Page 28 of Us in Ruins
“Ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven—”
“I said from one hundred. You skipped it.”
Trance broken. Margot flung Van’s hands off her shoulders. She huffed, “What’s it matter if I skipped it?”
His mouth turned downward. “You can’t start at ninety-nine if you’re counting down from one hundred. That’s illogical.”
Then, someone cleared their throat behind them. “Can I take your order?”
Only then did Margot register the chill of the tile floor they sprawled on, the way everything smelled like grease and salt. Stone walls that probably dated back to the Flavian dynasty gave way to red and yellow booths. Linoleum tables, curious onlookers, a giant menu boasting Big Macs and large fries.
They’d surfaced in a freaking McDonald’s.
Margot turned to the employee. “Yeah, a McFlurry. He’s paying.”
10
Margot’s shoes squeaked the whole way back to the ruins. Her clothes stuck to her in all the wrong places, her curls reeked of sewer water, and mascara stained beneath her eyes no matter how many times she swiped at it. Waterproof? As if.
She ditched her empty McFlurry cup (Oreo, obviously) in a trash can as they joined the line at the Nocera Gate. Their walk back had been silent. If Margot tried to talk to him, she was just going to cry or yell and let her too-big, too-much feelings take over. So, instead, she said nothing. Did nothing. Tried her absolute best to feel nothing, even if it ate her alive.
A horrible concoction of emotions swirled behind her sternum—leftover fear from the ache in her lungs, anger that Van would withhold crucial information about the trial that cost them the shard, and frustration at herself for agreeing to do anything to get the Vase without even wondering what anything would entail. She was just as naive and foolish as everyone expected her to be.
Naming her feelings helped ease the tar-black stickiness in her chest, just a little bit.
As the line inched closed to the city’s entrance, Van’s head swiveled around on his shoulders, clearly on edge. Every step they were about to take was one he had taken nearly a hundred years ago. The city unfurled in front of them like one of Van’s maps, charted in faded lines. Margot didn’t miss the faraway look in his eyes, like seeing a dream come to life. When he’d been left underground, trapped in that marble shell, most of this city had still been buried. As if realizing the same thing, his hands had curled into fists by his sides, nervous.
Despite everything else, Margot felt a pang of sympathy. “Different, huh?”
“I hadn’t noticed it last night, but, yes, very.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, lifting the threads of gold out of his eyes.
“I’ve never seen this many people here. And everybody has those... flashlights.”
“Flashlights?” Margot’s face scrunched up in confusion until she followed Van’s gaze. “Oh, those are phones.”
“You can make calls from your flashlights?”
Margot laughed, light. Some of her resentment chipped away. “You can do just about anything from those flashlights.”
Van shoved his hand in his pocket, jaw tightening as the line inched toward the gate.
Something about his stature—his rounded shoulders, his uneasy posture—made Margot want to smooth the tension out between them. “I don’t really feel like I fit in here either, you know. Everyone else on the trip, they earned their spot, but I’m still trying to prove I did, too.”
“I know what that’s like.” A knowing look, a flash of memory, crossed his face. “I came from nothing, but Atlas had everything.”
The line scooted forward until they were back inside the ancient city limits, and Margot steered them toward the dig site. Dr. Hunt’s white tent loomed ahead. Dread pooled in Margot’s knees, refusing to carry her forward. She could already hear the familiar refrain of lectures about how she was too hasty, too emotional, too much.
“And now we aren’t any closer to remaking the Vase,” Margot sulked. “My hair is going to smell like sewer sludge for the next eternity, Dr. Hunt is probably going to ship me home for insubordination, and we didn’t even get the next shard.”
Her feet decided to move again, but it felt a little too much like walking the plank.
“Margot, wait.” Van halted in the middle of the road, and streams of tourists forked around him. Taking his hand out of his pocket, he held open a flat palm and a fragment of clay.
“Oh, my god,” she said, just a wisp of breath, a whisper only they would hear. Van had managed to grab hold of the second shard after all. “You couldn’t have mentioned this an hour ago?”
“I just...”
“Didn’t want me to mess it up again?” Margot finished.