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I’m in motion before I’ve even registered what’s happening. I’m running without thought or decision.
I’m too far away to help Zoe, yet I sprint toward her, desperately reaching out though I know it’s too late.
It’s Jasper who saves her. He grabs her ankle in both hands. The force of Zoe’s fall yanks him forward so he almost tumbles over the wall too, until I grab him around the waist and drag him backward.
Now we’re a jumbled mass of hands and arms, Wade Dyer joining in, grabbing Zoe’s other leg and helping to haul her back over the ramparts.
Not Rocco, though. He stands watching.
Zoe is limp and pale, whether from shock or because she hit her head against the wall. Blood streams from her nose as well as the right side of her face. She can’t stand—her legs collapse beneath her. I try to hold her up, while simultaneously pulling her shirt closed in the front.
Jasper steps back, looking pale and sick himself.
Wade’s eyes dart between me and Rocco as he waits for instructions.
Rocco steps forward, lifting his slim, white hands like he intends to take Zoe from me.
I tighten my arms around her shoulders and pull her back out of reach.
“Don’t,” I growl. “Don’t touch her.”
“What do you mean?” Rocco says, smiling at me. “That’s my fiancée, you know.”
While the rest of us are sweating and breathing hard, Rocco looks as fresh as a daisy. You’d never know he’d witnessed a near-suicide, let alone driven a girl to do it.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” I say again, keeping my eyes fixed on his so he knows I mean it. “I’m taking her to the infirmary.”
Rocco’s smile is fading, his expression hardening like concrete. His eyes dart between me and the dazed, bloody girl lolling against me.
He looks like a child who’s had his lollipop snatched away.
“Be careful, Miles,” he says.
He’s not talking about Zoe. He’s warning me not to fuck with him.
I don’t care. Right now all I can think about is Zoe’s rope of dark hair laying over my shoulder, and her heart beating so hard against my arm that I’m afraid it might burst.
I start backing away slowly. I’m taking Zoe back down through the door closest to the Library Tower, because it’s near to the infirmary and I don’t think Jasper will stop me, whereas Wade is blocking the path to the orange grove stairs, arms folded over his chest. Wade looks almost as irritated as Rocco, his handsome face sulky and spoiling for a fight.
The space between us feels like a fragile pane of ice.
The slightest tap will shatter it.
I keep backing up, step by step.
Rocco stays exactly where he is.
He’s not trying to stop me. But I can tell from the look on his face that he’s very, very angry.
The infirmary is a long,low building close to the library. Dr. Cross has his apartment at one end, and then there’s an open area with several beds, an industrial sink, and glass-fronted cabinets full of medical supplies.
Right now the only other patient is a skinny Sophomore who apparently sprained his wrist in Combat class. Dr. Cross has just finished wrapping up the wrist. When he spots me carrying Zoe through the door, he unceremoniously tells the kid to get back to class.
“Can’t I rest a while?” the kid says, looking none too eager to leave the peace and quiet of the spotless infirmary.
“Rest in your dorm,” Dr. Cross croaks at him. “This isn’t a lounge.”
“Can I get some kind of a doctor’s note?” the kid says. “How am I supposed to write papers? I’m left-handed.”
