“I wish you luck,” Magh said.
“Thanks,” Frederica said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She smiled. Magh blushed, her grey skin darkening. The rest of the class finished filtering into the room, followed shortly thereafter by Cyrus Llewellyn. He took his place behind the podium. Frederica checked her phone one last time, then turned her full attention to the lecture.
Frederica received one message from Griffith over the course of the day, a terse “really busy, can’t talk” that she didn’t acknowledge. At the end on the day, Magh had plans with Tommy and Nila had a group project to work on, so Frederica made her way back to the dorm alone.
On the other side of the university courtyard, she spotted one of Griffith’s big red wings over the heads of crowd, making a beeline for the exit. A part of her wanted to hurry and catch up to him, but she found herself rooted to the spot. He glanced back over his shoulder and she turned invisible, waiting until he gave up and continued on his way.
Then he was gone.
She sighed. Keeping her distance was going to be harder than she thought. She’d gotten so used to seeing him almost every day these past few months that she barely knew what to do with herself now.
She took off into sky, heading the opposite direction as Griffith. The weather was still dreary after the storm on the weekend. The air carried a vague dampness that sank into her clothes and turned her hair into a frizzy mess. It all culminated in a heavy, sluggish feeling that strained against her weightlessness and made flying more cumbersome.
Eventually she found herself hovering over the Champion Hotel downtown. She’d only been inside the building once, for Angela’s wedding some years ago. Frederica still remembered how nervous she’d been as ring bearer; she’d nearly tripped on the way up to the aisle. She could only imagine how much more nervous Angela had been.