Sublime

by Christina Lauren

  Colin shrugs, but of course he knows he will.

  “All right, lover boy,” Jay says, stretching his arms over his head. “This chat’s been great, but I told Shelby I’d meet her behind the school.”

  “You’re a walking cliché.”

  Jay cycles through girls the way Colin goes through bike tires. Only used for a few, wild rides. Ignoring the comment, Jay juts his chin toward where Lucy has turned and is walking back toward the quad, only twenty or so feet away. “She’s coming back.”

  For a brief moment, Lucy’s eyes catch Colin’s and hold on. And even though he thinks she’s been watching him, too, suddenly she’s walking faster and veering away from where he sits.

  “Make me proud,” Jay says, clapping a hand on Colin’s back before walking away.

  Colin stands and crosses the soccer field, accelerating his long strides to catch her. He has no idea what to say. It doesn’t feel the same as approaching one of the girls from school, the girls who knew him when he was five and couldn’t write the letter S. The girls who knew him when he was ten and wore the same Han Solo shirt for an entire week. The girls who, lately, never seem to say no. This feels like approaching an exotic snake on a trail.

  As if she knows he’s there, Lucy turns and looks at him over her shoulder.

  “Hey,” he says nervously, shoving his good hand into his pocket. The fingers of his other hand twitch at his side.

  She frowns and keeps moving along the grass.

  “I didn’t see you eat anything,” he continues, moving into step beside her. “Weren’t you hungry? Dot makes the best grilled cheese.” Lucy gives only a small shake of her head, but the response is enough to make something like hope spread in his chest. “Are you cold? I have a fleece in my room. . . .” He cringes inwardly. That sounded like a bad pickup line.

  They walk for another minute in silence, leaves crunching beneath the soles of their shoes. Although it’s weird how quiet she is, for some reason he doesn’t feel ignored, either. “Did you move here?” Ducking his head, he smiles at her. “It’s like you just showed up one day.”

  There’s a slight falter in her steps but nothing else. Colin studies her profile: creamy, pale skin and bee-stung lips that stick out in kind of a hot pout.

  “Where did you go to school before?” he asks.

  Lucy picks up her pace but doesn’t answer. He’s decided to give up and turn away when she slows, motioning to his cast. “How did you hurt your arm?”

  He flexes the fingers of his left hand on instinct. “On my bike. I didn’t quite land a jump.”

  “Does it hurt?” she asks. Her voice is scratchy, like she was at a show last night screaming her head off. He imagines her dancing alone, rocking out, not giving a crap what anyone thinks.

  “Nah. I’ve had worse. Broken bones, fractures, concussions, stitches. You name it. This is nothing.” He stops talking abruptly, realizing he sounds like a frat boy bragging about slamming a beer can against his forehead.

  Lucy frowns again. “Why would you do those things if you keep hurting yourself?”

  Without thinking, Colin says, “For the rush? The burst of adrenaline? That feeling you get when you do something that reminds you you’re alive?”

  Lucy stops in her tracks; her face goes blank and her arms wrap protectively around her stomach. “I have to go.”

  “Wait,” he says. But it’s too late. With long, determined strides, she walks away.

  Chapter 5 • HER

  ONCE LUCY REMEMBERS WHAT HAPPENED to her, a tangle of other memories connect, plugging together bundles of fine, tenuous synapses. She remembers her loud, barking laugh, forever-skinny arms, and hair so straight it slipped right out of clips and bands. A gift for chemistry but also art, fear of dogs, and a love for the smell of oranges.

  She remembers the face of her first teacher, but not her father. She remembers her favorite torn jeans and a Cookie Monster sweatshirt she wanted to wear every day when she was little.

  In other words, she remembers nothing that tells her anything about why she’s here instead of floating on a cloud somewhere, or beneath the trails and pavement, dancing in flames.

  And it’s that question—why am I here?—that begins to eat away at her quiet, composed shell. Questions burn on her tongue, wanting to be screamed into the cold. But she knows there’s no one to answer them. She’s spent hours since she woke trying to understand what she is. If she’s back where she was killed, then is she a ghost? And if she is, then how can she wear clothes and open doors and even be seen? Is she an angel who came crashing through the clouds and landed on the trail? Then, where are her wings? Where is her sense of purpose?

  Her chest aches with the tickling anxiety that she could disappear as quickly—and mysteriously—as she appeared. Somehow, the idea of leaving and being sent elsewhere is more terrifying than the idea of staying here as a shadow. At least here is familiar. Elsewhere might be the stuff of nightmares: stitched-together monsters and blue-black darkness, yellowed claws and misery.

  So much about this strange life doesn’t make sense. There’s the statue in the quad, the one with the outstretched arms and heavy marble cloak draped over her shoulders. Lucy is convinced she’s touched it a hundred times before, but now it doesn’t feel . . . right. Or at least, it feels more right than stone should. The first time, Lucy let her hand linger on the delicately carved fingers, trying to remember the exact moment she’d felt it before and marveling at the strange texture. But last time she jerked away, convinced she felt a faint warmth beneath the marble skin and certain one of the fingers had moved. Other students make a wide arc around the statue when they pass, but to Lucy, it beckons.

  It feels like one more thing that separates her from the students around her: Her skin turns almost translucent in the sunshine. Normal objects like pencils and stones fascinate her when she stares at them, but when she picks them up, they grow dull in her hand. She’s solid enough to wear clothes, but they weigh a good deal more than she does and she never loses awareness of them: stiff and touching her everywhere. Her mind is full of questions and empty of memories. It’s as if she’s been dropped here and is waiting, suspended, for her fall to make a sound.

  The unknown of it all sometimes slips in and makes her feel breathless, tight in the chest, panicked. In those moments, Lucy closes her eyes and shuts out everything but the quiet. She’s here, a ghost in girls’ clothing, haunting this private school; she should just get used to it. But she doesn’t want to haunt anyone. She wants to be tangible and solid. To sleep in a dorm and eat in the dining hall and flirt. With him. All she wants is to be near him.

  And he seems to want it too. Colin follows her everywhere, and where she feels as if she’s built of a million questions and doubts, he seems to be only instinct, happy to simply be near her. His presence raises a warm, soothing hum beneath her skin. He’s behind her as she walks down the halls between classes. Sometimes he walks beside her and talks about—everything—even though she rarely answers what he asks. He’s stopped offering to share his lunch. He’s stopped offering to share his books. Since that first day in the hall, he’s never tried to touch her. But he hasn’t yet revoked his company.

  • • •

  She isolates herself at school because she feels so other. She’s unable to throw away the clothes she woke up wearing, but they feel like a hook to another place, piled in the corner of the old shed she’s found. Every time Lucy looks at them, she knows she wore them when she lay buried somewhere. The new, stolen uniform hangs limp on her bony frame. She tells herself to keep going to classes because, really, what else does she have? At least here, she can be near him. And the closer he is, the more she relaxes. Is it dangerous to want so much to know someone without first knowing yourself?

  She pretends she’s wandering the campus—not seeking him out—but is flooded with a wild, charged excitement when she finds him in the parking lot near the security gates, riding a BMX with the other guy she always sees with h
im. His friend—Jay, she remembers—is good-looking, a bit shorter but wiry, with a constant smirk. His gaze slips past her to focus on Colin as Lucy approaches. Then Jay stands on his pedals and moves away.

  “Hey,” Lucy calls, and she thinks she’s said it too quietly, but Colin’s head snaps up and his eyes go wide. She sees his face every time she closes her eyes, but the reality of him in person still surprises her.

  He pedals over, too-long limbs and too-long hair, hopping off his bike while it continues to come to a skidding stop only inches from her legs. He looks impressed that she hasn’t stepped back. “Hey, Lucy.”

  She swallows, unprepared for how intimate it feels when he says her name. “How can you bike with a broken arm?”

  He shrugs, but something is illuminated behind his eyes, and she recognizes it as joy. “We’re playing around to see if I’ll be able to hit a trail later this week.”

  A small tug in her chest. A flutter. “With one arm?”

  “Yep.” He grins, and the combination of the wonky bottom tooth that overlaps its twin and the small metal ring hugging his lip make her blink and look away so she can process his answer. “My legs are fine, and I only need one good arm to steer.”

  She nods and smooths the wisps of hair off her face. “Are you following me?”

  She expects embarrassment or defensiveness, but he laughs, wiping his forehead on the sleeve of his noncasted arm. “Am I following you?” His eyes move to his bike and then back to her, playful. “Not at the moment.”

  She’s embarrassed, fighting a smile. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” he says. “And yeah, I guess I have been.” He pauses while he looks at every part of her face. “I mean, we both know I have been.”

  His smile widens then, invading every feature and making his eyes brighten last, and best. She wants to stare at him. Long lashes drop slowly as his eyes close, as if developing another image. She loves his blink. It’s a strange fascination she has, but she wants to ask him what he sees behind his lids.

  “Why?” she asks.

  “Why am I following you?”

  She nods, and his playful smile disappears. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t look at me the way the other students do,” she says.

  He studies her in that way he has, like every day is made up of hundreds of hours and he’s not in any hurry to wrap up his inspection. “How do other students look at you?”

  “They don’t.”

  He shrugs and his eyes soften. “Then they’re idiots.”

  Every inch of her skin aches to be near him, but the doubts roll back in, gray as rain clouds. He has no instinct to protect himself from the strangeness of her. Is she supposed to believe he hasn’t noticed that she’s different? “You shouldn’t follow me. I’m not who you think I am.”

  He rolls his eyes. “That’s kind of dramatic.”

  “I know it is. That’s my point.”

  He moves closer, expression soft. “Did you come here to find me and tell me to stop coming to find you?”

  She shrugs, fighting another smile.

  “That seems like a poor use of your lunch break. You could have waited for me to find you later. It’s in my plan, right after chemistry.”

  “Seriously, Colin. You shouldn’t—”

  “It isn’t that easy,” he interrupts. All teasing is gone from his eyes as he looks up to the sky, and he’s blushing hotly, slowing himself down. His voice drops to barely a whisper, and he admits, “I don’t know why, okay? I just want to get to know you, and I can’t seem to stay away.”

  Lucy drinks in his full lips, his hungry expression, and his earnest attention and tries to keep it safe somewhere inside. “Colin.”

  He exhales a puff of air, saying shakily, “What?”

  She looks away, up at the dense autumn storm clouds now beginning to form, green with electricity and heavy with rain. “Like you said, I’m a dramatic girl.” She smiles, feeling her skin hum with electricity at the way he’s hanging on her every word. “Don’t boys hate that?”

  “Usually.” He licks his lips, tracing the shape of the silver ring.

  “Seriously though,” she says, dragging her gaze away from his mouth. Her chest, it aches. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here.”

  He sees something in her eyes that keeps rejection from clouding his face. He blinks once, nods slowly, as if he already knew this about her. “Okay.”

  He stares at her as she walks away; his focus is like a point of heat on her back. Did she really tell him to stay away? Now, as if there’s a magnet behind her and she is composed of shards of scrap metal, she feels almost irresistibly pulled backward. Ahead is the cabin at the edge of campus, and a man in khakis and a sweater stands on the porch, stretching in the crisp air. A small plaque at the foot of the walkway leading to the home reads:

  WILLIAM P. VERNON MEMORIAL RESIDENCE

  Joseph Velasquez, Headmaster

  As she passes the path to the steps, the man she assumes is Joseph R. Velasquez doesn’t even nod or smile or somehow acknowledge her. His focus is on the lot behind her, where she’s left Colin and Jay horsing around on their bikes. His eyes narrow, and what looks like exasperation moves through his body, deflating him.

  “Colin Novak!” he yells, irritation thickening his voice. “The doc said no riding!”

  Pressure builds inside her chest, a balloon that fills with some indescribable need until it’s so strong, so full, she fears her ribs might crack beneath the strain. She feels angry. But she has no idea why. And as his words echo past her to the quad, bouncing back and joining the whispers of Colin’s name that repeat in her thoughts, the man glances at her, horror appearing on his face before the sturdy porch groans and in a sharp snap, wood planks splinter. It happens so fast, but in Lucy’s mind it feels like each event occurs in slow succession: wood cracks, Velasquez pitches first forward and then back as his legs break through the porch and he falls beneath. His surprised cry echoes across the lawn.

  The balloon bursts, and relief seeps into each corner of her body. She breathes again, gasps as if it’s the first breath she’s ever taken. And she’s horrified. Lucy scrambles up the steps and reaches for his hand before immediately pulling back. She’s never touched anyone, not in this body. She doesn’t even know if she can be touched. Instinct presses her back. He looks up from where he landed, waist-deep under the porch and grimacing in pain.

  “Go away,” he says, pleading with her.

  She takes another step back, hands moving to cover her mouth in silent apology. But her face is unrecognizable beneath her fingers, as if heat and anger have torn away her skin.

  “I don’t think I can pull you out,” she says, too quiet, aching with apology but unwilling to move closer, almost as if an invisible wall stands between her and the wounded man. He looks at her in awe, and she steps back, holding her hands up. “I’m afraid to try in case—”

  Shouts from the lot reach her, and footsteps pound down the sloping lawn. Colin, with Jay close behind him, shouting, “Joe! Oh, my God, Joe!” Colin buckles when he reaches the gaping hole in the porch, and he and Jay struggle to heave out a dusty and injured Mr. Velasquez.

  There’s blood and torn fabric, and Lucy is oddly fascinated with the way the red blooms thickly through the fibers of his pants and pools beside Colin on the porch.

  “I’ll . . . go get someone,” she says.

  “Get Maggie,” Jay says to her, tearing a bit of his shirt and tying it around Mr. Velasquez’s leg.

  “Maggie?”

  “Campus nurse. Hang on. I’ll go with you. You got this, Col?”

  Colin nods numbly and watches as she steps away and begins backing down the stairs. “What happened, Lucy?”

  “He fell through,” she answers simply.

  Crimson blood almost reaches Colin’s leg, and he scoots back before it touches him. Looking back down, Colin says quietly, “We’ll get you fixed up, Joe.”

  Lucy turns to lea
ve, uneasy with the odd sense of responsibility she’s feeling, remembering the way Mr. Velasquez reacted as if her face told him something terrible was about to happen. Beside her, Jay is already scrolling through a list of names on what she’s learned is a phone with a bright, colorful screen. “I’ll walk with you,” he says.

  Lucy had been confused at first when she’d seen students staring down at and tapping the front of what looked like a tiny TV. She’d never seen anything like it in her life. I’m not from here, she thought. I’m not from now. She wonders what would happen if she tried to take one, to use it to call outside the school. Would the dialed call bounce back into the school grounds, too?

  They head back down the trail in an uneasy rhythm as Jay passes on the details to Maggie, and Lucy works to match his frantic pace. The lawn rolls ahead, stark and so green it almost looks unreal. Will they walk to the infirmary together? Will she be required to explain how a seemingly sturdy porch simply caved in under the weight of a small man? For once, Lucy wishes the earth would open up and reclaim her, the girl with no answers.

  She turns and looks over her shoulder to where Colin remains bent over Mr. Velasquez, speaking quietly.

  “Why is he so worried?”

  “Did you not see the man up to his chest in porch? The blood?” Jay asks, a hint of sharp amusement in his voice.

  Lucy nods, tucking her chin and staring at the brilliant green grass bending only slightly beneath her feet. Her words echo back to her and sound ridiculous. “Of course. I didn’t mean he shouldn’t be worried.”

  “No, I know what you mean. He’s more worried than most students would be, I guess.” Jay ducks to meet her eyes. “It’s just that Colin miraculously survived this horrible accident that killed his parents. So accidents kind of freak him out. Plus Joe’s his godfather and, like, his one remaining semi-family member left on the planet.”

  Chapter 6 • HIM

  COLIN’S BEEN IN THE INFIRMARY more times than he can count, but he’s rarely been the one sitting beside the bed while someone else babbles under the influence of painkillers.