The Vault of Dreamers by Caragh M. O'brien Read Free Book Online

helping Rosie?” Janice asked.
    “Looks like it,” Henrik said, laughing. “I guess that blows your theory, Paige. Niceness
     trumps art.”
    “Don’t worry. It won’t last,” Paige said, rising from her seat.
    The others laughed and started getting up, too.
    “Thanks, you guys,” I said, pushing back my chair. “I mean it.” Despite what Paige
     had said, I was beyond thrilled. “You especially, Burnham. Thanks.”
    “You never know,” Burnham said. He reached into his back pocket. “Hold on. I’ve got
     something for you, if you want it.” He passed over a piece of paper, folded in quarters
     to make a kind of booklet, and I opened it to find a picture of Dubbs. He’d printed
     off a screenshot from when he’d played with the colors around her face. I held it
     up to peer at it closely, loving how cool it was.
    “You like it?” he asked.
    I hardly knew what to do with such thoughtfulness.
    “Are you always this nice to people?” I asked.
    “It’s no big deal. Really,” he said, and with a jog of his glasses, he turned and
     made his way between the tables.
    Janice grabbed my arm to hold me back. “That dude totally likes you,” she said.
    “He just met me,” I said.
    “Yeah, but still. Do you have any idea how rich he is? I can’t believe he’s even at
     this school,” Janice said.
    Burnham was kind of cute. I almost said it out loud before I remembered the cameras.
     It wasn’t just the viewers stopping me this time. Anything I said could make its way
     back to Burnham, and also to anyone else in the school. I glanced back toward the
     kitchen.
    “I’m supposed to go to the infirmary,” I said.
    “How come?”
    “I don’t know. The doctor wants to see me,” I said.
    Janice obviously hadn’t had the same request to report to Dr. Ash. For a second, I
     considered showing her the track mark on my arm to see if she might notice hers, but
     then what? I still didn’t want to admit, on camera, that I’d been awake at night.
    “It’s probably nothing,” Janice said.
    “I hope so.”
    We left our trays at the return counter, and I lingered a second, looking back into
     the kitchen for Linus. His pile of trays was gone, and he was on to washing a stack
     of pots.
    “Can I help you?” The chef stepped into my line of vision. “Chef Ted” was embroidered
     in blue cursive on his white jacket, and his jowly face was mismatched with a lean,
     wiry body. When I scanned his hand for bruising, I saw nothing but hard knuckles.
    “I was wondering if Linus is okay,” I said.
    “How’s that?” the chef said, turning an ear toward me.
    “Linus,” I said, louder. “I wondered if Linus’s eye is okay. From when you punched
     him this morning.”
    Linus didn’t stop working, but another one of the kitchen helpers, a frizzy-haired
     woman with a potato peeler, looked my way. A young man behind her set down a big tub
     of applesauce to watch, too.
    “Pitts!” Chef Ted called.
    Linus turned, and I saw the discoloration around his eye was worse.
    “I told you to get that checked out,” Chef Ted called.
    “I’m going to. Right after—”
    “Go now,” Chef Ted said. “And go to the infirmary, not the clinic in town.”
    Linus glanced toward me, his expression unreadable. He turned the hot water off. He
     started peeling off his gloves.
    “We appreciate your concern,” Chef Ted said to me. “You have a nice day now, hear?
     Good luck with the cuts.”
    Linus turned his back to me. From the angle of his elbows, it looked like he was untying
     his apron. I hesitated, waiting for another look from him, but it didn’t come. Why
     did I feel like I’d made a mistake? I’d only used my leverage, such as it was, on
     his behalf. He stepped out of view. I waited a bit longer, expecting him to come out
     of the kitchen and join me. Then finally I realized he must have gone out the back
     door.
    We were both going to the infirmary, but we were each going alone.

 
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