Page 32 of Legacy Found

"Next time," she says quietly, "keep your eyes down."

She leans in just enough that only I—and probably everyone shamelessly eavesdropping within ten feet—can hear the rest.

"Keep your mouth shut."

"And go sit with your little scholarship friends where you belong."

I just stare at her for a second.

"...Wow."

One perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifts.

"Excuse me?"

"That was incredibly rude."

She looks genuinely confused that I'd point it out. I shift my tray to my other hand.

"You know, where I come from, saying thank you is considered good manners."

I give her my brightest smile.

"You should try it sometime."

Then I step around her and continue toward my table. Behind me, I don't hear a single conversation start back up.

Chapter thirteen

Jessica

By the end of the first week, the entire freshman class has lost its collective mind over a number.

"Okay, we need to compare marks," Sophia demands, dropping onto the low wall outside the dining hall where we've started meeting after classes. "Group audit. I need to know if I'm dying."

We are all tracking Merit Marks like our lives depend on it — it’s a whole lotta stress for everyone. My total sits at nine. Three from Jon's first class, two from an essay I stayed up too late on, a couple here and there for answering questions, and one I'm still not sure I understand from a professor who nodded at me once and then awarded it.

"Nine," I report.

"Nine?" Sophia clutches her chest. "I have four. Four! How do you have nine?"

"She argued with a prince in front of a whole class and the professor liked it," Renzo says, not looking up from his own screen. "That's the Jessica method. High risk. Occasionally fatal."

"I have eleven," Freya says, to no one, which is the most Freya thing imaginable — quietly winning while everyone else panics.

"Of course you do," Sophia moans.

Declan has seven and looks vaguely guilty about it. Renzo has six and is loudly pretending he doesn't care, which means he cares enormously. And it's not just us — the whole class has caught it. You can feel it in every room now, this low competitive hum, everybody asking everybody else's totals, some students walking around glowing with twenty-plus and others going pale and quiet because a week in and their number's barely moved. Two girls near us are having what is clearly a tense conversation about which professors "actually give them out."

"Is everyone this obsessed?" I ask.

Torres, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, nods. "They will be. Until they hit a hundred, and then they'll be obsessed about the Trial instead."

"I have never in my life had anxiety over imaginary points," Sophia announces, mournful. "This is a new personality trait and I hate it."

Torres huffs a laugh. "They stopped feeling imaginary pretty fucking fast."

One by one the others peel off toward their dorms, Sophia still lamenting her four points, Renzo promising to "make a comeback," and somehow it ends up being just me and Torres, walking the long way back with no particular reason to hurry.