Dead Beautiful (18 page)

The ocean. I felt its sticky air clinging to my skin. I smelled the rain as it pounded against the asphalt and evaporated into steam. I heard the seagulls crying as they circled above the marina, the tide lapping to shore, and then a splash.

The image of a person thrashing in the ocean appeared in my mind. He was in the deeper side of the marina, past where the boats were docked. He was being pulled under by something, and was reaching out into the air, grabbing at nothing while the waves pushed him under. I thought it was my dad, but I couldn’t understand why he was drowning and where my mother was. But just as quickly as the image had entered my head, it vanished.

My mind was racing.
Where are you?

All of sudden an image flashed through my mind. It was of an ancient tree with long sweeping branches. It seemed familiar. I focused on the image, trying to place where I had seen it. Somewhere in California, maybe, in the redwood forest, or at a friend’s house. For the first time in months I thought about places that I had taught myself to forget, but none of them matched the tree in the image.

Finally, Eleanor stopped talking.

At the same time, my mouth slowed until the sounds stopped. I regained control over my hands and pried them free from Genevieve’s ear. I tried to move my tongue, and to my relief I could move that too. Once separated, the other girls seemed to be experiencing the same disbelief I was. For a moment none of us moved as we pondered what had just happened.

Slowly, everyone began talking.

Bonnie heard from her grandmother, who had died four years ago. Charlotte had spoken to Kurt Cobain, and looked like she was about to faint from the shock of it. Greta was visited by her old tennis coach, and Maggie by Audrey Hepburn. I wanted to ask them questions, but I was still in shock over the fact that I had actually conjured my father from the dead. A few of them asked about my encounter, but I barely answered. I was still trying to figure out what had happened and what it meant—the marina, the drowning, the tree.

Lost in my thoughts, I gazed out the window. It looked out on the lake, which was surrounded by giant oak and spruce trees. And then it clicked. Amazed at how obvious it was, I stood up.

Eleanor approached me just as I was about to leave, and pulled me aside. “We have to talk,” she said in a tone that was so serious I couldn’t believe it was Eleanor.

I pushed my hair out of my face. “Can it wait till later?”

“Not really,” she said, studying me. “What’s wrong?”

“How can I get outside?” I asked, my knees brushing against each other as I shifted my weight and scoped out the room.

She gave me a strange look. “You climb down the chimney to the basement,” she said slowly. “Why?”

“It...it worked. It actually worked. I talked to my father. And I...well, I just have to go. I’ll explain it all later.”

“Do you know how to get back? Want me to go with you?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. I’ll meet you back in the room. Okay?” I bit my lip.

“Sure,” she said, though I knew she was skeptical. “If you walk past the furnace, there’s a fire escape. It leads to the back of the dorm. The alarm won’t sound; it stopped working years ago.”

I smiled in gratitude. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

I nodded and grabbed my things. “I’ll see you later.”

I shimmied down the chimney chute until I got to the basement. Squeezing my way through the fireplace, I lowered my feet to the ground. Steam hissed from the pipes lining the ceiling, filling the room with the soggy smell of laundry and mildew. I hid behind a large beam and surveyed the room to make sure Mrs. Lynch wasn’t lurking in the hall. To my left was the furnace room, to my right the laundry machines. In front of me was a long cement corridor. Everything seemed to be made of corrugated metal. There were rusty pipes everywhere, leaking a viscous liquid that left yellow stains on the floor. Otherwise the room was empty. I counted to three and ran down the hall, dodging the drips until I spotted an eroded metal staircase that led to a fire escape.

In the cold night air, my body tightened. Goose bumps prickled across my skin, and I remembered that I was barely wearing any clothes. Immediately, I felt self-conscious, even though I knew no one was there to see me. Stupid Renée. Now I might freeze to death before I even made it to the green, and if Eleanor ever conjured me up in a séance, all she would see was me tiptoeing around campus like an idiot in my shorts.

But what else could I do? If my father was out there, I had to find him. I walked across campus, past the lake and through the trees, until I was standing in eyesight of the great oak. Its gnarled trunk looked thicker without its normal shroud of leaves, and its bare branches extended over the lawn like a system of roots. It was the exact same tree as the one that had flashed through my mind during the séance.

And then in the distance, two figures materialized out of the darkness by the Ursa Major statue. I squinted. It looked like a man and woman. It had to be my parents. Without thinking, I ran toward them. They seemed to be heading in the direction of the girls’ dorm. Maybe they were coming to meet me. A gust of wind carried the sound of the voices across the path, and I wrapped my arms around myself in the cold.

“Mom?” I called out as I approached. “Dad?”

At the sound of my voice they froze, then spun around. I realized, to my horror, that they weren’t my parents at all. Instead, I was face-to-face with Gideon and Vivian. “I ... I’m sorry,” I said, and backed away. “I thought you were someone else.”

Vivian looked wildly around her, as if caught in the midst of a crime. When she was sure I was alone, she whispered something to Gideon, and they both looked at me. Why were they out here at night in their antique suits, and what were they talking about, and why did they always look so angry?

It’s okay, I told myself. They’re just students. What could they do to me?

Gideon said something to Vivian in Latin, and she nodded and approached me. The sky rumbled with thunder, and I began to back away from them, when I felt someone directly behind me. A hand clamped over my wrist and pulled me aside. I recognized his touch immediately.

“Dante.” My voice was barely audible in the night wind.

“Stay behind me,” he said, stepping in front of me, his voice low and authoritative.

“Friends,” he said, looking between Gideon and Vivian, “what are you doing out past curfew on a night like tonight?”

Vivian narrowed her eyes. “I could ask you the same.” It was the first time I had heard her speak English; it sounded clumsy and unpleasant.

Gideon came up behind her, his hand on the small of her back, and said something to Dante in Latin. Dante paused and then responded.

What had he said? Even though my eyes were trained on Gideon and Vivian, the only person I was aware of was Dante. He loomed in front of me, gripping my wrist as he spoke, my arm tingling as it grew cold, now a familiar sensation, and one that I was slowly growing fond of. It was uncomfortable, unexplainable, unsettling. The woodsy smell of his body tickled my nose, his shirt brushing against my back with every breath that he took. I shifted my weight until our legs were almost touching.

Suddenly he turned to me. “Let’s go,” he said, giving a sidelong glance to his old friends, who were walking away.

“What did you say to them?” I asked as we headed toward the girls’ dorm.

“Nothing. Just that you were here to meet me.”

But I wasn’t. “Why are
you
here?”

But Dante’s eyes were focused on something in the distance. “Someone’s coming.”

The front door to the girls’ dorm opened, and Mrs. Lynch stepped outside. She must have heard us talking, because she peered into the darkness.

We backed away to the safety of the trees, but a burst of lightning illuminated the campus. In a flash, Mrs. Lynch’s eyes met mine in a furious, gleaming glare.

“She saw me,” I whispered.

Thunder shook the ground below us, the sky cracked open, and it began to rain.

“Come on,” Dante said. I trembled as he took my hand, my fingers chilling as they curled around his.

We ran across the green, the rain pouring down on us as we splashed through mud and puddles until we reached Horace Hall. The double doors were locked, and as Dante bent over them, I squinted into the rain, waiting for Mrs. Lynch’s stocky figure to appear. “She’s probably on her way. What do we do?” I said, water dripping down my nose. But just as I finished speaking, the doors clicked and Dante pushed them open.

“After you,” he said, and we slipped inside, the doors locking behind us.

Horace Hall was different at night. Without students, it was so quiet I could hear the water dripping from my hair as Dante led me upstairs and into the darkened classroom where I normally had Latin.

“What just happened?” I asked, my lips quivering. “And why were you out there tonight?”

“I was following them.”

Dante glanced out the window to make sure Mrs. Lynch wasn’t coming, then turned to me. I must have looked surprised at finally getting a real answer from him, because he smiled.

“I figured you wouldn’t stop asking until I told you, so there it is. I was following them. And you,” he said. “Once I realized you were there.”

“Why?”

“I think they’re up to something. And no, I don’t know what. I’m just getting used to your questioning routine, so please take it easy on me.”

He was still wearing his clothes from school, his blue oxford shirt now soaked through and matted against his chest. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking the water from it.

His eyes traveled across my body, and a slow smile spread across his face, reminding me that I was in my pajamas. I pulled at my T-shirt, which was now transparent and clinging to my body.

“What?” I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

He let out a laugh. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “You seem to be out of dress code.”

“I didn’t realize we were going to class.”

“Well, as your teacher, I should make you write lines.”

I gave him a challenging look. “What do you want me to write?”

He took a step toward me. “
Cupido,
” he uttered. His voice was full and rich, as if he weren’t uttering just a word, but a command.

I picked up a piece of chalk. “How do you spell it?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Dante wrapped his fingers around mine, guiding my hand. A prickling sensation climbed up my arm, and I shivered. “What does it mean?”

When he spoke, he was right behind me.

“The thing about Latin is that you can say so much more than in any other language. The words, the tenses. They’re different, they evolve—it makes it easier to explain what you’re thinking. Do you ever feel like you want to say something, but you don’t know how to say it?”

I nodded. Mostly when I was with him.

“Can I try something?” he whispered.

He turned me toward him, brushing his hand across my cheek, and played with the loose wisps of hair around my neck. His fingers tickled my skin, and suddenly I lost all of my words. I swallowed and nodded.

My heart began to beat faster, and everything inside of me began to tremble like the leaves of a tree rustled by an autumn breeze.

My legs moved without me, and I stepped closer to him until our legs were tangled. He grazed his fingers down my thigh, and with a sudden, almost uncontrollable force, pressed me against the blackboard, the slate cool against my skin. Lacing his fingers through mine, he pulled me toward him until our lips were barely touching. His eyes were ravenous as they crawled over me; something about him felt raw and dangerous; even if I’d wanted to push him away, I knew I couldn’t. I closed my eyes, waiting for the kiss, but it never came. His grip softened, and he ran his hand gently through my hair as he kissed my neck, my shoulders, my arms. I closed my eyes, my breath growing shallow as I felt his mouth against my skin, his hand on the small of my back, sending shivers up my spine.

“Renée,” he sounded out, as if he were learning my name for the first time.

I wanted to say something back, but I didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling. I thought I knew what it meant to kiss, to touch, to embrace, but this was something that I’d never felt before.

I closed my eyes and raised my hand to his face, passing it over his nose, his eyes, his lips, memorizing the way they felt. He pulled me toward him, and without thinking, I leaned into his kiss.

But just before our lips met, he turned his head. “Not on the lips.”

Suddenly, everything inside me began to deflate. “What?”

“Do you feel different when you’re around me?” he asked.

I nodded.

“How?”

“My skin tingles and everything goes numb, like my body is starting to freeze. Do you feel it too?”

He took my hand and traced it down his arm. He closed his eyes. “Desire,” he breathed. “That’s what it means. And yes, I feel it too.”

I leaned against the blackboard, my chest warm and flushed. “Why...why won’t you kiss me?”

He let his hand slide down my leg, and I felt my insides melt. “I want to. I’ve always wanted to. But please, just trust me.”

“Why do I feel so strange whenever I’m near you?”

He leaned his forehead against mine, his hair brushing against my cheeks. “I don’t know.”

Outside, the rain had let up. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

Our fingerprints and chalky silhouettes were imprinted on the blackboard, smudging the Latin scrawled across it. Dante slipped his hand into mine, and together we escaped from the building, into the night. We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. We both knew that some things couldn’t be translated into words.

“Where were you?” Eleanor asked. She’d been pacing around the room when I climbed in through the chimney. “You’re soaking wet!”

“I was outside. And then in Horace.”

“Horace Hall? What were you doing there? And why did you run off like that?”

While wiping my face with a towel, I told her about my father, about Vivian and Gideon, about Dante and their conversation in Latin, about Mrs. Lynch, and finally about our time in the classroom.