For the entire first semester, Asta assumed it was because Pikki was one of those typical dragon-racing princesses, defending her turf against the riffraff. But when Asta made a snide remark to that effect one day at lunch, Landry, a stocky second-year who had been the student mentor for Asta’s orientation group, shook his head.
‘She’s not pedigree,’ he said around a mouthful of his sandwich. Asta liked Landry. Ever since orientation, he had taken it upon himself to feed all the juiciest gossip to his clutch of first-years so that they wouldn’t be left behind in Pillar politicking. ‘Her folks run some shitty little diner in Tanton or something.’
‘Are you serious?’ Asta was astounded that someone that snooty could have grown up not under an ancient racing crest but a neon sign with half the letters on the fritz.
‘Oh, yeah. She wasn’t born with that stick up her ass. It’s a choice.’
Otto, another first-year, leaned over the lunch table, a salacious grin on his face. ‘She’s just practicing for when she marries into racing royalty. Have you seen her with Seraphin?’
Asta tried not to react in front of her friends, but she could feel her skin crawling. Who hadn’t seen Pikki with Felix? They’d ended up in the same orientation group, and Pikki had latched on to Felix like a human leech. She seemed to think it was her literal job to follow him around blowing smoke up his ass, telling him howamazinghe was. Howtalented.Howsmart.
Felix had dealt with that kind of thing all his life, but usually only in little bursts. Getting it all day every day was going to his head. He had started interrupting people, like he thought the world couldn’t wait to hear his two cents. And he was using a ridiculous amount of gel in his hair. Asta wondered how long it took him to tease it up into that big stupid wave. It did look kind of good, though.
It was probably her fault. If she hadn’t been so stubborn about keeping distance between them until graduation, they could have at least hung out more. That would have kept Pikki away, since she loathed Asta. The thing was, when they talked about it this summer, it had seemed like a good idea for them to make their own friends, play it cool, so that Asta could make her reputation outside of his very large shadow.
And it had worked. No one knew her as Felix Seraphin’s neighbor, Felix Seraphin’s girlfriend, Felix Seraphin’s anything. She was just Asta Ekenberg– fourth overall in the all-school rankings, and no question why. She was fast. That’s all anyone knew about her.
It hadn’t been easy to stay apart. It was weird. It felt like watching him live the life he would have had if she hadn’t gotten in.
Asta wondered what would happen– what people would say– if she got up from the table, walked over to where Felix was sitting, straddled his chair, and kissed his face off in front of the whole cafeteria.
But she didn’t. Felix was ahead of her by a fraction of a second in the rankings, and she didn’t want anyone saying he let her win when she finally edged him out.
For a few weeks, Landry’s little tidbit about Pikki’s family almost made Asta like Pikki. Or, if not like her, then at least respect her. Pikki worked hard, and she was a great rider. There weren’t that many other female students– definitely not in the riding program– and Asta decided to trynothating Pikki and see how it went.
But then Pikki had called Asta out in front of the entire school at one of the scrimmages for mixing up Carmine’s leg guards, right and left.
‘It doesn’t even make a difference,’ Asta complained to Felix when they met up later at the gazebo, tucked under a grove of stately oaks and spruces just downhill from the admin building. Twice a week, they snuck out of their dorms after curfew and sat toe-to-toe on the hard wooden benches, chins on their knees. If Felix tried sneaking in a touch of her calf or a surreptitious little caress of his foot against her hip, Asta would scoot back out of his reach, around the curved gazebo benches. ‘It’s just some obscure little rule. But I did it wrong, and heaven forbid she let a single opportunity to humiliate me pass her by.’
‘I mean, I hate to be this guy, but a rule’s a rule,’ Felix said, his voice slipping into that know-it-all tone that annoyed her to no end.
‘Do not take her side!’
‘I’m not. It’s just, she’s right. The white stripes go on the outside.’
Asta shot daggers at him with her eyes. ‘That isn’t the point.’
‘Oh, so sorry,’ he said, his voice awash in sarcasm.
‘I don’tcareif she’s right,’ Asta said. ‘Pikki Lowell uses being right like a freaking cudgel.’ Pikki’s recall of the rulebooks was flawless. Her technique on the track was flawless. Her whole goal at Pillar seemed to be flawlessness. But why make it Asta’s problem? ‘She is always trying to embarrass me. I’m telling you, shehatesme.’
In the fields behind the admin building and the trees beyond, the katydids were making a racket. The nights had been warm lately, even this high in the mountains, and Asta had optimistically come out wearing only a sweatshirt– her favorite one, with the blue chevron and red sleeves– over her pajamas. She imagined what it would be like to crawl over there to Felix and press her body against his for warmth. Had Pikki ever tried that move? The thought of it made Asta want to die.
‘That’s just how she is,’ Felix said, oblivious to the imaginary dramas playing out in Asta’s mind. ‘She doesn’t hate you.’
‘She definitely does.’
‘No one could hate you.’
Asta couldn’t help but smile, in spite of her salty feelings. ‘You’re biased.’
There was an excruciating pause. ‘Maybe.’
Asta’s skin flushed. The night air didn’t feel cold anymore. In the stables below the gazebo, a dragon grumbled and groaned.
‘Wanna see something?’ Felix asked, changing the subject. He pulled his hands out of the pocket of his sweatshirt, and a snarled illusion sparkled to life in his palms.
‘What is that?’ Asta asked. She swung her knees down and leaned forward to touch it, though the brush of her fingers against his made her lightheaded.
