Chapter 31
Dafne
I didn’t think Theodore and I would be sharing bunk beds literally two days after getting together, but I gingerly take the keys Ms. Patterson is handing out with a pleased smile on her face and walk at a brisk pace towards the keep where we’re spending the weekend. I step down the corridor, counting through the room numbers, and I find my– not just yours , my brain reminds me–door. The dark mahogany is covered in scratches, looking straight out of a horror film. I notice the small nameplate at eye-level next to the door frame, which lets me know this is The Lovers’ Room . The bloody lovers’ room. I fail to stifle a snort just in time for Theodore to hear as he catches up with me.
“Hey,” he starts, “what are you star–oh.”
“Not a word,” I laugh, the door all but opening wide and creaking loudly when I twist the key into the lock and push it open, which makes me wonder if we’re actually here to enjoy ourselves before opening night or if it’s a survival trial and only one is meant to make it out alive.
The room isn’t exactly small, but not spacious either; I don’t have time to pay much attention to the dusty pieces of furniture or the one-too-many paintings adorning the walls, because my vision zeroes on the bed. The one, queen size bed, mocking me from its placement under the one window in the dead centre of the room.
“This is great,” I say sarcastically.
“I don’t snore, you know.”
“I don’t care what sounds you make at night,” I blurt out before I can think twice, and Theodore shoots me an amused look. Okay, that came out wrong.
“That’s … good to know?” he adds, carefully bemused, and I notice the feeling of wanting to slap the smile off his face I used to get is truly dead and buried.
“If you’re thinking about asking Ms. Patterson to change rooms, save your breath. David already tried and she said something about room swaps being strictly forbidden in order to protect the balance of the group – whatever that means,” he tells me, walking around the room and swiping a finger on the top of the only wardrobe, which comes out covered in chalky dust. I walk towards the left side of the bed and place my travel bag on the embroidered duvet cover.
“I don’t want to change rooms,” I say distractedly, and although my attention is on the bag I’m zipping open, I can tell he’s looking at me. I’m thinking about how flattering that is, but then he asks, “What are you doing?” as he still holds his bag by the handles.
“What do you mean?”
“What are you doing there ? That’s my side of the bed.”
My hands still on my bag’s zipper. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can’t sleep on the right side.”
“Ah, but that sounds like it’s your problem, though,” I raise one shoulder in mock helplessness.
“Hhmm, let’s see if I can change your mind about that.” He rushes around the bed and towards me and I roll over to the opposite side just in time for him to miss me, a shriek escaping my lips.
“Nice try Price,” I say, a little out of breath. “You’ve got to catch me first!” I yell as I run outside, giggling like a child.
Theodore
“I hope everyone has settled in nicely in your respective cocoons,” Ms. Patterson says, delighted as ever.
“ Cocoons ?” Oliver mouths, and I chuckle.
“We’ll have our first activity after lunch–yes, I know you’re tired and you’d rather gossip in your bedrooms, but it is scientifically proven that engaging in group ac-tivities on a full stomach is far more beneficial for all parties involved.”
“Someone needs to take the internet away from her,” I hear Devon mutter from Oliver’s other side, and Mr. Hackle must hear him because he gives him a light clip around the ear. Lunch consists of a roast and seasoned potatoes, as apparently the one person living in the keep besides our group is a cook, who looks positively thrilled about having company. He keeps asking us if we’re enjoying the food, if our rooms are nice, if we are excited to be here.
“Do you happen to know why Dafne’s been running away from me? Literally. Anytime I go hear her she makes up an excuse and flees,” I ask Oliver, who’s not-so-subtly throwing glances at her a few seats from us on the other side of the table.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” he says before gulping down a forkful of potatoes.
“You honestly expect me to believe that?” I whisper.
“Look, Price, I don’t know, and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. It’s best friend code,” he says, a hand hovering in front of his mouth.
“Best frien–alright, you know what, it’s fine.” I just hope it’s nothing serious.
“On another note,” Oliver adds as Devon gets up to refill the pitcher, “when are you two going to sort your shite out? I’m already tired of playing buffer.”
“He told you?” I ask, any appetite I might have had instantly dissipating. If he told Oliver, then Oliver told Dafne, and she knows about the bet before I’ve had the chance to talk to her and–
“Yeah, he told me you had a stupid fight. Surely it’s nothing you can’t get over a mere week before leaving APDAS for good, is it?”
Oh.
I feel like he’s scolding me, and it should bother me,
but it really doesn’t. I know he’s right and I should talk to Devon and fix this mess. And then talk to Dafne once for all, so maybe, just maybe … we can move on. Start over.
The afternoon passes by between interpretative dance exercises and group meditations, which probably sounds odd, but is actually quite cathartic. Dafne is still avoiding me, and trying really hard not to make it look like she is, which naturally has the opposite effect.
A half-hour after dinner, which I spend sitting on a log around a small fire Mr. Hackle managed to light up after several unsuccessful attempts, Ms. Patterson claps her hands and gathers us around her.
“For tonight, we’ll go with something simple. I want you to pair up with the person to your right and look at them in the eyes for a while. Mr. Hackle and I will be timing you, but you don’t need to concern yourself with that. I want you to try to communicate whatever you’re feeling to the person in front of you without using any words. You’ll then switch partners and repeat. All clear? Good!” she says giddily, and even if someone hadn’t understood, the directions they wouldn’t have been given the time to say so.
Margaret is my designated partner for this exercise, and we sit close to the fire one in front of the other, both of us crossing our legs. We’ve done this before in class, of course, but never in the open, with only the sound of the fire crackling and the gentle breeze making our hair sway.
I’m not sure Margaret needs to know what I’m feeling–and I’m aware that defeats the exercise’s goal–so I focus on trying to understand her instead.
I find that it’s near impossible to think about anything that isn’t Dafne. The way her eyes light up when she talks about the play. The softness of her skin. How she twists her favorite ring around her finger when she’s lost in thought.
My thoughts are abruptly interrupted when Mr. Hackle claps once, and we know it’s time to switch partners. I’m about to pair up with David, because even though I’m itching to know what could be so bad that she feels like she can’t just talk to me after everything we’ve shared, I don’t want to oppress her. Isabel gets to him before I can, so I turn around to find that the only person left is Dafne. She gives me a soft smile and gestures for me to go to her. We sit as before, and unsurprisingly, she looks at me straight in the eyes and doesn’t falter for a second. She doesn’t even blink.
For the time we spend sitting in front of each other, my mind blanks. Her mere presence is so soothing now, it takes everything I have not to slap myself for everything we’ve said to each other in the past. Her gaze is so in-tense that I think she might be having the exact same thoughts. Ms. Patterson claps again, and Dafne brushes her knuckles against the back of my hand before we part ways to switch partners again.