Shades of Darkness (4 page)

By the class's end at five, my stomach was rumbling and the coffee from this morning had long since worn off. I put away my saw blades and sandpaper and put on the ring I just made for myself—a tiny silver band with little birds cut out. Technically speaking I should have been working on a collection of brooches for my final project, but the instructor, Ginny, didn't mind. It was one of the few year-long classes at Islington, and by now she'd learned that I always got my shit done on time. Always. So long as I was working on new techniques in class, she wasn't too bothered if it wasn't strictly for the project.

After all, how would we learn our own style if we weren't allowed to play?

“Nice work,” Chris said as I admired the ring.

I tried to hide my blush at the sound of his voice, hoping the extra five seconds it took me to put on my coat was enough to let the rouge fade.

“Thanks,” I replied. And then I did what I'd been training myself not to do this entire school year. I looked him in the eyes and smiled.

There were a few rules in my life that I followed to a T. One: Never ignore an omen. Two: Never pass up a new opportunity unless, you know, you'll die from it. And three: Never fall in love.

They were all tried and true rules, but Rule Three was the most important. Love was for getting hurt. Badly. Or hurting someone else in the process. It wasn't safe, in direct violation of Rule Two.

Chris made me want to ignore the rules in spite of all that. And that's why I had to keep him at arm's length.

Every time I saw him, I imagined him darting through the woods like an elf. His usual earthy, hand-accented attire only helped that image. He was a senior, like me, with a brown floppy undercut that was almost a mohawk and a goatee. His hazel eyes had that really unnerving habit of not looking away when you were talking to him.

Like they were doing just now.

“How's your thesis going?” he asked. Again, he didn't look away, and I know I said it was unnerving, but it wasn't creepy. It was actually really charming. The unnerving part came from the gravity it created. The pull I'd been fighting from day one. Chris was gorgeous and talented, albeit a few inches shorter than me, and the first two points were definite reasons we couldn't date. Never, ever trust the pretty ones with your heart. Unless, of course, they're gay.

“It's going,” I replied. It took me a moment to realize him saying “thesis” didn't cause the same violent reaction it usually did. Probably because I was already so focused on not looking into those eyes. “I should be ready though. How about you?”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked over to his shelf in the corner. Jesus, that boy's jawline. His face was basically the embodiment of aquiline. My fingers itched to sketch him, but that was an alley I was
not
going down. Getting him alone to stare at him for a few hours?
Danger, Will Robinson, danger.

“It's going,” he repeated, and chuckled to himself. “Who'd have thought doing a dozen different surrealist landscapes would be tiresome?”

“I could have told you that one,” I said. “Though the idea is rockin'.”

He laughed again and slung his canvas messenger bag over his shoulder. “Did you really just use the word ‘rockin” ?”

“I did. Is there a problem?”

“Not at all. And thanks. I was worried it was pretentious.”

I shrugged and held open the door for him. The hall outside was mostly empty as the school filtered toward dinner, which I would be skipping to go fishing. My stomach rumbled again, and I mentally assured it there would be plenty of dolmas and hummus to keep it from mutiny.

“You heading to dinner?” he asked.

Okay, what was going on? Was I just overthinking things, or was it honestly unusual for him to have lingered after class to chat when we hadn't exchanged more than a passing hello all year?

“Actually, no, I'm heading out with a friend.”

“Oooh, is it a date?”

My imagination, or did his smile slip just a little?

“Definitely,” I said. “Though his boyfriend will always have dibs on him.”

He raised an eyebrow and I realized where that mental train was going. Oh Islington, where sexuality was as fluid as the blood in our horny little veins.

“I mean, no. He's gay. Like, really really gay. It was a joke.”

“Got it,” he said.

We walked in silence for a bit, passing the works of other students and pausing to stare on occasion. I pretended Chris was Oliver. Cool, confident, sexually uninterested Oliver. It made the whole interaction much easier.

“I can't believe it's in two weeks,” I muttered, staring at a student's impeccable self-portrait. Two more weeks to finish my thesis and tie up my entire high school career in one neat little package.

“Lucky. You're getting it over with. I've got another four.”

“More time to prepare?” Of course. His show was going up with Ethan's—it would mean I couldn't skip the opening.

“More time to panic, in all honesty.”

When we resumed walking, I couldn't help but notice that he kept glancing over to me, like he wanted to ask me something. It just made me walk a little faster. Thankfully, Jane was coming down the stairs from the painting studio. She bounced over to us as she zipped up her downy aquamarine coat and grinned.

“Hey guys,” she said. “Mind if I walk with you?”

“Not at all,” I said. Maybe a little too quickly. I didn't want to be alone with Chris, and I couldn't tell if it was because I didn't trust him or myself.
Don't be so nervous, you can trust me.
I shoved down the voice before it could get louder, jabbing my finger with my room key to stay grounded.

“How's it going?” Chris asked Jane. If he was upset by someone else joining in, he didn't show it. Maybe he
was
just being cordial.

“Great,” she replied. “Just trying to get tomorrow's homework finished up.” She nudged me. “Though Little Miss Amazing over here's already done.”

I shrugged and tried to fight down my second blush in five minutes. My heart was racing from the words that had bubbled up from the depths. I clearly needed sleep. And out of this situation. Where was Ethan? I needed his snark to keep me in balance.

“It's what happens when you don't have a social life,” I said, looking everywhere but at Chris. “Work comes easier.”

It was only a partial lie. The truth was, I could spend days painting and not notice the time. I'd finished the assignment two days early not because I was trying to be efficient, but because I'd seriously lost myself to the process. I almost missed sign-in because of it. There were reasons I set alarms when I went in to paint on my own.

“So says the girl who's ditching us for an off-campus fling,” Chris said.

“Let me guess—Ethan?”

“
She
gets me,” I said, gesturing to Jane.

We reached the end of the hall. Chris opened the door for us and bowed as we exited. Five o'clock and the sky was already dark as death. Most kids complained about it, but I actually really enjoyed the short days. It wasn't an emo thing; I just wasn't cut out for sun or heat. Another reason I sent myself to boarding school in the northern wilds.

“Anyway,” I said, wrapping my burgundy scarf around my neck. Chris buttoned the last few buttons of his tan duster and Jane pulled on a knit hat. It felt like it was going to snow. We already had two feet on the ground, but I seriously hoped for another flurry. The woods felt most alive in the silence and snow. “This is where I must bid you adieu.”

Chris shook his head.

“Don't say that. Adieu is sort of a permanent farewell. It pretty much means ‘to God.' ”

How fitting,
I thought, and shoved it back down with the rest of my past.

“Oh well then,” I said, struggling to keep my wit in check, “since I don't plan on overdosing on tea, I shall say . . . catch you later, alligators?”

Jane laughed and gave me a quick hug. Chris just stood there awkwardly. “In a while, crocodile,” he fumbled.

“Nice try, champ. Better luck next time.” Then I slapped him on the shoulder (holy crap, what was I becoming, a bro?) and turned before that itchy gravity between us could connect. I didn't look back to watch them head toward the cafeteria. I kept my eyes on the road, but I had no doubt that the murder of crows on the power lines weren't the only ones watching me depart.

Get a hold of yourself, Kaira,
I thought as I walked.
You just need to sleep.

Yeah. Tell that to my dreams.

I shook my head and focused on the chill air, the way it made my nostrils freeze.
This is what's important. Where you are, not where you've been. Your past can't hurt you unless you let it.
I'd learned a lot in the last few years at Islington. The most important, though, was how to keep moving forward.

There was something about winter dusk that made Islington look like an entirely different beast. Color seemed to seep from the landscape, and everything sharpened in shades of steel and snow, save for the warm lights flooding from the practice rooms and dorms. Kids wandering around in parkas and gloves held hands and threw snowballs and sang show tunes (
drama kids
). It looked like the cover for an admissions packet. Every single place on campus was an invitation to come inside and get warm and have some hot cocoa. I glanced behind me to where the Writers' House beckoned at the lane's end, a great A-frame lodge created just for the writing classes, and one of the many buildings I wished I could convert into my personal living space. And ahead, the five dorms housing all of Islington's four hundred students waited.

I trudged past the boys' dorms and up the front steps into Graham. As expected, Ethan was already waiting at the front desk, perched on a stool with Oliver at his side, chatting with Maria. The rest of the waiting area was empty—no one checking their cubby mailboxes or watching TV in the lounge behind the front desk. Everyone was at dinner. My stomach growled again. One of the drawbacks of boarding school's food schedule: It turned you into a geriatric in a week. Dinner by five? Please.

“Hey boys,” I called.

Maria—my hall's RA, with red pin-up hair and a penchant for polka dots—looked past Ethan's shoulder and raised one perfectly painted eyebrow.

“And bombshell babe,” I corrected. “How was the rest of the day?”

“Droll,” Ethan said lethargically. Oliver nudged him.

“Ignore him. He's channeling angsty art student hardcore today.” Oliver walked over and gave me a hug while Ethan slouched deeper onto his stool. “Poor boy says he's dying of cabin fever.”

“I can fix that,” I said. “You coming with?”

It was hard to keep my question smooth. Oliver had never, ever come to one of our tea dates. It's not that he wasn't allowed, it's just that . . . it was kind of Ethan's and my time.

“Nope,” he said. “I need to practice for the concert tomorrow. You coming?”

“Of course she is,” Ethan called from his seat. He sat up a little straighter. “She's my date.”

“Speaking of, I'm starving.” I looked to Maria. “We all set?”

Normally I'd have to sign out to be off campus, but it was rare that I actually signed anything. Ethan had probably already told Maria we were heading out and filed the necessary paperwork even before I'd left class. They were tight like that.

“Yup,” she said. “Provided you bring me back a scone.”

“Done.” I kissed Ethan on the forehead. “You ready, hot stuff?”

“And eager.”

He slid off the seat and took Oliver's and my hands, then led us out the front door. The three of us walked together toward the parking lot behind the cafeteria. Somehow it had gotten even darker in the half second we were inside. The streetlamps along the lane came on, casting their fierce white light over everything. A crow, startled by the sudden light, took off with an angry caw down the lane and into the woods by the lake.

“So what's on the agenda for tonight?” Oliver asked. “We still on the hunt for the man who'll melt Kaira's icy heart? Or woman, I guess.”

I nearly skidded on a patch of ice. “Um, homo say what?”

“Smooth,” Ethan said, and I wasn't certain if he was talking about my horrible comeback or Oliver's question. They both knew that dating wasn't in the cards for me. But Oliver seemed to forget that at times. “And no, tonight we're going to escape the meaningless cycle of art and academic industry.”

“By working on homework,” Oliver said.

Ethan pointed to his boyfriend. “That . . . is accurate. But we're working off campus, so it doesn't count.”

“What's gotten into you today?” I asked, eager to turn the conversation back to him and away from talk of potential boyfriends. “You're more broody than usual. Did you watch
The Breakfast Club
again?”

Oliver snorted and flashed me a grin. Ethan's lack of a laugh told me I'd hit somewhere close to home. Woops.

“I got a C on my American Civ paper,” he muttered.

In Ethan's world, that was pretty much the equivalent of being shot in the kneecap. It had taken me a few months to understand that his perfectionism wasn't just a facade—he really
did
need to be the best at everything he tried. Otherwise, he took it as a personal failure.

“I'll take some credit for that,” Oliver said, letting go of Ethan's hand to wrap an arm over his shoulder. Ethan, being a good eight inches shorter than Oliver, leaned in to the embrace. “I feel like I've been distracting you too much, now that college apps are over.”

Ethan just shrugged. “I don't mind the distraction. Just need to get better at time management.”