Shades of Darkness (18 page)

Kids were already crammed inside, the cabin door open and spilling light and warmth out into the snow. The orange light was a shifting triangle on the sidewalk, windows showing dozens of heads all circled around a semi-stage in the corner. And here, we were five minutes early.

Ethan and I crowded in behind some junior dancers—an easy tell, seeing as they all had annoyingly perfect posture—and waited for the show. Elisa was at rehearsal and Oliver was studying, so it was just the two of us. The two of us, until I spotted Chris's fedora over in the corner. He looked over the moment I spotted him. When he waved, I knew the duo was about to become a trio.

I hadn't seen nor spoken to Chris outside of class since telling Ethan about Brad. My gut turned when Chris began pushing through the crowd toward us. Telling Ethan had made me feel a small amount better, but the past was still way too close to the surface for comfort. Walking down that memory lane had pretty much ensured my walls were back at full height.

“How's it going?” Chris asked when he neared us. The dancers did
not
look too pleased when he brushed past them. Though they definitely did an appraising over-the-shoulder glance when he went by.

“Fine,” Ethan and I replied in unison.

“Whoa, that was creepy. How much time have you been spending together?”

“Too much,” Ethan said. “Thesis work.”

“I hear you,” he replied. But he didn't get a chance to empathize further; at that moment, the lights dimmed and the crowd hushed and Jonathan took to the stage.

The first time Jonathan hosted Coffee House, I thought it was strange it hadn't been done by a theatre faculty member. Then he started talking, and I realized that his minor in theatre (so he could retell stories more effectively) hadn't gone to waste. Tonight, he'd changed from his usual tweed blazer into a sleek ensemble of black slacks and a royal blue button-down. The sleeves were rolled up, showing even more of his tattoos than usual. I wondered if one of his goals in undergrad was to become a hot professor—he'd certainly cultivated the look.

“Evening friends,” he said when the room went quiet. “Thanks for braving the weather for this month's Coffee House. We've got a full lineup tonight that I think you're going to love. As a quick reminder—no negative shout-outs, please. Keep it classy.” He winked. “Without further ado, we have Kevin and Lisa.”

A boy and girl went up, both of them freshmen I'd only seen at meal times. I think they were both in the theatre program, though the boy was playing guitar and the girl sang this beautiful cover of a pop song I knew I'd have stuck in my head for the next week now. Throughout it all, I was keenly aware of Chris bobbing side to side, his arm occasionally brushing mine. I knew it was just the heat and the closeness of the room, but it felt like my skin was on fire every time he touched me. Oddly enough, these brushes weren't as unwelcome as I'd expected. It was easy to remember the gravity between us in the teahouse. Just as it was easy to remember the gravity Brad had exerted at the very beginning.

About halfway through, after a surprisingly funny bit of stand-up comedy from a sophomore dance major, Jonathan stepped back onto the stage and announced Chris's name. I thought it must have been a mistake, or maybe a different Chris, but sure enough, the Chris standing beside me pushed his way through the crowd toward the podium.

“Hey everyone,” Chris said. He didn't sound uncomfortable like I expected him to—like I would have if I were in his shoes. Instead, he smiled and held his shoulders back and stood up straight, owning every inch of the dim spotlight. “I'm going to sing a song I wrote. I'm afraid I don't play guitar so it's gotta be a capella. Hopefully, you can fill in the blanks.”

And he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, nodded his head to some inner rhythm, and began to sing.

I expected it to be awkward. The preliminary
embarrassed for you
chills crept across my arms. But the kid was good. Really good. He sang about snow and home and the girl he never knew. At first, I thought it was about me. Then, with a flush of misplaced vanity, I realized it was actually about Mandy.

When he was done, I wasn't the only one with tears in my eyes. I glanced over to Ethan just in time to see him wipe his face with one mittened hand. He sniffed and caught my gaze, his eyebrows going wide in a
holy shit that guy can sing
expression.

Right?
I mouthed through the applause. No time to get into it, though, as Chris was back the next moment with a sheepish grin on his face. The dancer girls in front of us all did the second-look appraisal this time. If he didn't walk out of here with at least one offer of a date, I'd be surprised.

“What'd you think?” he asked as he sidled up beside me. And yeah, it was kind of nice seeing those curious looks on the dancers turn to disappointment when they saw him lean in to talk to me.

“It was beautiful,” I said. “I didn't know you were into music.”

He shrugged. Onstage, Jonathan was announcing the next act. When Chris spoke again, he leaned in closer so his lips were inches from my ear.

“I was in a band back home,” he said. “I mean, before here. Kinda gave it up to come here.”

“You should get back into it,” I said. “That was amazing.”

He smiled and reached over, like he was about to hug me. Instead, he just squeezed my shoulder and turned to face the next act.

Our knuckles touched; electricity sparked through my veins.

My hand jerked away.

“You okay?” he asked, looking at me, confused. I suppose to him it felt like I was swatting his hand.

“Sorry,” I said. It wasn't an answer.

Because the moment our hands touched, I saw Brad's smile. And in the darkness of Brad's eyes, I saw the raven, bleeding.

“Kaira, wake up.” Something fluffy smacked into my face.

“Bitch,” I mumbled. I rolled over and grabbed the toast plushie, nestling it to my chest. “Mine now.”

She giggled. “Come on, it's almost nine. You don't want to miss brunch.”

My eyes shot open. Whatever dreams were drifting around the edges of my mind vanished in the promise of ice cream and all the glorious toppings provided. Definitely a reason to wake up.

“Is it waffle or omelet day?” I asked.

“Waffle.”

“Score.”

Yes, I'm ruled by my stomach. Aren't all sensible people?

I hopped out of bed and slid a pair of baggy, torn jeans over my pajama pants (because it's Michigan, and one must layer to stay alive) and a sweater over my top. Brunch was the only time I felt okay dressing like I had a house I shouldn't be leaving. I pulled my hair into a short ponytail and grabbed a hat Elisa had knit for me a few months back, just in time for the first snow. It was magenta and matched the streaks in my hair perfectly.

“Ready,” I said, probably all of three minutes later.

“Damn girl,” Elisa replied. She was still at her computer. “That was easily your fastest yet.”

“Stress makes me hungry,” I replied. I glanced out the window. Two crows perched in the branches of a fir tree, and suddenly memories of last night refocused. Touching Chris's skin, the flash of a vision . . . I turned from the window and tried to convince myself it had just been stress. That the crows weren't warning me away from Chris.
Then what are they warning you away from?

“Everything makes you hungry,” she said.

“It's like you know me or something.”

She grinned and shook her head, then stood and pulled on her coat. She was already in boots. I wondered if she woke up at her usual weekend-sleep-in seven a.m.

“So,” she said as we wandered down to the lobby.

“So?” I knew that tone of voice. There was mischief in her eyes.

“I hear you and Chris were getting close last night.”

I nearly tumbled headfirst down the steps.

“What? We were just standing next to each other.”

“Yeah? Cassie said her friends said you guys were making out after Coffee House.”

I snorted. Of course—the dance community was even tighter than the drama department and a whole hell of a lot cattier. None of the girls in front of us had been Cassie, but I'm sure everyone in ballet had heard some iteration of the rumor by now.

“Right. Because that's so me.” I shook my head. “At least now people might stop thinking I'm a lesbian.”

She took my hand as we stepped out into the still, cold air. It was like walking into a freeze-frame of Antarctica. Pun only moderately intended.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Even the people who think you're gay know you're off limits. Because you're mine!” She growled the last bit and wrapped me in an awkward hug that nearly sent both of us to the snowbank.

“Careful, crazy!” I squealed. But we caught our balance last minute. Overhead, a murder of crows flew past, cawing. I definitely had no place calling her crazy. She wasn't stressing over the appearance of common birds.

She just giggled and took my arm again and dragged me toward the cafeteria.

“When do you put up your show?” she asked.

Long ago, she learned that saying “thesis” was a no-no. Unlike Oliver.

“After brunch,” I said. I already had all the mounting materials (Ethan had nearly pissed himself when I asked him to drive me to town to get stuff for mounting) and my space was assigned (front hall, right where all of Mandy's stuff was). I wasn't about to say my project was done, or even ready to admit that I was going to display it today. It felt too momentous. I wanted to tell myself it was because I was excited, that I wanted the school to see what I'd been doing with my time, that I was proud or whatever. It didn't feel like that at all, though.

It felt like admitting defeat.

My time here was almost done. Islington was nearly over. The end was here, and it was eager to rip everything I'd worked so hard for away.

Elisa went silent for a moment.

“Who took her stuff down?” she asked. She didn't need to clarify.

“I don't know. Probably someone from the ceramics department. I heard them talking about displaying a few of them in the president's gallery.” Which was the permanent art gallery here. Very few students had their work selected to be put in the president's office. It was a huge honor.

“I still can't believe . . .” she trailed off. She didn't need to finish the sentence; we were all thinking it.

It was still impossible to think that Mandy was gone, and not just on some visit home. But life shambled onward.

We didn't talk the rest of the way to the dining hall. Thankfully, once we were inside and the sugary scent of ice cream and maple syrup and warmth surrounded us, the mood lightened considerably. The actual lighting helped a great deal as well, seeing as it was still dark as dusk outside.

We didn't even bother to find a table—Ethan and Oliver would no doubt already have a space reserved for us. Mondays were sort of our family meal. I grabbed a plate and made my way to the waffle bar. Today was definitely a strawberry-chocolate-maple-whipped-cream sort of day. Also coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Probably mixed with ice cream.

It was thesis day; I'd need all the energy I could get to make it through.

When I made my way back to the usual table in the corner, my tray carefully loaded with carbs and sugar and caffeine, I realized the family brunch had expanded. Jane was also sitting at the table. As was Chris. There was a space right between him and Ethan, and I could tell from Ethan's grin that it had been carefully orchestrated just for me.

A small part of me wanted to spite them and sit on the opposite side.

Screw it. I wasn't going to play that game. I sat between the boys and started pouring sugar packets into my coffee.

“Damn girl,” Chris said. “You could run a small country with all that sugar.”

I looked to his much more sensible scrambled eggs and fruit salad.