I summon my bow and arrow the way I’ve been practicing and smile when I retrieve the exact ones I wanted. “Ha,” I say, gloating. “Look at that.”
Suddenly, the arrow is knocked out of my hands by another sharper and hotter one. It grazes the inside of my elbow.
“What the heck?” I gasp, looking up.
First, that was not nice. Second, I’ve never seen a flaming arrow in person before. But it wasn’t Nicholas who shot at me. Mila is nocking another arrow, one eyebrow raised at me. Lucky for her she turns to practice with a target this time. What’d I ever do to her?
“Don’t make him regret choosing you,” she says, letting the arrow fly and, of course, pinning it dead-center in the target’s heart. “For the team,” she adds.
“I already do,” Nicholas mumbles.
“Rude.” I find my own tree and target a little way down from theirs, where I don’t feel as threatened or patronized.
cecelia earl 