Epic Adventures of Lydia Bennet (9781476763248) (29 page)

“Architecture.”

“Architecture?” I repeated. “If they make you draw buildings upside down, that doesn't make me feel very safe.”

“They usually prefer them right side up,” he said. “But when I'm on my own, I like to do things my way.”

“And your way is—”

“Upside down, sometimes.”

I stared, waiting for an explanation, and he finally sighed and reached back around the table to grab more vodka to pour into his cup.

“You ready to think I'm totally lame?”

“What makes you think I don't already?” I said, and Milo smiled.

“When you draw things different from how you normally look at them, it makes you actually pay attention to what you're drawing. You see things you wouldn't otherwise.” He looked past me at something and I turned to follow his eye. “Come over here.” I felt him brush by me and I followed, reaching a walled area in the center of the roof.

He stopped, with maybe a foot of distance between us. “Look at my face. Tell me what I look like.” He stood perfectly still, affixing me with a gaze that was troublingly difficult to look away from.

“Um . . . green eyes,” I started before making myself look elsewhere. “Brown hair . . . your chin is kind of stubbly . . . not as pale as me, but not tan, either . . .”

When I didn't add anything else, he nodded, tucking in his shirt. “Sure. All true. But now—”

Milo bent down to the ground and set his cup to the side before placing his hands on the cement, doing a handstand against the wall.

“Come sit down. Tell me what I look like. My face.”

I glanced around to see if anyone else was watching this
mini-spectacle, but everyone was doing their own thing. I kneeled down in front of him, playing along.

“Well, all the blood is rushing to your head, so you look a little redder . . .”

He shook his head. “Look harder.”

Leaning in, I looked again.

I noticed the differences first. The redness, like I said. The veins straining against his forehead as he concentrated on holding himself up. But then . . .

“You have a scar on your forehead. Shaped like a V.”

“Good. What else?”

“Your nose isn't straight. It goes slightly to the right.”

“Anything else?”

I saw his green eyes, still staring into mine, with flecks of gold surrounding the center, a dozen shards of glitter looking at me looking at him.

“You . . . are about to fall.”

And he did. Into a smiling heap.

“Told you,” he said, wiping his hands off on his jeans. “You'd been looking at me all night and thought you knew what I looked like, so you didn't look any harder. But upside down . . .”

“I was not looking at you all night,” I mumbled.

“You see my point, though,” he said, grinning again.

This time I noticed that he only showed two teeth when he smiled like that, with the smallest of gaps between them. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

Suddenly his eyes unfocused. As if all the blood that had been in his head rushed to his feet and back again.

“Whoa,” he said, unsteady. “Mind if we get some air?”

“We're outside,” I said, but followed him a couple of steps over to where he could lean against the railing.

From this angle, I could see new stuff on the skyline. “Which
bridge is that?” I asked, pointing to the gap between two small buildings.

“The Brooklyn Bridge,” he answered. “Have you been there yet?”

“Brooklyn? That's where I'm staying.”

“No, the bridge.”

I shook my head.

“You should. Go at night, if you can. With some friends or something. It's amazing.”

“It looks it,” I agreed. “I can't believe you can see that from here. All you can see from my sister's building is another brick wall.”

“A view like this must cost a fortune,” Milo said. “Even that sliver of it. Asami's mom is a big producer for some news station in DC; I think she pays for most of it.”

“Must be nice to not have to worry about money,” I said into my beer.

“Sometimes the cards just fall in your favor. Can't fault her for that.” He tipped his cup toward the partygoers. “Besides, she's generous with what she's got. My experience is that it's hard to find generosity without flaunting.”

“Some people surprise you,” I said, thinking back to Darcy. But reminders of his generosity and exactly
why
he had to be so generous to me stirred up feelings I wanted to keep pushed down for now.

But as the nerves in my stomach began bubbling over, I knew things had shifted, and the temporary reprieve alcohol could buy wasn't something I wanted to delve further into tonight. Not with Milo and Kat and this really great time, or with Allison and her “request” to leave trouble behind before I come back to Jane's.

“It's getting pretty late,” I said as casually as I could manage. “I don't want to wake my sister's roommates up at like three a.m., so I should probably head back.”

“Sure,” Milo said. “What part of Brooklyn are you staying in?”

“Umm.” I realized I had no idea where Jane lived. I'd just followed her lead any time we'd gone out. “I have the address in my phone.”

“D'you know the neighborhood?”

“Umm,” I repeated, sounding like an idiot. “I know there's like, a deli down the street?”

I could see Milo doing his best to fight a smirk, and I admired his restraint.

“Don't feel bad. New York takes some time to get used to. Especially with the subways. People who aren't from around here get all kinds of mixed up 'cause you can't tell where you've gone once you're underground. I can take you back, if you want. Not that far out of my way.”

I hesitated. I didn't want to get lost—and even I was willing to admit there was a pretty good chance that would happen trying to navigate the subway all the way back to wherever Jane's is—but I didn't want to give Milo the wrong impression.

He squinted at me over the top of his cup, finally setting it back down on the wall.

“Kat!” he yelled.

I saw a head of curly dark hair swivel toward us and Kat made her way over.

“You headed back soon?” Milo asked. “Thought we could all hit the same train. This one doesn't know the city yet.” He nodded his head toward me.

Kat stared at Milo, then me. What was it about these guys that made me feel like they were constantly trying to stare a hole into my freaking head? Was this a New York thing?

“Sure,” she said, her eyes sparkling. But that could have been the alcohol, because she kicked back the rest of her drink. “Let's roll.”

Texts with Jane

Jane: Hey, I hope you're doing okay. I'm sorry I had to go.

Lydia: No, it's cool, I get it. How's Miami?

Jane: Sweltering. But it's nice to get to see it. What did you and Allison and Shea do last night?

Lydia: Shea had to study and Allison had some stuff to do, but it's okay, I met up with my friend Casey from high school for dinner.

Jane: Oh, good! New York is full of questionable strangers, I'm so glad you found someone there you know.

Lydia: Yeah.

I traveled to the New Amsterdam University campus pretty sure I was going to the wrong place.

Last night after I got back to Jane's I couldn't sleep, so I idly browsed her computer for a while (two Facebook messages from Casey, yaaaaay) and found myself on the NAU website.

I'd never actually toured Central Bay College. I just knew I could get in there, and that Lizzie and Mary would be nearby. But it looked really pretty on its website—although, that's sort of the purpose of websites, right?

Well, New Amsterdam University looked pretty, too. And pretty large. It turns out they had multiple campuses, with the main one being in the Bronx.

The only thing I know about the Bronx is that it's where the Yankees play (Mom has a thing for “that nice Derek Jeter”—and
his butt) and that it's always where the perps come from on
Law & Order
.

Before we parted ways last night, Kat and Milo walked me to Jane's door, and we made a plan to meet up today for my tour of NAU, on the main campus. So this morning (okay, afternoon, I did get in really late) I'd hopped on the subway and rode it all the way from Brooklyn, through Manhattan, and into the Bronx. For over an hour.

Which meant one of two things: either I was going to the wrong place, or there was absolutely no way that I was “on their way home” when they dropped me off last night.

I got off at my stop, and super subtly checked my phone for the direction I was supposed to head. I didn't know what to expect. On the website, the campus looked like a park, with old, important buildings lined by trees. But here I was passing by regular buildings squished up together, a freaking highway, and finally turning left into . . .

Oh.

The beautiful park, the old buildings, the trees. They were all here, but with an iron gate separating this fairy-tale land from the city surrounding it.

“Hey.”

I whipped my head around. Milo leaned up against the side of the gate. I relaxed and took my earbuds out.

“Hey. I was worried I was going to end up in the wrong place.”

“Nah. You pick things up quick,” he said. “Bet if we threw you in the ocean you'd figure out how to get across it, no problem.”

“Um,” I said, blushing. “Let's not test that theory.”

“All right, now, before we get this started, you gotta be properly outfitted.”

“Outfitted?” I scanned my clothes. I thought I was New York normal in jeans and a gray shirt (neutral!) with a yellow bedazzled tiger on it (okay, not neutral).

“You got your campus map, your official NAU water bottle”—he handed me a bottle of water with the letters
NAU
written on it in Sharpie—“and this wonderful souvenir bag from the gift shop.”

“You mean this plastic shopping bag?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“
Souvenir
plastic shopping bag,” he corrected, grinning at me. “You ready for your personalized tour of the wonder that is New Amsterdam University?” He held out his arm to me.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” I replied, taking that arm and passing through the gates.

*  *  *

The campus, like the website pictures, was amazing. The buildings, cool in that crumbly castle kind of way. But the tour was . . . weird.

“There anything in particular you'd like to know?” Milo asked once we were properly on campus grounds.

“Um, I don't know,” I said. “What happens on normal college tours?”

He cocked his head. “Mostly history stuff. Like that building was the first one built, in, uh, 1835.” Milo pointed to a chapel-looking thing in the center of the quad. “This school was founded as a Jesuit college for training priests.”

“Really?” I said, looking closer as we approached the building. “Because the seal says ‘EST. 1904?' ”

He leaned in and examined it. “Huh. It does.”

“And on the website it said it was always coed. Nothing about priests.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, that's when the
university
was founded. They had to reestablish it when they changed it over from a Jesuit college to a university. The website's just an abridged version, y'know. What d'you say we go check out the psych building?”

“Okay,” I said, and made the sharp left turn to follow him to the other side of the quad.

“Can I see that map I gave you real quick?” he asked, and I
handed it to him. “I've never been to the psych department, just wanna . . . right, this one.”

We came to a building, and he took out his student ID to swipe it to open the doors.

“I think this is the art building,” I said, pointing to the stone above us, which was etched with the words
COLLEGE OF FINE ARTS
.

He glanced up. Then back down at the map. “Right. Well, we're cutting through is all. Psych building's on the other side, I guess.”

“You guess?” I asked.

“We gotta get to the other side to find out.” He smiled and swiped his ID.

And swiped it again.

“Let me try—I have a good door karma,” I said, snatching the ID out of his hand and gliding it through the electronic thingy next to the door. Once, twice, three times. “Huh, it doesn't want to—”

I glanced down at the ID.

“This . . . isn't you,” I said, eyeing him a little suspiciously. “It's Kat.”

His lips tightened into a thin line. “Yeah, I lost mine, and Kat gave me hers for the day, so . . .”

“What is this?” I asked, taking a step away. My mind jumped into high alert because first, I was in the Bronx, which is filled with perps, and B, oh yeah, I only met Milo
yesterday
. Or a couple of days ago really, but still. “You don't know anything about the campus, and how does an architecture student not know where the art building is, and is this water poisoned?” I held up my bottled water, waving it so a little sloshed out.

“Okay, okay, you caught me.” He held up his hands, a gesture of surrender. “But the water's not poisoned. I promise, see?” He took the bottle from me and took a swig. Okay. If the choice is poison or backwash, I'm fine with backwash.

He shoved his hands in his back pockets and sighed. “I don't . . .
technically
 . . . go here.”

“Why would you tell me that you do?”

“I thought I'd visited enough times to know my way around, and you kinda just assumed I did when we were talking last night, and—” He paused, reassessing. “Would you believe I just wanted you to like me?”