THE SANDMAN ☞ TRAVIS STOLL

ELEVEN

"WHY AREN'T YOU DRIVING?"

    Valerie glances up from the bag of weapons she's been triple-checking. "I never got my driver's license. I'm from New York."

    Travis leans against the side of the car, his shoulder and hip aligned with the tail light, as he looks at her. "You don't drive in New York?"

    She shakes her head and zips up the bag. "We don't. Or, at least, I don't. We have taxis, and the subway, and Uber." She slams the trunk closed before continuing: "I always meant to get my license eventually, but it just never happened."

    "I'll teach you how to drive."

    "Right now?" She asks, something resembling a smirk pulling at her lips. "I don't think that's a good idea. I'd crash."

    He laughs, spinning the key ring around his finger as he walks the small distance to the front of the car. "One of these days, I'll teach you."

    She shoves down the fluttery-stomach feeling and flops into the passenger seat, choosing not to respond.

    Her anxiety about the trip has been building for the past twelve hours, coming to an insurmountable peak as they get in the car to finally leave for Manhattan.

    Something about this hurts more than the last time she left Alyssa behind—last time, nearly two years ago now, she'd fled in the middle of the night, bringing nothing but her sword and a backpack with her. Alyssa hadn't known she'd left. No one had, until the sun rose the next morning and Valerie Greenwood was not in her bed, in the arena, or anywhere in between.

    The thought stings at her throat. What Alyssa had said the night before still lingers at the back of her mind, an open wound that continues to bleed. She knows Alyssa's words had been the bitter truth—that, no matter how far Alyssa's forgiveness is capable of stretching, how much she can condone and excuse, there is still a limit, and Valerie is nearing it more and more every day.

    In another life, this would not be a decision that she would have to make. In another life, she would have made all the right choices ten years ago, would have elected to favor the good she was raised with rather than the evil she was born with. She would not be widely hated by her peers.

    In another, better life, this trip would be Valerie bringing her boyfriend home to meet her family. It wouldn't be Valerie contemplating choosing between a place where she isn't accepted and a place where she is only accepted conditionally, when she pretends to be someone she isn't.

    "Hey, Sandman, you good?" Travis asks, eyes darting from the road to her face. "You got spacey there for a second."

    She knows he can see the bags under her eyes from one too many sleepless nights in a row. "I'm fine." She says, and the lie tastes bitter on her tongue.

    He knows. He always knows.

    Valerie leans forward and stabs at the buttons on the radio with her finger, flipping through radio channels until something heavy and metal plays through the speaker. She turns it up so loud that any chance for conversation is gone, and she rolls the window down to feel the warm, summery breeze.

    As much as she prefers autumn and winter for all their gloom and darkness, there's something about summer that she loves. Eloise was born on the first day of the season, and the twins were born in July. For the first long while she was at camp, Valerie spent her summers at home in Manhattan, celebrating her sisters and lounging next to the rooftop pool at the Greenwood.

    Surprisingly, excitement builds behind her ribs as the New York City skyline appears on the horizon. Travis, however, does not share the same excitement—his face grows pinched, his blue eyes glued to the skyline.