Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
History is struggling to repeat itself.
CHAPTER 17
“Almost the last one,” Everly says sweetly before she jabs the shot in my arm.
I grit my teeth together. “Almost? I thought this was the last? It’s been two weeks.”
“We’ll do another one next week,” she says, removing the needle. “Just to be safe.” She places the circular adhesive on my arm and tells me to apply pressure, which I do.
“But the wolf still didn’t break the skin.”
“Just to be safe,” she repeats, putting the needle away and snapping off her gloves. She folds her arms and stares at me, head tilted, long blonde hair hanging like a curtain of wheat. “How are you?”
Just peachy. Ever since I learned you think I’m a moron.
Though it was a couple days ago that I overheard her talking to Kincaid, her words still sting.
“Fine,” I say.
She smiles thinly. “Good. Good to hear. I hope you’ve been thinking about what I told you. About wanting to prove yourself. Have you given it any more thought?”
“Not yet,” I admit. “I’m looking for inspiration.”
“Inspiration is all around us, Syd,” she says. “The forest here…there are cedars that are five hundred years old, Sitka spruce that are close to a thousand. All those years, all that history, all those ghosts.”
I look at her sharply. “Ghosts?”
“You think this place doesn’t have ghosts? It’s built on ghosts. On the indigenous who have lived here for thousands of years. On the trees that have fallen. On the animals whose bones sink into the soil. All these ghosts connected and living underneath our feet through networks of mycelia.” Her eyes spark. “History stays alive here. I know you feel it. We all do.”
“Maybe I’ll make my study on ghosts, then,” I manage to say, the hair at the back of my neck prickling.
She grins, her smile too wide. “I hope you do.”
The rest of my day was thankfully uneventful. The rain hadn’t stopped since yesterday and continued through dinner, leaving everyone in a soggy mood. My arm was super sore from the shot, and I cursed Everly for making me have another one next week, but perhaps they know something about rabies that I don’t.
I didn’t have class with Kincaid, and I hadn’t seen him anywhere, which probably means he’s avoiding me yet again. First, he kept his distance after the boat breakfast; now, he’s doing the same after our argument in his office.
Which I still feel stupid about. Every time I think about what I said, I feel a rush of shame in my chest. What was I thinking, being so bold and brazen?
But you saw that look on his face, I remind myself. He wanted you to tell him the details of your dreams.
Still, the rejection has made its way into my bloodstream, clouding everything I do. It’s hard to shake, hard to forget.
I’m standing in my bathroom, about to take off my makeup, when suddenly, there’s a loud knock at my door.
My breath hitches in my throat.
It’s ten at night.
Cautiously, I poke my head out of the bathroom to see a shadow on the other side of the door, the knob turning, rattling.
Fuck no.
“Sydney!” a voice yells. “Get up! The ocean is sparkling!”
“We also have wine!” adds Munawar.
I exhale with relief and head over to the door, opening to see Lauren, Munawar, and Rav with boxes of wine in hand.
“Get your shoes and your coat,” Lauren says quickly. “The phosphorescence is going off tonight!”
“And Nick just got back from the Port Alice run, so we have provisions,” Munawar says, lifting up the box of wine and attempting to pour it into his mouth. It explains the ruby stains on his Amateur Mycologist with Questionable Morels sweatshirt.
“Save some for the rest of us,” Rav says, smacking him on the back, which only makes him spill more wine on his shirt.
“Okay, just wait for me, please,” I tell them. I’m remembering Amani knocking on my door and taking off, and I’m afraid that if they go without me, I’m going to end up in a snowy field again.
They hang out in the doorway while I slip on my sneakers and hoodie.
We then leave my room, and I lock the door behind me before we clamor down the steps. In the common room, a group is cracking open beer cans by the fire, and Munawar yells at them to come join the show.
With that group now joining ours, we head out into the night. Twilight still stretches across the horizon, but the darkness is coming quickly, the stars appearing in the clearing sky as the rain clouds move to the north. The group is laughing, yelping, drinking, and for the first time since I’ve been here, I feel like I’m part of the gang.
“Have any wine to spare?” I ask Lauren as we pile down the ramp, our footsteps on the metal grid echoing across the inlet, shaking the dock at the bottom.