Chapter 6 Chanel #2
“Don’t worry, guys. I’m fine,” I say in my softest voice, forcing myself to stare straight up at the fluorescent lights without blinking until tears form at the back of my eyes.
Learning how to fake cry has been one of the most critical skills I’ve picked up over the years, perfect for occasions like these.
The only time people are allowed to pity me is when I’m deliberately inviting their pity. When their pity is useful to me.
Ares steps forward through the crowd, his jaw tight. He stares down at me for a beat, looking torn between genuine concern
and suspicion. “How bad is it?” The second he speaks, all the other voices drop away, everyone stopping to watch the exchange
between us.
“Not that bad,” I whisper. “I probably just need some ice from the nurse’s office. I’ll go there now—” I make a visible show
of attempting to stand up, my face strained, my knees wobbling underneath me.
“Ares, can you please go with her?” the teacher asks.
He doesn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic about this idea as most guys would. But he nods, and gestures for me to get on his
back.
“I . . . don’t think I can climb on like this,” I murmur, glancing helplessly at my ankle.
He pauses. Appears to make up his mind about something. Then, without another word, he bends down toward me, sliding one hand
under my waist, the other just beneath my knees, and lifts me up to his chest in a single movement until he’s carrying me,
bridal style, in the center of the basketball court.
The gasp that leaves my lips is exaggerated, but not entirely fake. His hands are hot and firm around my legs, and with my
ear pressed against the thin cotton fabric of his shirt, I can hear his heart, its strong, insistent thudding, just a few
beats too fast.
“This okay?” he asks, his voice reverberating into me. It sounds deeper from this position, raspier.
I shift a little, grabbing his neck to balance myself. “Yeah. It’s okay,” I say distractedly. This close, I can see just how
fresh the bruise on his cheek is, the color still a bright reddish-pink. Had someone punched him? But who would have the nerve
to?
I try to picture all the possibilities as he carries me across campus. I expect him to tire or at least slow down halfway,
but his grip around me remains as steady as ever, all the way past the koi ponds and pagodas, across the running track and
around the auditorium.
“So is there a reason you’re suddenly everywhere I look?” Ares asks.
I glance up at his face, but he’s staring straight ahead, his features giving nothing away. “Are you admitting that you’ve
been paying attention to me?”
“Hard not to, when you keep popping up,” he says. “What are you trying to do?”
My pulse skips. Is he on to me already? Does he suspect my plans? But I reply smoothly, “Nothing. I just think maybe we got
off on the wrong foot, and I really feel like witnessing a freak supernatural event together was a great bonding experience—”
“I don’t bond with people,” he says flatly.
“Is that, like, your attachment style? Avoidant attachment?”
“No.”
“Okay, right. Sure. Then what would you say your attachment style is—”
“Have you remembered any more details?” he cuts in.
“Details? About what?”
“The vision,” he says, his voice strained.
I’d been prepared for this line of interrogation, and I’ve decided that the less Ares knows about what I know, the better.
“Not really, I’m afraid. The fire was the only thing I saw. Just the fire and, like, a lot of smoke.”
His eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”
“Why would I lie?” I ask innocently.
“Yes, exactly,” he says under his breath, but his tone is accusatory, his fingers tightening around me. “Why would you?”
We’ve reached the next building, where rose petals and heart-shaped confetti still linger from the promposal at lunch—the
third one so far today—and I sense an opening. The moment I’ve been working toward. We’re alone together, I’m in a seemingly
vulnerable position, and his arms are literally around me. Now’s the perfect time to start slipping in hints about prom. “Did
you watch the promposal?” I ask casually, nodding toward the petals scattered over the ground. “Wasn’t it so cute?”
“Don’t know,” he says, looking about as interested in the subject as I do during my math lectures. “I wasn’t there.”
“Really? What about the promposal yesterday? The one with all the doves?” I continue with vigorous determination. Come on, I want to hiss at him. Take the bait. Talk to me. “I think my favorite was—”
“We’re here,” he says, coming to an abrupt stop outside the office door and setting me down just as fast. “I’ll wait outside
for you.”
I snap my mouth shut, grinding the back of my teeth together. Fine. Another time then.
I limp all the way inside by myself, dropping the act only once the door swings shut behind me. Then I straighten and smile
at the nurse, who I’m pretty sure has been working at Airington for as long as I’ve been here but somehow hasn’t aged a year.
I’ve been meaning to ask her about her skincare routine.
“Chanel! What’s wrong?” She gestures for me to sit down on the ugly green couch, which is definitely older than both of us.
“Have you been feeling lightheaded again?”
“Yeah, just a little,” I say, embarrassed that she still remembers the last time I was here. I’d been fasting for two days
straight under my mom’s advice, and I’d thought I was fine until I stood up too fast after history class and the room suddenly
swayed around me. I hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone, so I’d walked alone to the nurse’s office, white sparks dancing in my vision.
She’d given me a large glass of sugar water and urged me to eat three full meals a day.
“You should really take better care of your body,” the nurse says, shooting me a concerned look.
I nod along. I do feel lightheaded and nauseous, but for once, it’s not because I’m starving myself. It’s because of the boy waiting outside.
Just thinking about him—how close he’d been, those unfeeling black eyes—makes me dizzy, makes my heartbeat pick up with sickening
speed. It’s like he’s put some kind of curse on me.
I take my time sipping my sugar water, trying to figure out how I can better integrate him into my prom plans.
And then I think of it.
“What did the nurse recommend?” Ares asks when I find him out in the corridor.
I’m surprised he hadn’t simply walked off while I was inside. Maybe he’s not as much of a lost cause as I thought. “I’ll survive,
I guess, but she warned me not to carry anything heavy by myself. It’s bad to put too much weight on my leg,” I tell him,
then sigh. “But like, I really need to go prom dress shopping tomorrow. Basically all my friends already have their dresses picked out.” I sigh again. “What
am I supposed to do? I won’t be able to carry any of my shopping bags.”
Ares raises his brows. “You’re not expecting me to, are you?”
I take his rhetorical question and run with it. “Wait, that’s so nice of you to offer—”
“I wasn’t offering—”
“It would be incredibly helpful, and like, it’d definitely make up for the fact that you tripped me,” I press.
He’s silent. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but after a beat, he folds his arms across his chest. “What time?”