We were reaching the point in the conversation at which I was supposed to condemn the monsters who did this. I wasn’t ready to go there with Gideon. Revealing the true depth of my disgust at everything the Red Court stood for was not something I could do over text. Truthfully, my feelings about the Red Court were this gnarled mass inside of me, too big to start talking about at all.
Me: I gotta run. Lit is calling.
Gideon: Ok, see you after.
Before I’d made it halfway across the school, the warning bell rang. I gave up the attempt to change my shoes and turned to book it upstairs so I could suffer through American Lit with a room full of disenchanted sophomores. Oh, joy. On an ordinary day, class was a chore to get through. On a day like today, with my mind busy dissecting the latest Red Court takedown, it seemed like my school would live up to its nickname after all. Welcome to Hell High.
* * *
“Ember?” Mr. Carson called my name like a question.
Crap. I must have missed something. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on Mr. Carson’s analysis of Leaves of Grass, which was a shame. Whitman had some serious nineteenth-century game going on. “I Sing the Body Electric” gave me chills the first time I read it.
“Yes, Mr. Carson?”
He sighed impatiently. Or perhaps disappointedly. “Do you have any thoughts on the final section?”
I glanced at my notes from the night before to read the scribbles aloud, but a mocking voice cut in.
“Whitman’s talking about the physicality of the body and how it is part of the soul or is the soul. Like it’s just as important as the soul, which at the time was elevated above a person’s body in significance.”
I threw a baleful look toward Chase Merriman—insufferable know-it-all—and was given a smug half smile in return. He just loved to one-up me. Mr. Carson turned his gaze to me for more input, but my premeditated discussion points wouldn’t add anything to the dialogue. I gave my Lit teacher as unaffected a shrug as I could manage even though a sharp retort branded with Chase’s name tried to claw its way out of my throat. I pushed it down, not deigning to give Chase the satisfaction of knowing he got under my skin.
Mr. Carson continued droning on, asking for our “thoughts” and “feelings” about the poem. Poor guy didn’t seem to understand his audience. Disengaged was our default setting. It really took some doing to rouse us. Though Whitman’s work was taboo back in the day, most of the students here had probably seen something more risqué in their Instagram feeds over breakfast this morning.
The bell rang and Mr. Carson’s shoulders slumped. Another day of not making a difference. I almost felt bad for him, but this was his chosen career path. He had to know what he was getting into when he signed up to teach freaking poetry at a public school.
“Could you hang back a minute, Ember?” Mr. Carson’s words caught me six inches from the door and freedom.
I smiled tightly. The next period was my off-hour, but Gideon would be waiting. Every moment I wasted in the classroom diminished the chances of running out for my caffeine fix, which were already slim since I had to trek back across the school to change my sneakers first. I would not spend a moment longer than necessary in these shoes.
“What’s up, Carson?” He was one of those teachers who thought using “Mr.” in his title meant he was uncool, so I dropped it whenever I needed extra brownie points. Not that my brownie point bank account was in that much need.
“It’s unlike you to space out during an epic poetry discussion. Everything ok?”
Mr. Carson was probably my favorite teacher, and we had a strong rapport, but I couldn’t tell if his use of epic was sincere. I hoped for his sake he was being cheeky.
“Just having one of those days, you know?” Vague, Ember, be vague. “I’m sure I’ll be back to contributing the only meaningful insight tomorrow,” I added with a rueful smile, which he returned.
“Sounds like a plan. So you know, I’m always here if you need an ear.” He shut his copy of Leaves of Grass with a snap, effectively ending our conversation.
“Thanks!” I bolted out the door as fast as I could without seeming rude.
Running down the steps two at a time, I nearly crashed into Gideon as he waited at the foot of the stairs near the school’s main entry.
“What’s the rush, Em?” His words came out in a whoosh as he caught me.
“I need to stop by my locker before we get coffee. Let’s go!”
“Seriously? There isn’t time for a detour if we’re going to make it back before the hour is up. Let’s just hit the library instead.”
He was right of course, but I was in desperate need of a large Americano. I wanted to argue, but once Gideon made a decision, there was no way he’d change his mind. If only there was someone as bullheaded as him on the debate team with me.
Gideon broke down what he’d heard about the takedown this morning as we walked through the halls. I was too busy sulking to add to the commentary. I spun the combination on my locker, wondering how in the world I could explain the bloody shoes to my mom. The door swung open, and I tossed my bag to the ground. I was already toeing off my sneakers when a flash of red caught my eye.
The Queen of Hearts sat alone on the top shelf of my locker. The coy smile on her face said she knew something I didn’t. If the rumors were to be believed, she did. A Queen of Hearts was the eponymous calling card of the Red Court’s leader, and its presence could mean only one thing: my invitation had finally come.
CHAPTER 2
I THREW A furtive look around, my ruined shoes forgotten. The passing period between second and third hour was almost over. Only a few stragglers and slackers lingered in the halls. Gideon was parked against a column, the door to my locker blocking his view of what was inside. I rubbed my hands together, willing feeling back into my suddenly numb fingers, and gingerly plucked the card from its place.
My hands shook so badly it took three tries before I could make any sense of the message written on the back.
YOU’RE IN
BE READY @ 2:30
THEATER ROOM
THE RED COURT
The words were scrawled in a haphazard block font. I wondered at the hand that wrote them. Was it the Queen of Hearts herself who issued the invites?
“What’s that?” Gideon asked as he peered over my shoulder.
I jumped in surprise and slid the card into my pocket. “I’ll tell you when we get to the library.” Gideon eyed me while I changed my shoes, content for now with the promise of an explanation.
As far as Gideon knew, my interest in the Red Court was the same dark interest every Hell High student felt. With the first step in my plan complete, I was ready to tell my best friend the only secret I’d ever kept from him.