The Book of Miranda | gxg | ❖

(16) Studying Failed Successfully

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?"