The janitor appeared, dragging a huge trash can on wheels and delegating volunteer responsibilities. Yes. Our janitor liked to think the people she chose had volunteered. Only the cheerleaders ever cared to argue.
Sophie, kicking a textbook that had stopped a few inches from her feet, smiled at me. She glanced toward the gradually clearing chaos. “I need to be going,” she said softly in apology. “I’m working on this thing…”
“What thing—?” But I was nearly knocked off my feet by Pietr racing around the corner.
“Jess,” he exclaimed, grabbing hold of my arms so I didn’t fall backward and take Sarah with me.
Sophie drifted away without answering.
“Hey!” I blinked up at Pietr, smiling as I noticed both of his eyes at the same time: his normally rebellious hair had again been tamed and instead of his right eye being shadowed by a few riotous strands, his hair now framed his face.
My eyebrows rose.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad look for him—I doubted Pietr had a bad look.…
“Uh—what did I miss?”
I shrugged. “An important new equation: convulsing student equals exploding lockers. There was already a test of sorts.”
“We failed,” Amy muttered, shaking off her backpack so someone’s stray paper fluttered free.
Max cleared his throat. “Later,” he said with a nod. He led Amy to her classroom’s door before pressing one chaste kiss quickly to her lips. She frowned and left me in the hall with the boys.
And Sarah.
“Sorry. I’m running late. Again,” Pietr apologized, the words blurring together in his haste. His normally faint Russian accent was more pronounced with stress and he glanced from Max to Sarah to me and back to Max.
Not like the Rusakova alpha at all. I shifted from one foot to the other. “You look different,” I commented, heading to the door of my class.
His eyes were wild, but not in the way that spoke to me of his wolfish background. More like … He dodged in front of me, almost nailing my shoulder in his haste to open the door for me.
“Uhhh … thanks.” I studied his face. I cast a questioning glance toward Max and only got a shrug in answer before he turned away.
Sarah grinned vapidly at Pietr and also thanked him for opening the door.
He nodded and followed us into the classroom. Sitting at the desk next to mine, he pulled up one sleeve to check a watch against the clock on the wall.
I reached across the aisle to touch his arm. “Seriously?” I whispered, looking at his wrist. “Another watch?”
“We are not supposed to have our cell phones on in class, so, da. A watch.”
“Another watch,” I prompted.
“Da.”
I widened my eyes at him.
“The other one did not keep good time.”
I stayed perfectly still, waiting.
“I think.” He sighed. “I need to know the time,” he said sadly. “I no longer sense it, so I need to see it. And it must be accurate.”
My lips pressed together, I nodded and turned back to the front of the room just in time for class to start. Class passed me by as I stole glances at Pietr. Pietr sitting still as stone in rapt attention, only occasionally looking away from the teacher or up from his notes to glance at his wrist and check the accuracy of his watch. Pietr, studious and involved in the same classes that months earlier had paled when compared to his adventures in Europe or his powerfully animal-like abilities and aptitudes and his desire to live life fully—to live life fiercely and love courageously—and to do so every exciting and dangerous minute.
Pietr twitched and glared at his newest watch when the bell rang, releasing us from class.
I gathered my things, dumping them into my book bag, and asked, “Is it a little off?”
He frowned, and I knew the answer was yes—well, da—before he even opened his mouth to say it.
In silence we left the classroom and were bombarded by the anxious chattering of Hascal, Jaikin, and Smith just outside the door.
Pietr was immediately involved in their conversation.
And I was quite simply stunned.
* * *
Words that would’ve made Sarah’s head spin—even when she was Little Miss Vocabulary—were being tossed around by the group of them like they were nothing.
Finally the talk of time-space continuums, parsecs, and the anomaly of a sudden surge of graffiti in Junction died down and Smith glanced in my direction. In a very pointed way.
“We’re all bright people. We should get together on a weekly basis to play some variety of game. Something that strengthens our strategy and mental acuity. What do you think, Pietr?”
“I think that sounds like a reasonable idea.”
Smith rubbed his hands together, a smile on his face.
I wondered if Pietr realized he was being put to a challenge. That a game night to Smith might very well equate to a potential opportunity to show he was mentally superior to Pietr. I stepped closer into the group of them, my curiosity piqued.
“Chess?” Smith suggested.
Pietr shrugged, seemingly unimpressed by the prospect of squaring off against Smith using a chessboard.
“Dude,” Hascal warned, “he’s Russian.…”
I turned away for a moment to keep from choking on a laugh. Even I had heard of the legendary chess rivalry between the USSR and the United States. But if your heritage determined your capabilities or your destiny …
I paused, considering. My family was a mix of many backgrounds. German? Check. Italian? Check. French? Check. A little Native American mixed in for good measure? Supposedly it got a check, too, along with some mysterious Asian influence from the 1800s. Whenever someone asked about our ethnicity, we jokingly claimed “mutt.” If my heritage determined my destiny—if I had no free choice—I would still do okay because my very mixed heritage allowed for all sorts of opportunities. I was as American as Americans got.
And that was definitely okay with me.
Smith’s eyes narrowed, and he studied me until I took Pietr’s arm and looked away, made self-conscious by his staring.
“A game that encourages intellect and creativity as well as a bit of freedom of expression is D&D.”
Pietr tipped his head. “Dungeons & Dragons?”
Smith’s smile widened. “Indeed. Have you played?”