Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“You’re thinking too much about it,” Pat said. “It’s just one meal.”
“Your disrespect for nutrition is nothing to be proud of,” Jean warned him.
“Give us some examples,” Cody suggested as they set their bread aside. Jean obediently counted off breakfast, lunch, and dinner on his fingers. A mistake, perhaps: his teammates were left staring at him like he’d grown a second head. Cody was the first to find their voice. “Not every single day. Jean,” they pressed when Jean only frowned at them, “tell me you had some variety.”
Jean thought about it. “Sometimes they brought us fruit.”
“Right,” Ananya said, dragging it out. “Ummm. Okay. Let me think.” The pensive look on her face as she considered the spread before them did nothing to inspire confidence, but at length she said, “The biryani?” and Cody passed her a dish from the far corner. Ananya set it down near Jean’s glass. “I confess I don’t normally think about food in such strict terms, but this should be a close enough match.”
Should be wasn’t good enough. Jean made no move to serve any. “What is it?”
“Chicken biryani,” she said.
He stared at her until she counted off ingredients on her fingertips. Everything she listed was known to him, save for the basmati rice, and Jean peered down at the dish. On a surface level, it sounded safe and acceptable, but without Cat’s easy expertise to rely on Jean was floundering. There was the chance he was adding it up wrong, or that Ananya had carelessly left off an ingredient. Jean couldn’t risk it. He moved the biryani out of reach.
“No,” Ananya guessed, with obvious disappointment.
“It’s just chicken and rice,” Cody protested. “I’ve seen you eat that for lunch.”
“I will eat later,” Jean said. When Cody looked ready to argue, he added, “I am not hungry.”
“Not to be rude, but I don’t believe you,” Pat said.
“What you believe is not my problem.”
“Jean,” Pat said, and tried, “Moreau,” when Jean initially refused to look at him.
Jean turned a baleful stare on him, but Pat ignored the clear warning in it. His jaw had a stubborn set to it as he studied Jean’s face. Jean wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he didn’t have to wait long. Pat reached out and dumped a pile of deep-fried vegetables on Jean’s plate. Jean shoved it away from him before anyone could think he intended to eat it, and Pat slammed the tongs down with a deafening clatter.
Ananya put out a hand toward Pat in warning. “Darling, we’re in public.”
Pat didn’t look at her, but he was at least smart enough to keep his voice down. “That’s not conscientiousness, Jean—that’s fear. You’re afraid to eat.” There was more dismay than anger in his accusation, but Jean still felt his hackles rising. “What the fuck was Edgar Allan thinking? That’s not normal or okay.”
“You do not get to tell me what’s normal,” Jean shot back, savage enough that Ananya leaned away from him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“No, but—”
Jean didn’t want to hear it. He got off the bench and yanked out of Ananya’s grip when she caught hold of him. “Phone,” he said, and left without looking back.
He pushed the door open so hard its hinges made a threatening crack, and he retreated to the street corner to watch oncoming traffic. Home wasn’t far from here, he knew: from this vantage point he could see the intersection at Jefferson and Vermont that he crossed everyday for practice. A short walk, a couple turns, and he’d be safe in familiar territory. It was almost cruel how close it was.
He hoped the creaking door behind him was from a different shop, but Cody stepped up beside him only moments later. They followed Jean’s gaze and asked, “Heading home?”
“I can’t,” Jean said, and for once it galled him to admit it: “Ravens can’t travel alone.”
I am not a Raven was a jagged echo in his temples. Jean wanted to claw it out.
“I’ll walk you home after dinner,” Cody offered. “Come back in?”
“I need to make a call first,” Jean said. “I promised Coach Rhemann”
Cody nodded and stepped back. “See you after, then.”
Jean watched for the door to close behind them before looking down at the phone in his white-knuckled grip. The thought of dialing out set every nerve on edge, but Jean slowly scrolled to the number he’d saved under the name IGNORE. He tapped on the call button too lightly to trigger it, wondering if it would be easier to get away with a text, and finally pressed down. Perhaps she would be asleep, and he could at least tell Rhemann he’d tried.
“Hello, Jean,” Betsy Dobson’s voice said at his ear only one ring later. “I had hoped I would hear from you this week.”
She’d seen the news, then. “My coach ordered me to call you,” Jean said, and left the this is not my choice unspoken. “I will tell him you are too busy to speak this week. All you need to do is confirm it if he asks.”