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I am flooded with empathy. I know what it’s like to be new in this town. Everyone is scary friendly, but when they’re not, it’s scary agony.

I return his smile and thrill at his reaction. His chest swells and he steps onto the sidewalk, hoping I’ll join him. In the back of my mind, well, the front, too, I know exactly what to do. I’ll walk over and ease Dante’s embarrassment while irritating Michael. I don’t know why this would bother Michael but if it does, I’ll take it as bonus points. Now Michael will see I’m not invisible, to everyone.

I lift my chin and walk over.

“
Buongiorno, cara mia
.” Dante takes my hand, brushes his lips across it, and then eases the heavy backpack from my shoulder.

Bailey mutters, “H-e-l-l-o, Maria!”

It’s embarrassing when Dante kisses my hand, but he said it was just an old habit. I glance around, all nonchalant-like, and see Michael’s scowl turn into mortified shock.
Bonus points
. But why do I feel ashamed of myself?

Dante and I have broken the spell and everyone shuffles inside. When we stop at my locker, he says, “Did you sleep well,
cara
? You look as though you did.” He is cheery and intimately close. I have to lean back to look at him. When I don’t answer, his hot hand finds the small of my back. “Is something wrong?”

“What was going on out there?” I grab my bio book and shut the locker. He braces a hand above my head and leans closer.

“I guess some people are not as friendly as you are.” Warm cinnamon breath tickles my nose, and his eyelids drift down as he moves in to kiss me.

“Not
that
friendly.” I duck under his arm and stroll away.

“Not
yet
, perhaps,” he says, laughing.

We take our seats in bio and the room is full of chatter. Michael and Raph walk in slow and menacingly. They are met by a reproachful look from Dante and a nasty grin from Wolfgang. His knee vibrates under the desk, and he starts killing off a fresh batch of pencils again.

Michael and Raph take their usual seats against the far wall. I try to catch their eyes but they don’t look at me; I am invisible again.

But not blind. I can see what’s going on, everyone can. I wonder if this is one of those territorial things.
Do they really have to be so male?

The morning progresses with each class a copy of the preceding one: the guys engaging in visual warfare, Wolfgang nearly bouncing out of his seat in anticipation of something, the teacher’s annoying lecture that disrupts my analysis of their odd behavior, Dante’s eyes on me, and Michael’s never. I know I don’t exist to Michael but somehow I feel I’ve disappointed him. It makes me a deflating balloon, with all hope leaking out. I am spinning further away from something important. All day long I feel floppy and sad.

I get like this sometimes. Mom used to call it melancholy fever and said I should keep busy, so I do.

*  *  *

Later in the day, I am in the park taking candid shots of the town council’s confabulation by the gazebo. Abigail Monroe inclines her head in approval, and I reciprocate. The requested photos have been taken, and I’m free to roam. I survey the bustling activity that has escalated since school let out and now includes wayward kids mucking up progress. I dodge said kids and snap a shot of the creepy courthouse dressed in fall plumage. A flock of tiny black birds is foraging hidden treats in the lawn. I consider them for a photo, but they startle and flit away in collective fear.

“Lord, what fools these mortals be,” says a deep voice behind me. I turn around to find Dante sitting on top of a picnic table. He wasn’t there a moment ago, and I stare in open surprise. He grins surreptitiously, nodding toward the mayhem in the park. I look with his eyes, seeing what I’ve seen for the past few weeks: organized chaos. I shrug unaffected. He pats the seat next to him so I climb up.

“I believe Shakespeare was fond of festivals,” I say lightly.

He scoffs. “All this time and they still do not understand.”

I frown. “Who don’t understand what?”

“Inconsequential, all of it.” He waves a hand at the volunteers constructing the booths, the workers hammering the gazebo, the town council plotting activities. “Self-serving, time-wasting, materialistic—”

I laugh, and Dante looks at me.

“
This
coming from the guy driving a Lamborghini.”

He chuckles. “Yes, well, Wolfgang wanted that, not me.”

“And what do you want, Dante?” I ask playfully.

I receive his full, unadulterated attention that sends a shiver through me. His eyes lock with mine and his warm cinnamon breath melts the cool air between us. I feel dizzy all of a sudden and brace my feet to stop swaying.

“I want what’s
mine
, Sophia,” Dante answers in a low, even tone. “Is that not why we are here? To get what we want most?”

What we want most?
The question strikes a chord. Maybe I’m not so far on the fringe if Michael and Dante ponder the same question I do.

“What do you want
most
, Dante?” I ask with a catch in my voice. Distractions fade and the only visual is liquid green eyes, the only sound is a smooth, spellbinding voice.

“I want the same thing you want. We both know there is no value in false trappings.” He nods toward the townspeople, seemingly offended by their very existence. “It is more than flesh and bone we want but something altogether less tangible. We crave light in darkness the way silence craves music. Don’t we, Sophia? In the deepest part of you, don’t you sense you are missing something important? You are meant for something more? Something is waiting for you?”

Somehow the simplicity of his questions joins our desires like a braided rope. We are entwined by his words that echo my thoughts; one and the same.

Yes!
my mind screams.
Yes! I understand! I want to know the reason for me. I crave to see Mom’s face again! I am waiting to hear confection in the air!

Somehow this complete stranger has touched the very center of me. Maybe it’s because I was on my way into a deep self-loathing funk, but I feel closer to him than I could possibly imagine. My secret desires became airborne on his warm breath, as if my thoughts gave rise to his voice. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and as I stare at him, I’m consumed with the need to taste his air, to kiss him, to touch the place from where my dreams have come. The feeling is urgent, growing and persuading me to disregard prudent judgment.

I want to crush my mouth on his
.

My vision becomes prickly like dry air igniting visual static. The edges around
my mind spark and twitch. Intruding thoughts snap for my attention.
Look away, Sophia! Resist!
It’s Mom’s voice, urgent and angry.

With tremendous effort, I drag my eyes from Dante’s and exhale, embarrassed. My face burns, and I look at my hands; I have a death grip on the camera, and I’m trembling.

“You are very strong,” Dante murmurs, but I can’t tell if he is pleased or disappointed, or what he even means by that. He lays a hot hand on mine, and my trembling abates. “You are a flower blooming in isolation, Sophia. Wasted here.”

“What does that mean?” My chest shakes, making my voice quiver. I can’t understand what’s happening.

“You know what it means. You do not belong here.”

“Here in Haven Hurst?”

“You do not belong
here
,” he emphasizes. “Nor did your mother.” The power of his tender words is enough to knock me back and I catch my breath.

“What do you know about my mom?” I whisper. Suspicion dances along my psyche as if something mystical is happening. I feel that Dante could reveal secrets I’ve been begging to know.

But he denies me and shrugs indifferently. “Just what I have heard. She died young, unexpectedly. Obviously, she did not belong here.”

I stare at his hand resting on mine and think about Mom. Then I ask him something I’ve never asked anyone. “Dante, do you believe in Heaven?”

His eyes close like a curtain, and the muscle in his jaw snaps back and forth. I don’t think he’s going to answer, and then his eyes open and drift skyward.

“I know more of Heaven and Hell than anyone should. I know what it feels like to love someone beyond imagination and then have them ripped away like an appendage. To become a sickness in my veins that refuses to heal. That is Heaven … stolen by Hell.” His eyes are full of the deepest kind of sorrow, and I am overwhelmed with pity. I want to cup his face, to stroke his cheeks and soothe away his suffering. “It will not heal until I … until she comes back to me.”

The statement is cold and calculating and catches me off guard. Like freezing water dumped on my head, all thoughts stall. “Oh, I … don’t understand. I thought you meant you loved someone and she died … so …”

“Minor detail,” he says, and then laughs at my confusion. “There is only one thing that truly thrives in life, Sophia. The past. It grows and consumes like an evolving apparition turning in on itself. It is a wheel that devours and churns, bringing new opportunities. Opportunities I will not miss.”

“That makes no sense, Dante. The past is dead—”

“Nothing dies forever.”

“What? Like the circle of life stuff?”

He leans closer and murmurs, “Everything feeds upon everything else, past, present, future. Nothing dies forever.”

“I think that—”

“Think differently,” he interrupts. His voice is soft and alluring, and I feel caught in a web. “Not with your mind but with your
soul
. Think beyond flesh and bone. Think around what is solid and real and visible. Think about the spaces between heartbeats, that pause between inhalation and exhalation. There is life there and that is where you will find what you are looking for. Beneath the layers, you will see where you belong. You will know who you breathe for.”

“Who I breathe for?” My heart is pummeling my chest, each beat stinging. My skin prickles and a wave of heat dances through me.

“There is only one person you breathe for, Sophia. The One. Do you know who it is?”

I am twitchy and confused. His hot breath is sweet and spicy and fills my head with a delicious burning sensation. It weighs down my eyelids and stalls my thoughts. “I don’t know—”

“I can show you, if you will permit me. May I?” He tips my chin up, bringing my lips toward his mouth.

HELP!
Mom’s voice yells in my head but I don’t know who she is calling.

I can’t think; I am numb.

Scorching fingers slide behind my neck as Dante leans in to kiss me. The second heartbeat erupts deep inside me at the same time that I hear, “SOPHIA!”

The blast of my name jerks my spine straight, and I see Michael marching across the park in long, angry strides.

“I’ve been looking for you!” he calls out like an accusation. Dante releases me and spits out Italian under his breath.

“What … for?” My breathing is staccato-like because there is a bongo drum under my sweatshirt. I feel like I’m waking from a trance. I touch my forehead and come away with sweat.
What the hell is happening?

Michael ignores Dante and eyes me condescendingly. “The astronomy packet. We need to work on it.”

I compose myself and then snap, “Since when?” We’re both aware he hasn’t spoken to me in weeks. We’re both aware he left me to struggle unceremoniously
through astronomy without a life preserver.

“Let’s go to the library and finish up.” Michael takes my arm to lift me off the table, but Dante slides down and blocks him. He clicks his tongue, reproachfully.

“Now, now, Michael. That is not allowed and you know it.”

Michael releases me, and they face off. They’re nearly equal in stature but Michael is wider, packed tighter, and coiled for a fight. Dante seems dispassionate, if not for the steel glare in his eyes.

“Sophia is free to choose where she goes and with whom,” Dante states as though he is reciting a code from an ancient tome.

The air crackles with static electricity. My attention swivels back and forth between them, and I careen toward Michael as a gentle tug at my heart catches me by surprise. I don’t know what Dante is talking about but Michael seems to. He changes tactics and looks down at me.

“We’ll both lose considerable points on the project if we don’t work together. Would you
please
come with me?”

He reconstructs his demand into a question but it’s premeditated, false, and strained. I’m not buying it.

“What’s up with you guys?” I look at each one in turn but neither one answers.

“
Will
you?” Michael demands.

“I’m
busy
!”

“With
what
?”

I puff up like a bullfrog ready to lay into him for being so bossy, but then Dante steps up.

“
I
am happy to help you,” he offers with a presumptuous flare.

Michael and I look at him. I don’t have time to deliberate because Michael jumps in.

“Fine!
You
take her to the library.” He gives my consent, and Dante looks cautiously optimistic.

They are both disregarding my wishes so I say, “Look, I don’t want to study—”

“Where is the library?” Dante reaches around Michael, so as not to touch him, and snags my arm. I stumble under his grasp.

“There!” Michael points at the library like it’s a UFO, and we all look.

Simple and Colonial, it’s a smaller version of the courthouse because it was originally a church. It has an inviting porch and rocking chairs. Seems rather innocuous to me but not to Dante. His arrogance dissolves into a pallid, stoic stare.

“I’m sure we would be more comfortable in the café, or perhaps at my house?
Yes?” His smile is wooden, and I sense there is something about the library that unnerves him.

“She needs to study
at the library
,” Michael intercedes like the annoying voice of reason. I turn on him.

“Who asked for your help anyway? Huh?”

Michael looks like he might answer but changes his mind. He composes himself and tries again in a tense but gentle manner. “Sophia, would you please come to the library with me?”