6/11/2023 0 Comments White Cat by Holly BlackI scrabble for something to hold on to as my bare chest slams down on the slate. I try to steady myself, but my legs go out from under me. When the black outlines of trees overhead rustle, I jerk in surprise. The night is quiet, the kind of hushed middle-of-the-night quiet that makes every shuffle or nervous panting breath echo. Teetering, I will myself to be as still as possible. I don’t even know how to get where I am, which is a problem since I’m going to have to get down, ideally in a way that doesn’t involve dying. I have no memory of climbing the stairs up to the roof. Below me, the bronze statue of Colonel Wallingford makes me realize I’m seeing the quad from the peak of Smythe Hall, my dorm. I suck in a breath of icy air.Ībove me are stars. I WAKE UP BAREFOOT, standing on cold slate tiles.
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