She thought briefly of a bottle tucked deep in her closet at home, containing the water of eternal life she'd accidental y stolen from the Guardians. Was that the answer? She pushed the thought away. It wasn't the answer yet - she knew that - and she'd made the very clear choice not to think about that bottle, not to decide anything, not now. She had time, she had more life to live natural y before she'd want to ask herself that question.
The picture James talked about was close to the far end of the hal . In it, her father, her mother, and James were sitting on the grass under a tree in the quad. Her parents were leaning forward in eager conversation, and James - a much thinner version, his face almost unrecognizable beneath a straggly beard - was sitting back and watching them, his expression sharp and amused.
Her mother looked amazingly young, her face soft, her eyes wide, her smile big and bright, but she was also somehow exactly the mother Elena remembered. Elena's heart gave a painful but happy throb at the sight of her. Her father was gawkier than the distinguished dad Elena had known - and his pastel-patterned shirt was a fashion disaster of epic proportions - but there was an essential dadness to him that made Elena smile.
She noticed the pin on his horrific pastel shirt first. She thought it was a smudge, but then, leaning forward, she made out the shape of a smal , dark blue V. Looking at the other figures, she realized her mother and James were wearing the same pins, her mother's half-obscured by a long golden curl fal ing across it.
Weird. She tapped her finger slowly against the glass over the photograph, touching one V and then the others.
She would ask James about the pins. Hadn't he mentioned that he and her dad had been in a fraternity? Maybe it had something to do with that. Didn't frat boys "pin" their girlfriends?
Something nudged at the edges of her mind. She'd seen one of these pins somewhere. But she couldn't remember where, so she shrugged it off. Whatever it stood for, it was something she didn't know about her parents, another facet of their lives to be discovered here.
She couldn't wait to learn more.
Chapter Twelve
"Good practice," Christopher said, stopping next to Matt as he headed out of the locker room. "You've got some great moves, man."
"Thanks," Matt said, glancing up from putting on his shoes. "You were looking pretty good out there yourself." He could tel Christopher was going to be a solid team-mate, the kind of guy who did his job and focused on the big picture, working to help the rest of the team. He was a great roommate, too, generous and laid-back. He didn't even snore.
"Want to skip the dining hal and order a pizza?" Christopher asked. "This is my night to beat you at Guitar Hero - I can feel it."
Matt laughed. In the couple of weeks they'd been living together, he and Christopher had been working their way through al the Wii games Christopher had brought with him to school. "Al right, I'l see you back at the room." Christopher slapped him on the back, grinning widely.
After Christopher left, Matt took his time getting his things together, letting the other guys get out of the locker room ahead of him. He felt like walking back to the dorm alone tonight. They were a nice bunch of guys, but he was sore and tired. Between footbal practices and Vitale Society pledge activities, he'd never worked his body quite so hard.
It felt good.
He felt good. Even the stupidest of the Vitale activities - and some of them were pretty stupid: they'd had to work in teams to build houses out of newspaper the other night -
were kind of fun, because he was getting to know some amazing people. Ethan had been right. As a group, the pledges were smart, determined, talented, everything you'd expect. And he was one of them.
His classes were interesting, too. Back in high school he'd gotten okay grades but had mostly just done what he had to do to pass. The Civil War, geometry, chemistry, To Kill a Mockingbird: al his schoolwork had sort of blended into the background of his real life of friends and sports.
Some of what he was doing at Dalcrest was like that, too, but in most of his classes, he was starting to see connections between things. He was getting the idea that history, language, science, and literature were al parts of the same thing - the way people thought and the stories they told - and it was real y pretty interesting.
It was possible, Matt thought, with a self-mocking grin, that he was "blossoming" in col ege, just like his high school guidance counselor had predicted.
It wasn't ful y dark yet, but it was getting late. Matt sped up, thinking about pizza.
There weren't a lot of people roaming the campus. Matt guessed they were either in the cafeteria or holed up in their rooms, afraid. He wasn't worried, though. He figured there were a lot more vulnerable targets than a footbal player.
A breeze started up, waving the branches of the trees on the quad and wafting the smel of grass to Matt. It stil felt like summer. In the bushes, a few early-evening fireflies blinked on and off. He rol ed his shoulders, enjoying the stretch after a long practice.
Up ahead, someone screamed. A guy, Matt thought.
The cry cut off suddenly.
Before he could even think, Matt was running toward the sound. His heart was pounding, and he tried to force his tired legs to move faster. That was a sound of pure panic, Matt thought. He strained his ears but didn't hear anything except his own ragged breaths.
As he came around the business building, a dark figure that had been bent over something in the grass took off, its long skinny legs flying. It was moving fast, and its face was completely concealed by a hoodie. Matt couldn't even see if it was a guy or a girl.
He angled his own stride to race after the figure in black but came to a sudden halt by the shape in the grass.