The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism

"Different how?"

"I don’t know. More. Settled? Like you figured something out between then and now." She tilted her head, blonde hair cascading over one shoulder. "During the practical you were running on instinct and panic, which was valid, we were all running on instinct and panic because there was a giant robot trying to kill us. But now you’re like. Calm. In a way that feels intentional rather than forced."

"I’ve had time to process."

"That’s not what I mean." She took a step closer. Close enough that I could smell the vanilla and floral scent again. Close enough that my eyes had to work not to track the way her cropped hoodie outlined the curves beneath it. "You carry yourself differently. Like you know something the rest of us don’t. It’s. Intriguing?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"Both. Neither. I’m still deciding." Another step. Her blue eyes locked on mine with intensity that contradicted her bubbly presentation. "Sloane’s lucky. Whatever happened to you between the exam and now, she gets to watch it up close."

The moment hung there. Loaded with potential energy that the Oracle Feed registered as a two percent uptick in her gauge. Seven percent now. Still Neutral. Still early. But climbing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and found a text from the specific person Felicity had just mentioned.

Sloane: WHERE ARE YOU

Sloane: I CAN SEE YOUR LITTLE DOT MOVING AROUND THE WEST TOWER

Sloane: WHY ARE YOU IN THE WEST TOWER

Sloane: THAT’S THE FEMALE FLOOR

Followed by three messages in rapid succession that consisted entirely of question marks and exclamation points in various combinations.

"Girlfriend radar?" Felicity asked, reading my expression.

"Location tracking."

"Same thing." She stepped back, the charged moment dissolving into something lighter. Her smile returned to its default incandescent setting. "You should go before she manifests in my doorway and starts interrogating me about my intentions."

"Your intentions?"

"I have many intentions, Lukas. Most of them are about snacks and fashion. Some of them are about making friends who don’t bore me to death. You qualify for the second category." She made a shooing motion with both hands. "Go. Text your explosion girlfriend. Tell her I was forcing you to carry heavy things and that I have no designs on her man, which is mostly true."

"Mostly."

"I said what I said." Her grin was sharp beneath the sweetness. "Now shoo. I have unpacking to do and you have relationship maintenance to perform. We can continue getting to know each other later. I’m here all semester."

I pushed off from the wall and headed for the door. My hand was on the handle when her voice stopped me.

"Lukas?"

I turned.

She stood in the middle of her half-unpacked room, blonde hair catching the morning light from the window, blue eyes bright, Mr. Whiskers standing guard on the bed behind her. The cropped hoodie and tiny shorts and platform sneakers combined into a visual that would have been distracting on anyone and was borderline weaponized on her.

"Thanks for saving me. During the exam. I know I said it before but. I don’t think I said it well enough." Her voice was different now. Softer. Stripped of the performance energy that characterized most of her speech. "That robot would have killed me. I was pinned and out of options and you just. Showed up. Like it was nothing."

"It wasn’t nothing."

"It felt like nothing. The way you moved. The way you grabbed me." She shook her head, blonde waves swaying. "I’ve replayed it in my head like a hundred times. Trying to figure out how you did what you did. How an Unmarked kid outran a giant robot and pulled me out of the rubble like I weighed nothing."

"Adrenaline does weird things."

"That wasn’t adrenaline." Her blue eyes held mine with uncomfortable certainty. "That was something else. Something you’re not telling anyone. Something that made you different from every other applicant in that arena."

The Oracle Feed pulsed. Her gauge ticked up another percentage point. Eight percent. Still Neutral. But she was asking questions that led to places I couldn’t let her go.

"Everyone has secrets, Felicity."

"I know. I’m not asking you to tell me yours." She smiled, and the warmth in it was genuine beneath the sharp edges. "I’m just saying I noticed. And I’m grateful. Whatever you are, whatever you can do, you used it to save my life. That makes you good people in my book. Everything else is just details."

I didn’t know what to say to that. The System had no advice for situations where someone offered uncomplicated gratitude without expecting anything in return.

"You’re welcome," I said finally. "And for what it’s worth, you would have figured something out. You’re smarter than you let people think you are."

Her smile widened into something that looked dangerously close to delighted. "Look at you, seeing through my whole act after like two conversations. That’s either very flattering or very concerning."

"Why not both?"

"Why not indeed." She pointed at the door. "Now seriously, go. Your girlfriend’s tracking dot is probably pacing holes in her floor right now. I’ll see you at orientation. We can sit together and mock everyone’s fashion choices. It’ll be slay."

I left before she could say anything else that would make the System register another percentage point.

The elevator ride down gave me time to compose a response to Sloane that would prevent property damage. I settled on explaining that I’d been conscripted into moving duty by a classmate and that the classmate was the blonde girl from the entrance exam who Sloane had seen me carry out of the rubble.

Sloane’s response was immediate.

Sloane: THE BLONDE

Sloane: THE ONE WITH THE LEGS

Sloane: AND THE

She didn’t finish the sentence. The three dots of typing appeared and disappeared several times before her next message arrived.

Sloane: ARE YOU COMING BACK TO MY BUILDING OR NOT

Sloane: I HAVE THINGS TO DISCUSS WITH YOU

Sloane: ABOUT YOUR MOVING HABITS

Sloane: AND YOUR PROXIMITY TO BLONDES