Page 16 of Victorious

She claimed her favorite spot, the one in the corner, and unloaded her bag. She was just about to put her headphones on when a voice two computers down said, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Sydney clenched her jaw. It wasn’t her fault that she still looked like a middle schooler. In a month and a half, she’d be old enough to drink, but ever since she plunged through the ice, her body couldn’t seem to keep up.

Unlike Eli Ever, she was aging—just very, very slowly.

It had taken her nearly a decade to go from looking thirteen to fourteen, the change marked by a single inch of height and the vaguest suggestion of tits. At this rate, she’d be pushing fifty before she looked legal.

Sydney looked over at the speaker—a scruffy-looking guy in wire-frames that made it impossible to tell his age, beyond solidly adult. Good for him—and gestured at the textbook on the table. “I am in school.”

The man shook his head and rose, muttering something about homeschooling and granola moms. Syd wondered what he’d say if he saw her granola mom—a six-foot-five man with a shaved head and neck tattoos.

Syd fought back a smile as she brought up a browser and typed in the site. A moment later, the home page came up. Two words ran across the top of the screen.

Lockland University.

It was, hands down, the best pre-med program in the country. It also offered students access to recordings of every lecture they’d attended.

Plus, the orgo prof, Daniela Dean, was a genius. Certifiably. Syd had read all her papers, both the ones that had been formally published, and the one that hadn’t—a graduate thesis on the neural and psychological effects of sustained adrenal alteration. Which sounded to Syd like Dean had at least heard about EOs.

That might explain why the paper had been axed—either by academia, or by EON.

It also might explain why such a brilliant scientist was teaching organic chemistry to undergrads instead of burning through prestigious research grants.

Either way, her loss was Sydney’s gain.

She clicked through to the student portal, fingers dancing over the keys.

A couple months ago, she’d hacked the pre-med registry, and swiped a handful of other students’ credentials, committing them to memory so she could piggyback off one of their accounts each time she logged in.

And Mitch thought she wasn’t paying attention.

She checked her watch, and saw she was down to ninety-eight minutes. She knew she should go straight to the course page and load the latest class, but she couldn’t help herself. Her hands drifted, as they always did, to the school’s directory.

She clicked on the tab for past students and typed in the name.

Victor Vale.

The search results loaded.

And there he was.

Syd studied his face—amazed by how young he must have been when this photo was taken. Younger than she was now. How different from the EO he’d become, the one who’d change the course of her life. But even here, before the time, the trauma, she recognized the curious tilt of his head. The challenge in his pale blue eyes.

The sight of him filled Syd with warring feelings. Wistfulness. And anger.

Because once upon a time, Victor had been safe, he’d been home.

An then he was gone.

He made her a promise, and he broke it.

He lied.

He left.

He wasn’t coming back—Mitch had told her as much—and she should move on. Most days, she wanted to move on, but Victor was like a scab that wouldn’t heal because she couldn’t stop picking at it. She missed him, and she hated that she missed him. She loved Mitch, but there was a space in their life where Victor should be. A gap she kept tripping on.

Three years, and she still expected to walk into the kitchen and see him sitting there, drawing black lines through the morning paper. Expected him to walk back into her life as easily as he’d walked out of it.