Nazirah knows Grum.
But Grum doesn’t know her.
Nazirah stands in her normal passive position, waiting for him to attack. No, Grum doesn’t know her at all.
His fist flies at Nazirah’s face, fast, but not fast enough. She dodges it easily. That alone shocks the entire classroom, since Nazirah has never defended herself before.
Enraged and embarrassed, Grum pounces. He fakes with his left and then jabs her with his right. Nazirah isn’t quick enough this time. She tries to block, but Grum’s second blow hits her square in the face. Her lip splits open. Nazirah tastes iron, but refuses to concede. This isn’t about standing up to Grum. This is about standing up to herself … for herself. This is about proving she can still be the person she once was.
Grum punches her again, this time in the stomach. Nazirah keels over, coughing up blood. She vaguely sees Nikolaus stepping forward from the wall on her left. Adamek holds onto his shoulder, stopping him. Nazirah stomps into Grum’s instep. He shouts out in pain and Nazirah throws his clipboard at him. She knows it will have no effect, but she needs to buy time. The class watches them silently in horror. Grum catches the clipboard easily, cracking it in half over his knee. He flings it carelessly to the side. A few recruits jump out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting hit by the pieces.
Think.
Nazirah glances at Cato, who appears ready to cry. She remembers a time several years ago, when a bully cornered her in a back alley back home. Nazirah remembers watching as he slowly unzipped his jeans, leering at her. Nazirah dealt with him. She looks into Grum’s face, suddenly calm. She can’t physically overpower him, but that doesn’t mean she won’t win.
Nazirah takes a small step backward, away from her classmates and toward the open space behind her. She tries to look frightened, ignoring both the screaming agony of her abdomen and the blood streaming from her lip. Grum lumbers forward, attempting to close in on her. Nazirah backs up again, more quickly, makes sure Grum is following her. Taking her one chance, Nazirah turns and runs full speed straight at the empty wall. Grum’s heavy footsteps are right behind her. Nazirah jumps as high as she can and launches herself at the wall, kicking and propelling off it. She turns in midair and slams her foot hard into Grum’s head. He falls to the floor, completely unsuspecting, knocked unconscious.
Everyone in the room stares at the two of them, mouths slack, eyes bulging. “The first rule, professor,” Nazirah deadpans, spitting blood, “is to always know your enemy.”
It’s not Grum she is looking at.
Her classmates circle her, breaking out of their spell. They cheer, hugging her and patting her on the back. Even Aneira congratulates her brightly. Cato is the first one by her side, rushing over to hold her up. “It’s good to see you again, Nazi,” he laughs.
The endorphins that kept the pain at bay during the fight are quickly dying. But Nazirah feels amazing. A part of herself that she hasn’t seen in months has resurfaced. And she welcomes it back like a long lost friend … like a blessing.
Aldrik, who apparently went to get help as a precautionary measure for Nazirah, returns with Bilungi at his heels. He enters the gymnasium then halts in his tracks, staring uncomprehending at the unconscious fighting instructor.
Bilungi nearly trips over him. She shoots him a dirty look and rushes over to assist Grum. “Mr. Caal, please take Miss Nation to my quarters.” Bilungi waves some smelling salts under Grum’s nose. “I believe you are familiar with the way.”
Cato nods, helping Nazirah slowly out of the room. Nikolaus walks over to them and gently touches her shoulder, relief clear on his face. “Thank you,” he whispers in her ear.
“He deserved it,” she replies.
Nazirah looks around, searching for the reaction that she really wants to see. She spots him, exactly where he has been all along, leaning casually against the classroom wall.
He’s looking at her, too.
And he’s smiling, genuinely smiling.
Chapter Eight
Summer transitions into autumn without any noticeable temperature change. The days pass by uneventfully. Nazirah attends the majority of her classes, throwing herself into work to distract from reality. She even willingly participates in combat training, doing the bare minimum to placate an even more wretched Grum, who hasn’t acknowledged her presence since getting knocked unconscious. She rarely sees any of the rebel leaders. They are usually on recon missions or in private meetings all day. If Nazirah closes her eyes and doesn’t think about it too much, life seems unnervingly peaceful.
Nazirah lies on her stomach, on the worn rug of the library. Her bare feet wave casually in the air, shoes kicked off hours ago. Her ball of hair is knotted in a loose bun, piled high on her head and secured by two pencils. Her face is bent low, buried in a thick textbook. Books, maps, and various other articles are strewn around her in a protective circle. Almost done with all of her makeup work, Nazirah is currently finishing an essay Bairs assigned her on Medi life and culture. Nazirah doesn’t really want to learn about the luxurious Median lifestyle, but she has to admit that the subject is riveting.
The library is quiet, nearly empty. It often goes unused, since most intermix cannot read and most rebels cannot be bothered. Riva taught her children the alphabet at a young age, and Nazirah always loved engrossing herself in fantastical stories. Intermix are not allowed to use the public libraries in Rafu, but Nazirah would often sneak into the main school from the annex. She would read on the floor of the school library after everyone else left, until Riva would find her and scold her and drag her home.
Nazirah imagined she was a princess in the cold north of Zima, or a bootlegger from a faraway land, or even a bird soaring over Renatus. She imagined she was anything other than what she actually was. Reading was her escape. It still is. With Nikolaus always gone, training intensifying, and unrest erupting around the country, Nazirah knows that her hourglass of safety is running out.
Nazirah finishes reading about hilarious Medi fashion trends throughout the decades. She starts on the bullet train system, which carries goods from the outskirts of the territories to the capital at rapid speed. Nazirah looks out the large window beside her and spots Taj and a few others kicking a ball around outside. She wants to go watch, but wills herself to finish working first.
Nazirah casually flips through some photographs of Mediah, completely mesmerized by the sheer size of its gleaming skytowers, its power, and its technology. She wonders what Niko’s grand plan is to overcome these obstacles and she prays it is a good one.
“So she’s literate.”
Adamek slumps down in a chair before her. He drops a pile of strategy books on the table to his right and rests his hands casually behind his head.
“Yes, she is,” Nazirah huffs.
He glances at the books scattered around the floor. “I know this is probably a foreign concept to you, Nation, but we have these things called tables and chairs for a reason.”
“I know what a chair is,” Nazirah snaps, sitting up. “I just exercise my right, as an intermix, not to use one.”
“I see.”
“What are you doing here anyway?” Nazirah asks, annoyed. Someone shushes her. Nazirah turns to see Aneira glaring at them, several tables away. Nazirah rolls her eyes. She returns her attention to Adamek, speaking more quietly. “I would think a place like this was beneath you.”
“And why is that?”
Nazirah searches the room for inspiration. “Because,” she says, “it’s old and secondhand and dirty.”
Adamek chuckles. He rests his hands in his lap. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a little dirty.”
Nazirah flushes. She has heard the rumors, the dreaded girl talk, especially in the lavatory. Girls obsessed about his perfect looks, perfectly high cheekbones, perfectly straight teeth, the way his perfect hair perfectly flips … blah freaking blah. Originally, they whispered about it when in her presence. But now, no one bothers to hide what they think of perfect Adamek Morgen. And it irritates Nazirah no end.