by Keilan Shea
“I-I don’t mind.” He’s right. I didn’t think twice about the name Richter when I heard it.
Theo steps aside once we’ve cleared the vestibule for the foyer, where chattering voices and music bloom.
“Why’d we stop?” I ask, eyes following the steady stream of people disappearing down the corridor framed between two opulent staircases.
“My little brother is supposed to meet me. He should have by now, but he’s being careless.” Theo retrieves his phone from an enviable pants pocket.
As I recall, Kane, the youngest Earnshaw brother, is either nine or ten years old. Are any of the Earnshaws careless, though? Maybe Theo means carefree. That’s how kids are meant to be.
“Theo!”
A young boy charges us. He unabashedly wraps his arms around Theo for a hug—which then quickly turns into a wrestling match. Theo doesn’t do anything to protect himself, allowing the boy to drag him down and rumple the outfit he tidied moments before.
“You’re no fun,” the boy says as he releases Theo—but not before slugging him. He settles beside Theo, blowing the long strands of his sandy-blond bangs out of his hazel-blue eyes. Only the oldest brother has dark hair.
“That’s your and Blake’s thing, not mine.” Theo rubs his arm. “And you shouldn’t act like that in public.”
Kane shrugs. “Who’s this?”
Theo combs his fingers through Kane’s longer hair, taming the disheveled strands. “This is Melody.”
Kane grabs Theo’s hand, shoving, but he stops when Theo doesn’t relent. “Blake hasn’t changed his mind yet?”
“It’s just you and me.”
“As long as he’s here for my birthday.”
“I’m sorry you have to settle for second best.”
“Blake can be my favorite when you’re his.”
“I’m not Blake’s favorite,” Theo mutters. Then he speaks clearly. “Introduce yourself. Melody’s going to eat with us.”
“I’m Kane.” The youngest Earnshaw cocks his head, analyzing me. His round, boyish face is charming, and he emits the tangible energy of an extrovert. It makes the hairs on my arms stand on end as if adore-me sparks are launching off his fair skin. I read a fantasy with a magic system built entirely around extroverts and introverts. “What’s your last name, Melody?”
“Lopez.”
“She’s our scholarship student,” Theo says.
Kane’s eyes widen. “Whoa, the first scholarship student. You’re going to be legendary.”
Theo offers a forced smile. I think it’s forced. It’s bigger and tamps down his natural shyness so effectively that it would have fooled me if I hadn’t found him crying.
“By the way, I’m not eating with you,” Kane informs. “I’m going to eat with my friends.”
“They can join us.”
“No.” Kane scowls. “I checked in with you like I’m supposed to, but they’re my friends. They’re waiting for me in the banquet hall.”
Theo’s voice softens. “All right.”
The crowd has thinned considerably. Theo and I are the last people in the foyer when Kane trots ahead and the glittering corridor swallows him.
“Let’s go,” Theo says.
The music swells and reverberates. The tone lingers in my ears, seeps into my bones, and fills me. My eyes sting with pure emotion. I’ve never heard anything like it, near and yet distant. Like longing.
“The election for Crown President last year was intense,” Theo says, snapping me out of my stupor. “I was in the West Wing, so I didn’t experience it firsthand, but Blake gave me the play-by-play. Caesar was furious when he lost and wouldn’t accept it. That’s why we wear the badges. Caesar is trying to find a loophole, some way to take Blake’s place. He sees Blake’s absence as the opportunity he’s been waiting for.”
“That’s … excessive,” I say.
“Is it?”
“You don’t think so?”
“It’s happened before. Sort of.”
“The last election for ASB President of Samohi was competitive, but when the president was chosen and sworn into office, it ended.”
“Really?” Theo’s eyes widen.
“Really. It’s not as though a student council can do that much anyway. It’s pretend leadership, learning about democracy in a sandbox. The principals are in charge and have the ultimate power since they can veto anything. That’s the same here, isn’t it?”
Theo replies with a belated “Yes.”
Ritsuki accused Caesar of dangerous sabotage. Caesar and Jet put Blake down. They’re obviously not on good terms. The Crown is comprised of Blake supporters and Caesar supporters. From my unbiased viewpoint, it does seem as if Blake has abandoned the school. Until I consider Ritsuki and Theo’s strange conversation. I’m not a nosy person, but I’m tempted to ask about what was said.
“Do you know the Gilded Rule?” Theo asks.
“You mean the Golden Rule? ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’?”
Theo presses his lips into a thin line. “No. The Gilded Rule: ‘Anything goes if you don’t get caught.’”
A shiver crawls down my spine. “What—”
“Welcome.” A man wearing a silvery tuxedo greets us at the threshold of the banquet hall. “Allow me to escort you to your table.” His long-legged stride requires I jog to keep up with him while Theo, only slightly taller than me, has no issue because he’s mastered the art of racewalking.
I barely register the musicians performing on a circular stage raised a foot above the rest of the glossy floor before our guide presents a luxuriously decorated round table. A burning phoenix is the centerpiece. Literally. I can’t tell if the flames licking its intricate body are real. I’d touch it to dispel the illusion, but the heat it emits is fiery and decidedly real.
Our guide—waiter?—pulls out two of the chairs. I’m watching Theo for cues. Since he doesn’t sit, neither do I. “Your hors d’oeuvres will be served shortly,” the waiter says and then turns on his heel.
Theo gestures to the chair closest to me. “Have a seat.”
I plop down so hard the dainty thing screeches as it skids across the floor. Hopefully nobody but Theo and me heard that. I hunch my shoulders, curling forward to cover my face with my hair. It’s times like this I praise its unruliness. Except now it’s framing all the silverware laid out before me. My heart thumps against my rib cage as heat envelops my body in an epic conflagration. Lobo Azul is a premium casual restaurant with an emphasis on Spanish cuisine. It’s classy but not quite fine dining.
“Don’t worry,” Theo says. “I’m here to help.” I lift my head to see him seated beside me and smiling warmly. The sweat beading on my forehead cools—until I spot the brunette stalking him.
“Where have you been?” Olive demands as her fingers clamp onto Theo’s biceps like bear traps. Somehow, her brown eyes cut into me just as hard. I blink and avert my gaze to escape the sting.
The squirrelly boy joins her. “Finally get a girlfriend, Theo?”
The others with him and Olive snicker as they surround us, blocking every escape route.
“Obviously not. She’s way too old for him. Nasty, wrinkled cougar.”
“Olive!” Theo exclaims and abruptly stands, knocking his chair over. The resulting CLANG rings throughout the banquet hall. Even the classical music grinds to a halt.
Theo doesn’t raise his voice. Not like that.
I push out of my seat and through the bodies crowding me. Then I run. The doors leading into the banquet hall almost close on me and people shout, but nobody pursues me. The doors produce a low thud and click as they close at my back. Locked. I might be stuck wandering the palace until dinner is over, but it’s better than conflict. My stomach growls a protest in vain. The muffled music mirrors the dissipating heat and the sweat drying on my skin; they’re muted sensations.
Theo doesn’t mind me, but his friends do. I’d much rather be alone in the shadows than to be the cause of unnece
ssary drama. My legs become heavier with each step I take and my heart quivers. It’s not supposed to hurt. I’m used to rejection, but I wanted to discuss The Sister Star with him.
CHAPTER 8
At the Crown Gate, I expect the guard to stop me, but he, like everyone and everything else, doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He scans my student ID and lets me inside. I’m glad. I guess dinner is optional. If I want to go to bed hungry, that’s my prerogative.
My stomach growls. It didn’t sign up for this and wants me to know, but I ignore it.
I go through the agonizing process of storing my ID inside my bra when my back is turned to the gate guard so that he doesn’t witness the impropriety. My ID and phone weigh heavily on my chest. Except it’s not because of them. It’s this day. The first day of school is tomorrow, and firsts are notorious for being overwhelming, but how can it supersede today?
My body aches as if I’m a dishrag that’s been wrung out and hung to dry. Maybe I’ll go to bed early—after I call Naomi.
I slow my already snail-like pace. I haven’t memorized how to get to Selenite Hall from here, and I find I don’t care. I’m drifting, the girl with scuffed Mary Janes. I’m the eyesore red-wine stain on an otherwise pristine white carpet.
I don’t fit in here. That’s true everywhere, but it’s so much worse here. Where are the shadows that hide me?
My scratchy eyes sting when I remember to blink. Droplets fall onto the sunset-colored walkway, but it isn’t raining. The liquid heat on my cheeks registers in my brain when more tears slip free.
“Why are you crying?” Since everyone is at Richter Palace, the campus is a Gilded ghost town, so no one witnesses me doing it. But still … “You’re being stupid, Melody.”
I continue walking.
Eventually, a steady stream of water sings a soothing lullaby. A magnificent phoenix, wings spread, greets me. Phoenix Fountain. The sun is falling lower in the sky, striking it at a different angle than before. From where I stand, it’s a blazing backlight that creates the convincing illusion of fire-tipped feathers. I draw closer. The coolness of spraying water and the heat of reflected sunlight contend with each other, a torrent of sensations.
“No more feeling down,” I tell myself as I lock eyes with the gold Phoenix. “You’re here for the education and connections your teachers can provide. That has nothing to do with your fellow students outside of classes and assignments. No friends required. And it’s in your best interest not to get in the middle of the Caesar-and-Blake thing. You’re a neutral party—which means you definitely shouldn’t be friends with Theo Earnshaw.”
I should delete his phone number.
I unbutton my shirt and make a mental note to purchase a handbag. It’s become nonnegotiable. Before I manage to retrieve my phone, a dark figure emerges from the other side of the fountain like a zombie rising from its grave. My hands cling to my shirt, too shaky to button it, and my knees tremble. Now might be a good time to run, legs!
But zombies aren’t real and this isn’t one of Russel’s VR horror games. Calm down. You’re rational. This boy was sitting on the ground—for some reason—behind the fountain and that’s why I didn’t see him through that inexplicable gap between the phoenix and the fountain’s base. I fumble with redoing my buttons as he excessively brushes off the seat of his pants and loops around, sauntering toward me.
My breath halts in my lungs when his emerald eyes find me.
“Do you often converse with yourself?” Lucas comes nearer but stops when he’s a few feet away. “Discretion is advised. If someone were to overhear you, he might think you’ve a few screws loose.” He flashes white teeth in a broad grin and his scintillating gaze drops to my chest. “Your buttons are in the wrong holes. Naughty. What were you about to do? Take a leisurely swim in the fountain? That’s bold. There are cameras everywhere, you know.”
Lucas sighs when my numb tongue makes it impossible to respond and takes a step closer. And another. I have to tilt my head to look up at him now. “You’re trying my OCD, lovely.” His fingers find my shirt and I know I shouldn’t let him, but his touch is so light. Like before. He properly buttons my shirt, rights my tie, and steps back to a respectful distance all within the blink of an eye. His scent lingers, though. Mocha latte.
My stomach growls, and I blush hard.
“Me too.” Lucas makes a circular hovering motion over his flat stomach. I doubt there’s an ounce of fat on his lithe, toned body. Even the muscles in his neck are somehow smooth and bold.
According to my eyes. I’m not touching him or anything.
I wince. “W-why aren’t you at Richter Palace?”
“The principal droned on and on and I missed the deadline. Which, come to think of it, must have been his intention.” Lucas shakes his head. “Withholding food, that’s abusive and unimaginative. The bright side is I haven’t been expelled.”
Lucas sits on one of the benches rather than the ground. “So now I’m enjoying the peace. Campus isn’t so bad when you have the whole thing to yourself, is it?” He lies down and crosses his legs at the ankles; his combat boots are out of place, harsh and wicked. The bench isn’t long enough for him, so his feet dangle off the side. At least there are no armrests or a backrest to crunch him. He closes his eyes, maybe to take a nap, but then he cracks one open. “Why were you crying, Melody?”
Spotless combat boots and scuffed Mary Janes. Lucas may not fit in here, but he’s not like me either. He’s a Gilded.
I turn to walk away, but something clamps around my shoulder. It startles me so badly that I swing my arms as if to launch a bug the size of a human off of me. My fists find Lucas’s chest. He’s firm, as toned as I figured, and uses his other hand to catch my waist. Suddenly, I’m flush against his chest.
I freeze.
I’ve never been this close to a boy who isn’t family before. His heart is so near to my cheek that it beats inside of my head. It’s an energetic and almost frantic sound, matching his mannerisms. His warmth seeps into me, and it’s cozy.
Then he pushes me.
I’m about to topple over, unprepared to catch myself, but Lucas grabs my hips. He withdraws when my body remembers what balance is.
He pinches the skull-shaped conch stud in his left ear. “I didn’t mean to touch you. Are you all right? Do you need help?”
“I-it’s fine,” I reply. “I’m fine. I’m going to Selenite Hall. Goodbye.” I can’t look him in the eye and I’m pretty sure my face is ablaze.
Lucas takes his smartphone from his pants pocket and gives it a little shake. “Or we could watch funny cat videos. I know you want to.” He must like cats. Feline silhouettes pattern his phone case.
He returns to the bench. After seating himself, he pats the space next to him.
What did I just finish lecturing myself about? I don’t need friends. I shouldn’t have friends. I’ve learned my lesson, but Gilded Academy is throwing a ton of those firsts at me. All at once. I disregarded Lucas before, unable to answer his offhand comment about how we should be friends. His belligerent father didn’t help my paralysis any. Then I tried to comfort Theo—who is genuinely nice. He didn’t like what Olive said about me. Either time. If I had stayed at Richter Palace, he might have defended me, but I couldn’t ask him to do that. He’s already part of a group. But Lucas isn’t. He doesn’t have any friends here, no established dynamics I can screw up.
“What do you think about Caesar?” I blurt. “And about ‘picking the right side’?”
“Fuck him and his handsy ways,” Lucas says nonchalantly. “All that shit’s a cheap scare tactic. Premature hazing. I’ve no interest in picking a side.”
“But you said you’re going to like it here. Why did you say that?”
“We’ve got front-row seats to the show, and I predict it’ll be quite the spectacle. Who doesn’t want to be in the splash zone?”
We. “You get wet in the splash zone.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“I’ll
pass.”
“Suit yourself, lovely.”
“Why do you call me that?”
Lucas raises an eyebrow. “I thought it was obvious.”
“It isn’t. Are you mocking me?”
“No way. It’s a compliment, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop and sincerely apologize.” He winks. “Even though it’s true.”
I frown. “D-did you mean it when you said, ‘Let’s be friends’?”
“Sure did.” He beams.
While being self-conscious about avoiding physical contact, I sit beside him. The smooth metal, heated by sunlight pounding on it all day, is uncomfortably warm. It doesn’t help that my body temperature is higher than normal. My heart is still pounding from when Lucas held me, and I’m near enough that his mocha-latte scent pervades my nose.
Lucas taps his phone, summoning a YouTube video. Even his fingers are beautiful. They’re thicker than mine, stronger, but they’re lean too. Theo is pretty, but Lucas is … handsome.
I don’t realize I’m staring at his profile until he says, “The video’s right here, Melly Mel. You’re missing out.”
“Melly Mel?”
“Testing a nickname. Friends give friends nicknames.”
Friends.
The fluffy black cat in the video tries to leap through a windowpane when it spots a swallowtail butterfly flitting around outside. Lucas cracks up. His laugh takes on a staccato rhythm, more of a unique and charming giggle. It’s contagious. My face cracks, lips turning up at the corners as this fizzy lightness blossoms inside of me.
“Cats are so ridiculous,” Lucas says. “I love them.”
He taps another video. A tiny kitten pounces on a lazy fat cat. The fat cat suffers the kitten’s abuse until razor-sharp teeth lock onto its tail. The fat cat’s ears swivel back, lying flat against its skull, and it smacks the kitten with its paw. The kitten squeaks, dazed, and then rolls onto its back, little paws extended as it grabs at the air. It has the cutest round tummy. I’d be tempted to poke it if it were possible. My smile grows and I laugh softly.
“That’s better.” When did Lucas’s face get so close to mine? Our noses are almost touching. “You have the cutest laugh I’ve ever heard.”