by Lauren Kate
“What is all this stuff?” Luce asked.
“Ancient history. The only surviving relics from when this place was still the site of Sunday Mass, back in Civil War days.”
“That explains why it looks so much like a church,” Luce said, pausing in front of a marble reproduction of Michelangelo’s pietà.
“Like everything else in this hellhole, they did a totally half-assed job of updating it. I mean, who builds a pool in the middle of an old church?”
“You’re joking,” Luce said.
“I wish.” Penn rolled her eyes. “Every summer, the headmaster gets it in his little mind to try and stick me with the task of redecorating this place. He won’t admit it, but all the God stuff really freaks him out,” she said. “Problem is, even if I did feel like pitching in, I’d have no idea what to do with all this junk, or even how to clear it out without offending, like, everyone and God.”
Luce thought back to the immaculate white walls inside Dover’s gymnasium, row after row of professionally shot varsity championship pictures, each matted with the same navy card stock, each showcased in a matching golden frame. The only hallway more hallowed at Dover was its entryway, which was where all the alumni-turned-state-senators and Guggenheim fellowship winners and run-of-the-mill billionaires displayed their head shots.
“You could hang all the current alumni’s mug shots,” Gabbe offered from behind them.
Luce started to laugh—it was funny … and strange, almost like Gabbe had just read her mind—but then she remembered the girl’s voice the night before, telling Daniel she was the only one he had. Luce quickly swallowed any notion of a connection with her.
“You’re straggling!” yelled an unknown gym coach, appearing from nowhere. She—at least Luce thought she was a she—had a frizzy wad of brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, calves like ham hocks, and yellowing “invisible” braces covering her top teeth. She hustled the girls angrily into a locker room, where each was given a padlock with a key and directed toward an empty locker with a shove. “Nobody straggles on Coach Diante’s watch.”
Luce and Penn scrambled into their faded, baggy bathing suits. Luce shuddered at her reflection in the mirror, then covered as much of herself as she could with her towel.
Inside the humid natatorium, she instantly understood what Penn was talking about. The pool itself was giant, Olympic-sized, one of the few state-of-the-art features she’d encountered so far on this campus. But that wasn’t what made it remarkable, Luce realized in awe. This pool had been set down right in the middle of what used to be a massive church.
There was a row of pretty stained-glass windows, with only a few broken panels, spanning the walls near the high, arched ceiling. There were candlelit stone niches along the wall. A diving board had been installed where the altar probably used to be. If Luce had not been raised agnostic, but rather as a God-fearing churchgoer, like the rest of her friends in elementary school, she might have thought this place was sacrilegious.
Some of the other students were already in the water, gasping for air as they completed their laps. But it was the students who weren’t in the water who held Luce’s attention. Molly, Roland, and Arriane were all spread out on the bleachers along the wall. They were cracking up about something. Roland was practically doubled over, and Arriane was wiping away tears. They were in much more attractive bathing suits than Luce, but not one of them looked like they had any intention of making a move toward the pool.
Luce picked at her saggy one-piece. She wanted to go join Arriane—but just as she was weighing the pros (possible entrance into an elite world) and cons (Coach Diante berating her as a conscientious objector to exercise), Gabbe sauntered over to the group. Like she was already best friends with all of them. She took a seat right next to Arriane and immediately started laughing, too, like whatever the joke was, she already got it.
“They always have notes to sit out,” Penn explained, glaring at the popular crowd on the bleachers. “Don’t ask me how they get away with it.”
Luce hemmed and hawed at the side of the pool, unable to tune in to Coach Diante’s instructions. Seeing Gabbe et al. clustered on the bleachers cool-kids-style made Luce wish that Cam were there. She could picture him looking buff in a sleek black bathing suit, waving her over to the crew with his big smile, making her feel immediately welcome, even important.
Luce felt a gnawing need to apologize for ducking out of his party early. Which was strange—they weren’t together, so it wasn’t like Luce was obligated to explain her comings and goings to Cam. But at the same time, she liked it when he paid attention to her. She liked the way he smelled—kind of free and open, like driving with the windows down at night. She liked the way he tuned in to her completely when she talked, holding still like he couldn’t see or hear anyone but her. She’d even liked being lifted off her feet at the party, in plain view of Daniel. She didn’t want to do anything to make Cam reconsider the way he treated her.
When the coach’s whistle blew, a very startled Luce stood straight up, then looked down regretfully as Penn and the other students near her all jumped forward, into the pool. She looked to Coach Diante for guidance.
“You must be Lucinda Price—always late and never listens?” Coach sighed. “Randy told me about you. It’s eight laps, pick your best stroke.”
Luce nodded and stood with her toes curled over the edge. She used to love to swim. When her dad taught her how at the Thunderbolt community pool, she’d even been given an award as youngest kid ever to brave the deep end without floaties. But that was years ago. Luce couldn’t even remember the last time she’d swum. The heated outdoor Dover pool had always sparkled, tempting her—but it was closed to anyone who wasn’t on the swim team.
Coach Diante cleared her throat. “Maybe you didn’t catch that this is a race … and you’re already losing.”
This was the most pathetic and ridiculous “race” that Luce had ever seen, but it didn’t stop her competitive edge from coming out.
“And … you’re still losing,” Coach said, chewing on her whistle.
“Not for long,” Luce said.
She checked out the competition. The guy to her left was sputtering water out of his mouth and doing a clumsy freestyle. On her right, a nose-plugged Penn was leisurely gliding along, her stomach resting on a pink foam kickboard. For a split second, Luce glanced at the crowd on the bleachers. Molly and Roland were watching; Arriane and Gabbe were collapsed on each other in an annoying fit of giggles.
But she didn’t care what they were laughing at. Sort of. She was off.
With her arms bowed over her head, Luce dove in, feeling her back arch as she glided into the crisp water. Few people could do it really well, her dad once explained to an eight-year-old Luce at the pool. But once you perfected the butterfly stroke, there was no way to move faster in the water.
Letting her aggravation propel her forward, Luce lifted her upper body out of the water. The movement came right back to her and she started to beat her arms like wings. She swam harder than she’d done anything in a long, long time. Feeling vindicated, she lapped the other swimmers once, then again.
She was nearing the end of her eighth lap when her head popped above water just long enough to hear Gabbe’s slow voice say, “Daniel.”
Like a snuffed-out candle, Luce’s momentum disappeared. She put her feet down and waited to see what else Gabbe had to say. Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear anything other than a raucous splashing and, a moment later, the whistle.
“And the winner is,” Coach Diante said with a stunned expression, “Joel Bland.” The skinny kid with braces from the next lane over hopped out of the pool and started raising the roof to celebrate his victory.
In the next lane, Penn kicked to a stop. “What happened?” she asked Luce. “You were totally killing him.”
Luce shrugged. Gabbe was what had happened, but when she looked over at the bleachers, Gabbe was gone, and Arriane and Molly were gone with her. Roland
alone remained where the crowd had been, and he was immersed in a book.
Luce’s adrenaline had been building while she swam, but now she’d crashed so hard, Penn had to help her out of the pool.
Luce watched Roland hop down from the bleachers. “You were pretty good out there,” he said, tossing her a towel and the locker room key she’d lost track of. “For a little while.”
Luce caught the key in midair and wrapped the towel around her. But before she could say something normal, like “Thanks for the towel,” or “Guess I’m just out of shape,” this weird new hotheaded side of her instead blurted out, “Are Daniel and Gabbe together or what?”
Big mistake. Huge. She could tell from the look in his eye that her question was headed right to Daniel.
“Oh, I see,” Roland said, and laughed. “Well, I couldn’t really …” He looked down at her and scratched his nose and gave her what seemed like a sympathetic smile. Then he pointed toward the open hallway door, and when Luce followed his finger she saw Daniel’s trim, blond silhouette pass by. “Why don’t you just ask him yourself?”
Luce’s hair was still dripping wet and her feet were still bare when she found herself hovering at the door to a large weight room. She’d intended to go straight into the locker room to change and dry off. She didn’t know why this Gabbe thing was shaking her up so much. Daniel could be with whomever he wanted, right? Maybe Gabbe liked guys who flipped her off.
Or, more likely, that kind of thing didn’t happen to Gabbe.
But Luce’s body got the better of her mind when she caught another glimpse of Daniel. His back was to her and he was standing in a corner picking out a jump rope from a tangled pile. She watched as he selected a thin navy rope with wooden handles, then moved to an open space in the center of the room. His golden skin was almost radiant, and every movement he made, whether he was rolling out his long neck in a stretch or bending over to scratch his sculpted knee, had Luce completely rapt. She stood pressed against the doorway, unaware that her teeth were chattering and her towel was soaked.
When he brought the rope behind his ankles just before he began to jump, Luce was slammed with a wave of déjà vu. It wasn’t exactly that she felt like she’d seen Daniel jump rope before, but more that the stance he took seemed entirely familiar. He stood with his feet hip-width apart, unlocked his knees, and pressed his shoulders down as he filled his chest with air. Luce could almost have drawn it.
It was only when Daniel began twirling the rope that Luce snapped out of that trance … and right into another. Never in her life had she seen anyone move like him. It was almost like Daniel was flying. The rope whipped up and over his tall frame so quickly that it disappeared, and his feet—his graceful, narrow feet—were they even touching the ground? He was moving so swiftly, even he must not have been counting.
A loud grunt and a thud on the other side of the weight room tore Luce’s attention away. Todd was in a heap at the base of one of those knotted climbing ropes. She felt momentarily sorry for Todd, who was looking down at his blistered hands. Before she could look back at Daniel to see whether he’d even noticed, a cold black rush at the edge of her skin made Luce shiver. The shadow swept up on her slowly at first, icy, tenebrous, its limits indiscernible. Then, suddenly rough, it crashed into her body and forced her back. The door to the weight room slammed in her face and Luce was alone in the hallway.
“Ow!” she cried, not because she was hurt exactly, but because she had never been touched by the shadows before. She looked down at her bare arms, where it had felt almost like hands had gripped her, shoving her out of the gym.
That was impossible—she’d just been standing in a weird place; a draft must have shot through the gymnasium. Uneasily, she approached the closed door and pressed her face up against the small glass rectangle.
Daniel was looking around, like he’d heard something. She felt certain he didn’t know it was her: He wasn’t scowling.
She thought about Roland’s suggestion that she just ask Daniel what was up, but quickly dismissed the notion. It was impossible to ask anything of Daniel. She didn’t want to bring out that scowl on his face.
Besides, any question she might pose would be useless. She’d already heard all she needed to hear last night. She’d have to be some kind of sadist to ask him to admit he was with Gabbe. She turned back toward the locker room when she realized she couldn’t leave.
Her key.
It must have slipped from her hands when she stumbled out of the room. She stood on tiptoes to look down through the small glass panel on the door. There it was, a bronze blunder on the padded blue mat. How had it gotten so far across the room, so close to where he was working out? Luce sighed and pushed the door back open, thinking if she had to go in, at least she’d make it quick.
Reaching for her key, she sneaked one last look at him. His pace was slowing, slowing, but his feet still barely touched the ground. And then, with one final light-as-air bounce, he came to a stop and turned around to face her.
For a moment, he said nothing. She could feel herself blush and really wished she wasn’t wearing such a horrible bathing suit.
“Hi” was all she could think to say.
“Hi,” he said back, in a much calmer tone of voice. Then, gesturing at her suit, said, “Did you win?”
Luce laughed a sad, self-effacing laugh and shook her head. “Far from it.”
Daniel pursed his lips. “But you were always …”
“I was always what?”
“I mean, you look like you might be a good swimmer.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”
She stepped toward him. They were standing just a foot apart. Drops of water fell from her hair and pattered like rain on the gym mats. “That’s not what you were going to say,” she insisted. “You said I was always …”
Daniel busied himself coiling the jump rope around his wrist. “Yeah, I didn’t mean you you. I meant in general. They’re always supposed to let you win your first race here. Unspoken code of conduct for us old-timers.”
“But Gabbe didn’t win either,” Luce said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And she’s new. She didn’t even get in the pool.”
“She’s not exactly new, just coming back after some time … off.” Daniel shrugged, giving away nothing of his feelings for Gabbe. His obvious attempt to look unconcerned made Luce even more jealous. She watched him finish looping the jump rope into a coil, the way his hands moved almost as quickly as his feet. And here she was so clumsy and lonely and cold and left out of everything by everyone. Her lip quivered.
“Oh, Lucinda,” he whispered, sighing heavily.
Her whole body warmed at the sound. His voice was so intimate and familiar.
She wanted him to say her name again, but he had turned away. He hooked the jump rope over a peg on the wall. “I should go change before class.”
She rested a hand on his arm. “Wait.”
He wrenched away as if he had been shocked—and Luce felt it, too, but it was the kind of shock that felt good.
“Do you ever get the feeling …” She raised her eyes to his. Up close, she could see how unusual they were. They seemed gray from far away, but up close there were violet flecks in them. She knew someone else with eyes like that…
“I could swear we’ve met before,” she said. “Am I crazy?”
“Crazy? Isn’t that why you’re here?” he said, brushing her off.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Daniel’s face was blank. “And for the record”—he pointed up at a blinking device attached to the ceiling—“the reds do monitor for stalkers.”
“I’m not stalking you.” She stiffened, very aware of the distance between their bodies. “Can you honestly say you have no idea what I’m talking about?”
Daniel shrugged.
“I don’t believe you,” Luce insisted. “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong. That I’ve never in my life seen you before this week.”
Her heart rac
ed as Daniel stepped toward her, placing both hands on her shoulders. His thumbs fit perfectly along the grooves of her collarbone, and she wanted to close her eyes at the warmth of his touch—but she didn’t. She watched as Daniel bowed his head so his nose was nearly touching hers. She could feel his breath on her face. She could smell a hint of sweetness on his skin.
He did as she asked. He looked her in the eye and said, very slowly, very clearly, so that his words could not possibly be misunderstood:
“You have never in your life seen me before this week.”
SEVEN
SHEDDING LIGHT
“Now where are you going?” Cam asked, lowering his red plastic sunglasses.
He’d appeared outside the entrance of Augustine so suddenly that Luce almost plowed right into him. Or maybe he’d been there awhile and she just hadn’t noticed in her haste to get to class. Either way, her heart started beating quickly and her palms began to sweat.
“Um, class?” Luce answered, because where did it look like she was going? Her arms were full, with her two hefty calculus books and her half-completed religion assignment.
This would have been a good time to apologize for leaving so suddenly last night. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was already so late. There hadn’t been any hot water in the locker showers, so she’d had to trek all the way back to the dorm. Somehow, what had happened after the party didn’t seem important anymore. She didn’t want to draw any more attention to her leaving—especially not now, after Daniel had made her feel so pathetic. She also didn’t want Cam to think she was being rude. She just wanted to steer past him and be by herself so she could move on from this morning’s string of embarrassments.
Except—the longer Cam gazed at her, the less important it felt to leave. And the less Luce’s pride stung over Daniel’s dismissal. How could one look from Cam do all that?
With his clear, pale skin and jet-black hair, Cam was different from any guy she’d ever known. He exuded confidence, and not just because he knew everyone—and how to get everything—before Luce had even figured out where her classes were. Right then, standing outside the drab, gray school building, Cam looked like an arty black-and-white photograph, his red shades Techni colored in.
