Page 18 of The Last Love Story

“You’re admitting I was right?” Hux asks, that same teasing in his voice.

“We aren’t friends.”

And dammit, I know why. All his jabs, his hard shell, his crushing defeats of me in the classroom and beyond. I’m too soft. Even now, as I stare at him across the mat, the blades sweaty in my palms, tears prick my eyes. I’m embarrassed to admit how excited I was when I saw him standing there last night. How often do I look out my window to see if his is open, wondering if he’s just as lonely as I am? Hoping he’s looking back?

Hux gives me a weird look, spinning his blades as though to remind me where we are—in front of the whole class, Alba’s cameras trained on our movements. I clear my throat and lunge. He tries to lower his center of gravity but fails, and I knock the blades from his hand and trip him so he lands hard on the mat, his breath rushing out of him. I don’t think—my body moves. I surge over him, pressing my forearm against his throat until the veins pop out on his forehead. As our hipbones interlace, I bear him down into the mat, expecting him to buck me off again. But instead he taps the ground. The girls cheer as he gives up.

For a moment, we’re caught there, our chests going with heavy breaths. And then I roll off. Without so much as a glance and certainly not a hand to help him up, I stalk off toward the locker room for our break.

I freeze in my tracks. The door to my locker hangs just ajar. An unease settles over my shoulders as I slowly step toward it, reaching to nudge open the metal door while trying to keep an eye on my periphery.

My gym bag sits inside, seemingly untouched.

Then I remember, I’d told Ms. Astor where I was keepingFahrenheit 451.What if someone heard? Everyone rushed off to weapons practice... everyone except Hux.

With shaky hands, I quickly rifle through my bag, reaching for the false bottom. I lift it, breathing hard as I check for the book.

I see another book there instead. It’s bigger this time, with a soft blue cover.Pride and Prejudice, it says. Relief gusts out of me as I open the cover just a little to see a note tucked inside:

Being without a book is a special kind of torture.

I took the other one back to reshelve.

While I’m tempted to start reading, the sound of my other classmates coming toward the locker rooms spurs me on, and I quickly shut the bag and throw it over my shoulder.

Only two more hours before we’re done for the day, and for the first time in a long, long time, I’m excited to go home.

I get to read.

For the second half of weapons practice, I don’t get called again. I sit with my bag at my feet, watching the matches and trying to act normal. Nef is paired with Adia, and I cheer as she pins her in under two minutes. Hux tries to catch my eye, but I don’t meet his. He doesn’t want to be friends? Fine.

The last match is called, and we all filter out into the hallway, ready to head back to the refining classroom for one more hour before the end of the day. Nef keeps putting her hair up and taking it down, talking about the latest episode on her DopaMine, and I’m pretending to listen as my hand grips my bag like my life depends on it.

Suddenly, the sound of plastic and glass hitting the floor rips out of the classroom nearest to us. More noise follows: Yelling. Shouting. Boots.

Three Hammers lead Ms. Astor out into the hallway, her hands pulled painfully behind her back.

I freeze, and Nef grabs my hand. All around me, students watch, mouths agape as our proctor is arrested.

Our supervisor, Mr. Kaits, stands in the doorway, his mouth pressed into a line as another Hammer peppers him with questions.

“No, I don’t know how it got here, I’m just glad I found it when I did,” he says smugly, and my heart drops as one of the masked guards slipsFahrenheit 451into a plastic evidence bag.

A wave of nausea sweeps over me.She was caught because I brought a book to school.

A book.

My whole body goes cold as I realize I have another book in the bag that is currently resting at my side.

“We need to make sure there aren’t any more on the premises,” the Hammer says, and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“I have to pee,” I mumble at Nef, who isn’t listening. She is, like everyone else, watching raptly as the Hammers toss the training room. Computers are unplugged and set on a desk under the window; tables are tipped. Ms. Astor’s desk is torn apart.

I walk backward until I’m behind the crowd.

And then I turn and run as fast as I can.

I make it to the server room without anyone seeing me and open the door as quietly as possible.