Page 59 of Prince of the Sun

“That’s why I suggested it for break time in the first place, idiot.”

“But this is better, isn’t it?”

I bite my lip. “This is better.”

We must circle the lake a half-dozen times. At no point does he release my hand. At no point do I ask him to.

As we walk, the sun sinks lower in the west. Clouds gather, thin enough not to draw my worry. Regular Quinn would say it was time to head to the dining hall for dinner. Regular Quinn would eat, then do homework, then spy, then sleep too little and repeat the process.

But Regular Quinn isn’t here. She’s an hour south, sitting on a pile of hay.

As we round the lake for our seventh turn, I ask, “What are you like outside of Harvard?”

“Just as charming as inside.”

I roll my eyes. “Not what I meant. I meant outside of the final clubs, and the search, and your family. What do you enjoy doing?”

“Ah. Well, if I’m being honest, I don’t particularly enjoy any of the things you listed, anyway.”

“So, you’re saying that Harvard Daerios isn’t the real Daerios.”

“No. Not really.”

“What is, then? Where are you happiest?”

He casts his eyes out over the lake. At the center, a bird with brown and white wings lands, sending ripples drifting toward shore. “I suppose that would be… here.”

“Here? At Spot Pond?”

“Sort of.” He squeezes my hand. “I mean nature in general. Especially bodies of water. Rivers. Lakes. Ponds. Streams. Waterfalls. Open air and sunshine.”

“I’m shocked. I would have thought you’d say a nightclub. Or a yacht. Or perhaps getting into a fistfight.”

He smiles, but it’s pinched at the edges. “Those activities certainly serve their purpose.”

“And what purpose is that?”

Instead of responding, he draws his eyes back to the path, staring down at its pocked surface as if it might hold the answer. I sigh. He’s been so open and easy to talk to all afternoon. I’m not sure what I said that made him shut down again. I glance down at the water and, noticing an empty dock we must have passed during every circle, I say, “Hey. If you love the water so much, let’s go check it out.”

I tug his hand. He doesn’t resist as I lead him down the stone steps and out onto the wooden slats. They creak and groan under our shoes. Gentle waves lap at the dock. When we reach the end, I let go of his hand and settle onto the edge, legs dangling over. I peer down into the water. It’s murky, mud and algae dancing beneath its surface.

“Is it swimmable?” I ask.

This question, at last, seems to pull Daerios from his haze. His smile returns. I’m reluctant to admit how relieved it makes me. “Why?” His eyebrows raise. “Would you like to find out?”

“Absolutely not. I’m just asking.”

His smile fades slightly. “Yes. The water is swimmable. The breeze stirs up the bottom, making the water hazy, but that doesn’t mean it’s dirty. It’s quite refreshing, actually.”

“You’ve been in before?”

“Oh, yes. Many times.”

“Manytimes?”

“Spot Pond is the place I go when everything at Harvard feels too suffocating. When I start to feel like there’s soot in my lungs. Like grime is coating every inch of my body, no matter how hard I scrub. I ride Vorrok out here. Out where I can breathe.”

“It’s your escape.”