by Tracy Wolff
“Not that way, they aren’t.” He gives me a comforting shoulder squeeze. “Don’t forget to stop by my office later. Now that you’re feeling better, I want to talk to you about a few things and hear how your first day went.”
“It’ll be fine, Uncle Finn.”
“I’m hoping it will be more than fine. But good or bad, come tell me about it. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good. See you later, girls.” He smiles at us, then disappears out the door.
Macy shakes her head as she grabs her own school uniform out of the closet. “Just ignore him. My dad’s a total dork.”
“Most good dads are dorks, aren’t they?” I ask as I move to the mirror on my closet door so I can start fixing my hair. “Besides, he reminds me of my dad. It’s kind of nice.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, and when I glance her way, it’s to find her staring sadly at me—which is, bar none, the second worst thing about losing my parents. I hate the sympathy, hate the way everyone feels sorry for me and no one knows what to say.
“That was supposed to be a happy comment,” I tell her. “You don’t need to feel bad.”
“I know. It’s just that I’m so happy you’re here and we have this time to get to know each other. And then it hits me all over again and I feel gross for being happy.” She sighs. “Which sounds like I’m making this all about me, but I’m not. I just—”
“Hey, you.” I break into what I’m learning could be a really, really long soliloquy. “I get it. And though how I got here sucks, I’m glad we have this time, too. Okay?”
A slow smile takes the place of her worried look. “Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Now get dressed. I’m starving.”
“On it!” she says, disappearing into the bathroom to do just that.
Twenty minutes later, we finally make it down the back stairs (“sooooo much less crowded,” Macy swears) to the cafeteria, after winding our way past no less than seven suits of armor, four giant fireplaces, and more columns than existed in all of Ancient Greece.
Okay, the last might be a slight exaggeration, but only slight. Plus, the fact that they’re black instead of white gets them extra points in my book. And that’s not even counting the gold filigree around the tops and bottoms of the columns.
I mean, the whole thing is a total head trip. Seriously. Going to school in Alaska is wild enough. Going to school in an actual castle, complete with halls whose bloodred ceilings are lined with Gothic lancet arches, is hella cool.
At least if you don’t count all the people staring at me as we make our way through the halls. Macy dismisses it as “new-girl stuff” and tells me to ignore it. But it’s pretty hard to do that when people are honest-to-God turning around to stare at me when I pass. I know Macy said they’ve all been together for a long time, but come on. I can’t actually be the first new person to land here, can I? Just the idea is absurd. Schools get new kids all the time—even schools in Alaska.
Macy interrupts my inner diatribe with an excited “We’re here!” as we stop in front of three sets of black-and-gold doors. The wood is carved, and I try to get a closer look at the designs, but my cousin is in too big of a hurry to show me the cafeteria. Which…seen one, seen them all, I figure.
But as she throws open one of the doors with all the pomp and flair of a game-show hostess showing me the car behind curtain number one, it’s pretty obvious that I’m wrong. Again. Because this cafeteria—and it feels wrong to even refer to the room by such a mundane name—is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Ever.
I’m pretty sure it even puts the library to shame.
To begin with, the room is huge, with long walls covered in different murals of dragons and wolves and I don’t know what else. Crown molding in black and gold runs around the edges of the ceiling and down the walls, framing each mural like a regular painting. The artist in me is fascinated and wants to spend hours studying each one, but I’ve got class in half an hour, so it’ll have to wait. Plus, there’s so much else to see here that I don’t know where to look first.
The ceiling is arched and an in-your-face, unapologetic bloodred, overlaid with curved black molding in elaborate geometric patterns. A huge crystal chandelier hangs from the center of each one, casting the whole room in a soft glow that only makes its grandeur more obvious.
There are no picnic-style tables here, no utilitarian trays or plastic silverware. Three long tables covered in tablecloths in shades of gold and black and cream run the length of the room. They are surrounded by tufted, high-backed chairs and set with real china and silverware.
Classical music floats through the room, dark and more than a little eerie. I don’t know much about this kind of music, but I know creepy af when I hear it, and this is definitely it.
So much so that I can’t resist saying to Macy, “This music is very, um…interesting.”
“‘Danse Macabre’ by Camille Saint-Saëns. Overkill, I know, but my dad has it playing in here every year for Halloween. Along with the score from Jaws and a few other classics. It just hasn’t been changed over yet.”
I think about Lia and how she said the same thing about the pillows in the library. In my old school, the Halloween spirit was pretty much exhausted by reading a scary story in English class and a costume contest on the quad at lunch. Katmere Academy takes the holiday to a whole new level.
“It’s cool,” I say as we make our way along one of the tables until we find a cluster of empty seats. “It’s a lot, but Halloween has always been my dad’s favorite holiday.”
“Really? That’s so weird, considering my dad hated it. I thought it must have been something that happened when he was a kid, but apparently not, if your dad goes all out for the holiday.” I asked Dad once, a few years ago, why he disliked Halloween so much, and he said he would tell me when I was older.
Turns out the universe had other plans.
“Yeah, that is weird.” Macy glances around. “But isn’t this place cool? I’ve been dying for you to see it.”
“Totally cool. I want to spend hours just looking at the murals.”
“Well, you’ve got all year, so…” She gestures for me to sit. “What do you want to eat? Besides cherry Pop-Tarts, I mean.”
“I can come with you.”
“Next time. Right now you should get off your hurt ankle for a few minutes. Besides, I’m pretty sure today is going to be a little overwhelming. Let me help out where I can.”
“It’s pretty hard to say no to that,” I tell her, because she’s right. I’m already overwhelmed, and the day has barely started. I’m also touched by how hard Macy is working to make things easier for me. I smile my thanks at her.
“So don’t say no.” She pushes me playfully toward a chair. “Just tell me what you want to eat, or I’ll bring you seal steak and eggs.”
The horror must show on my face, because she bursts out laughing. “How about a pack of cherry Pop-Tarts and some yogurt with canned berries?”
“Canned berries?” I ask, doubtful.
“Yeah, Fiona, our chef, cans them herself when they’re in season. Fresh fruit is pretty hard to come by up here once late fall hits. The display at the party the other day was a special treat.”
“Oh, right.” I feel silly. Of course there aren’t any fresh berries in Alaska in November. If a pint of Ben and Jerry’s costs ten bucks, I can’t imagine what a pint of strawberries would be. “That sounds great. Thanks.”
“No problem.” She grins at me. “Sit down and take a load off. I’ll be right back.”
I do as she directs and pick a chair that faces the wall—partly because I really do want to study the closest mural and partly because I’m sick of pretending I don’t see people staring at me. At least with my back turned to most of the room, I won’t be able to see them and they won’t be able to see my face.
&nbs
p; The negative is that I also won’t be able to watch for Jaxon, and I was really hoping to see him this morning. Which sounds desperate, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened between us yesterday. I kind of hoped he’d text me this morning, but he hasn’t so far.
I want to know what he meant by that journal page, want to know if it means he feels all the wild things I do. It’s impossible to imagine that he does—I knew he was out of my league the first day I met him. But that doesn’t keep me from wanting him, any more than Macy’s warnings do. Or the air of darkness that he wears like a badge of honor…or a set of shackles. I haven’t quite figured out which.
There’s a part of me that wants to sneak a look behind me, just to see if I can catch a glimpse of him. But it seems way too obvious, at least with half the cafeteria watching me. And they are watching—I can feel their eyes even with my back turned. I know Macy says it’s no big deal, that it’s just new-girl stuff, but it feels like more than that.
I don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Macy’s got a fully loaded tray in her hands and is heading straight for me.
“That looks like more than Pop-Tarts and yogurt,” I tease as I help her set it down so she won’t spill anything.
“I did fine on the food, but when I got to drinks, I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or tea or juice or water or milk, so I brought one of each.”
“Oh, wow. Um, the juice is great.”
“Thank God.” She holds out a glass of red liquid. “I was afraid you were going to say you wanted the coffee, and then I was going to die. Especially since Cam drinks tea, so I can’t steal his when he gets here.”
She flops dramatically into the chair across from me.
“I promise, the coffee’s all yours,” I tell her with a laugh. “And you picked the right juice—cranberry is my favorite.”
“Good.” She takes a long sip of the hot drink just to prove a point. “I thought all you California girls were Starbucks addicts.”
“I guess Cam and I have something in common. It was always more about tea at my house. My mom was an amazing herbalist. She made her own tea blends, and they were fantastic.” It’s been a month, but I can still almost taste her lemon-thyme-verbena tea. I have a few bags of it in my carry-on, but I don’t want to drink it. And truth be told, I’m afraid to even smell it in case I start crying and never stop.
“I can only imagine.”
There’s something in the way Macy says it that gets my attention, that has me trying to figure out what she means. I wait for her to say more, but then her eyes go wide, and she starts choking on a sip of coffee.
Before I can turn around to see what’s got her so discombobulated, someone asks, “Is this seat taken?”
And then I don’t have to turn around at all. Because I’d know that voice anywhere.
Jaxon Vega just asked to sit next to me. In front of everyone.
It really is a brave new world.
27
Ten-Degree
Weather Gives a
Whole New Meaning to the
Cool Kids’ Table
“Um, yeah. Sure. Of course.” As I turn to look at him, the words pour out of my mouth without any rhyme or reason, making me sound—and feel—like a jerk.
Jaxon inclines his head, lifts a brow. “So it is taken, then?”
Forget sounding like a jerk. I am a jerk. “No! I mean, yes. I mean…” I stop, take a deep breath, and then blow it out slowly. “The seat isn’t taken. You can sit down if you’d like.”
“I would like.” He grabs the chair and turns it around so that when he drops down into it, he’s facing the back of the chair, one elbow draped negligently over the top.
It’s a completely ridiculous way to sit, especially on a chair this elegant…but it’s also superhot. And it’s pretty much been my kryptonite since Moises de la Cruz did it at a pool party when we were in seventh grade.
What can I say? I’m weak.
Guess I’m not the only weak one, though, because Macy makes another choked sound as she stares behind me—this one worse than the last. I tear my eyes away from Jaxon long enough to make sure that sip of coffee isn’t actually killing her. Thankfully, it’s not, but the fact that the other members of the Order are currently settling themselves down at the table with us just might.
“How’s your ankle?” Jaxon asks, his dark gaze sliding over me in what I know is concern but what feels a little like a caress.
“Better. Thanks for…yesterday.”
“Which part?” The crooked grin is back, and this time when he looks me over, it feels a lot like a caress.
But just because I’m flustered doesn’t mean I’m a pushover. “The waffles. Obviously.”
One of the members of the Order snorts at my answer, then darts a quick look at Jaxon as he tries to smother the sound. Jaxon just kind of rolls his eyes, though, and gives a little nod in his direction. Which makes the guy laugh again and has the added effect of relaxing all the other guys as well.
“Obviously.” He shakes his head, looks away. But his smile doesn’t fade. “So you’re planning on going to class today.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yeah. It’s time.”
He nods like he knows what I’m talking about. “What’s your first period?”
“I don’t remember.” I pull the blue schedule Uncle Finn gave me from my jacket pocket. “Looks like Brit Lit with Maclean.”
“I’m in that class,” says one of the other members of the Order. He’s black, with friendly eyes and the hottest set of locks I’ve ever seen. “You’ll like her. She’s cool. I’m Mekhi, by the way, and I’m happy to walk you to class if you want, show you where it is.”
Macy makes yet another choking sound—I’m beginning to think her death really is imminent—at the same time that Jaxon replies, “Yeah, that’s going to happen.”
The other guys laugh, but I don’t get the joke. So I just kind of smile and say, “Thanks, Mekhi. I’d appreciate it, if you wouldn’t mind.”
That only makes them laugh harder.
I give Jaxon a WTF look, but he’s just kind of shaking his head at them. Then he leans in and says, “I’ll walk you to class, Grace.”
He’s so close that his breath tickles my ear, sending shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with Alaska and everything to do with the fact that I want this guy. That, despite all the warnings and bad behavior, I really do think I’m falling for Jaxon Vega.
“That would—” My voice breaks, and I have to clear my throat a couple of times before I can try again. “That would be nice, too.”
“It would be nice.” There’s amusement in his voice, but when our eyes meet, there’s no trace of laughter in his. There’s also no trace of the coldness that’s as much a part of him as the dark hair and long, lean body. Instead, there’s a heat—an intensity—that has my hands shaking and my knees going weak.
“Should we head over now?” The question is ripped from my dry throat.
He looks pointedly at my tray. “You should eat now.”
“You should eat, too.” I reach for the silver package on my tray, hold it out to him.
He looks from me to the breakfast pastries and back again. “Pop-That I’m hungry for.”
This time, Macy’s not the one making the choking sound. I look up, tracing it to its origin—the only member of the Order who looks like he might be Native Alaskan, a guy with bronze skin and long, dark hair tied into a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck.
“Something funny, Rafael?” Jaxon asks, eyes narrowed
and tone silky smooth.
“Absolutely not,” he answers but glances at me even as he says it, eyes brimming with mischief and delight. “I think I’m going to like you, Grace.”
“And here the day was going so well.”
> He grins. “Yeah, definitely going to like you.”
“Don’t feel too flattered, Grace. Rafael’s not exactly the most discerning guy around,” says one of the others, a boy with twinkling blue eyes and gold hoop earrings.
“Like you are, Liam?” Rafael shoots back. “The last girl you dated was a barracuda.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s an insult to barracudas everywhere,” chimes in another one of Jaxon’s friends, his Spanish accent sexily rolling his Rs.
“Luca knows what I’m talking about,” Rafael says.
“Because Luca’s dating history is so impressive?” Jaxon drawls, joining the conversation for the first time.
The quip is so unexpected—so what I’m used to from his texts but not in person—that I can’t help staring at him. Then again, everything about this morning has been unexpected—especially the dynamic among the members of the Order. Every time I’ve seen them, they’ve appeared so tough and unapproachable. So unfeeling.
But sitting here with one another—and no one but Macy and me to witness it, since Cam and his group took one look at who was sitting with us and headed in the other direction—they’re just like any other group of friends. Except funnier. And way, way hotter. Knowing he’s got friends like this—and that he can be a friend like this—makes me like Jaxon even more.
Jaxon catches me staring and raises a questioning brow in my direction.
I just shrug at him like it’s no big deal and reach for my glass. Then nearly choke at the look in his eyes as he watches me. Because there’s a craving there, a dark and devastating desperation that has my breath stuttering in my chest and heat blooming deep inside me.
He holds my gaze for one second, two. Then he slowly blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, the emptiness is back.
And still, I watch him. Still, I can’t look away. Because there’s something just as beautiful—and just as devastating—in their emptiness as there is in their heat. Eventually, though, I force myself to look down. Mostly because if I don’t, I’m afraid I’ll do something foolish like throw myself at Jaxon in front of the entire school.
