by Eliza Park
Elliott fucking Ramirez.
I had a feeling that asshole was behind her sudden personality shift. She’d held a candle for him for years, you could see it in the way her face changed whenever he was mentioned. I couldn’t fucking see the attraction, the guy was nothing. Eli was only attending the academy on a scholarship to play soccer. Rumor had it he couldn’t score a GPA above a 3.0. He wore someone else’s ragged uniforms, shared a room with three other guys on the second floor of the dorms, ate an economic meal, and existed at the lowest end of the totem pole in the eyes of any Ivy scout. You could tell he hated the game, but an opportunity like that doesn’t present itself to every poor kid who managed to kick a fucking ball into a net. I’m sure his parents made him accept the offer his freshman year. But you couldn’t be successful doing something you hated. He was nothing now and he would continue to be nothing for the rest of his miserable life.
I closed my eyes again. I had to refocus if I was going to get any work done tonight. I didn’t have time to worry about Ramirez.
Celeste spun in my peripheral, sitting up at a ninety-degree angle with unnatural speed and gasping for air. I shut my laptop and tossed it as gently as I could to the floor, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. Her breath was coming in shuddering gasps, and her eyes were glazed over, blonde hair hanging in a thick curtain on either side of her face.
“Celeste,” I said calmly.
Her glazed green eyes met mine.
“It’s just a dream. You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”
Her breathing didn’t slow.
I repeated the sentences I’d been saying almost every night for a year and a half, “Celeste. It’s just a dream. You are safe. Go back to sleep.”
She didn’t blink, but she never did. Just stared and gasped.
I continued to repeat myself until her breathing slowed. Then she fell into my shoulder, her eyes closed. I wrapped my arm around her, holding her tightly to my chest, my cheek pressing against the top of her head. I didn’t know why she had these episodes, but over time I had been able to connect them to whatever had happened to her as a kid.
The first one had scared me shitless. I’d leapt out of bed in alarm and sprinted halfway across the room before realizing she was still technically asleep. Which had been even creepier.
Night terrors, they were called. And holy shit were they terrifying. Every now and then she woke up screaming instead of just gasping, a much scarier alternative that used to be difficult to stop. Now it was just routine. You do something nightly almost three hundred times and it becomes more of a mild inconvenience than anything. I could never quite predict when they would happen. It was usually only once nightly, but when she was truly happy or completely exhausted, they didn’t happen at all. Over New Year’s we went four nights with no episodes. Four amazing fucking nights. But our first evening back from winter break she was up and gasping for two goddamn hours.
Elliott fucking Ramirez.
I closed my eyes against the darkness, listening to her steady breathing, and rested my head against the headboard. I counted to ten, slowly, then eased her back onto her pillow and smoothed the hair away from her face.
I bent over and picked up my laptop off the floor. It was undamaged, luckily, and I set to work on my research paper.
Chapter 3
Celeste
Maverick walked with me across the snow covered green to the great halls of Saint Bridget. He was tired, I could see the purple shadows under his eyes, but he didn’t complain this morning about the lack of a French press in my room, and he didn’t bother attempting a facade of sneaking out. The resident nun ignored us as we exited the female wing of the dorm building, and I marveled at just another tangible thing Maverick had control over.
I was up before him, already showered and dressed, nearly walking out the front door when his alarm went off and he groggily asked if I would wait. I had no reason to say no, so I did, hovering by the door as he washed last night’s escapades from his long body. I’d admired his naked body plenty of times, but that morning a grin had actually spread across his face when he saw me watching him. I was used to Mav being polite and kind, and sometimes even romantic in private, but when he bent to kiss me on the cheek, his hand on my upper back as we parted ways for our morning classes, my reaction was less than friendly.
He only chuckled at my expression and then strode away towards the cafeteria, pulling the stocking cap off of his still wet hair. I’d tossed out my plan of attempting coursework alone in the library before class began and instead went straight up the stairs to the third level to find my locker. The library, ballroom, computer lab, gymnasium, and cafeteria were all located on the first floor. The second floor was split in half for First and Second Year students and the third floor was split for Third and Fourth Year students. Occasionally a First Year would find themselves on the third floor for an advanced course, an event that had occurred for Maverick his first and second years. His parents started the academic studies at a young age, fully taking advantage of that impeccable memory he had, and as a result he was able to test out of the majority of the basic classes for the academy. Mav had spent so much time on the third floor with the upperclassmen as a freshman and sophomore, he’d developed an attitude towards us lower-level scholars. An attitude that earned him the asshole label he so proudly wore.
I had to re-read my schedule for day two of the semester, and as I stood there contemplating how many books I was willing to carry, a velvet voice drifted out, enveloping me from behind.
“Good morning, Celeste.” Elliott’s voice was somehow more attractive in the morning, husky with unshakable sleep. He spoke like he had smoked a pack of cigarettes the night before, and although the threat of lung disease wasn’t exactly sexy, I found it irresistible.
I didn’t turn my head in greeting, waiting for the unmistakable beat of my mostly dormant heart to fade before I could sincerely rely on any semblance of confidence. “Good morning, lab partner, how was your extra hour of soccer training?”
“Cold,” he answered in a bitter voice, “How was your evening?”
“Warm,” I admitted, flashes of Maverick’s broad, bare shoulders appearing before the cool gray of my locker door. I shoved my books for the rest of the day into my bag, shutting the door. When I turned, Elliott’s figure seemed to radiate the precise subject we were speaking of. Warmth waved off of him in impossible droves and I felt cozy and comfortable but still nervous and confused. He was wonderful, towering over me by a solid half foot, long, lean limbs and curly dark hair that was shining from the falling snow. Honeyed caramel eyes framed by dark lashes. He was a radiator in the icy castle of my mind, melting open a hole in the already crumbling shelter.
For all things become visible when they are exposed by the light, for everything that becomes visible is light.
His smile illuminated the charcoal of my heart, blowing heat into the smoky embers. I felt delicately faint, like an overheated southern belle in the middle of summer. “Good morning,” he said again.
“You said that already.”
“I thought it deserved a second mention, now that I’ve seen you.”
My face cracked into an uncontrollable smile and I blinked away the almost compliment. If Mav had used a line like that I would have treated it with sarcasm and disdain, but Elliott made it seem so sincere in this alternate reality I was very clearly walking through. Elliott’s long, lean shadow lined up with mine, flirting like ghosts as we made our way to my first class.
Nodding to the book in my arms, he said, “You have American History this morning?”
“Yep.”
“We shared that class last semester, didn’t we?”
“Yes,” I said, too excitedly, then faltered. “I think so.” We had, of course. Elliott had taken his usual spot at the front and center of every classroom, and I’d remained in the back, a perfect view of that curly mass of blackened hair day after day after day. “I’m looking forward to learning ab
out the second half of my country’s misgivings.”
He laughed, a low, easy sound, and my head jerked in his direction, another wave of cozy warmth rocking over me from head to toe. He was illuminated in that moment, a grin on his face so wide it could crack the earth with its power. “You’re funny, Celeste. I had no idea.”
I was a boiled tomato, near bursting. “Neither did I,” I replied, honestly. I didn’t have any amiable qualities according to my father, who saw me as his own personal parasite. To my parents, the academy, the earth and all its habitants I existed only to leech and destroy. I overheard enough conversations between Maverick and his dad to know he could be graduating early. It was for my sake he stuck around, helping me with homework, keeping me from overdosing.
“Would you mind if I sat next to you again?” Elliott asked as we approached the open classroom door. “Or is one class with me already too much to bear?”
I stared at him, wondering how I’d missed the part of the conversation where he’d told me we had the same class. Did he mention it? Did I ask? “If you’d like?” Was all I could manage, hoping the confusion wasn’t too evident.
He smiled and glanced up to look beyond me, an odd expression on his face. After a short moment his attention turned to me, “I wish you were with me for every class, Celeste,” he said quietly and led the way into the room.
Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I had an assistant who could follow me around all day and decipher the real from the unreal. This interaction with Eli, for example. I couldn’t be alive. There was no feasible way I was existing in a world where Elliott was saying these impossible things to me and meaning them. I was floating on a different plane and I hadn’t drifted back, that was all. I’d have to ask Dr. Rosenburg about a new cocktail of meds if hallucinations were going to be symptomatic. Maybe she and my assistant could work together on that.
Elliott and I sat down at a long wooden table, and I checked off the motions of preparing for class.
My assistant would be able to tell me if I’d taken my meds that morning, which I hadn’t. Or even yesterday? Or, maybe I’d taken too many? I was certain she could decipher for me if I were hallucinating either due to a lack of medication or an excessive amount. I smiled at Eli and he returned my gaze with a question in his olive toned features.
Shit. I missed something.
“What was that?”
“Do you have an extra pen I could borrow? I forgot mine.”
“Oh, sure.” Such a simple request. I searched the front pocket of my backpack, wondering if I’d imagined the earlier conversation. I opened the center zipper next, noticing an extra thick, worn notebook that I knew couldn’t possibly be mine. I wasn’t nearly interested enough in school to write that much. But Mav was. I must have grabbed his notebook by mistake when I was reloading from my locker. I rummaged around, finding a pen at the very bottom of the pack, and handed it to Eli, trying not to flinch when his fingers touched mine. At least I knew Maverick was on this floor, even though I couldn’t remember his schedule. I thought about texting him but shrugged it off, knowing there was nothing I could do at the moment. I’d run into him eventually.
“I’ll give it back when class is over,” Elliott smiled.
“What? Oh,” I shrugged. “Keep it, I have hundreds.”
His expression went blank, a hardness in his caramel eyes, “This is a Montblanc pen…”
I held up my own pen in response, “Yeah I prefer the fountain to the rollerball,” I smiled, “But we could switch if you like.”
His expression was incredulous, “I think this pen is roughly the price of my parent’s mortgage.” His tone was flat, unfeeling.
Oh. Right. I surveyed the golden instrument in my hand, my thumb grazing over the engraving of my last name. “Hardly seems worth it for something that performs such a simple task,” I tried to joke but I couldn’t deliver it properly. I sounded callous, or monotone, made worse when I tried to pair the sentence with a smile. I could see the look in his eyes. He had categorized me already. Spoiled. I turned my attention to the desk, feeling like I had put a very golden stake into the possibility of our relationship.
He spoke then, his voice low as the teacher stood from his desk to begin the lecture. “We’re still on for lunch today, right?”
“Sure,” I stuttered out. I had completely forgotten about his proposition from yesterday and almost groaned. We were only two days into the semester? I tried to remember if I’d made plans with Maverick for lunch, although I was sure he wouldn’t mind if I had to cancel. I’d have to find him beforehand in case he needed his notebook back. And why was I worried about what Mav would feel anyway? He had been acting weirder lately. Less school genius and more concerned boyfriend. It still didn’t mean we were together. We’d decided long ago that labels weren’t our thing. Besides, Mav could have anyone in the school. He was smart, good-looking, funny, and an asshole, which was practically crack to every self-loathing wealthy girl. And Saint Bridget’s was full of them, including myself. Not to mention I wasn’t sure he hadn’t already made his rounds in the variety of athletic groups the academy offered.
The bell rang and I jumped, looking down at my notebook to discover that I had once again managed to go an entire 90 minutes without writing down a single word.
I really needed that assistant.
Chapter 4
Maverick
Elliott fucking Ramirez.
I threw my books down on the long wooden table of Fourth Level Latin, unable to shake the white rage from my vision. I’d spotted the fucker talking to her before class, escorting her like a fucking butler to their class together. I couldn’t stand the way she looked at him, like he regularly saved a bunch of orphans from a fire in his spare time. I leaned back in my chair, hearing the hard plastic creak beneath my weight, and ran a hand through my hair.
I didn’t even know the guy, but his very existence, now that it inexplicably involved Celeste, filled me with a sense of uncontrollable rage Who the fuck did he think he was talking to her now? Of all the fucking—.
“Um,” a female voice asked beside me, “Is it alright if I sit here? Everywhere else is taken.”
I glanced up and nodded at the short Senior, sliding my books to my side of the table.
“Cool, thanks,” she said sarcastically, her voice lilting with a British accent, and took the seat next to mine. “You alright?”
I unclenched my fists, realizing I probably looked like I was about to punch someone, and smiled as tightly as I could. “Si, quien eres tu?”
She tilted her head to the side, her wildly curly hair bouncing, “Um, this is Latin, not Spanish.”
Yes, indeed it was. Bravo, posh. Bravo. “Ita vero. Quis es?”
She gave me an annoyed look and held out her mahogany hand, radiating sass, “Hi, Maverick. I’m Cherise.”
“Bonjour, Cherise,” I said, taking it lightly and dropping it.
She sighed, “I thought I was making the right decision sitting next to you,” she muttered, glancing around, “I’m beginning to regret it.”
I straightened in my chair, leaning over the table, the tension in my body easing, “And here I thought everywhere else was taken. Woe is me.”
Her small mouth pursed together, a face my mother often made when I said something to aggravate her, “I was hoping some of your book smarts would rub off on me, but I think you’re probably just an arsehole.”
“I’d absolutely love to rub off on you, Cherise, but I have a girlfriend.” Cherise was one of those weirdly petite girls. Short, stumpy legs, no boobs, muscles all over. If I could put money on it, I’d guess spirit squad. She looked like she could crush my skull with her thighs but could barely hold a number two pencil in her tiny sausage fingers. Her face was pretty, round, and unsymmetrical, with big brown eyes at the focal point. Her mouth seemed slightly crooked, like a permanent half grimace. I’d always admired women who I knew could kick my ass, and Cherise was definitely one of them.
S
he had the confidence to look even more annoyed, “I don’t need this shit, Maverick. I didn’t do so well last semester, and I have to get a passing grade, or I can kiss my future at Oxford goodbye.”
“Maybe you should stick to easier subjects. First Year English. Or gymnastics.” Cherise didn’t look like a scholarship student and I had no doubt whatever grades she was suffering at the moment would be made up with a hefty donation from her parents.
I lived for the looks people gave me when they were offended. Celeste was the only girl I knew who reacted with a smile or a smirk when I insulted her or said something derisive. She was only ever offended when I complimented her.
I inhaled sharply. Crazy, incredible Celeste.
The look Cherise wore was somewhere between appalled and annoyed, with maybe a little bit of curiosity, but before she could spit back whatever insult was lurking behind that unsymmetrical gaze, the professor walked into the room. He tossed his old and very worn briefcase onto the floor next to his desk. “Bonum mane, scholarium,” he said in Latin.
I grinned.
Our professor from last semester had apparently been replaced and a young Ewan Macgregor lookalike stood at the front of the room, writing his name on the white board. “I am Professor Bohanan,” he said with a large grin. I could tell he was at ease already in the classroom, probably assuming that his age would go a long way with a younger crowd. He looked like one of those teachers from a movie about wanting to make a difference in the lives of his misguided students. Tweed jacket with patches on the elbows, old corduroy pants, scuffed brown shoes, black rimmed glasses.
Oh Captain, my Captain.
“From this point on, every word you say will be in Latin.”
Next to me, Cherise groaned, joining a chorus of our fellow students.