Chapter 9

9

The Arrowmile labs are out near Canary Wharf, so it takes us a little while to get across the city in the minibus Nadja organized from the office. The labs are housed in a renovated old factory near the river, and when I walk in, it takes my breath away.

The front doors are seven feet tall and open into a light, airy space with a small reception desk and a well-organized collection of products and prototypes. A series of podiums with glass cases on top boast a display of Arrowmile's EV engines through the years. Four of their scooters for hire are lined up: three are painted and branded to match the cities they're already based in and the fourth is dark gray; its base reads simply Coming Soon . The lights are industrial spotlights on black poles, and everything is accented in wrought iron (or at least, a good imitation of it).

The instant I step through the doors, I feel it. Everything I'd expected to feel when we met Topher Fletcher for the first time. The inspiration, the awe, my brain set spinning with a fresh wave of ambition and ideas and want.

There's something magical about this space.

Even though the foyer isn't huge, it has a high ceiling and it's been partitioned off from the rest of the building by a plain white wall that becomes glass halfway up. Through the glass, I spot raised walkways wrapping around the walls and leading to various rooms. The noise of machinery can be heard over the radio the receptionist is playing.

She gets up, waving to Nadja as we all pour in through the doors. "Hang on, I'll just go fetch him. Can you have everybody sign in?" she asks.

I'm one of the first to sign the visitors' logbook; after, I step away to look at the displays. I pause at the giant infographic with a time line of Arrowmile from its founding twenty-four years ago, when they focused on regular motorcycles and motorized scooters before pivoting to electric vehicles. The time line is punctuated with facts about how Arrowmile's work has benefited the environment and their steadily soaring profit margins; it's illustrated with photographs of products or the teams. There's also a giant photograph of Topher Fletcher with a quote:

Here at our labs, even our best and brightest know that to make an arrow fly, you have to pull back first—and we here at Arrowmile always strive to keep moving forward.

I must be staring at the quote a little too obviously, because beside me, someone gives a soft snort.

"He really loves leaning into the whole ‘bow and arrow' metaphor, with a last name like ‘Fletcher.'?"

I look over, realizing a beat too late why the voice is familiar. I feel my eyebrows immediately knitting into a scowl and my mood darkening. Of course Lloyd is here. He's everywhere, all the damntime.

"Hello, Fletcher," I say, nice and civil, just like I promised I would be.

"Hey." He beams at me, and it's dazzling. Not so much the two rows of straight white teeth (although sure, those too), but the brightness in his eyes, the radiance of his expression. He looks genuinely happy to see me.

No—not happy to see me. Just…He's happy to be here, that's all. Hanging out with everybody. Infiltrating our cohort, or whatever. That smile is all Lloyd; it has nothing to do with me.

"What're you doing here?" I ask.

"Dad always sends me along for this; he hopes I might learn something." Lloyd rolls his eyes. "Like I don't already spend a good chunk of my time here—getting underfoot and in the way, he reckons."

Lulled into a false sense of companionship by his tone, I almost say something like, That sucks, or maybe, Why do you come here so often? But Lloyd checks himself before I can decide what to say—reminding me that whatever we are now, it's a far cry from the night we met.

He gives a wide smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "He's probably not wrong, huh? Anyway, it's a great tour. Always something new to learn! Plus, I get to hang out with you guys, so that'll be fun, too."

Oh, sure. I can't think of anything more fun than spending the day with a guy who kissed me and then treated me like dirt. But I bite my tongue—because we did promise to be civil, and I don't want the others suspecting anything is off between Lloyd and me, and then start asking questions I can't answer.

"I missed that," I tell him, turning back to the infographic. Something uneasy has swelled in my chest and I tamp it down quickly. "The whole Fletcher/arrow thing."

"Wanna know a secret? I didn't make the connection until I was, like, twelve. I was reading some high fantasy book where they talked about this guy being a fletcher and making arrows, and it was a total light-bulb moment."

My lips start to twitch up in a smile, but I catch myself and pull it back.

"I don't need to know any more of your secrets. I don't think that's a good idea," I say very quietly.

He starts to reply, but falters. I feel the shift in his mood: it's like the sun moving behind clouds, everything feeling a little grayer, a little less, than before. I feel a flare of resentment at Lloyd for wearing his heart so much on his sleeve that the change is so obvious. Can't he keep a lid on it like the rest of us?

"Sorry," he mumbles.

He takes a step off to the side, putting more space between us. It makes some tiny, irrational, too-loud part of me want to snatch his arm and pull him back in, or turn and smile at him so he'll smile again.

I try my best to pretend I don't notice and join the others instead, leaving him alone in the corner.

—

Our tour guide for the day is a scientist. An actual scientist. A "not that kind of doctor" kind of doctor. Dr.Paulson has salt-and-pepper hair and pep in his step, and the more he tells us about the work in the labs, though it's clearly a well-rehearsed spiel he's delivered dozens of times before, the more enthusiastic he gets.

This guy clearly loves his job.

It makes me love it, too.

Although most of the more technical details do go a little over my head, hard as I try to grasp them. Dr.Paulson is approachable enough that I ask a few questions, but after Tasha scoffs when I ask what an electromagnet is, I stop.

It doesn't escape my notice that after I resort to furtively Googling things on my phone instead, Lloyd, who's managed to position himself just behind me in the group, mumbles brief explanations to me as Dr.Paulson goes animatedly through his talk.

I don't have to like him, but I do appreciate the help.

While most of the others look politely interested and a bit overwhelmed, it's clear that a couple of them are absolutely in their element. Izzy—a biochem student—is full of curiosity and hangs on Dr.Paulson's every word; Dylan has no end of precise, intricate questions—so many that Nadja laughs and says maybe he should spend a couple more days here with Dr.Paulson or we might not get through the rest of the tour. Dylan flushes, though he looks more pleased than offended.

There's a quick break for lunch at the café on-site. Nadja leaves us to take a call, and Dr.Paulson returns to his desk for a while.

Lloyd stays with us, though. Sitting between Monty and Elaine, he's telling some funny story about how he broke a display scooter when he was seventeen, complete with exaggerated expressions and demonstrations that have him half standing, arms flailing as he acts the story out and makes a spectacle of himself.

"Thing is, I didn't realize it wasn't even a real prototype—it was just a mock-up of what it was going to look like. It was a regular scooter, but it wasn't even put together solidly. Because it's just for display, right? So I'm checking that nobody's looking—reception's empty—and I grab it to go for a quick spin around the room. Just as I take off, in walks my dad and Nadja with a bunch of bigwigs from the Birmingham City Council so they can show off what they're working on…And there I am, on this scooter that immediately falls apart, and I just roll up to them on essentially a skateboard, holding this handlebar that's not attached to anything…."

"Oh my God."

"No way!"

"That's hilarious. "

I watch as everybody hangs on his every word, all of them laughing. Monty digs Lloyd playfully in the ribs with his elbow. Izzy has actual tears on her face, she's creased up so much.

It puts a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I think for a minute it's jealousy: this is more like the guy I spent the night with, so maybe it just hurts to share him. I sit with it for a little while before realizing it's something worse, more corrosive than any green-eyed monster.

I resent Lloyd, for proving he is the guy I met after all. For showing me that I wasn't special, to have been around him like this. For making me hate his charisma and the smile on his kiss-me lips.

I resent that I'm still hurt over it, too. I should never have left the bar with him. I should never have indulged myself, thinking I deserved to have a little fun for once.

I need to be more careful than that. Smarter.

"Did you get in trouble?" Elaine asks Lloyd, agog at the vivid imagery of his story, and there's a beat where I know we're all picturing that: a slightly younger Lloyd, maybe a bit more reckless and rougher around the edges, facing off against the good-humored CEO we met last week.

Lloyd scoffs. He rolls his eyes, but somehow it becomes a full-body move: his shoulders arc with his eyes, chest rising, head tipping back. "Nah. I mean, it didn't exactly make for a solid first impression, but they all found it pretty funny. At least I didn't break the actual prototype. Now, that might've been a differentstory!"

Everyone laughs again, voices overlapping as there are more Oh my God s and That's so funny s. Lloyd grins, but it turns rigid at the edges as he reaches for his bottle of Sprite, and his shoulders settle into a hard line as his relaxed posture, the way he lounged so comfortably in his chair only a moment ago, becomes taut.

And I'm back in the starless nighttime under the lights of the city, and he's asking me, Tell me something true.

Like he can sense me staring, he lifts his eyes to meet mine.

He must be able to tell I don't believe him, because the tension in his jaw eases, and this time his smile is small and soft, truer than the last one; and he shrugs, a minute movement that's miles away from the wild gestures that accompanied his story just seconds ago.

But then, just like that, he slings an arm over the back of his chair, takes a swig of his Sprite, and laughs at Burnley's story about the time he was a kid and rode a skateboard right into a lamppost, breaking his nose.

The change in Lloyd is so drastic, the moment our eyes met so fleeting, I almost wonder if I imagined it.

Almost.

—

By the time the minibus drops us all back at the office in Victoria, it's gone six o'clock and everyone is ready to head home. Tasha and a couple of others decide to go get dinner, and Elaine is meeting a friend.

"See you guys," Lloyd calls to the group, and makes to go inside.

"Don't you want to come for dinner?" Tasha asks him. "You're more than welcome."

"Ah, thanks, but I've got plans."

Shouldering my bag, I head for the doors as well. "See you all later. Have a good night, everyone!" I call, mostly aiming the comment at Elaine, since she's my roommate.

"You're not going to work now, are you?" Izzy asks me, aghast at the mere idea—and I realize very quickly that she's not the only one: Burnley wrinkles his face and Dylan almost shudders in revulsion. Monty and the other intern on Nadja's team, Cambridge student Verity, exchange a glance, both peeking at Nadja as if she'll expect them to go inside and do a full day's work, but she's busy on her phone while looking through her bag for her pass, not listening.

Um…yes?

I'll check through my emails in case I missed anything today, and I should probably take another crack at that automated spreadsheet I promised Michaela I'd finish for Monday; I'm not evenhalfway done with it yet.

"No!" I tell Izzy and the others, too quickly, too loudly, and pray they don't look hard enough to see right through me. "No, no, I've just—I left something upstairs I need to go pick up."

"We can wait for you," Dylan offers, even though Tasha's already making her way down the street and everyone is starting to disperse before the idea of getting any work done right now becomes too serious a notion, one they're all collectively guilted into.

"Nah, don't worry about it—I should probably get home anyway, I've got a few things to do."

"Okay, if you're sure…" But he doesn't need any more convincing, and jogs off after the others.

Nadja, having found her pass, holds the door open for me. She pins me with a fierce look, one eyebrow raised sharply. "Let me guess—need something finished by tomorrow morning and haven't started it yet? Rookie error, Anna."

"Oh! No. It's just—I wanted to check my emails and stuff, you know? Just get a head start for tomorrow."

She nods, but says, "Don't stay too late. We don't want you guys burning yourselves out on week two. At least let us get a little more mileage out of you before you break down." She laughs at her own joke, and I join in—although I'm not exactly sure just how much she's joking.

Lloyd, not that far ahead of us, sees us coming and holds the lift. At this time of day, the ground floor is mostly empty. Plenty of people are leaving, but we're the only three going up. In the lift, Lloyd is busy on his phone, AirPods in.

"Thanks for organizing today for us, by the way," I tell Nadja. "It was really interesting."

She scoffs. "It's always interesting. But—did you enjoy it?"

I'm not sure there's such a distinct difference between those two things as she obviously thinks there is, but I reply, "Definitely. It was a real eye-opener. It's great to get a more hands-on look and a different perspective on some of the projects, since it seems like my team is dealing with it at a higher level, so some of that nuance gets missed."

Nadja holds my eye and smirks. "Textbook answer," she informs me, not unkindly.

"I liked the bit with the coolants," I blurt out. "What you guys are doing to find more effective ways to prolong the battery life and stuff. But that might just be because all the test tubes and everything look kind of cool."

There's a beat before she lets out a brash bark of laughter. " Cool. For the coolants. Cool. " She laughs again to herself for a second before shaking it off as the lift pulls to a stop on the eleventh floor, where both of us get out. She holds the door and looks back at Lloyd. "Topher's gone home, if you were looking for him."

"Huh?" He looks up from his phone and pulls out one of his AirPods, startled and confused. Then he smiles at her, shaking his head. "Oh, no. I just left a couple of things upstairs I need to pick up."

It's only later, when I'm back in the lift at eight o'clock to head home, that I realize why his words sounded so familiar.