by Nissa Leder
I gaze into his eyes again. He grins a perfect smile and my stomach flutters. How is he so beautiful?
An upbeat song begins and we join hands and jump to the rhythm. I let the music control me, hopping to the boom of the bass. My heart races. I swing my hair side-to-side. When the song ends, I pause to catch my breath.
His breathing remains steady. How is he not tired?
The next song is slower, its more sensual beat drawing him closer to me. His hands find my hips. As I close my eyes, his hands move up to my waist. A voice in my head says that I should pull away. This is happening too soon. I don’t even know him.
But a louder voice drowns out my concerns and convinces me to rest my head on his chest.
His heartbeat is even, and this close, his scent is even more alluring. As we dance, his fingers lift the bottom of my shirt and his skin finds mine. I shiver. Being so close to him feels so right.
A few songs later, he whispers in my ear, “Want to go somewhere quieter?”
I nod.
He takes my hand in his and guides me through the crowd in the living room, down the hallway, and to an empty bedroom.
My pulse quickens.
A layer of dust covers everything inside. The floral comforter on the bed is crinkled. Both signs we aren’t the only ones who’ve found the secluded spot.
“Getting me alone, I see,” I say, flirtation heavy in my voice.
“I thought it would be a better place to talk,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s serious. “You haven’t even told me your name.”
“No, I guess I haven’t.” I hop to the bed and jump backward onto it. Dust explodes everywhere and I cough. “Okay, that wasn’t very sexy.”
He laughs. “Oh, did I forget to mention I have a thing for chronic smokers and coughing totally turns me on?”
I fake a cough. “Then you’re in luck.”
“Well, if you won’t tell me your name, then I’ll tell you mine,” he says. “I’m Finn.”
“Finn, huh? One syllable. Easy to remember.” I run my fingers through my hair, a nervous habit I’ve had as long as I can remember. “I’m Ava.”
“Ava.” My name rolls off of his tongue like candy. Really sexy candy.
I swallow the drool pooling in my mouth. Seriously, what is going on with me? I don’t know this guy at all. He’s pretty, sure, but I’ve never been one to flirt with strangers.
But I’m Fun Ava tonight, I remind myself. Live now, worry later.
Finn sits next to me. “You’re different.”
“Thank you?” I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s a compliment.” His lips part as he stares at me, desire burning in his gaze.
I should ask him who he is or why he’s even at the party. I haven’t seen him around school but maybe a classmate invited him. But any questions I think of fly straight out of my head as he leans in and kisses me.
At first, he’s gentle, as if he’s waiting for me to respond. I could pull away and call it a night. I haven’t kissed anyone but Darien in so long. But then again, I haven’t been single at a party in two years. I’ve never really had the chance to kiss someone who isn’t him.
When his name hits my thoughts, I tense.
Finn pulls back. “You okay?”
The image of Darien staring at the new girl outside before she handed him the note surfaces and I press it back. I could pull away now and go home and watch chick flicks and eat ice cream like I’d planned, but instead, I reach up and take Finn’s face in my hands and press my lips to his.
4
Monday mornings are always too damn early.
My head is still pounding, and nothing about my vision changed over the weekend. No matter how much I’d hoped this problem would disappear, it’s worse than ever.
I walk through the double doors of Cascade High beside Tuck, wait for the security guard to swipe me with the wand, and emerge into the sea of classmates huddled together in various groups in the commons area.
They’re all dim and dull, like the ancient photos on Gran’s mantle. Like they’re supposed to be black and white, but someone painted over them with faded colors. And just like before, everything is super sharp.
A fly buzzes past.
I can see its hairy legs.
And there’s no way in hell I should be able to see that.
Tuck’s hand is heavy on my shoulder.
“You sure you’re all right, man? Nobody’d blame you for laying out today. Moms would probably write you an excuse if you needed it.”
I shake my head.
“Coach’ll kill me if I miss practice. You know the rules. If you can’t make it to school, then you can’t come to practice.”
“What? They wouldn’t make an exception for The Darien Crain?”
“Not likely.” I scan the room as we walk toward the far wall, trying to adjust to my weird sight anomaly now that so many people are around.
“You looking for someone?” Tuck asks. “Perhaps a golden-skinned hottie with pink hair?”
“I’m sorry I told you,” I say.
“Told me? It’s not like you had to tell me anything, D. I got a full view from the second level deck. You practically had to roll your tongue up off the grass. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s pretty, but she’s not exactly your type. And you got Ava pretty upset.”
Whenever Tuck says Ava’s name, he gets that tone in his voice. Like she’s some sort of goddess to be worshipped. He’s had a thing for her since we were kids, and, considering I dated her for two years, there’s this awkward unspoken tension between us. Especially now because I know he would have treated her better than I did. Just thinking about it makes my brain throb inside my skull.
“Look, Tuck, I don’t want to talk about Ava. I didn’t know she was watching me, okay? I feel bad enough about it without you laying into me.”
“I’m not going to apologize for being concerned about our friend, you know, the one you dumped out of nowhere not even a week ago?”
I hear him. Really, I do. For two years, my whole world was consumed by football and Ava. And then, after Pops died, it’s like everything just stopped. One minute, we were in perfect sync. Then next … nothing’s there. Poof. Over.
“So this girl, Rachel, where’d you say she moved from?”
“Tennessee.”
Oh, no.
I nudge Tuck’s shoulder in an attempt to veer him in the opposite direction. Claire Atwood, Ava’s best friend, is storming in our direction, her dark eyes focusing on me with laser precision.
“So you don’t think it’s weird that a girl from Tennessee moves all the way across the country and suddenly seeks you out?” Tuck pauses. “D, did you even hear me? What are you looking at?”
“Tuck, for once in your life, shut up.”
Tuck finally pauses and follows the direction of my stare.
He groans. Claire stops right in front of us.
“You know, I’ve seen some cruel things happen in these halls,” she starts, “but I’ve never in my life seen the level of asshole you managed Friday night.”
“Morning, Claire,” Tuck says. “You look lovely today.”
“Shut up, Tuck. No one’s talking to you.”
Tuck backs away, holding his hands up in surrender. I can feel a hundred eyes on me, as all the surrounding chatter stops. Everyone in the commons is watching our confrontation, practically salivating for something to talk about.
Claire ignores them and refocuses on me, her dark eyes flashing, her expression full of righteous indignation. I can tell she’s yelling at me. I know it’s loud from the way her mouth is moving, but it all fades to the background and swims, indecipherable, through my mind.
Because there’s something … weird … about her face. I lean in closer.
I study the skin beside her nose, on her cheeks, and between her eyebrows. She doesn’t have pores. It’s totally smooth, iridescent, like she’s radiating little prisms of barely noticeable lights.
�
��Darien!” I blink back to Claire’s angry expression. “Is that it? You’re just going to stare at me like a moron?”
“Your skin is really smooth,” I say. “How do you make it shine like that?”
Suddenly, Claire’s face is a blank slate. She opens her mouth, like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she balls her fists and unleashes an agitated groan. Before I can respond, she turns on her heel and marches away.
Quiet murmurs and whispers erupt all around me. Now that the show is over, my classmates are retreating back to their clusters to discuss the latest scandal.
“Did you even hear what she said, D?” Tuck asks.
He isn’t easily shocked, but his brows are raised in surprise.
I shrug. “To be honest, I kind of tuned her out.”
“Dude, Claire Atwood just said some words even I didn’t know. She straight up cussed you out. In front of everyone.”
I don’t respond. It feels like the temperature in the room has dropped at least twenty degrees. Tuck’s breath comes out in puffs as he talks.
“D, did you hear what I just said? In. Front. Of. Everyone.”
Tuck’s voice buzzes in my ears just before the guttural hissing overtakes it. Not just one voice, but dozens. I gag against a rotten stench. Like three-day-old roadkill that’s baked in the summer heat.
And then I see them.
Dozens of them, rising up behind my classmates, reaching out with reptilian arms and fingers that sharpen at the ends like razors.
My books fall from my arms.
I stumble back, startling Tuck. I hit the tile floor hard and scamper back, trying to get away. I’m vaguely aware that everyone is looking at me. Again. But my eyes focus on the students in front of them, in front of the creatures. The eyeless stares of my classmates are right on me, focusing from dark pits of swirling air. They smile at me from ghostlike faces, their skin a sickly greenish gray.
My heart slugs out a slow rhythm, and I feel like the blood heats in my veins. My palms itch. Why are my palms itching? I slap my hands against my legs to make it stop.
Then, the creatures look in a single direction and hiss, turning away and shielding their faces. I search for what they are seeing.
My eyes settle on Rachel Sharp.
She is standing across the room, radiating a light so bright the dark creatures are shielding themselves with agonized screams. My mouth droops. I look back and forth between Rachel’s light and the dark, dark creatures with the razor teeth and needle claws…
“Darien Crain!”
I blink. Tuck is grabbing my shoulders, shaking me. Two teachers stand behind him with concerned expressions.
“Is everything all right?” Mr. Decker, my econ teacher, is staring down at me with a smug expression, probably thinking I’m some kind of tweaker.
I look around. Everything is back to normal.
“Fine,” I sputter. “I’m fine. I just slipped, I think.”
I look back toward Rachel Sharp, but she’s gone.
I’m crazy. I’m hallucinating. It’s the only explanation.
“D, what did you see?” Tuck asks. When the teachers turn away, he leans forward and helps me up. “I got you, D, you can tell me. “
I force a laugh. “I didn’t see anything. I think that hit I took Friday knocked something loose in my head. I just need some headache powder.”
“You know, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if you went home,” he says. “Even larger-than-life QBs take a sick day sometimes.”
“I’m fine. Anyway, I gotta go.” I gesture toward the stairs. “Chem test.”
Without looking back, I pick up my books, brush past Tuck and the rest of the gawkers, and head toward the stairs. When I reach the top, I press myself against the wall, trying to stay vertical on shaky legs, and gulp the air.
What the hell is happening to me?
Heat flames on my cheeks as Claire rounds the corner. A look of accomplishment rests on her face.
“I told you to leave it alone,” I say.
She places her left arm on her hip and drops her right arm to her side. “It is my duty as your best friend to have your back and let certain people know that, whether they dumped you or not, you should still matter to them.” After a long exhale, she adds, “That being said, maybe he’s going through more than you know about.”
I cringe at the word dumped. It shouldn’t bother me. It’s exactly what happened. So, why does it make me feel so lame?
Something about what Claire said seems off. She’s never one to find reason so quickly. Maybe a few hours or days later, once she’s had time to cool off. But not moments after cussing someone out—which is exactly what anyone in a mile radius would have heard.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” The air in my lungs freezes in place as I wait for an answer. I’m probably looking into things too much, but my gut is screaming at me.
She hesitates, and I swear guilt flashes on her features. “No. He just doesn’t seem like himself lately.”
I’m about to question her more when I see her. The new girl is standing in the middle of the hallway staring. Her eyes are focused on something with an intensity that borders on stalking. She doesn’t move even an inch, gaze unwavering. After a few seconds, she blinks and turns toward us, her dark hair swinging. Without even a glance in our direction, she rushes past us as if the hallway is the last place she wants to be.
“That was … odd,” Claire says as she watches her dart through the doors leading to the school’s courtyard.
When I peek around the lockers, I see Darien looking wide-eyed where the new girl had been staring. Tuck and Mr. Decker are both talking to him, but he seems oblivious. What is going on with him? Claire is right. The Darien I knew would never break up with me and become so distant without a reason. Had he been seeing the new girl behind my back? My heart tells me no. That isn’t Darien. He might have broken my heart by needing space, but cheating? No. That can’t be it.
The warning bell rings, echoing through the hallway, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
“Gotta get to class. See you at lunch?” I ask Claire.
She presses her lips together and gives a look of pity before smiling. “Of course!"
I head to the Art Lab for first period. Choosing sketching to start my day is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Losing myself in my drawings brings me a peace I rarely feel elsewhere. I take my usual seat near the large window facing the courtyard.
Today’s gray sky brings out the deep hues of the garden that lines this wall of the building. Magenta, red, and violet flowers are scattered throughout bushes of various shades of green. Dew rests on the leaves, giving me inspiration for today’s drawing. Instead of sketching an entire plant, I focus on a single leaf and let my hand begin to do its magic.
Mom is an artist, too. She bought me my first set of expensive colored pencils when I was seven after I pinky swore I’d treat them as preciously as gold. We’d sit together at the kitchen table for hours. While I drew princesses and castles, she drew abstract versions of mountains and sunsets.
That was before her car accident.
When I was thirteen, a pickup truck ran a red light and crashed directly into the driver’s side. She was on her way to pick me up from basketball practice when it happened. I knew something was wrong when everyone else’s parents had picked them up and she still wasn’t there. Coach gave me a ride home and I’ll never forget the panic on Dad’s face when I told him she never showed.
The doctors said it was a miracle. Somehow, the impact had been just low enough not to crush her body completely. But she didn’t leave the incident unscathed.
A broken spine sounds a lot less intimidating when the alternative is death. And maybe if that would have been all, things would have gone back to normal. But a broken spine equals a lot of pain that needs to be numbed. Cue the pain pills.
Mom’s spine healed, but an addiction grew. She agreed to rehab once
, and when she came home things looked hopeful until Dad found the stash of pills under the driver’s seat of her car. Irony in its cruelest form.
We begged her to get clean, but she said she couldn’t. Apparently, she couldn’t handle our disappointment either, and three days before my fifteenth birthday, she left us.
A phone call on my sixteenth birthday was the only time I’ve heard from her since.
Before she left, Dad used to tell us how alike we were. But now he never speaks of her. Sometimes, when he watches me, I know he’s reminded, though. It’s why I keep my drawing either at school or in my bedroom with the door closed.
By the time the bell rings, I have my entire leaf and dew droplet sketched. Tomorrow I’ll be able to add color and bring the image to life. For now, I slip the sketchbook back into my bag.
The rest of the morning goes by as usual. When I get to calculus class, I sit in the back of the room where I’ve been sitting since breaking up with Darien. It’s our one class together—one that he begged me to take, promising it will look good on my college applications. I couldn’t resist his blue eyes and perfect pout, so begrudgingly, I agreed.
It wasn’t so bad when I sat next to him and we passed notes like second-graders, me more than him since he feared getting caught by Mrs. Baker. I know he likes to follow rules, but handing a note back and forth hardly seems worthy of guilt.
Now, not only do I have to do math, but I have to see him.
When he enters the room, his eyes find mine. A smile begins to form on his mouth but drops into a solemn expression instead. I want to run to him and hug him. To lie and say I’m okay and everything will work out for the best. But instead, my gaze drops to my calculus book as I pretend to read the instructions of some complicated math equation I care nothing about.
As Mrs. Baker begins the lesson, I stare out the window.
The clouds have grown darker than they were this morning and sprinkles drip from the sky. I pull my attention inside and doodle on my paper. As everyone around me works on today’s assignment, I draw a cartoon devil, complete with horns and pitchfork.