Our singularly vapid school research project interferes with our planning to re-infiltrate our teacher's office. Well, our need for safety contingencies in sneaking out a second time interferes first, but I'd rather take pot shots at my scholarly responsibilities than re-entertain the idea that this school murdered one of its students. I'd be delighted to ignore the project, too, but Exie has a perfect-student reputation to maintain, and I'm certain hell with all its chariots could not drag her from that inclination.

And so it is that lunch three days later finds us both in the library, Exie curled up with another cannonbook in her lap, me flat on my back conducting a study of the library ceiling's elaborate angel frescos. I can at least pretend it's productive.

"Do you need something to do, or are you just here because you want company?" says Exie without looking up.

I treat her to an upside-down glare that she doesn't see. The forthright answer is both, but I would sooner eat a rack of winter mitts than admit it, and I'm not a fan of indigestion. I also have no desire to wander the school alone anymore. Clarice is off on one of her foraging forays, and for all the admirable chaos of her undertakings, I don't actually want to get caught with her. Not when we don't know anymore what getting caught and punished in this school might mean.

So I shrug, sacrifice a few cents of dignity, and lie a little. "I feel like I should do something to help you with the project."

Maybe that's not a proper falsehood. I haven't quite forgiven Exie for that caustic look in class when my disobedience prompted Mrs. Hardwork to pair us up. But I did nearly sabotage Exie's investigation by doing so, and now we're in this together whether I like it or not, so I can't really hate her. Not now that I know why she's here.

"You don't have to," says Exie. "I wasn't kidding when I said you're free to stay out of my way."

"What if I don't want to?"

She raises an eyebrow.

"What?" I say. "It's a question."

She shrugs. "Then find some way to help. Read something. Find another map. Draw a picture. I'll be writing the report, but you can submit a contribution."

"Wow."

"What?"

The words on the tip of my tongue are you really have no faith in my abilities, or some variation thereof, but they don't make it past my suddenly locked teeth. Exie's expression remains open. She tips her head in what looks like an honest question, and it's cute enough that my thoughts derail. I shake my head to chastise them.

"You don't like writing, right?" says Exie. "So I can cover that part."

I blink. The surprise keeps sinking in, like realization stepped in quicksand somewhere between my ears and my brain. I sit up properly. "How did you know?"

"Besides the fact that I've never seen you take a note in class, even when you're interested?"

"I'm not interested in class."

"History class yesterday? Also economics the day before when Mrs. Hardwick was talking about social enterprises. Natural sciences in the morning, and you perked up halfway through literature—"

"Fine. Fine."

"But you never take notes," says Exie matter-of-factly, unperturbed by my protest. "And you recite everything from memory, in class and when you're investigating anything. I guessed."

"I hate everything to do with words. Writing falls under that. Happy?"

She tips her head again. "Do you?"

"I said—"

"You read the bible."

"Part of it. That was to win our bet."

I want some reaction to that, and am not rewarded. Exie must remember the bet—she's not the type to forget such things—but either it doesn't bother her anymore, or it never did to begin with. "You kept talking about it last time we met here," she says. "You sounded like you enjoyed the stories."

"Stories are fine. I just hate reading."

"Oh." There's a pause, then Exie says, "Is that why you hate school so much?"

"No."

She sets her book carefully on the carpet and sticks her hands in her lap, waiting. This is the first time she's shown any significant interest in my life, and it's more than a little disconcerting. Also kind of nice. But I'm not going to admit that out loud. It does serve to circumvent my usual obstructiveness, though, and I would feel manipulated if Exie's expression wasn't so honestly intrigued.

"I just hate being told what to read," I say. "It takes energy, and I hate wasting that on useless homework. My teachers... most of them have been good about it. The bad ones are bad, but I have it on good authority that everyone hates those kinds of teachers."

"Do you prefer listening?"

"To what?"

"Anything. Classes. Books. Stories. Is listening easier than reading?"

I hesitate before answering. This is more private information than I think I've ever disclosed to people, or at least classmates of mine. Let alone classmates I first met a week ago "Usually," I say. I monitor Exie's reaction in case this is some kind of trap, but she's rocking slightly now, hands still in her lap and eyes still on me. I have her undivided attention.

I continue, "It's better if it's a topic I'm interested in. If it's not, I can't focus. But that goes for anything, really."

She chuckles.

"What?" I say warily.

"Sorry. I mean... I understand?" Her dark forehead creases in the slightest of frowns. "I can't remember the last time I had a school subject I wasn't interested in, but when I'm not, it can go crawl into a hole and die for all I care."

It's my turn to snicker.

"What?" says Exie. We're just taking turns in the what-brigade today.

"There are subjects you don't like? What even are they?"

She wrinkles her nose. It only makes her nose cuter, which I think is unfair. It's hard to focus on what she's saying now, and I really do want to know what school subject can piss off Exie e'er-do-well Quinnell.

"My parents sent me and my brother to a finishing school for a year each," she says at last. "Social etiquette, upper-class mannerisms, and all that drivel. I hated it."

I'm going to lose my eyebrows in my hairline at this rate. "Your parents saw fit to send you to a school for social etiquette?"

Exie flicks a braid over her shoulder with just a hint of smugness. "I did so well, I convinced them it was a waste of my time and their money. Watching people is better social education anyway."

"You learn by watching people?"

"Where else would I pick up social things?"

"I thought your part of society just..." I wave my hands around. "I don't know. Were born knowing how to make small talk or something. Everyone's so polished."

Exie wrinkles her nose further. "Small talk is the worst. That took me years."

I'm staring at her again. At least I have an excuse this time.

"People don't make sense, and I stand by that assertion." She plucks up her book again and plunks it in her lap with the closest thing to a flounce I think I've ever seen from her. "They just don't question you if you're good at school or good at faking, and I'm both, so they never bat an eye. On the upside, once you can actually read people, most tend to be fairly predictable. Upper society is all like that. It's not hard to navigate once you know your way around, but nobody ever actually tells you what the rules are."

I count myself properly confused now. "Isn't that what the finishing school was for?"

That nets me a snort. "No. They teach you how to smile at strangers and shake a hand for a well-sealed business deal. Not how to tell if someone is genuinely distressed, or fake, or lying. Or what it really means when they shoot you a particular look across a fancy ballroom." She grimaces. "I will be happy when I never have to attend one of those balls again."

This is news to me. "You're planning to leave?"

"I don't plan to stay forever. Not after what happened to... to David." Exie's prim posture slumps. "That's why I haven't told my parents my name. Or anything, really."

A flash of memory returns to me: Exie's mother calling a boy's name to summon her daughter on arrival day a week ago. "You're hiding it."

"I want to start fresh when I leave. Make enough of a legal identity change that they can't track me down again unless I want them to. I have enough money saved up. And I have an easy reason to change my name and appearance and everything, so why not use it?" She shrugs, but it's too nonchalant for how resolutely she's avoiding my eyes now. "It's the biggest discrepancy with my parents' reality that I haven't revealed yet, so I don't want to waste it ahead of time. Not until I have everything in order before I leave."

"And they haven't guessed?"

Exie waves vaguely at her hair and clothing. "I don't dress like this at home. They don't care, so they just assume I'm a feminine boy like David."

"You're not a boy."

"I know."

"And that's not... uncomfortable?"

Exie still hasn't met my eye. She's not even trying, gaze turned to the window that peeks around the far end of these bookshelves. She jams her hands further into her lap and rocks a little harder.

"Sorry," I say. "You don't have to answer. I just... I'd be uncomfortable in that situation."

Another shrug. "I like pants."

"This isn't just about clothing. You're still in a house with your parents. After everything that happened with David, and knowing how they responded to it? With him... or whoever he is now still in the house?"

"I don't have everything lined up yet. I'll leave once it's all in order."

"What still needs to be in order?"

"A few things."

"Like what?"

Exie falls silent again. Her mouth twists, and I realize she's gnawing the inside of her lower lip. "I'm not ready," she says, then hugs her knees abruptly and rests her chin on them.

I watch her in consternation and no small amount of concern. I'm comfortable admitting that to myself. I may not have left my family yet either, sure, but I'm fairly confident I'd have jumped ship years ago were I in Exie's place. For all my parents have done, they still treat my older sister like gold. Far better than Exie's have treated her older brother.

That's the moment a different, deeper chill starts at the top of my head and creeps down over my body like someone's poured cold water through my hair. My parents treat my older sister like gold. But that means I am the problem child in this situation. I am David, and just like Exie's parents, mine have sent me to Melliford Academy for remediation. And all I've tried to do is break out to get back at them. Break out and get back to them, because unlike Exie with her sophisticated plans, I have nowhere else to go. I'm not too fussed—I'll find a way. But I'm not exactly one to judge her for hanging on.

I haven't left because I'm scared. There, I said it. I'm scared of riding off into the sunset alone, not knowing where I'm going when everything I know is left behind. I'd still do it if things got bad enough, but maybe they have already, and I'm still scared.

Maybe I'm not the only one. 

Like this chapter if you're glad these two are finding commonality!

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