The Spy by Sophie Lark
16
Nix
The elation I feel winning that first challenge is like nothing I’ve ever known.
I’ve never been on a team before.
I’ve never been anyone’s champion.
The high-fives and back-slaps and compliments and congratulations are like a mainline drug straight to my brain. I’m floating on a cloud of euphoria, which is all the warmer because Ares doesn’t seem to mind that I won.
The fact that we worked together to make it happen is the best part of all.
I admire Ares.
He’s disciplined and restrained—two qualities I lack.
He never loses control of himself.
When I was left all alone standing in front of those stones, I could have screamed with frustration. But I knew I wasn’t going to give up, and that meant there was no point whining or crying about it. I had to get it done any way I could.
Sabrina is over the moon that we took first place in her very first challenge as Captain. I’ve never seen her look more gorgeous than in the full glow of gloating.
“I think me picking you as champion really shows my genius,” she says, grinning at me with her sharp white teeth.
“Of course you do,” I laugh. “Don’t ever let anyone accuse you of being humble.”
“I never would,” she assures me.
“I’m just sorry I can’t compete in the rest of the events,” I say, frowning. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—winning that one was well fucking worth it. But now that I’ve got a taste of it—I really think we could take the whole damn thing!”
“If we do, it’ll be because of you,” Sabrina assures me. “You got the Freshmen hyped.”
We’re getting ready for the party to celebrate our win. Well, the Freshmen, Sophomores, and Seniors are celebrating—the Juniors are in near-mutiny, utterly fed up with their constant losses and ready to lynch August Prieto for letting them down yet again.
Cat Romero is the only Junior who seems indifferent to the humiliation.
“I didn’t even have to compete this year,” she said happily over dinner.
I ate an entire chicken and a mountain of potatoes. I’ve never been so ravenous in my life. Then for dessert, fresh-baked blueberry pie with actual whipped up cream, not the shit out of a can . . . I think I reached nirvana.
Now I can feel my legs stiffening up like redwood trunks, and I have no idea how I’m going to dance tonight.
Sabrina is, if anything, more excited for this party than she was for the challenge itself.
She’s standing at the mirror, somehow managing to improve upon an already perfect face. She’s made her eyes all the more smoky and cat-like, her irises a pale silvery-gray in the ring of the dark shadow. Her hair falls in smooth, shining waves that my insane curls could never hope to emulate. Her dress is a liquid silver that reminds me of chain mail. It looks like she poured it on over her curves.
Sabrina’s body is insane. I try to avoid watching her change clothes so I don’t suffer a heart attack.
“What are you gonna wear?” she asks me.
“This,” I say, gesturing to my trousers and sweater vest.
I detest the uniform, but I also hate doing laundry, so I don’t change outfits any more than necessary. You can’t go to class without your uniform, or to the dining hall. I usually wear a sweater vest or pullover with no blouse underneath, and a pair of trousers with my army boots. It’s an uneasy compromise between me and Kingmakers that displeases us both.
“Nix,” Sabrina says patiently. “Everybody dresses up for parties.”
“How do you know?” I say. “We haven’t been to any yet.”
“Not here,” Sabrina says, “but it was practically my full-time job in Chicago.”
“I don’t like dresses,” I tell her. “I like them on you, but they look stupid on me, like a bear in a bikini. I’m too big.”
“There’s a million sexy outfits you can wear that aren’t a dress,” Sabrina persists. Then, with a sly look, “You know Ares is gonna be there . . .”
She knows we’ve been spending time together.
Still, I have to squash her insinuation up front.
“He’s not trying to date me,” I say bluntly. “Nobody in their right mind wants to date the daughter of Marko Moroz, that’s pretty fucking clear.”
“Did he say that? Or are you just assuming?” Sabrina inquires, calmly glossing her lips.
“We’re just friends,” I tell her stubbornly.
“I’ve got a lot of friends,” Sabrina smiles. “They don’t look at me like that . . .”
“Everybody looks at you like that.” I roll my eyes.
Sabrina is sex incarnate. The way she walks, the way she stands, the sultry rasp of her voice . . . even the Chancellor couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“What was he saying to you?” I ask Sabrina. “The Chancellor, I mean.”
“Don’t try to change the subject.”
“I’m not—I saw him talking to you. What did he want?”
“He was just congratulating me,” Sabrina says carelessly.
“You should be careful around him. I don’t trust him.”
“No shit,” Sabrina says, snapping her lip gloss closed. “I know what he did to Ozzy’s mom, and to Dean. I have no intention of getting on his bad side.”
“I’m not sure his good side is a great place to be either,” I persist.
Sabrina won’t be distracted from her own initial point.
“You should dress up tonight. Really make Ares stop and stare.”
“If he likes me, then he likes me looking like this,” I say, gesturing to my usual attire.
Sabrina sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to Princess Diaries you. I’m just telling you, I know men . . . and it’s never a bad thing to surprise them.”
I narrow my eyes at her, sizing up the glamorous vision of Sabrina Gallo, wondering what a ten-percent dose of her moxie might look like on me.
“Well . . .” I say slowly. “If you promise not to go overboard . . .”
* * *
