I would've lied if I could have thought of any plausible excuse, but I couldn't.
"I got up early to—well, to try and run away."
"Your parents treat you bad? Hurt you?"
"No! Nothing like that." I felt so offended, but I realized that of
course that was what Lucas would have to assume. Why else would a totally sane
person be running through the woods before the sun was completely up like she
was escaping with her life? We'd only just met, so maybe he still counted me as
totally sane. I decided not to mention the nightmare flashbacks, because that
would probably tip the balance toward crazy. "But I don't want to go to
school here. I liked our hometown, and, besides, Evernight Academy is—it's
so—"
"Spooky as hell."
"Yeah."
"Where were you going to go? Do you have a job lined up, something like
that?"
My cheeks were flushed, and not just from the exertion of the run. "Um,
no. I wasn't really running away. Just making a statement. Sort of. I thought
if I did this, my parents would finally get how much I don't want to be here,
and maybe we could leave."
Lucas blinked for a second, then started to grin. His smile changed all the
weird pent-up energy inside me, transforming it from fear into curiosity, even
excitement. "Like me with my slingshot."
"What?"
"Back when I was five, I thought my mom was being mean to me, so I decided
to run away. Carried my slingshot with me because I was a big strong man, you
see. Could take care of myself. I believe I also took a flashlight and a
package of Oreos."
Despite my embarrassment, I couldn't help smiling. "I think you packed
better than I did."
"I swaggered out of the house where we were staying and took myself all
the way to…the far corner of the backyard. There I made my stand. Stayed out
there all day, until it started to rain. I hadn't thought about taking an
umbrella."
"The best laid plans." I sighed.
"I know. It's tragic. I came back in, all wet and my stomach aching from
eating about twenty Oreos, and my mom—who is a smart lady even if she drives me
nuts—well, she acted like nothing had happened." Lucas shrugged.
"Which is what your parents are going to do, too. You know that,
right?"
"I do now." My throat tightened with disappointment. I'd known the
truth all along, really. I'd simply had to do
something
, more to act out
my own frustration than to send a message to my parents.
Then Lucas asked a question that astonished me: "Do you want out of here
for real?"
"Like—run away? Really run away?"
Lucas nodded, and he looked serious.
He wasn't, though; he couldn't be. No doubt he had asked me that to snap me
back to reality. I admitted, "No, I don't. I'll go back. Get ready for
school like a good girl."
There was that grin again. "Nobody said anything about being a good
girl."
The way he said that made me feel warm and soft inside. "It's just—Evernight
Academy—I don't think I'll ever belong there."
"I wouldn't worry about that. Might be a good thing, not belonging
there." He looked at me, serious and intent, like he thought he had
another idea about where I might belong. Either this guy really liked me, or I was
inventing things in my head because I wanted him to like me. I was much too
inexperienced to guess which.
Hurriedly, I pushed myself to my feet. As Lucas stood also, I asked, "So
what were you doing? When you saw me?"
"Like I said, I thought you were in trouble. There are some rough
characters up in these parts. Not everybody has self-control." He brushed
a few pine needles from his sweater. "I shouldn't have jumped to
conclusions. My instincts got the best of me. Sorry about that."
"It's okay, honestly. I realize you were trying to help. I meant, before
you saw me. Orientation doesn't start for another few hours. It's really early.
They told students to arrive around ten
A.M
."
"I've never been very good at playing by the rules."
That was interesting. "So—you're a morning person, getting a jump on the
day?"
"Hardly. I haven't gone to bed yet." He had a fantastic grin, and I'd
already noticed that he knew how to use it. I didn't mind. "Anyway, my mom
couldn't bring me herself. She's away, on business, I guess you'd say. I caught
the red-eye train in and thought I'd walk up here first. Get the lay of the
land. Rescue any damsels in distress."
When I remembered how fast Lucas had been running after me, and realized that
he'd been doing that in an attempt to save my life, the memory changed. The
fear was gone, and now it made me smile. "Why did you come to Evernight?
I'm stuck here because of my parents, but you could probably have gone
someplace else. Someplace better. So, like, anywhere else."
Lucas honestly didn't seem to know how to answer. He pushed branches back as we
kept walking through the forest, keeping any of them from scraping my face.
Nobody had ever cleared a path for me before. "It's a long story."
"I'm not in a hurry to go back. Besides, we've got a few hours to kill
before orientation."
He lowered his head, but kept his eyes fixed on me. There was something
undeniably sexy about that move, though I wasn't sure he meant it that way. His
eyes were almost exactly the same color as the ivy that grew on the towers at
Evernight. "It's also kind of a secret."
"I can keep a secret. I mean, you're going to keep this whole incident
secret for me, right? With the running and the freaking out—"
"I'll never tell." After a couple more seconds of consideration,
Lucas finally confessed, "An ancestor of mine tried to go to school here
almost a hundred and fifty years ago. He washed out, I guess you'd say."
Lucas laughed, and it felt like the sunlight had broken through the trees.
"So it's up to me to 'restore the family honor.'"
"That's not fair. You shouldn't have to make all your decisions based on
what he did or didn't do."
"Not all my decisions. They let me pick out my own socks." I smiled
as he tugged up his pants leg to reveal a sliver of argyle sock above his heavy
black boot.
"How did your great-grand-whatever wash out?"
Lucas shook his head ruefully. "He got into a duel during his first
week."
"A duel? Like, somebody insulted his honor?" I tried to remember what
I'd learned about duels from romance novels and movies. All I knew was that
Lucas's history was definitely a lot more interesting than mine. "Or was
it over a girl?"
"He would've had to move fast, to meet a girl in the first few days of
school." Lucas paused, as if he were just realizing that it was the first
day of school and he'd already met me. I felt this tug, like something was
almost physically pulling me to lean toward him—but then Lucas turned his head
and glared at the towers of Evernight, just visible through the pine branches.
It was as though the building itself had offended him. "Could've been
anything. Back then, they'd duel at the drop of a hat. Family legend has it
that the other guy started it, not that it matters. What does matter is that he
survived but not without breaking one of the stained glass windows in the great
hall."
"Of course. There's one that's just clear glass, and I never understood
why."
"Now you do. Evernight's been closed to my family ever since."
"Until now."
"Until now," he agreed. "And I don't mind. I think I can learn a
lot here. Doesn't mean I have to like everything about it."
"I'm not sure I like
anything
about it," I confessed.
Except
you,
added the voice in my head, which had turned awfully bold all of a
sudden.
Lucas seemed to be able to hear that voice. There was something knowing in the
way he gazed back at me. With his chiseled features and school uniform, he
should've looked like the all-American boy, but he didn't. During the chase,
and in the moments afterward when he'd thought we'd be fighting for our lives,
I'd glimpsed something a little wild lurking just beneath the surface. He said,
"I like the gargoyles, the mountains, and the fresh air. That's it so
far."
"You like the gargoyles?"
"I like it when the monsters are smaller than me."
"Never thought of it that way." We had reached the edge of the
grounds. The sunlight was bright now, and I sensed that the school was waking
up, preparing to receive its students, to swallow them through that arched
stone doorway. "I'm dreading this."
"Not too late to run, Bianca," he said lightly.
"I don't want to run. I just don't want to be surrounded by all these
strangers. Around people I don't know, I can never talk or act normal or be
myself at all—why are you smiling?"
"Seems like you know how to talk to me."
I blinked, astonished at myself. Lucas was right. How was that even possible? I
stammered, "With you—I guess—I think you scared me so badly that I got all
the fear over with right away."
"Hey, if it works—"
"Yeah." Already I sensed that there was more to it than that.
Strangers still terrified me, but he wasn't a stranger. He hadn't been since
the first moment I realized that he'd been trying to save my life. I felt as
though I'd always known Lucas, as if somehow I'd been waiting years for him to
arrive. "I should go back before my parents realize I'm gone."
"Don't let them hassle you."
"They won't."
Lucas didn't seem sure of that, but he nodded as he stepped away from me,
edging back into the shadows while I walked into the light. "See you
around, then."
I raised one hand in a farewell wave, but Lucas was already gone. He'd
disappeared into the forest in an instant.
Still
shaky with adrenaline, I walked back up the long spiral staircase until I reached
the top apartment in the tower. This time I didn't bother being quiet. I slipped
my messenger bag off my shoulder and flopped onto the sofa. A few leaves still
clung to my hair, so I picked them out.
"Bianca?" My mother emerged from the bedroom, her hands knotting her
bathrobe belt. She smiled drowsily at me. "Did you get up early for a
walk, sweetheart?"
"Yeah." I sighed. Not much point in trying to make a dramatic scene
anymore.
Dad came out next. He hugged Mom from behind. "I can't believe our little
girl is already at Evernight Academy."
"It all happened so fast." She sighed. "The older you get, the
faster it goes."
He shook his head. "I know."
I groaned. They talked like this all the time, and we'd made a game of how much
it annoyed me. Mom and Dad only smiled wider.
They look too young to be your parents,
everybody in my hometown used to
say. What they really meant was
too beautiful
. Both things were true.
Her hair was the color of caramel; his was a red so dark that it almost looked
black. He was average height but muscular and strong; she was petite in every
way. Mom's face was as cool and oval as an antique cameo, while Dad had a
square jaw and a nose that looked like he was in a few fights in his youth, but
on his face, it worked. Me? I got red hair that could only look red, and skin
so pale that it looked more pasty than antique. Everyplace my DNA should have
turned right, it swerved left. My parents told me I would grow into my looks,
but that's the kind of thing parents say.
"Let's get some breakfast into you," Mom said, heading toward the
kitchen. "Or have you already had something?"
"No, not yet." It wouldn't have been a bad idea to eat before my big
getaway, I realized; my stomach was growling. If Lucas hadn't stopped me, I'd
be wandering around in the woods right now, incredibly hungry and facing a long
hike into Riverton. So much for my big escape plans.
The memory of Lucas tackling me, the two of us rolling over into the grass and
leaves, flashed through my mind. It had terrified me then, and when I thought
of it now I shivered, but it was a completely different kind of feeling.
"Bianca." My father's voice sounded stern, and I looked up guiltily.
Had he somehow guessed what I'd been thinking about? I realized immediately
that I was being paranoid, but there was no mistaking how serious he was as he
sat beside me. "I know you're not looking forward to this, but Evernight
is important for you."
This was the same sort of speech he gave before I had to take cough medicine as
a kid. "I really don't want to have this conversation again right
now."
"Adrian, leave her alone." Mom handed me a glass before she headed
back toward the kitchen, where I could hear something sizzling in a frying pan.
"Besides, if we don't hurry, we're going to be late for the preorientation
faculty meeting."
He looked at the clock and groaned. "Why do they schedule these things so
early? It's not as if anyone could want to be down there at this hour."
"I know," she muttered. To them, anytime before noon was too early.
Yet they'd worked as schoolteachers my whole life, continuing their long feud
with eight
A.M.
While I ate breakfast, they got ready, made little jokes that were supposed to
cheer me up, and left me alone at the table. That was fine by me. Long after
they'd gone downstairs, and the hands of the clock crept closer to orientation
time, I remained in my chair. I think I was pretending that, as long as
breakfast wasn't over, there was no way I'd have to go meet all those new
people.
The fact that Lucas would be down there—a friendly face, a protector—well, it
helped a little. But not much.
Finally, when I couldn't put it off any longer, I went into my room and changed
into the Evernight uniform. I hated the uniform—I'd never had to wear one
before—but the worst part was that returning to my bedroom reminded me once
again of the strange nightmare I'd had the night before.
Starched white shirt.
Thorns scratching at my skin, lashing me, telling me to turn back.
Red plaid kilt.
Petals curling up and turning black as though they were burning in the heart
of a fire.
Gray sweater with the Evernight crest.
Okay, a good time to stop being hopelessly morbid? Right around now.
Determined to act like a normal teenager for at least the first day of the
school year, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. The uniform didn't look
terrible on me, but it didn't look great, either. I tugged my hair into a
ponytail, picked out a tiny twig I'd missed before, and decided my appearance
would have to do.
The gargoyle was still staring, as though he were wondering how anybody could
look that dorky. Or maybe he was mocking the total failure of my escape plan.
At least I wouldn't have to look at his ugly stone face any longer. I squared
my shoulders and left my room—for the last time, really. From now on, it didn't
belong to me.
I'd been living on campus with my parents for the past month, which had given
me time to explore virtually the entire school: the great hall and lecture
rooms on the first floor, after which it split into two enormous towers. The
guys lived in the north tower, along with some of the faculty and a couple of
musty filing rooms that seemed to be where permanent records went to die. The
girls were in the south tower, along with the rest of the faculty apartments,
including my family's. The upper floors of the main building, above the great
hall, housed the classrooms and the library. Evernight had been expanded and
added to over time, so not every section was in the same style or seemed
exactly to fit with the rest. There were passageways that twisted and turned
and sometimes led nowhere. From my tower room I looked down on the roof, a
patchwork of different arches and shingles and styles. So I'd learned my way
around; that was the only way in which I felt prepared for what was to come.
I began down the steps again. No matter how many times I made this trip, I always
felt as if I might tumble down the rough, uneven steps, over and over, all the
way to the bottom.
Stupid,
I told myself,
worrying about nightmares
with dying flowers or about falling down the stairs
. Something a lot
scarier than any of that was waiting for me.
I stepped out of the stairwell into the great hall. Early this morning, it had
been hushed, cathedral-like. Now it was packed with people, ringing with
voices. Despite the din, it seemed as if my footsteps echoed throughout the
room; dozens of faces turned toward me at once. Every single person seemed to be
staring at the intruder. I might as well have hung a neon sign around my neck
that said
NEW KID
.
The other students clustered together in circles too tight for a newcomer to
enter, their eyes dark and quick as they darted over me. It was as though they
could see down into the panicked fluttering of my heart. To me, it seemed that
they all looked alike—not in any obvious way but in their shared perfection.
Every girl's hair shone, whether worn down in a cascade past her shoulders or
tied back in a prim, sleek bun. Every guy looked self-assured and strong, with
smiles that served as masks. Everybody wore the uniform, with the sweaters and
skirts and blazers and trousers in all the acceptable variations: gray, red,
plaid, black. The raven crest marked them all, and they wore the symbol as
though they owned it. Confidence radiated from them, and superiority, and
disdain. I could feel the heat leaching from me as I stood on the outskirts of
the room, shifting from foot to foot.
Nobody said hello.
The murmuring welled up again within an instant. Apparently gawky new girls
weren't worth more than a few moments of interest. My cheeks were flushed with
embarrassment, because obviously I'd already done something wrong, even if I couldn't
guess what. Or did they already sense—as I did—that I didn't really belong
here?
Where's Lucas?
I craned my neck, searching for him in the crowd. Already
I felt as though I might be able to face it if Lucas were beside me. Maybe it
was crazy to feel like that about a guy I barely knew, but I didn't care. Lucas
had to be here, but I couldn't find him. In the middle of all these people, I felt
completely alone.
As I edged toward a far corner of the room, I began to realize that a few
students were in the same situation as I was—or, at least, they were also new.
A guy with sandy hair and a beach-bronze tan was so rumpled that he might have
slept in his uniform, but being supercasual didn't win you any points here. He
wore a Hawaiian shirt open over his sweater but beneath his blazer, its gaudy
cheer almost desperate in Evernight's gloom. A girl had cut her black hair so
short that it was more like a boy's, but not in a cute, pixie style; it looked
more like she'd haphazardly taken a razor to it. Her uniform hung on her, two
sizes too big. The crowds seemed to part around her as if repelled by some
force. She might as well have been invisible; even before our first class, she
had been branded someone who didn't matter.
How could I be so sure? Because it had just happened to me, too. I was trapped
on the edge of the crowd, intimidated by the din, dwarfed by the stone hallway,
and as lost as it was possible to be.
"Everyone!"
The voice rang out, instantly shattering the noise into silence. We all turned
as one to the far end of the hallway, where Mrs. Bethany, the headmistress, had
stepped upon the podium.
She was a tall woman, with thick dark hair she wore piled on top of her head,
like someone from the Victorian era. I couldn't begin to guess her age. Her
lace-trimmed blouse was gathered at the neck with a golden pin. If you could
think of somebody so severe as beautiful, then she was beautiful. I had met her
when my parents and I moved into the faculty apartments; she had scared me a
little then, but I'd told myself that was because I'd only just met her.
If anything, she was even more imposing now. As I saw her instantly,
effortlessly claim command over this roomful of people—the same people who had
shut me out by mutual, silent accord before I could even think what to say—I
realized for the first time that Mrs. Bethany had power. Not just the kind that
came with being headmistress but real power, the sort that rises from within.
"Welcome to Evernight." She held out her hands. Her nails were long
and translucent. "Some of you have been with us before. Others will have
heard about Evernight Academy for years, perhaps from your families, and
wondered if you would ever join our school. And we have other new students this
year—the result of a change in our admissions policy. We think it's time for
our students to meet a wider range of people, from more varied backgrounds, to
better prepare them for the world outside the school's walls. Everyone here has
much to learn from the other students, and I trust that you will all treat one
another with respect."
She might as well have spray-painted, in giant red letters,
SOME
OF YOU DON'T REALLY BELONG
. The "new admissions" policy was no doubt
responsible for surfer boy and short-haired girl being here; they weren't
intended to be "real" Evernight students at all. They were only
supposed to represent a learning experience for the in crowd.
I wasn't part of the new policy. If it weren't for my parents, I wouldn't be
here. In other words, I wasn't even "in" enough to be an outcast.
"At Evernight, we do not treat students as children." Mrs. Bethany
didn't look at any one of us in particular; she seemed to look just over us, a
distant kind of gaze that nonetheless took in everything within her field of
view. "You have come here to learn how to function as adults in a
twenty-first-century world, and that is how you will be expected to behave.
That does not mean that Evernight has no rules. Our position in this area
requires that we maintain the strictest discipline. We expect much of
you."
She didn't say what the repercussions would be for failure, but somehow I thought
detention would be only the beginning.
My palms felt sweaty. My cheeks were getting flushed, and I probably stood out
like a signal flare. I'd promised myself that I'd be strong and that I wouldn't
let the crowd get to me, but so much for promises. The high ceiling and walls
of the great hall seemed to be closing in around me. It still felt like I couldn't
quite breathe.
My mother somehow got my attention without waving or calling my name, the way
moms can. She and Dad were standing at the far end of the row of faculty,
waiting to be introduced, and they both gave me hopeful little smiles. They
wanted to see me enjoying myself.
It was their hope that got to me. Having to deal with my fear was hard enough
without facing their disappointment.
Mrs. Bethany concluded, "Classes will begin tomorrow. For today, get
settled into your rooms. Meet new classmates. Learn your way around. We will
expect you to be ready. We are glad to have you, and we hope that you will make
the most of your time at Evernight."
Applause filled the room, and Mrs. Bethany acknowledged it by smiling slightly
and closing her eyes, a slow, satisfied blink like that of a well-fed cat. Then
conversation rose up, even louder than before. There was only one person I wanted
to talk to; just as well, since it looked like only one person might possibly
be interested in talking to me.
I moved all the way around the room, always right at the edges, keeping my back
toward the wall. I searched the crowd hungrily, seeking Lucas's bronze hair,
his broad shoulders, those dark green eyes. If I was looking for him, and he
was looking for me, we were bound to find each other soon. Despite my fear of
large groups, and my tendency to exaggerate them, I knew there were only a
couple of hundred students here.
He'll stand out
, I told myself.
He's not like these others, cold and
snobby and proud.
But I soon realized that wasn't true. Lucas wasn't a
snob, but he had the same kind of chiseled good looks, the same toned body, and
the same, well, perfection. He wouldn't stand out much in this beautiful crowd;
he would be a natural part of it.
Unlike me.
Slowly the crowd shrank, as the teachers left and the students dispersed. I hung
around until I was almost the only one left in the great hall. Surely Lucas
would come to find me. He knew how scared I was and felt responsible for
scaring me worse. Wouldn't he want to say hello?
But he didn't. Eventually, I had to accept that I'd missed him. That meant there
was nothing left for me to do but go meet my roommate.
Slowly I made my way up the stone steps, my new shoes with their hard soles
click-clacking too loudly. I wanted to keep climbing all the way to the top,
straight back to my parents' faculty apartment. If I did, though, I knew that
they'd send me downstairs again immediately. Time enough to get my things and
really move out after dinner. For now, the first priority was "getting
settled."
I tried to look on the positive side. Maybe my roommate was as freaked-out by
school as I was. I remembered the girl with the super-short haircut and hoped
it might be her. If I were living with another "outsider," things
would probably be easier all around. It would be torture, living with a
stranger—actually having somebody I didn't know there all the time, even when I
slept—but I hoped the feeling would pass eventually. I didn't dare hope for a
friend.
Patrice Deveraux
, the form had said. I tried to hang that name on the
girl I remembered, but it didn't quite fit. Still, anything was possible.
I opened the door and realized, heart sinking, that my roommate's name fit her
just fine. She wasn't another outsider at all. Instead, she was the total
embodiment of the Evernight type.
Patrice's skin was the color of a river at sunrise, the coolest, softest brown,
and her curly hair was pulled back into a soft bun, which showed off her pearl
earrings and her slim neck. She sat at the dresser, still neatly lining up
bottles of nail polish while she looked at me.
"So you're Bianca," she said. No handshake, no hug—just the click of
each bottle of polish against the dresser: pale pink, coral, melon, white.
"You weren't what I was expecting."
Thanks tons.
"You either."
Patrice cocked her head, studying me, and I wondered if we hated each other
already. She lifted one perfectly manicured hand and began ticking off points.
"You can borrow my perfume but not my jewelry or clothes." She didn't
say anything about borrowing my stuff, but it was pretty obvious she wouldn't
ever want to. "I plan to do most of my studying in the library, but if you
want to work here, let me know and I'll talk with my friends somewhere else.
Help me with the assignments you're good at, and I'll do the same for you. I'm
sure we can learn a lot from each other. Sound fair?"
"Definitely."
"All right. We'll get along."
If she'd acted all fake friendly with me right away, I think that would have
weirded me out more. As it was, I was sort of reassured that Patrice was so
businesslike. "Glad you think so," I said. "I know
we're…different."
She didn't argue. "Two teachers here are your parents, right?"
"Yeah. I guess word travels fast."
"You'll be fine. They'll take care of you."
I tried to smile at her and hoped she was right. "You've been here at
Evernight before?"
"No. First time." Patrice said this as though changing her whole way
of living was as simple for her as slipping into a new pair of designer shoes.
"It's beautiful, don't you think?"
I left my opinion of the architecture out of it. "You said you had friends
here, though."
"Well, of course." Her smile was as delicate as everything else about
her, from the peach gloss on her lips to the perfume and nail polish bottles
neatly arrayed on the dresser. "Courtney and I met in Switzerland last
winter. Vidette was a friend of mine when I was staying in Paris. And Genevieve
and I spent a summer together in the Caribbean, once—was it St. Thomas? Maybe
it was Jamaica. I can't keep these things straight."
My pokey hometown seemed duller than ever. "So you guys all just—run in
the same circles."
"More or less." Belatedly, Patrice seemed to realize how awkward I felt.
"Eventually they'll be your circles, too."
"I wish I were as sure as you are."
"Oh, you'll see." She dwelled in a world where endless summers in the
tropics were everyone's for the taking. I couldn't imagine ever being a part of
that. "Do you know anybody here? Besides your parents, I mean."
"Only the people I've met this morning." Meaning Lucas and Patrice,
for a grand total of two.
"Plenty of time to make friends." Patrice spoke briskly as she began
putting away more of her things: silky scarves the color of ivory, hosiery in
shades of taupe or dove gray. Where did she plan to wear things so elegant?
Maybe it was unimaginable for Patrice to travel without them. "I hear
Evernight is a wonderful place to meet men."
"Meet men?"
"Do you already have someone?"
I wanted to tell her about Lucas, but I couldn't. Whatever had happened between
me and Lucas in the forest—it meant something, but my feelings were too new to
share. All I said was, "I didn't leave a boyfriend behind in my
hometown." I'd known all those guys at my old school since I was a little
kid, and I remembered them back when they used to play with Lincoln Logs and
mash Play-Doh in my hair. That sort of made it impossible to feel passionate
about any of them.
"Boyfriend." Her lips curled upward, as if the word struck her as
childish. Patrice wasn't sneering at me, though. I was simply too young and
inexperienced for her to take me seriously.
"Patrice? It's Courtney." The girl outside knocked on the door even
while she was opening it, obviously certain she would be welcome. She was even
more beautiful than Patrice, with blond hair that fell almost to her waist and
the pouty kind of lips I'd seen only on starlets in TV shows, who could afford
stuff like collagen. The same kilt that hung awkwardly at my knees made her
legs look a thousand miles long. "Oh, your room is much better than mine.
I love it!"
The rooms were all pretty much alike, actually—a bedroom large enough for two
people, with white, cast-iron beds and carved wooden dressers on each side. The
window looked out upon one of the trees that grew closest to Evernight, but I couldn't
think of anything special about it.
Then I realized there was one thing. "We
are
closer to the
bathrooms," I said.
Courtney and Patrice both stared at me as if I'd done something rude. Were they
too refined to acknowledge that we needed bathrooms?
Embarrassed, I kept going. "I've never, um, shared a bathroom before. I mean,
I have with my parents, but not with—what, it's like, twelve of us sharing each
one? That's going to be crazy in the mornings."
This was their cue to agree and gripe about it. Instead, Courtney kept studying
me, curious. I figured her curiosity was only normal, but I wished she would
say something. Her narrow-eyed gaze felt threatening, even more so than most
strangers' did.
"We're going out on the grounds tonight," she said—to Patrice, not to
me. "To eat. A picnic, you might say."
Meals at Evernight were meant to be taken in the students' rooms. Apparently
they explained this as "tradition," the way things were back in ye
olden days before anybody had invented the cafeteria. Parents would send care
packages to supplement the Spartan grocery allowance delivered each week. This
meant I had to learn how to cook using the little microwave my parents had
bought me. Patrice obviously didn't worry about such mundane problems.
"Sounds like fun. Don't you think so, Bianca?"
Courtney shot her a look; apparently that invitation wasn't meant to be open.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm supposed to eat with my parents.
Thanks for asking me, though."
Courtney's lush lips could look almost ghoulish when twisted into a smirk.
"You still want to hang out with Mommy and Daddy? What, do they feed you
with a bottle?"
"Courtney,"
Patrice chastised her, but I could tell that she
was amused.
"You've got to see Gwen's room." Courtney began tugging Patrice out
the door. "Dark and dreary. She swears it might as well be a
dungeon."
They took off together, and whatever fragile connection Patrice and I had
created was broken in an instant. Their laughter echoed throughout the hallway.
Cheeks burning, I fled my new room, then the dormitory floor, hurrying upward
toward my parents' apartment and refuge.
To my surprise, they let me in without a fuss. They didn't even ask why I was
early. Instead, Mom gave me a big hug, and Dad said, "Check out our
packing job, okay? There are a few things for you to do, but we got you
started."
I was so grateful I could've cried. Instead I went to my room, eager for peace
and quiet in some safe place.
Only a few pieces of winter clothing still hung in my closet. Everything else
had been bundled into Dad's old leather trunk. A quick check of my overnight
bag showed makeup, barrettes, shampoo, and the rest all neatly tucked in. Most
of my books would stay here; I had too many for the few shelves in our dorm
room. But my favorites had been set out for me to box up:
Jane Eyre, Wuthering
Heights,
my astronomy texts. The bed had been made, and on one pillow was a
packet of things for me to hang up on my walls, like postcards friends had sent
over the years and some star maps I'd hung on the walls of our old house. But
something new had been hung in this room, an affirmation from my parents that
this was still my home, too: a small, framed print of Klimt's
The Kiss
.
I had admired the print in a shop months ago, and apparently they'd bought it
as a surprise for me on my first day at the new school.
At first, I was simply grateful for the gift. But then I couldn't quite stop
looking at the picture or shake the thought that somehow I'd never really seen
it before.
The Kiss
was a favorite of mine. From the days when my mother first
showed me her books about art, I'd always loved Klimt. I was in awe of the way
he gilded every pane and line, and I liked the prettiness of the pale faces
that peeped out from the kaleidoscopic images he created. Now, however, the
image had changed for me. I'd never paid as much attention to the way the
couple tilted toward each other—the man leaning in from above, as if tugged
toward her by some inexorable force. The woman's head fell back in a swoon,
giving in to gravity's pull. Her lips were dark against the paleness of her
skin, flushed with blood. Most beautiful of all, the picture's shimmering
background no longer appeared to be something separate from the man and woman.
Now it felt as if it was a rich, warm mist, their love made visible, turning
the world around them to gold.
The man's hair was darker than Lucas's, but I was trying to imagine him there
nonetheless. My cheeks felt warm—blushing again—but this was a different kind
of blush.
I jerked back to the here and now; it felt almost as if I'd fallen asleep and
begun to dream. Quickly I smoothed my hair and took a couple of deep breaths. I
realized I could hear Glenn Miller's "String of Pearls" on the
stereo. Big Band music always meant that Dad was in a good mood.