by Sara Wolf
“Hey, you two. What’s the occasion?”
“I told you to quit those things,” Alistair grumbles, pulling the cigarette from his hand and crunching it in the grass under his boot. “Or at least get a vape like everyone else.”
“It’s all smoke,” Ciel laughs softly. “And a vape just looks marginally sillier.”
“It’s also marginally better at controlling the nicotine ratios,” Alistair drawls. “Die if you want to. But before you do, come on a picnic with me.”
Ciel looks between me and Alistair. “The three of us?”
“Grandmother is making me be nice to her.” Alistair jerks his head at me. “So she’s tagging along.”
“But you’re not eating. Right?” Ciel’s silver eyes pierce Alistair. It’s a too-serious glance, heavy with the unsaid things that move between people who’ve known each other for a long time. Ciel knows. He knows like I know. Of course Prickland won’t eat in front of us. Von Arx made it clear that ain’t something he does. Ever.
“I might sip at the basil cooler,” Alistair admits.
I blink. He’s joking. Has to be. I look over at Ciel and his fine golden brows are in his hairline, shock clear on his face. Alistair cuts both of us off at the pass with a gesture towards the forest.
“Let’s go.”
24
The Picnic (Or, How being a person is the hardest thing you’ll ever do)
Prickland takes off through the woods, a streak of blue bookended by black hair and black boots, and we follow. These woods are the opposite direction of Durand, and aren’t nearly as scary. The trees are much younger and let in way more sky and sunlight. Picture-perfect little meadows nestle like peridot jewels between the trunks, painted with wispy swathes of orange and purple wildflowers. The trees here are less evergreen - most of them beginning to immolate into glorious fiery oranges and golds.
“Wow,” I marvel. “It’s actually changing. Like in postcards.”
Next to me, Ciel laughs. “Never seen a proper autumn before?”
“No,” I blurt a half-laugh too. “Things only get slightly cool in LA. And hot again. Ad nauseam. The land stays the same. Things get a bit greener, sure, but nothing changes, really. Not like this. It’s like…” I swallow. “A fairytale.”
Ciel’s smile fades, and for a sec I think I’ve said something wrong. But not that wrong, obvs - he still walks with me at my plodding pace.
“Like magic,” He finally murmurs.
“Magic,” I agree. “Yeah.”
I’m so nervous I can barely breathe, until Alistair breaks through a bush and a whole horde of cabbage butterflies explodes into our faces. My shriek is some combo of ‘fucking hell’ and ‘jesus save me’ and comes out as ‘fucking save me hell-jesus!!!’, which is both a very brave and very cool thing to shout in front of your crush. Ciel doesn’t seem to mind me making an ass of myself, though. He just has his hands out, graceful milk-white fingers laced with a hundred beating butterfly wings. They linger around him like he’s a flower or a pool of sugar-water. He looks utterly enchanted, his face lighting up from the inside as the butterflies play around his palms, his elegant neck, scattering over his white shirt and into the pure blue sky above.
I was wrong. He’s not the sun.
The sun’s got nothing on him.
If I had one artistic ligament in my body…if I could paint, if I could write poetry, I’d make and remake this dreamy moment for the rest of my life. I’d chase after this moment, this feeling, forever.
“Mon dieu!” Ciel laughs, and it sounds like bells.
“Planned that,” Alistair calls back. “Completely planned. You all right, new girl?”
“They ate me,” I manage. “The butterflies ate me and now I’m nothing but a skeleton.”
“A skeleton with a tragically well-working voicebox.” Alistair laments, and keeps cutting a path forward. Ciel flashes me a smile, following Alistair’s wake nimbly through the long grass. With the two of them trailing behind each other, it’s easy to see the difference in their outlines - Ciel longer in the limbs and slender-er, Alistair taller and broader.
“It’s nice to have someone else on our outings.” Ciel starts.
“You guys do this a lot?” I puff, trying not to look exhausted already.
“Occasionally. To get away.” He picks a passing flower and waves it in the air. “The people at school tend to…crowd me. I have to smile and pretend I’m interested in what they say.” He grins at me. “It can get tiresome.”
“Yeah, I bet.” I try not to look at him, because I am one of those people. Was, starting now.
“And they all either hate Alistair, or want some favor from him.”
Me. Again. I watch Alistair’s back in the distance. “Sounds rough.”
“We’re used to it.” He smiles gently. “But you’re right. It’s rough enough that we’ve had to carve out this place for ourselves. Out here, there’s no one but the plants and animals, and they hardly care who we are. To be honest, I’m surprised Alistair’s bringing you along at all.”
“I don’t - I don’t mean to intrude on your guys’ -”
“It’s alright,” He assures, handing me the flower. “But it is a sanctuary. So please be careful who you talk about it with.”
I reach out for the flower, my fingers moving in slow motion as they come thisclose to touching his. He’s practically glowing with the sunshine, scented with fresh grass and pollen - nature swaddling him in her gold and perfume. He’s way beyond me. Beyond anyone. For a split second, I believe it. In this sun-drenched moment in the middle of the woods, I suddenly believe fairies are real.
If anyone here at Silvere is a fairy, it’s Ciel Lautrec.
“I’ll be careful,” I whisper. “I promise. Your secret dies with me.”
He laughs. “Let’s hope that’s less soon than soon, then.”
The rest of our hike is pretty uneventful - if ‘stunning beauty at every turn’ can be considered uneventful. These mountains are practically untouched, and I don’t mean LA untouched, with the odd candy wrapper and discarded hiker’s water bottle. These woods are pris-fuckin’-stine - not even a bottlecap in the dirt - and the creeks that feed it run crystal-clear. So much water, everywhere. Lakes, creeks. Living in LA, you almost forget bodies of water exist for more than a few days at a time. Everything is green. I’m used to scrub brush and rocky dirt and scraggly desert trees. This is the complete opposite - green bursts playfully from every corner, unbridled by cement or buildings, carpets of sweet short grass and fragrant snow-blooming blackberry thickets racing each other to the horizon.
It’s wild. It’s perfect. It feels so untouchable, so huge and old - like humanity has never - and will never - be able to subdue it.
“Here,” Alistair calls. “It’s just over the hill.”
Ciel strides easily over the last rise, and I struggle like a bug on its back until I crest the grass and finally see it - heaven.
“Oh.” I suck in at the view. “Oh shit.”
A round plateau of green juts out from the slope of a hill as it goes down. It’s like a chair for a giant, almost, carved by hand out of the earth. Lucious grass waves every which way on it, a half-moon of pink wildflowers rimming the very edge. You can see the whole other side of the valley from this plateau - an infinite v-shaped grassland of picturesque little barns, herds of fluffy sheep and goats, and a single country road winding like a lazy copper snake through it all. A chubby red truck piled high with sheep’s wool putters down the lane. There’s a lake in the distance, a slab of pure lapis twinkling out between emerald peaks. A real lake.
“Welcome,” Ciel makes an exaggerated bow. “To the sanctuary.”
“It’s incredible,” I breathe. “How did you guys find this?”
“The usual; running around like brats.” Alistair says, shaking out the picnic blanket and laying it on the grass. “We were thirteen and thought we were invincible.”
“How is that any different from now?” Ci
el smirks, laying on the blanket on his side like a lazy cat. He looks up at me and I do my best to meet his eyes, but it’s like looking directly into a silver sun. “It was initiation day for the fourth-years. Alistair and I made a bet on who could run the farthest away from campus the fastest.”
“I won,” Alistair grunts. “By a mile.”
“You tripped and fell down the hill,” Ciel corrects, laughing. He takes the Italian soda bottle Alistair hands him, and I sit next to him. Not close enough to imply anything, of course.
“And I landed right in this spot,” Alistair says. “Must’ve been that whole fate thing you like to talk about so much.”
Ciel chuckles and shakes his head. “What about you, Lilith? Do you believe in fate? Or are you like Alistair here, who doesn’t believe in anything?”
“Hey,” Alistair protests. “I believe in things.”
“Like what?” I ask. He glowers almost childishly and it’s weird to see - I’ve been here all of five days and I already know he’d never make a face like that inside the four walls of Silvere where people can see him.
“Justice,” He grumbles. “Those jelly insect candies they sell at gas stations.”
“You mean gummy worms?”
“Yeah.” Alistair won’t meet my eyes, arms over his chest. “Those.”
I start to laugh, but then I notice Ciel waiting for my answer, and I glance at the grass nervously. To be honest or not to be honest? That is the eternal teenage question. I decide on ‘honest’ today.
“Um. I think fate is kind of shitty, actually.”
“Hah!” Alistair jerks his finger at Ciel triumphantly, but Ciel keeps his intent stare on me as he asks;
“Can you elaborate?”
Mom. All I can think about is Mom.
“It makes people meet,” I say slowly. “And fall in love. And the closer people get, the worse they end up hurting each other. So I think fate is cruel. Not really worth believing in.”
Alistair’s triumph melts off his face all at once, and Ciel’s serious gaze falters. There’s a beat, the grass and wildflowers waving, both of the boys looking at me with something like pity. Pity’s itchy, but I sit there and take it because I don’t know what else to do. Where else to go. And then Ciel slides his milk-white hand over the blanket and puts it on top of mine, squeezing gently.
“I’m sorry,” He smiles at me, cotton-soft. “I’m sorry the world’s been so cruel to someone as lovely as you.”
I wheeze. Or, I try to wheeze, but nothing actually comes out. Some smarter part of me reigns it all in to look normal. Normal. Calm. Fine. Unaffected by the fact the first guy I’ve ever had a legitimate crush on called me lovely right here in front of everyone - the bugs and the sheep and Alistair. But even the smarter part of me can’t get a handle on my out-of-control cheek flares. Ciel just keeps smiling at me, so bright and warm I can barely stand it -
“Shit,” Alistair stands up, phone in one hand. “Grandmother wants me back. Make sure you clean up after yourselves.”
“Or you’ll detain us for littering?” Ciel asks him with a smile.
“Without hesitation,” Alistair agrees. His heavy boots tromping away through the grass gives me five milliseconds to figure out what to say next. But it’s like ripping my nerves up from the roots - what if I say the wrong thing? I’ve already told Ciel I don’t like his whole fate shtick! I love to dig myself into word-holes, which are like wormholes but with more vocabulary and the same amount of crushing gravity.
“I can’t believe he put his duel ribbon on everything,” Ciel chuckles suddenly, picking up a jar of jam and eyeing the blue silk ribbon there.
“He said the cook did that,” I start.
“Of course he did.” He turns the jam jar up to the sun, the clear apricot inside glinting amber as he inspects it with a wistful smile. “He’s so transparent.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, that’s right.” Ciel looks down at me. “You’re new, so you wouldn’t know. It’s a silly Silvere superstition, spread by hormonal teenagers over the centuries.”
“What is?”
He laughs again. “A duel ribbon is a sign of affection. You don’t give it to just anyone.”
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed.”
Did Alistair - did he put his ribbons on all this shit to get us in the mood? To get Ciel thinking about, like, love? He knew I wouldn’t know the significance, but Ciel would. That sneaky little shit! He’s cleverer than I gave him credit for.
I’m distracted by the sun playing shining havoc on Ciel’s hair.
His face makes me feel like maybe, just maybe there’s a chance. Maybe he’s kind enough, gentle enough. Maybe it’s okay to be close to someone. To trust. Maybe a towering, thorny, unladylike loudmouth with no manners…maybe even I can be soft enough, trusting enough -
“Is there something on my face?” Ciel asks, and it jolts me.
“N-No.” Say something funny. Anything. As my brain stutters in slow-motion I dart my hand into the picnic basket and pull out something and offer it to him. “Food?”
He looks down at it with a faint smile. “I’ll take one slice.”
I quickly realize it’s cheese, and rummage awkwardly around the basket for a knife. Every second of silence feels like torture, like I’m doing something wrong. I should be making him laugh. I make everybody else do it! Humor, why the fuck have thou art abandoned me when I need thee most? Suddenly, there’s the faint smell of tobacco and mint, and two strong arms curl around me, cool hands settling over the knife and the cheese.
“Here. Let me help.”
Oh shit. Ohhhh shit he’s warm. He’s behind me. He’s real. It’s just like Mom’s romance books and I wish it wasn’t but they’re right, they were right all along; a touch can make you forget everything. My mind goes fresh-whiteboard blank and all I can do is watch as his hand moves the knife over mine, cutting the -
I snort.
“Is something funny?” Ciel asks, mildly confused just in my ear.
No!!! Be serious for once in your life, Lilith! This is the guy! THE guy! This is a date! Your first ever! This is actually a pretty romantic moment! He’s touching you and you aren’t flipping your lid about it! Five outta five stars so far! So don’t say the stupid thing. For the love of god, don’t say the stupid thing!
“We’re…” I gulp. “Cutting the cheese. Together.”
Ciel freezes, the knife stuck in the chunk of dairy. Hearing it out loud is like feeling that one itch you could ignore up till now get hyper-bad all of a sudden. My brain yells don’t!!! and my body yells do!!! and my soul is too weak to resist both of them at once and the laughter explodes out, scaring birds from the trees nearby. I practically keel over on the picnic blanket, his arms the only thing stopping me.
“I-I’m sorry,” I wheeze. “I-It’s not funny. I swear it’s n-not funny, I just -”
Ciel uncurls himself from around me, and the reality starts to set in.
“Sorry,” I say, this time a little more seriously as the giggles fade. “I’m…really sorry. I’ve got this tic where I have to say the dumbest thing possible at any given moment.”
“It’s fine,” He assures me, handing me the cheese slice with a faint smile. “If anything, it’s my fault. I don’t know how to react. I’m very unused to it.”
“Unused to what?” I take the slice curiously.
He smiles brighter. “Hanging out with childish girls like you.”
And that’s it.
It feels like Ms. Soyon herself’s shot an arrow straight through my heart. My own skull feels like a solitary confinement echo chamber that bounces ‘childish’ back at me louder and louder, so loud I can’t hear my own heartbeat anymore -
Ciel doesn’t notice. He just pulls a loaf out of the basket. “Do you want some bread with that?”
I jump to my feet, but I don’t feel them. I don’t feel my own skin on my face move as I blurt a hurried; “I have to go.” I don’t even remember
walking through the flowers, the woods, the lawn, the halls, or crawling into my bed. But the next thing I’m aware of is the smell of my pillow - sleep and mango - and the sound of a soccer game happening outside the window.
Childish.
I knew that.
I pull the pillow over my head tighter.
I knew that, but he didn’t have to say it.
25
The Wondering (Or, How a laugh can chew you up and spit you out again)
Do I recommend making fart jokes in front of your crush? No. Did I have to make a fart joke in front of my crush? Also no. But also yes. I couldn’t stop myself no matter how hard I tried. It’s who I am. It’s in my blood. Is this just who I am? I’ve looked it all up before; I’m a Taurus sun, a Leo moon, and a Pisces rising. Maybe the stars have answers. I peruse my horoscope in my astrology app for any helping wisdom.
“Today dear Taurus,” I mutter around a mouthful of pillow. “You will encounter some difficulties in communication.” I chuck my phone across the room with a mild scream. “‘Difficulties in communication’?! I think you mean ‘get possessed at birth by a ghost who just loved fart jokes’!”
It’s not like I’m pouting, or anything. Why would I pout? Ciel was right. When I manage to extricate mine own head from the pillow after an hour of straight crying, I realize he was right. So right it hurts. Childish pretty much fits me to a tee. But he’s the last guy in the universe I wanted to say that. To know that.
I wash my swollen face and throw on jeans and do what any heartbroken girl possessed at birth by a ghost who loved fart jokes would do - I calmly reflect on my mistakes.
“FUCCCCCCCCK OFFFFFFF!!!”
My scream gets instantly swallowed up by the soundproofed practice booth in the music classroom. The little stuffed bear Will got me as a going-away present doesn’t stand a chance. The ear, the nose, the solar plexus - and he’s down for the count! I pin the bear to the floor with all my weight, slapping the plush carpet as I count him out.
