CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR TRISPETER IS ACROSS the room, gathering a stack of books into a pile and shoving them into a bag. He bites down on a red pen and carries the bag out of the room; I hear the books inside it smacking against his leg as he walks down the hallway. I wait until I can’t hear them anymore before I turn to Christina.
“I’ve been trying not to ask you, but I’m giving up,” I say. “What’s going on with you and Uriah?”
Christina, sprawled across her cot with one long leg dangling over the edge, gives me a look.
“What? You’ve been spending a lot of time together,” I say. “Like a lot.”
It’s sunny today, the light glowing through the white curtains. I don’t know how, but the dormitory smells like sleep—like laundry and shoes and night sweats and morning coffee. Some of the beds ar
