Charcoal Tears (2 page)

I mumbled a curse, glancing at the two people who stood before me as I backed away.

The driver was angry—no, furious. The one who had fallen with me was grimacing in pain. I didn’t examine them anymore than that, my brain too shocked to absorb excess information, but I got the impression of broadness and height from the both of them. They were probably on the football team and I’d just pissed off one of them and injured the other. Now I’d have the whole jock scene on my back. I tried to control my reaction, but I was stuttering. Without thinking, I stumbled back another step, and then another.

The driver matched my retreat with a step forward but the other boy held him back, words mumbled beneath his breath. Maybe it was his anger, but I couldn’t look away from the driver. A moment more, and he began to gain definition in my frazzled mind. His eyes were delicate and fierce all at once, like orbs of porcelain sharpened to angry peaks. The colour reminded me of the unreachable point on the horizon where the blue of an ocean morphs with a balmy summer sky, forming a formidable wall of turquoise. I could sense the turbulence roiling beneath, and the glare of brilliance reflecting off the surface. I flinched away from him, focussing on the injured one.

“I’m sorry.” I managed to force the words from my throat. They came out a croak, too weak.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I spun on my heel, hurrying off before my shaking legs could collapse beneath me. I could still feel the glare of his eyes, and the image of them was seared so firmly into my brain that it seemed like my neurotransmitters had gone and printed propaganda posters of him to hang up around the place. His eyes, like those of the driver, had been memorable. They had briefly reminded me of the spill of rich coffee, heady amber alcohol or pulled toffee. In short: addictive, and brown. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but what details I had noticed wouldn’t dislodge from my brain. Usually eye-colour was simple: blue, green, brown; flat, distinctive; light, dark. Was the sudden distinction of their features my own fault, or theirs?

Someone shouted out, but I didn’t catch the word. I broke into a run.

Once I was inside the halls I ducked through the masses of people, blessedly invisible once again. I disappeared inside the bathroom and shoved myself into a stall, collapsing immediately.

Car… eyes… could have died…
my panic tried to manifest in thought, but the words tumbled over themselves in their haste to be examined, and I ended up clutching my head until the racket quieted.

I stayed like that until the bell rang, and then I forced myself to my feet. I splashed cold water on my face and ran to homeroom, heading toward the back row of seats with my head down. Mr. Thomas was already there, but he didn’t even seem to notice me as I sat down. After a few minutes, the door opened again and Mr. Thomas paused this time and looked over. The class fell silent and my heart thudded against my ribs, beating a pattern of trepidation. The boy with golden-brown eyes walked in, handing a note over.

He was a new student—of course—but Mr. Thomas didn’t bother introducing him; he looked at the note, frowned, and crossed his arms. “You’re late, Cabe.”

Cabe’s smile stretched, becoming easy and charming. Despite the fact that it wasn’t aimed at me, I found myself almost relaxing. It had that effect.

“I got hit by my brother’s car.” He said it like the whole incident amused and perplexed him all at the same time.

There was a scattering of laughter about the classroom, and I wasn’t surprised that most of the kids already seemed to know about the parking lot incident. The gossip mill was a mysterious system to me—it existed independently of whatever link in the chain I might have been able to provide, but I’d born witness to its velocity and power all the same.

“You look fine to me.” Mr. Thomas didn’t sound too impressed. He turned and scanned the small congregation of students all staring at Cabe and whispering to each other like a singular organismic blob of secrets and judgements—all breathing and exhaling together as one festering thing—and then he waved a casual hand at…
me
. “There’s an empty seat next to Seraph over there, don’t be late again.”

No there isn’t!

My head snapped up and my spine straightened in an almost painful way, my teeth clamping together. Cabe looked toward the seat, and then his eyes shifted directly to me, pausing. The reaction was brief enough that I almost missed it: a slight arch to his brow, a curve of the lip, and then he was moving. Every other person tracked his progress as he sank into the seat and turned his attention to the front. I glared at the wall behind Mr. Thomas’s head as he worked to get the attention of the class again. I didn’t move until the bell rang for the next period, and then I jerked out of my seat, hastily gathering my books. I was ready to race out of the door before anyone else, but a tanned hand slapped lightly against my desk, and that was all it took. I stopped like he had concreted my shoes to the floor and blinked at his hand. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, until the students filed out.

The hand was broad and long-fingered; clean nails, cut short. It moved toward me, a gentle touch at the base of my elbow.

“Are you okay?” His voice had a slight accent, becoming more pronounced with his soft tone. I couldn’t pinpoint it, like it didn’t belong to any one place in particular. The most likely scenario was that his parents travelled a lot.

My eyes snapped up, quickly taking in his face. His jaw was sharply prominent, his skin a dark tan that contrasted heavily with his white button-down shirt. His hair was dark brown, shorter on the sides and flopping over his forehead in soft curls. His brows were elegant, arching with masterful shadow to draw together a darkly appealing mien, softened by the hint of amusement that he attempted to hide from me. I would have labelled him a typical romance-book-Adonis, if not for the gentle humour that radiated off him. He wouldn’t have been able to muster a brood to save his life.

I was staring at him, not answering, and Mr. Thomas had finished gathering his paperwork. “Hurry it along you two,” he prompted, heading for the door.

“May I walk you?” Cabe asked, his eyes warm and full of gentle question.

I managed a nod and he steered me for the door, maintaining a slight touch at my elbow. It switched to my back as we cleared the classroom, hovering but not really touching. It caught me off-balance, sending a foreign trickle of feeling along my skin—like someone had gently scratched up my spine with a bristly leaf—and causing my step to falter.

“Your name is Seraph?” He had to hunch over a little bit to speak to me, and he still seemed amused by something.

I flinched. “Yes, my name is Seraph, and no, my parents weren’t on drugs.” I muttered the last part under my breath, not in the mood for anyone to make fun of my name today.

His smile widened. “I like it. If they weren’t on drugs then…” he trailed off, waiting for me to fill in the gaps.

“Blame it on whimsy.”

I kept my eyes fixed to the floor out of habit, and my hair sipped over my shoulder. The sleepy curls were tangled, forming an intricate, dark curtain to separate us. I didn’t push the barrier away, instead relieved that I could no longer feel his stare, as gentle and amused as it was. There was something different about this boy and his brother, and I had more than enough experience with different to know that it wasn’t always a good thing. He didn’t speak all the way to my next class, and it took that long for me to realise that he had pulled me out of the way of a moving car, and taken the brunt himself. I glanced sideways, slowing down with the door to my class in sight. He paused, and I risked a peek at his face.

“You’re not hurt.” It was more a statement, but I asked it like I feared the answer anyway.

He hesitated, and then brushed the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. My face flamed bright despite the strange scratchy feeling that accompanied his touch, and he turned to face me fully. Other students were passing behind his back, slowing down as we had, peering at the two of us curiously. He seemed to be angling his broad shoulders in just the right way to hide me from them.

“No, the car had almost stopped by the time it hit us.”

I nodded, focussing on his feet. “Thank you.”

The hallway cleared. He backed off me a little bit and I found myself meeting his eyes.

“Knew you had it in you somewhere, Seraph. You’re welcome.” He smiled and spun on his heel, walking away with his hands stuffed into his pockets and a whistle floating casually down the hallway after him.

I watched as he disappeared around the corner before I ducked into my class. I barely heard anything through the next two classes, and soon found myself curled onto a bench on the outskirts of the cafeteria, my stomach grumbling. My tablemate was a younger boy with freckles and sandy blond hair. He didn’t speak to me and I didn’t speak to him. It was the way we worked. I knew that his name was Matthew, because it was scrawled on his notebook.

Cabe and his brother weren’t hard to spot; they were sitting centre stage, surrounded by the popular kids. I
knew
, realistically, that the whole cafeteria floor was one giant, level slab, but my eyes seemed to be tricking me into seeing them elevated in the centre of the room. Even the dim Seattle sunlight was spilling in from the cafeteria windows at just the right angle to bathe them in a natural halo of golden superiority. Lilly—one of the cheerleaders—was perched on the arm of the driver’s chair, while another girl framed Cabe on the other side. Cabe was entertaining everyone within hearing distance, easily, casually, like he didn’t know what
out-of-your-element
even meant. Everyone seemed to hang off his every word—laughing uproariously in all the right places—except his brother, who just looked bored. I watched as Cabe told another apparent joke, causing one of the football guys to lose control and fall out of his chair, knocking over a passing girl. I wasn’t entirely sure how, but his hands found their way up her skirt and then her chocolate milk found its way into his face. Cabe laughed at the spectacle, but his brother watched it all without blinking an eye.

I tried to shrink back into myself, hoping that my clothing would suddenly grow several sizes and swallow me up, but it wasn’t long until Cabe found me, and somehow I knew that he would. He smiled at me the way you would smile at a crazy person that you didn’t want to frighten away, and then leaned over and said something to his brother, who flicked his eyes up and found me, automatically. Immediately. Like he had a stupid homing beacon or something. I flinched back with the suddenness of the movement and focussed on the table in front of me.

Matthew glanced up from his iPad before nudging something into the centre of the table: an untouched peanut butter sandwich. All thoughts of Cabe and his brother were swept from my mind, and I stared at the sandwich, my stomach cramping up almost violently.

“Go on,” Matthew said casually, like it was no big deal. He did this sometimes, but I’d never hesitated before now.

I muttered my thanks and reached for it, barely tasting it before it was gone. My stomach knotted painfully, either from how hungry the sandwich had made me, or the fact that I hadn’t eaten in days… I didn’t know. I pressed a hand against the pain, waiting for nausea to roll through me. Every few months I went so long without eating that my first meal for days would make me nauseous.

The bell rang and students dragged their feet, prolonging their conversations like they actually had important things that needed to be discussed. I stared at the tabletop as Matthew left quietly and the cafeteria gradually emptied. I heard Tariq’s laugh somewhere and it lifted me and stabbed me all at once. Once I was sure that I wasn’t going to be sick, I gathered my stuff and started to slide out of the booth seat. Or at least I tried to.

There was a person blocking the exit.

Stormy blue eyes arrested me, and I paused, half-raised from the seat. On some level I recognised that Cabe was standing next to his brother, but I was too focussed on the boy standing before me. I didn’t understand how they were related; Cabe was an angel dressed in devilish features, and his brother was the very opposite. He brimmed with the kind of roiling emotion that possessed enough force to hint at imminent explosive action—even though I suspected that he was usually in perfect control. Maybe it was the very harsh styling of his hair: the pure and untarnished gold was pulled back and forced into streamlined compliance, darker or lighter in some places, giving the impression that it would shift tint in different lights. His skin was pale, a smooth and unblemished canvas to frame the splash of blue vibrancy held in his gaze. He was similar in build to Cabe, but a few inches shorter and a little wider at the shoulders. I narrowed my eyes on the shirtfront before me, and then dropped my eyes to the accompanying pants. They were dressed more formally than the other students, and much
much
nicer. I didn’t exactly have an eye for quality, but even I knew that I could have probably traded in my mum’s old car for one of their outfits.

No wonder the other kids idolised them already. People this good-looking shouldn’t be walking around in daylight like they had nothing better to do than pretend to be normal like the rest of us.

“You’re right,” the brother said. “She doesn’t talk much. Is she still in shock?”

I raised myself further out of the seat and shuffled to the end, stepping out. This brought me almost chest-to-chest with the brother, but I wasn’t going to stick around to find out what they wanted. I slung my bag over my shoulder, shot Cabe a defiant look—because he wasn’t so scary to look at—and started to move off. Cabe stepped forward, blocking me.

“Her name is Seraph, and she’s right there. All…” he cocked his head “five feet of her. Ask her yourself.”

I made to go the other way, but the brother shot a hand forward, anchoring it against the back of the bench seat. I was boxed in.

“Seraph?” the brother questioned, his eyes on me.

I didn’t know if he was questioning my name, or questioning me.