brushed me off and wouldn’t talk about it.

Now, at breakfast, there was a definite edge to her, but for all I knew, it had more to do with finally facing her first day in a human school. “I still can’t get over how different I am from everyone,” she said in a low voice. “I mean, for one thing, I’m taller than almost every girl here!” It was true. It wasn’t uncommon for Moroi women to push six feet in height. Jill wasn’t quite there, but her long, slim build gave the illusion of being taller than she was. “And I’m really bony.”

“You are not,” I said.

“I’m too skinny—compared to them,” Jill argued.

“Everyone’s got something,” countered Eddie. “That girl over there has a ton of freckles. That guy shaved his head. There’s no such thing as ‘normal.’”

Jill still looked dubious but doggedly went off to class when the first warning bell rang, promising to meet Eddie for lunch and me in PE.

I made it to my history class a few minutes early. Ms. Terwilliger stood at her desk, shuffling some papers around, and I hesitantly approached.

“Ma’am?”

She glanced up at me, pushing her glasses up her nose as she did. “Hmm? Oh, I remember you. Miss Melbourne.”

“Melrose,” I corrected.

“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn you were named after someplace in Australia.”

“Well, my first name is Sydney,” I said, not sure if I should be encouraging her.

“Ah. Then I’m not crazy. Not yet, at least. What can I do for you, Miss Melrose?”

“I wanted to ask you . . . well, you see, I have a gap in my schedule because I passed out of the language requirement. I wondered if maybe you needed another teacher aide . . . like Trey.” The aforementioned Trey was already there, sitting at a desk allotted to him and collating papers. He glanced up at the mention of his name and eyed me warily. “It’s last period, ma’am. So, if there was any extra work you needed . . .”

Her eyes studied me for several moments before she answered. I’d made sure to cover up my tattoo today, but it felt like she was staring right through to it. “I don’t need another teacher aide,” she said bluntly. Trey smirked. “Mr. Juarez, despite his many limitations, is more than capable of sorting all my stacks of paper.” His smirk disappeared at the backhanded compliment.

I nodded and started to turn away, disappointed. “Okay. I understand.”

“No, no. I don’t think you do. You see, I’m writing a book.” She paused, and I realized she was waiting for me to look impressed. “On heretical religion and magic in the Greco-Roman world. I’ve lectured on it at Carlton College before. Fascinating subject.”

Trey stifled a cough.

“Now, I could really use a research assistant to help me track down certain information, run errands for me, that sort of thing. Would you be interested in that?”

I gaped. “Yes, ma’am. I would be.”

“For you to get credit for an independent study, you’d have to do some project alongside it . . . research and a paper of your own. Not nearly the length of my book, of course. Is there anything from that era that interests you?”

“Er, yes.” I could hardly believe it. “Classical art and architecture. I’d love to study it more.”

Now she looked impressed. “Really? Then it seems we’re a perfect match. Or, well, nearly. Pity you don’t know Latin.”

“Well . . .” I averted my eyes. “I, um, actually . . . I can read Latin.” I dared a glance back at her. Rather than impressed, she mostly looked stunned.

“Well, then. How about that.” She gave a rueful head shake. “I’m afraid to ask about Greek.” The bell rang. “Go ahead and take your seat, then come find me at the end of the day. Last period is also my planning period, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk and fill out the appropriate paperwork.”

I returned to my desk and received an approving fist bump from Eddie. “Nice work. You don’t have to take a real class. Of course, if she’s got you reading Latin, maybe it’ll be worse than a real class.”