These Games We Play

Chapter Ten:Proverb

Yeah, absolutely not. I didn’t even wait to finish my food. I left as soon as I got the chance. I wasn’t exactly sure of where I was going but I wasn’t staying there. I was sure that Thea was playing me. I doubt she would lie about a girl dying but I had to be missing something.

I made it down one hallway and was turning toward another when Xander Hawthorne popped out of a nearby lab, holding what appeared to be a mechanical dragon. All I could think about was what Thea had just said.

“You look like you could use a robotic dragon,” Xander told me. “Here.” He thrust it into my hands. I gave him a smile.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I asked. It was a beautiful dragon I’d give him that.

“That depends on how attached you are to your eyebrows.” Xander raised his one remaining eyebrow very high. I started at him unsure of how to reply. My brain still spinning after what Thea had told me.

“Are you hungry?” Xander asked me. “The refectory is back that way.”

“I’m okay,” I told him. I wasn’t going to let Thea win but that didn’t stop me from being warry. “Also what in the world is a refectory?”

Xander grinned. “It’s prep school for cafeteria.”

“Prep school isn’t a language,” I pointed out.

“Next you’ll be telling me that French isn’t one, either.”

“I speak French so I doubt that will happen anytime soon,” I replied trying not to laugh.

As I did Xander patted the robotic dragon on its head. It burped. A wisp of smoke rose up from its mouth. I was trying to shake as he did, Theas warning playing in my head.

“You alright Eva?” Xander asked, and then he snapped his fingers. “Thea got to you, didn’t she?” I handed the dragon back to him before it could explode. I happen to me fond of my eyebrows.

“I don’t want to talk about Thea.”

“As it so happens,” Xander said, “I hate talking about Thea. Shall we discuss your little tête-à-tête with Jameson last night instead?”  God what was it with everyone asking me about that. Had I not been greatly annoyed about the fact he knew I would have wondered how he knew.

“It wasn’t a tête-à-tête.”

“You and your grudge against French.” Xander peered at me.

“I’m French Xander. I don’t have a grudge against it.” I told him. “How did you even know about that anyway.”

“Cam. She talks a lot. I like you know, she seemed interested in my robots.” Xander responded. With a small smirk that reminded me of Jamies own. “Jameson showed you his letter, didn’t he?”

I hesitated I wasn’t actually sure if it was meant to be a secret or not. “Jameson thinks it’s a clue,” I said. Xander was quiet for a moment, then nodded in the opposite direction from the refectory.

“Come on.” I followed him because it was either that or find myself another random empty classroom.

“I used to lose,” Xander said suddenly as we rounded a corner. “On Saturday mornings, when my grandfather set us to a challenge, I always lost.” I had no idea why he was telling me this. “I was the youngest. The least competitive. The most apt to be distracted by scones or complex machinery.”

“But…,” I prompted. I could hear in his tone that there was one. There always one with a Hawthorne.

“But,” Xander replied, “while my brothers were trying to take one another down in the race to the finish line, I was generously sharing my scones with the old man. He was awfully chatty, full of stories and facts and contradictions. Would you like to hear one?”