“Everyone’s going,” the guy says. He’s all broad shoulders, built for a game no one in this city really cares about anymore. “It’s, like, tradition.”
Becca tilts her head. “You’ve never been?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Wow,” she says, like I just told her I’ve never seen the ocean—which I haven’t. “That’s kind of tragic.”
I laugh a bit. “I know,” I say. “I thought maybe I should go, you know, before graduation.”
“Well,” she says, looping an arm through mine like we’re friends, “we can’t let you graduate without seeing Tar City at its finest.”
One of the girls giggles. “Becca loooves a project.”
Becca ignores her. “You’re coming with us,” she says, decisive. “Meet behind the old gym at sunset. We’ll take the train together. Wear black. Seniors always do.”
I nod too fast. “Okay.”
She squeezes my arm. Not unkind. Not kind either. “You’re going to love it,” she says. “It’s insane.”
Insane.She says it like that’s a selling point.
The bell rings and the group disperses. Becca tosses her hair and calls over her shoulder, “Don’t be late, ballerina.”
Being invited—even like this—feels better than sitting alone in my room wondering if I got in the academy, or worse, wondering if Jax is thinking about me.
“Sisk, wait up.”
I hear Ivan’s voice down the hall just as I’m shoving my notebook into my bag. He jogs to catch up, breathless in a way that doesn’t match the short distance.
“Hey,” I say, turning.
I haven’t seen him much lately. The day after we got stuck in that tunnel, he and Jax got into it. After that, Ivan vanished for a few days. The next thing I knew, he was standing at the audition like I had invited him. And now… I can tell something’s off with him.
He keeps pressing two fingers to his left ear, like he’s trying to force something back inside. His glasses sit crooked on his face and there’s a faint gray shadow under his eyes.Maybe he’s sick.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m—” He stops himself and swallows. “Can you come over after school? To my place. I found something about the tar, I think it’s important.” His words spill fast, tumbling over each other like he’s afraid if he pauses, I’ll disappear.
“I’m sorry, Ivan,” I say. “I can’t. I’ve gotta get ready.”
He frowns. “Get ready for what?”
I hesitate and his face changes immediately.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to the lot,” he says.
I nod.
He exhales through his nose. “You’re kidding.”
“Everyone’s going,” I say, defensive before I mean to be. “It’s not a big deal. Do you want to come?”
“No,” he says. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s stupid,” he snaps. “Because it’s dangerous. I thought you were—” He stops himself. “I thought you were better than that.”
