by Nya Jade
Hayley’s theory was entirely lost on Phoebe, who wasn’t taking in a word of it, but rather was surreptitiously stealing another glance at Colten. She was fascinated by the way his body moved with a certain confidence, almost grace, as he acknowledged those in his presence, shaking hands with engaged interest and signing autographs. Phoebe gathered that his was a well-practiced routine when it came to handling such adoration.
Colten’s head suddenly swiveled in their direction, and his distressingly beautiful green eyes caught hold of Phoebe’s. His gaze swept across her face; struck by its intensity, she looked away hurriedly, lowering her eyes to her tray. After giving herself a moment to recover, Phoebe chanced another glance. To her surprise, Colten was still staring at her, this time with a wide, dazzling smile that almost dared her not to blush. And blush Phoebe did, just as the bell rang and his eyes dropped from hers.
“What was that about?” Hayley asked with a pointed sidelong look.
“Hmm . . . ?” A dull ache throbbed behind Phoebe’s eyes prompting her to massage small circles into the crease between her brows. “What was what about?”
“C’mon,” Hayley said, “don’t even try to pretend Colten Chase wasn’t just checking you out.”
As Hayley gathered up her newspaper and hoisted a backpack with a square Hip Hop Life patch on her shoulder, Phoebe cast around for a counter comment and managed, unconvincingly, “He was just looking in this general direction.”
“Yeah, in the direction of those supermodel legs of yours!” Hayley waggled suggestive eyebrows behind her black-rimmed glasses.
At this, Phoebe laughed a dismissive, self-deprecating laugh and lowered her gaze. People often said that Phoebe was beautiful, with her storm-cloud eyes, and hair saturated with the red-gold brilliance of copper. At times Phoebe could see this. But mostly she only felt too tall, too thin, and completely awkward.
“I mean, do you see him?” Hayley continued. Phoebe looked up, embarrassed, wondering if Hayley had seen her furtive looks at Colten. “Over six feet of sexy is checking out your tower of sexy and you’re being blasé about it.”
Phoebe shrugged. “Someone that hot,” she said, trying not to steal another look, “probably isn’t that interesting.” Phoebe knew it was an unfair generalization, but she’d seen enough celebrity interviews to know that many of the gorgeous ones got by on good-looks-octane and nothing else.
“Well I’m hot,”—Hayley shimmied her shoulders—“and very interesting.”
Phoebe grinned at her in agreement. Hayley exuded charming energy with her olive skin, bright smile, and deep dimples. “You may be a little too hot,” she said, laughing as Hayley shimmied some more. “Where’s your first class?” Phoebe asked, changing the subject.
“Below. You?”
Phoebe reached into her backpack, pulled out some papers and consulted her schedule. “I’m up here.”
Shaper schedules were staggered between the two campuses so that a third of the Green Lane population didn’t mysteriously disappear all at once. And from what Phoebe understood, there were Shapers among the Green Lane administration who ensured that no eyebrows were raised where cadet movement was concerned. Free periods, placed at strategic times during the week, allowed cadets to slip Below. And whenever needed, some SIS classes met at night.
Hayley grabbed Phoebe’s schedule, compared it to her own and frowned. “Looks like when you’re up, I’m down—oh wait,” she said as she thrust Phoebe’s schedule back in her hands and pointed, “we have Bio Encryption and Tactical Bird Song together. Well, until then, my friend, I gotta go see about a walk-in refrigerator.” Hayley double-winked at her mention of the kitchen narthyx point, and Phoebe winked back.
For a moment, Phoebe watched Hayley push through the kitchen doors and smiled. In the past, she’d had trouble with most of her friendships on account of her acute ability to sense emotions. Being keenly aware of everything your friends were feeling about you was as thoroughly exhausting as it was disappointing. More often than not, expressed sentiments in the vein of ‘I’m happy for you . . . Of course you look great . . . You should totally ask him out . . .’ came along with unexpressed waves of resentment or envy that Phoebe had trouble ignoring. As a result, Phoebe had eventually shied away from jumping into new friendships until she’d had an epiphany: she could use her ability to screen for fakers. Phoebe felt a strong twinge of guilt for having just probed Hayley’s emotions, but it was quickly overpowered by the relief that settled over her as she realized that Hayley said what she meant.
Phoebe screwed up her eyes against the pounding that had become a blistering headache. Screening Hayley had required partially opening the mental gate she normally kept closed to block the stampede of strangers’ emotions that came at her from all directions. She called them emotional intrusions, and Colten’s arrival had driven them to a fever pitch that rocked her brain.
With her mental gate firmly closed, Phoebe stood up and risked a final glance in Colten’s direction, but he was no longer there. Finding herself oddly disappointed, and paying little attention to those around her, Phoebe bumped into a boy and dropped her papers in surprise. She lowered herself to the ground but he was quicker, already retrieving her items by the time she met his onyx eyes.
“Sorry. Didn’t see you,” he apologized, taking a rapid peek at her top sheet before handing the stack over to her.
“My fault,” Phoebe corrected, studying him as they rose in tandem. His dark eyebrows gave him a broodingly handsome look, and he stood tall with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his pants, observing her. Phoebe couldn’t help noticing a pattern of raised scars on the side of his neck as he shook his shaggy, raven hair from his eyes and said, “Interesting classes you got there. Is Understanding Vigos new to Green Lane? Didn’t see it listed in my course guide.”
Phoebe’s throat tightened and her hearts hammered madly at the thought of what the boy’s words potentially meant. She lowered her eyes to hastily confirm what he’d seen, wondering how she could possibly explain herself without putting the Shaper cadets at risk. In the same instant that a warm tingle washed over her skin registering the boy’s physical energy as a Shaper, she heard him laugh. The dirty trick he’d played on her hit Phoebe a second before she lifted her eyes to find him gone.
After two morning classes Above, Phoebe spent the better part of the one free period where she wasn’t scheduled Below, in the Green Lane Gazette staff room. Cyn had burst into delighted giggles when Phoebe accepted the position of features photographer after the meet and greet. As much as it pained Phoebe to have to both live and work with Cyn, she knew she needed an outlet. Photography pulled her into a part of her mind where the pain of losing her father did not slice her.
“And this,” Cyn said, clipping a laminated card to Phoebe’s white blouse pocket, “is your press pass. It’s as legit as the one my mom has at the Globe.” Cyn straightened Phoebe’s badge, stepped back and smiled. “You know, the Gazette is one of a few student papers that gets the same respect as the big—”
Phoebe raised a polite hand, cutting her off. “Thank you. This is great,” she said, heading for the door and escaping another long-winded endorsement for the paper.
The morning had turned from dank and chilly to brisk and sunny, and Phoebe made her way outside, settling onto a bench bordering the courtyard that separated the schoolhouse from a multilevel library. She pulled her camera out of her backpack, and panned her surroundings. Two boys lay stretched out in the yellow-tipped blades of green grass, letting the brilliant midmorning sun bake them. One napped on his backpack while the other lay on hands laced behind his head, a baseball cap covering his face.
Phoebe leaned forward, elbows on knees, and brought her camera to her eye. She trained its lens on the boys and captured how the sun made long silhouettes of their sleeping bodies. Phoebe sat back against the bench, and casually scrolled through the images on her screen, discarding any she didn’t care for. The sunlight on her face flickered into
a cool shadow as a pleasant voice said, “So, you’re one of the enemy, I see.”
Phoebe jerked and looked up. She was floored to see Colten looming above her. Up close, he was even more breathtaking than she’d realized. The knot of his tie was half-undone, and his shirtsleeves were casually pulled up to his elbows, disclosing tanned, sculpted forearms. His long hair fluttered beneath a Green Lane cap he wore backward. He stared at Phoebe with inviting eyes and a sideways smile that kept her words jammed in her throat.
“Um,” Phoebe started, finding her power of speech. “Hi Taylor—I mean—” Phoebe broke off, tongue-tied and mortified that she’d called Colten by his movie character name. Embarrassment rushed in and she stared down at her lap, as color drained from her face. She would have given anything to have the ground crack open and devour her at that moment.
Colten flashed his Hollywood smile. “It’s a common mistake.”
Phoebe caught something teasing in his tone, which made her cheeks flame so that she couldn’t look up to meet his eyes. She played with the hem of her skirt, unsure of where to look. “What do you mean,” she asked, speaking quietly, “when you say I’m one of the enemy?”
Colten sounded amused. “The press badge, the camera.” And finally, when Phoebe gazed up at him with puzzled eyes, he added, “You know? Paparazzi. It seems a guy can’t even enjoy the sun in peace.”
At that, Phoebe peered behind Colten to the courtyard; only the boy napping on his backpack remained in the grass. Shock reached her face first and then comprehension bloomed. “I am so so sorry,” she said quickly. “I had no idea I was shooting you. It was about the pattern of shadows . . . really.” Phoebe glanced at Colten before looking back into her lap.
A grin eased across Colten’s face. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the bench. Phoebe nodded, hardly believing that Colten wanted to sit by her. Does he want to talk? That can’t be it, she thought. Maybe he wants to inspect the photos for himself. Phoebe set her camera down at the end of the bench and slid her backpack to her feet, allowing room for him. Scrubbing her clammy palms on her skirt, she sat up straight as though she herself was about to be photographed. Colten slid in beside her, closer than he had to on the wide bench, his eyes never leaving her face.
“If you want,” Phoebe said, clearing her throat unevenly, “I can delete those photos.” Phoebe, who felt awkward and unsure around beautiful people (and they didn’t get more beautiful than Colten Chase), hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she sounded.
Colten shrugged, smiling. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been photographed doing much worse.” He adjusted his body slightly to face her better, the weathered bench creaking as he did so, and Phoebe felt herself tugged by an invisible cord to do the same.
“So where are you from, Lady Paparazza?”
“San Francisco.”
Colten threw his head back and chuckled. “Cali girl, huh? Man, have winters beat you up?”
“Not yet, but I can only imagine.” Phoebe cringed at the thought. Already, the crispness of fall was proving to be no friend of hers.
“So this must be your first year,” Colten said, sounding intrigued.
Phoebe nodded.
“Why boarding school out East?”
“My grandfather. He offered to foot the bill.”
“And your folks just let you take off like that?”
Phoebe looked away from the question, her hands clenched on her lap. When she spoke, she kept her voice controlled. “It’s just me and my grandfather,” she said, eyes back on Colten’s; she saw sympathy there, and braced for an apology.
Colten said, “I’m sorry if I—” just as Phoebe said, “Don’t worry about it.” Phoebe wanted to nip the discussion in the bud. She didn’t want to get into the accident. And telling someone that her mother had walked out on Phoebe and her father days after her birth tended to be a conversation killer. “Not everyone is cut out to be a parent,” she’d once heard her grandfather say.
Colten turned his face away from her, his mind suddenly somewhere else. Unable to read his expression, Phoebe stared down at the black loafers, which somehow made her size ten feet look much smaller than they were. At that moment, three girls exited the library, glanced in their direction, and giggled behind their hands. Phoebe heard the gossip in their whispers but chose not to focus on the words. It’s not worth the energy, she thought. Though Shapers could hear and see across distances, expanding the reach of these senses required effort when in human form. Most kept them restricted to a more normal range.
Phoebe took a long breath and broke what had become an awkward silence.
“Your turn to tell me something,” she said, her words stumbling over each other.
Colten removed his cap and rumpled his hair. “What about?”
“You.”
“I’m really not that interesting,” he said.
Phoebe nearly giggled, remembering what she’d told Hayley earlier. To cover her reaction, she let a skeptical expression take over her face while Colten chuckled and added dryly, “I’m sure you can find information to the contrary with any Internet search.”
“Well then give me a head start,” Phoebe pressed mildly. “What brings you here?”
“Work. The next movie in my Taylor Hawk series picks up in the city where the last one ended.” Phoebe offered a blank look. “You know, Boston,” Colten added.
Phoebe shook her head. “No, I don’t know. Didn’t see it.”
“Ouch,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest for effect. “Have you seen any of them?”
“Just the previews. No offense,” she hurriedly added.
Colten grinned, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “None taken. The honesty is kinda refreshing. If I had to guess,” he said, sparing the courtyard a glimpse before meeting Phoebe with eyes that sent her stomach into free fall, “I’d say you’re less fast chases and explosions and more indie romance.”
Phoebe bit her lip to stop a grin. “Nice try,” she said.
“I’m wrong?” Colten seemed a bit discombobulated by this.
How could he presume to be right? Phoebe thought. Then it occurred to her that most girls probably went along with anything Colten said—it was kind of hard not to when looking into his enthralling eyes.
Phoebe toyed with her hands awkwardly. “I like period romance movies like Sense and Sensibility and Emma,” she said. “And I do like fast chases and explosions. I just, um, like them to involve spaceships . . . ” Phoebe briefly looked at Colten, gauging his reaction. She worried that maybe she shouldn’t have let her inner geek out of its cage.
“A Jane Austen lovin’ space nerd, huh?” Colten said. He sounded both surprised and amused and didn’t bother hiding it. “So what are some of your favorite flicks starring little green men?”
Phoebe laughed, but before she could answer, a sudden feeling of disorientation washed over her and she grasped the back of the bench to steady herself.
Colten’s concern was instant. “Are you okay?” His narrowed eyes searched her face.
“I’m fine,” Phoebe said at once, striving to keep her eyes from his. What was that?
“You sure?”
Phoebe nodded and quickly changed the subject. “So once you’re done with the Boston shoot,” she said, “will you make up the rest of your senior year someplace else?” She forced a smile.
Colten raised an eyebrow a fraction, tilting his head. It was clear she had thrown him with that bit of knowledge. Then, a grin played on his lips. “We’ll see,” he said mysteriously. The bell rang, startling Phoebe out of the moment. She shot to her feet and scooped her backpack up from the ground, remembering that she was due at a meeting with Professor Yori. Without pause, or even a backward glance, she headed toward the schoolhouse, cutting across the courtyard as Colten said something in her wake. If he showed offense at her abrupt departure, Phoebe didn’t catch it. She was already shoving through the glass double doors of the schoolhouse.
It wasn
’t until she was nearing the narthyx point that she registered what Colten had called to her as she fled: “See you around, Phoebe Pope.” Phoebe stopped abruptly in her tracks, confounded by the fact that Colten had known her name. She hadn’t introduced herself.
FOUR
The anteroom to the headmaster’s office was furnished simply, with a trestle desk across from two high-backed wooden chairs. Behind the desk sat a curly-haired woman with a faintly lined, elongated face. She looked up when Phoebe entered, her black eyes sparkling.
“Cadet Pope?” she asked as she rose from her chair. Phoebe nodded, brushing back her hair self-consciously, fearing it looked miserably disheveled from her mad dash through the Below courtyard.
“Right this way.” The woman pushed heavy oak doors that opened into a larger room. Phoebe’s eyes flicked around, taking in the décor. The headmaster had furnished his office with ornately framed paintings of Pompeii, beautifully bound books on mahogany shelves, and a few pairs of crossed diamond-bladed daggers hanging on the walls. An unusual antique silver clock was perched on the wide desk: instead of numbers around its edges, it had engravings of the moon’s phases. And at that moment, the black metal hands pointed to a full moon.
“Great. We’re all here,” Professor Yori said, drawing Phoebe’s attention to him. He was, as before, impeccably dressed in a blue tailored military-style coat with bronze buttons running from its high collar down to the hem. He strode toward Phoebe with a pronounced limp that she hadn’t noticed in the Great Hall, his arms spread in welcome. “Thank you, Hanna,” he said to the older woman. Hanna bowed her head and withdrew from the room, pulling the doors shut.
“Come, come,” Professor Yori said, taking Phoebe kindly by the arm and moving her deeper into the office at a brisk pace. “Let me introduce you to the others.” Professor Yori led Phoebe to one of two armchairs next to a maroon sofa where three students sat staring at her. “These Hastati-year cadets are Mariko, Lewis, and Scott,” he said, gesturing to each person in turn as he spoke.
