The Girl Who Dared to Think by Bella Forrest (best novels of all time TXT) 📗

We fell silent, and out of nowhere I thought of the perfect way of getting rid of him. “Yeah, imagine how you’d feel if you liked Zoe and then saw her standing around with some other handsome guy.”

Zoe shot me a look that promised me a fiery death was in my near future, but I kept my focus on Eric’s horrified face. His eyes darted to Zoe, who managed to screw her features into a mildly neutral expression, and then back to me, his gaze filled with questioning reproach. I felt bad; I’d never insinuated anything about their feelings for each other in front of them both, but right now it was the only way.

“I mean, if I liked Zoe... I guess I could see... Yeah... I never really thought... I mean, it’s not really my business who Zoe hangs out with, even if I did like her, so...”

I smiled at Eric’s stammering, and then nodded. “I’m sorry if this disrupts your evening, but I’m sure Zoe will reschedule. Won’t you, Zo?”

“Sure,” Zoe mumbled, looking at the toes of her shoes. “I’ll net you later?”

“Sounds good,” Eric said, managing to collect himself. “Good luck, Liana. See you later.”

I raised my hand in farewell, but I doubted Eric noticed it; he left so fast I would’ve thought his pants were on fire. I watched him go, then turned back to Zoe, surprised to find her standing right by my side, barely an inch separating us.

“How could you do that?” she exclaimed, her voice loud. “How could you call me out like that?”

Call her out? I blinked, trying to remember what exactly I had said to get rid of Eric.

“How did I—”

“You told him I was lying. Now anytime he looks at me, he’s just going to think, Oh, there is Zoe the Liar, with a capital L!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, somewhat defensively. “I panicked. He was being pushy about trying to hang out, and in case you don’t remember, a man’s life is on the line. I’m really sorry if I embarrassed you, but if your dad said something along the lines of lives come first, then I think this falls under that.”

Zoe gave me an affronted look and then sighed, her shoulders rounding out. “You’re right,” she said. “And you were right to get rid of him. I don’t want him getting hurt because of me.”

“Neither do I,” I said, thinking of her five. We both fell into silence. I couldn’t tell you what Zoe thought about, but for me, it was a moment in which I prayed that we could pull this off without getting caught. “Where are we headed?”

“To the Citadel,” she replied, patting the pocket with the pipe chart, and I nodded. The fastest route back was automatic for me after years of coming down to visit Zoe. I began to move down the adjacent hall, but Zoe caught my arm and gave me a look. “We need to be outside the Citadel,” she added pointedly.

I sighed and began rethreading my lashes to come out through my belt. I was going to need my hands, it seemed. From the excited look on Zoe’s face, we were going to do some climbing.

Just before the Anwar’s Bridge—a gleaming black bridge that lay flat and wide to accommodate traffic from the nearby greeneries—we came to a stop. I examined the bridge and the people already lashing across it while Zoe pulled out the plastic bag containing the torn page of her book.

“We’ll have to go down here,” she said. “You’ll lash us across under the bridge and down the side of the Citadel. We’re looking for hatch 3B.”

I nodded absentmindedly as I pulled my lashes out, immediately attaching one to the black railing. There was so much traffic around the Tower that we likely wouldn’t be noticed, so now was a good time to get moving. Bending my knees, I waited for Zoe to climb on, and then took two steps forward and pitched us over the edge. Zoe sucked in a deep breath as we fell, but I was already moving, throwing my next lash out at the apex of our descent and disconnecting the first line. We moved at a steady rate, my arms flying to attach new lashes almost as soon as I disconnected the last, and within moments, I had taken us through the arches and columns and attached us to the smooth, slightly reflective surface of the Citadel. I looked around, studying the small marks along the side—designed for navigation and repairs—and began moving left and down, following the designations toward the hatch Zoe had named.

“There it is,” Zoe said suddenly, adjusting her weight on my back so she could thrust out her arm and point to a spot a few feet below and farther left. I threw my lash to just past where the door would be and swung us over it, spreading my legs wide to brace our weight. I was studying the smooth surface, searching for a button or switch to open it, when Zoe reached over and inserted a long wire into a small, almost invisible hole between the 3 and the C. I felt something hard press up against my back but stayed still, not wanting to distract her from what she was doing. There was an electronic beep behind me, and then a door about three feet wide slid open.

I realized it was a crawl space that ran between floors, and sighed as I lowered myself to let Zoe climb in first. She did so as gently as possible, but I still got her boot on my shoulder and neck for a moment as she pushed farther in.

“Now that we’re here,” I grunted as I pulled myself in before retracting the lines, “you mind telling me what’s up?”

Zoe had already pulled out the paper and unfolded it on the floor, a small light in her hand as she studied it and looked at the pipes running overhead.