Page 72 of Echoes of the Banshee

He grumbles the whole way to nightblind side of the school and then again when I make him get in line.

“This food is awful for you,” he complains.

“So what? You’re too healthy.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” But I can see the smile on his face. He orders a salad and I order some chicken pot pie. I also buy Mavrik’s pathetic salad and we head to my usual corner seat.

“Where’s Zair?”

“Don’t know,” I lie and then pivot. “We never talked about your other classes. What are you studying?”

“Kinesiology.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” I offer him a warm smile and we fall into conversation about sports medicine.

“Can I ask you a favor?” I ask as the idea dawns on me.

His face falls and I immediately want to take it back. He nods.

“Would you want to practice sparring with me after Misfits some days? Just when you have time. Your insight could be—”

“Yes,” he answers before the words are out of my mouth. “I’d love that.”

My phone buzzes, Zair asking if we’re ready. I tell him we are and then flip it over.

“Are you free after Misfits Monday?” he asks excitedly. When I tell him I can, he begins talking about progressive overload. The clapping starts as they come streaming in the door, more than forty. Seriously, Zair.

I look to Mavrik and gesture with my head. He turns and looks as they break into happy birthday.

Mavrik’s mouth falls open as he looks back to me, his cheeks bright red.

“How did you know?”

“I got my ways,” I say cryptically as the cake arrives and the song stops. “Make a wish.”

“I wish—”

“You’re not supposed to say it aloud,” I cut him off. He pinches his lips together then looks at the candles. He must know how a cake works. Right?

He blows out the candles and the people Zair rounded up start clapping. Guess it is my fault for asking the star of the soccer team to recruit people for an impromptu round of happy birthday. They all start trying to talk to him but he’s solely focused on the cake. He sets it on the table and passes a spoon to each of us.

“Do you have any idea how many calories are in this?” Mavrik looks horrified at the chocolate chocolate cake.

“You either eat it or wear it,” I threaten playfully. He quirks his lips and takes a bite.

Three thousand calories later we’re all groaning and holding our stomachs.

A single spoonful remains.

“It’s yours.” I nudge a groaning Mavrik.

“Why do we have to eat the whole thing?” he asks with a grimace.

“Tradition,” I reply.

“What tradition?” Zair asks. He just wanted an excuse to eat half a cake.

“Since Mavrik never got his own birthday cake. Now he has to finish it.”