Boundless (Unearthly, #3)(56)

“I don’t know what to do!” I exclaim. “He won’t listen to me, and I have a bad feeling about his girlfriend. Maybe I’m being unfair, judgmental, like he said, but you should have seen the way she had him wrapped around her little finger. ‘You know what I like….’ Gag me. And she was all super smug like, ‘You’re in college? Yuck, I hate school.’ Where does she get off? And hello, she’s like twenty and he’s six-freaking-teen. And she’s filling his head with nonsense, I can just tell.” I finally run out of breath. “I sound like a crazy person, don’t I?”

He doesn’t smile. “You sound scared.”

I slump into my desk chair. “What should I do?”

He goes to the window and looks out, thoughtful. “There’s not much you can do. Unless …”

I wait, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. “Unless what?”

“You could call the police.”

“On her?”

“On him. About the fire. You could tip them off to where he works.”

I stare at him, dumbfounded.

“He’ll get arrested, but it would get him away from her. He’d be safe,” he says.

“Safe.”

“Safer. He’d have to go back to Jackson. To juvie, maybe, for a while. But it might straighten him out.”

“I don’t think I could do that to him,” I say after a minute. I can’t betray him that way. He’d hate me forever. “I can’t.”

“I know,” Christian says. “I was just putting it out there.”

Jeffrey doesn’t call me after that, but then what did I expect? I think about going back to the pizza place to apologize, but something tells me (namely, Christian tells me) that I would probably end up making things worse. Let him cool down, Christian says. Let you cool down.

Christian and I are miraculously back to normal, back to deep conversations over coffee, racing each other on our morning jogs, laughing as we thrust and parry at each other in fencing class, everything like it was before our date. Well, almost. There’s always this moment at the end of our times hanging out together, as we’re saying good-bye, when I know he wants to ask me out again. To try again. To woo me. Because he thinks that’s part of his purpose.

But he’s decided to let me make the first move, this time. The ball’s in my court. And I don’t know if I’m ready.

Which brings us to late March, and the end of winter quarter, a few days before we’re out for spring break. I’m about to sit down for my lit class final exam, when I get the following text:

Water broke. Do NOT come to the hospital. I’ll call you later.

Angela’s in labor.

I have a pretty hard time concentrating on my test. I keep thinking about her face when she said, I don’t know how to be a mother, her face after Phen disappeared and left her standing in the courtyard, the way the fire in her seemed to burn out right before my eyes. When I talk to her lately she always sounds sleepy, and she always says that she’s fine, gives me some little detail about how she’s preparing for the baby—took a Lamaze class, bought a bassinet, stocked up on diapers—but she’s not her fierce and fiery self. She thinks her life is ruined. Her purpose over with, irrelevant. Lost.

I check my phone after I turn in my final, but there’s no update.

Is he here yet? I text. I try not to think too much about all that might entail.

She doesn’t answer.

About an hour later I’m pacing around my dorm, chewing my fingernails, when Christian knocks on my door.

“Hey, I finished my last final. Do you want to grab some sort of celebratory dinner?” he asks.

“Angela’s in labor!” I burst out.

I almost laugh at the aghast look on his face.

“She texted me a few hours ago, and I don’t know if it’s happened already or not. She told me not to come to the hospital until she called me, but …”

“You’re going to go anyway, aren’t you?”

“I’ll stay in the waiting room or something but … yeah. I want to go.” I put on a coat, because it’s March in Wyoming and probably still freezing. “Do you want to come with me?”

“You mean, you’d take us both to Wyoming? You can do that?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried to bring anybody along with me before.” I hold my hand out to him. “Dad does it, though. Want to try?”

He hesitates.

“The waiting room. Not the delivery room,” I emphasize.

“All right.” He takes my hand, and my blood positively boils with our shared power and the anticipation I’m feeling. Zapping us should be no trouble at all.

“Okay, give me your other hand.” I face him, both of our hands joined. He gasps when I summon the glory around us.

“It’s that easy for you, isn’t it?”

“Glory? I’m getting better at it. How about you?”

He looks at his feet, gives me a half-embarrassed smile. “It’s not that easy. I can do it, but it usually takes me a little while. But I can’t cross. That is way beyond me still.”

“Well, glory’s easier when I’m with you,” I say, and am rewarded by his eyes lighting up. “Let’s go.” I close my eyes, think of my backyard in Jackson, the aspen trees, the sound of our babbling brook. The light around us intensifies, red behind my eyelids. Then fades.