Chapter 20: The Founders' Gala

The Founders' Gala was held in the old reading hall, under four chandeliers and a portrait of a man who had been dead for a century.

Four hundred people sat at round tables with white cloths and small cards.

Mine said Cora Bellinger in Kendra's round handwriting.

She had written it before she was moved to the door.

I picked it up and put it facedown.

Phoebe sat on my left in black velvet with a program folded in her fist.

Micah sat on my right, in a borrowed navy jacket with the sleeves an inch short.

He wasn't supposed to be on campus.

The dean had walked past our table twenty minutes earlier, glanced at the card with Micah's name on it, and said nothing at all.

His knee pressed lightly against mine under the cloth.

I didn't move away.

"Breathe," he murmured.

"I am."

"You're counting."

"I'm counting."

At the head table sat Brady's father with a glass of water he never touched.

He smiled at me across the room, politely.

Near the doors, behind a table of name tags, Kendra stood alone in a gray dress.

She was watching our table.

I made myself look away.

At seven-thirty the lights dimmed, and the president of the university said a few words about founders and tradition.

Then she said, "Our student body president, Brady Sutliff."

Applause.

Brady walked to the lectern in a black tuxedo, in no hurry at all.

He adjusted the microphone and smiled.

"I'm going to tell you about the first night I spent at Halsey," he said.

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