her bag for her lip gloss and reapplied, then stepped back out into the party, her head held high. She wouldn’t let Atlas get to her. She couldn’t afford to, not again.
“Leda.” Cord fell into step alongside her, wearing a dark costume with a sash slung across his chest. “Long time, no see.”
“Hey,” Leda said cautiously. She’d always been a little unsure of herself around Cord. Unlike Avery and Eris, she hadn’t known him since childhood, and ever since she had asked him for help getting xenperheidren a few years ago, it felt somehow like he had the upper hand.
“How was your summer?” he asked, reaching for a pair of atomic shots from a passing tray and handing her one. “Cheers,” he added before tossing his back.
Leda’s fingers curled around the glass of clear liquid. She’d promised her mom she wouldn’t drink tonight. Cord watched her, reading her hesitation, missing nothing. He raised an eyebrow in sardonic amusement.
Then she heard a familiar burst of laughter from behind them—Atlas was walking past. Why not? Leda thought suddenly; it wasn’t like one atomic would send her back to popping xenperheidren. She raised the shot to her lips and took it in a single gulp. It burned her throat, not unpleasantly.
“Now I remember why I like you,” Leda said, setting the shot glass down.
He laughed in approval. “I missed you this summer, Cole. I could have really used my smoke buddy.”
“Please. You have plenty of other people to get high with.”
“None as interesting as you,” Cord insisted. “Everyone else just gets dumber the more stuff they take.”
Leda shifted uncomfortably at the reminder. I’m sharp enough without xenperheidren, she told herself, but the words didn’t ring as true as they had just a few days ago. Mumbling an excuse, she turned and moved farther into the party. The feathers on her ballerina skirt had started falling off, leaving a little trail on the floor.
Hey, where are you? she flickered to Avery. Avery didn’t know about how she used to smoke occasionally with Cord—and Leda didn’t want to tell her—but seeing her might help calm Leda down.
“Leda?”
She turned slowly, trying to seem like she didn’t care, though of course she did.
Atlas was standing in a group of his old hockey friends. Leda waited, unmoving, as he mumbled something to the guys and came over toward her. “Hey,” he said simply.
Leda’s temper flared. That was all he had to say, when the last time they’d seen each other was naked in a hot tub, halfway across the world?
“So where were you?”
Atlas blinked. “I took a gap year, traveled around.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” She crossed her arms. “I know the truth, okay?”
“I don’t …”
“It was a pretty shitty thing to do, leaving like that. Especially after—you know.” Her mind flashed to that night, to the way he’d touched her and the snow that had fallen over both of them, melting wherever it met the heat of their skin. She felt herself flush at the memory.
“Fuller!” Henry Strittmayer yelled out. “We’re starting Spinners! Get your ass over here.”
“In a minute.” Atlas’s eyes were locked on hers. “I’m glad you said something, Leda. I was thinking about you a lot while I was gone.”
“Oh?” she said cautiously, trying not to get her hopes up.
“I owe you an apology.”
Leda felt like she’d been slapped. “You don’t owe me anything,” she said quickly, defensive. Stupid, she chided herself, thinking that Atlas might have missed her, when all he apparently felt was that he owed her. God, she hated that word. It was about as far from romantic as you could get.
They looked at each other in layered silence. “Want to play Spinners?” he asked after a moment.
“No.” The last thing she wanted was to sit next to Atlas like everything was normal, and play a game that might end with them being forced to kiss. “I’m going to find Avery,” she amended. “She seemed a little drunk earlier.”
“I’ll come with you,” Atlas offered, but she was already pushing past him.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly, heading into the hall. “I’ve got it.”
The pull she felt toward him was as insistent and powerful as it had been in Catyan, when their bodies were so intertwined that he’d felt like a part of her. Yet she didn’t understand him any better now than she had then. Maybe she never would.
Leda’s stomach gave a sudden twist, her head pounding angrily. It felt like something was pressing at her from within, the way she used to feel when she came down too abruptly from a high—
She needed to get out of here. Now.
She elbowed through the hot, teeming crowd that filled Cord’s apartment, a mechanical smile pasted on her face, and slipped into the first hover she could find.
By the time she got home Leda was nearly frantic. She raced down the hall to her room and flung open the door, reaching for her lavender-scented aromatherapy pillow and burying her face in it, taking several deep, desperate breaths. Hot tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. God, she was an idiot. She couldn’t believe how easily seeing Atlas had sent her veering toward the edge.
Finally Leda plopped into the chair at her vanity. She began wiping the makeup—and the tears—from her face with brusque, angry movements. Her body was so tense it was almost shaking.
A tentative knock sounded at her door. “Leda?” Ilara Cole appeared in her daughter’s doorway. “How was the party?”
“You didn’t need to stay up.” Leda didn’t turn, just met her mom’s gaze in the mirror. Ilara never used to wait up for her before.
Her mom ignored the comment. “I saw some of the snaps, from the feeds,” she persisted, in a clear attempt to be upbeat. “All the costumes looked fantastic. Especially you and Avery together!”
Leda spun around on the vanity chair and stood up, her hands clenching into sudden fists. “You’re spying on me now? I thought you said you would trust me this year!”
“And you said that if I let you go to the party, you wouldn’t drink!”
Leda recoiled, and her mom’s tone softened. “I’m sorry,” Ilara went on. “But, Leda, I’m not stupid. I can smell the atomic from here. What am I supposed to think?”
“It was just one drink,” Leda said tersely. “That’s not exactly going on a xenperheidren bender last I checked.”
Ilara started to put a hand on her shoulder, but Leda brushed it away, and she lowered her hand in defeat. “Leda, please,” she said softly. “I’m trying here. I want to trust you again. But trust
