Young Writers Society

“That’s our cue,” said Jhémes, and he strode past Angel towards their teammates, carrying both of their luggage.

Angel cried, “Hey, wait!” When he didn’t stop, she raked a hand through her hair and growled in frustration, and she ran, weaving and dodging through throngs of other seniors to keep up with him. “Give me my bag. I can carry it myself!”

“No one said you couldn’t, Miss Astrid,” answered Jhémes, and he hefted Angel’s things even more securely on his shoulder.

He reached the rest of Team Verity first and extended his right hand to Calvin. “Jhémes Blake. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Angel came next to him and began to try to pull the straps off his shoulder. Without even looking away at her, he caught her flailing wrist in his left hand and held it tightly.

Calvin looked once at Angel, focusing on her wrist in Jhémes’s hand. Then he turned his attention solemnly back to the outstretched hand and piercing stare. He smiled politely and gave Jhémes’s hand a firm shake.

“Calvin Foster. It’s nice to meet you too, and it’s good to have you on our team. I’ve heard a lot of people talking about you around school.”

“Only good things, I hope,” said Jhémes. A corner of his mouth rose rakishly as he continued to lock eyes with Calvin and grip his hand; he was also still holding on to Angel.

“Of course,” replied Calvin, unshaken by what was obviously a challenge of unknown reason or form. “You’ve gained quite the impressive reputation already for a student who has only been here for one week.”

Angel, who had given up trying to wrench her wrist free, looked back and forth between both of them. What was going on with this conversation? She also hoped Calvin wasn’t referring to the mock exams—she was so tired of people talking about the results.

A loud shout of dismay broke everyone out of the dense spell of tension. They all turned and stared as Frazzle whimpered and clawed through his entire duffel bag, which already looked like a storm had blown through it.

“No, no, no, I forgot my bug spray,” he groaned. He looked up at everyone with desperate, imploring eyes. “Does anyone have any I could use while we’re here? I’m going to get bitten so badly . . .”

He stopped, and he genuinely observed and registered the scene before him for the first time. “Oh,” he murmured, and he looked down again with a grimace. “Never mind, don’t mind me.” He began another fruitless sift through his bag.

After a prolonged silence among the five, Bryony said, “I’ve got you covered, Henry. Don’t worry about it.”