Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
SUMMER
I t’s Friday, the last lecture of the week. The last two days have been quiet, with no texts from SF, and I’m still not able to bring myself to write my first weekly reflection, even though it’s due at midnight.
Lincoln is absent today—perhaps he doesn’t need to attend every lecture. I don’t want to question or think about it meaning anything. I can’t assume there is anything unusual about it.
Grant sits next to me again, and Dr. Garcia starts her lecture. All chatter in the room ceases, and I keep waiting for my phone to do something, like buzz. For SF to say something, even though we haven’t communicated since Wednesday. His haunting aura is suffocating me, his presence heavy in the room.
Silence. No text, no message. Nothing to indicate he even exists or cares. I’ve been pretending to flirt with Grant for the last hour as we whisper into each other’s ears and I give him all the wrong signals.
I sit up straight, sensing his eyes on me—the eyes behind that cloth mask.He is here, somewhere, I think. His essence is washing over me.
“Congratulations on completing your first week,” Dr. Garcia says at the end of the hour. “Before I let you leave, I want you to look around. At these walls, the seats you’re in, everything around you, including your peers.” I swallow hard and drift my gaze across the room and everyone else does the same. “Now, I want you to look at the person directly beside you.”
My eyes shift to Grant, who has finally decided to drift his attention to my face.
“Now I want you to imagine this person is on the brink of death. In fact, every single one of you is about to die. I want you to imagine this hall is burning behind me. The fire is shooting from the stage across the room.”
It’s scary how fast I imagine Grant’s face beaten and bloody, his wandering eyes carved out. I blink a couple of times as the image crystalizes.
“What the fuck?” Dani whispers. “This lecture just got weird.”
I turn to face Dr. Garcia and try to get that image out of my mind.
“That very thing happened to 150 people in this room,” Dr. Garcia continues. “Smith Hall burned down in 1976. The fire started up here on this stage, right behind where I’m standing now. The room went from calm to chaos in seconds.”
“I heard about this,” Dani whispers. “The Order used to do really messed up stuff, like starting fires in public places.”
“What makes you say that?” someone asks.
Dr. Garcia grins, the white streak in her hair shimmering under the light. “Because, child, I was here when it happened. I was one of the 150 people in that room and almost lost my life that day.” She shuffles papers in front of her eyes, flashing to that dark place. “Our in-depth study of human emotions starts next week. Fear is the emotion I talk about the most, but consider all the human emotions and which ones might be triggered right before you die.”
“It was the Order who burnt this building down, wasn’t it?” someone asks.
Dr. Garcia merely nods, a contemplative look in her eye, as if remembering every sordid detail. Dr. Garcia went here, so she must have known my grandparents growing up. She taught my father, but I hadn’t realized how deep her roots were.
I fight back a swell of emotion and push it out of my mind. She was here. She was a part of something, even if she wasn’t one of them.
Dr. Garcia frowns. “So they say. I barely made it out alive. It was pandemonium, chaos, and darkness. The smoke was so thick and black, it filled the room in seconds. I truly thought I was going to die.”
“Why would they do that?” someone asks. “It’s so messed up.”
She releases a heavy sigh and the sound echoes in the quiet room. “The Order employed tactics that were far from ideal and, not to mention, against the law. But I understand at the most primal level what they were trying to do. What their purpose was.” The room is so quiet, you can hear a pin drop. I hang off every word.
“For thousands of years, and all throughout humanity, we’ve witnessed vast empires rise and crumble. Over time, we rebuild, restore, rejuvenate, and peace is restored. This has happened time and time again: the Romans, the Greeks, the Egyptians, and…Babylon. The Order of the Shadows believed those who sought nirvana must embrace this collapse. Powerful empires rise because of it. Empires with more wealth and power.”
A girl in the front puts her hand up. “I hear they worship death.”
“You mean worshipped death,” she muses. “There has been no evidence of them for forty-five years. And while death is a necessary part of the cycle, remember the rise is just as important. The rise is the symbol of rebirth. Now, I’m not saying what they did was right, but before my near-death experience, I had no real sense of self. It was only after almost losing my life that I gained true clarity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not endorsing setting fire to this beautifully restored building, but I do want you to empathize with them.” She tilts her chin and looks at the class. “Perhaps this can be the basis of next week’s self reflection. And don’t forget to submit your first week’s work by midnight tonight. Be prepared to dig deeper into the concepts next week.”
Yet another assignment.
I haven’t even started the first one yet. I suppose it’s time to delve into the textbook I’ve been avoiding. And I really need to understand why I’m avoiding it.
As I bend over, packing up my stuff, strong arms suddenly wrap around my waist, making me jump.
“So, will you call me sometime, beautiful?” I nearly jump out of my bones. I forgot about Grant.
I take my time and turn to face him, smiling sweetly. “Yeah, sure thing.”
He smirks and turns away, and I watch him check another girl out in front of me like he just can’t help himself.
Gross. Utterly gross.
On my way out of Smith Hall, Dani, wearing her usual bohemian braid, loops her arm into mine. “So, are you going to call Grant? He’s been pining over you all week.”
I give her a flat stare. “I’m not sure I’m into him.”
She arches her brows. “He’s athletic, cute, from New York ? — ”
“And stupid,” I interrupt before she can carry on the thought. “And he’s not my type. I’m not sure what my type is anymore.”
If I even have a type… I literally feel nothing. Devoid, like the upper portion of an hourglass. That is, except for the moments when I reminisce about the nights my nameless monster came to visit me.
At night… I seem to experience everything while I’m asleep.
Dani gazes down at the phone I’m gripping, my knuckles nearly white. “You like the mysterious types who don’t have a name.”
My eyes shoot upward.
“If you don’t want to go out with him, I will,” Misty says in a cheery voice from behind us.
I snap my head toward her. “He’s not into you; he’s into me.” My face turns as red as a cherry as I continue, “I mean, Grant was actually talking to me, Misty. He asked me out, not you.”
Misty freezes in her tracks and takes two steps backward, stammering, “I’m sorry, it’s just…you just said you weren’t interested in him.”
I run my hands through my hair and rest them on my hip. “I haven’t decided if I’m into him or not,” I tell her. Reflecting on my words as they come out of my mouth, I barely recognize myself.
It’s not me.
Dani releases my arm and frowns. “Summer, don’t be like that.” My gaze flickers between Dani, who’s scowling, and Misty, whose tear-filled eyes betray her efforts to remain composed.
As I watch the campus slowly empty, I breathe in the peaceful late afternoon air, savoring the stillness that envelops the trees. “I’m just stressed out about school,” I tell them quietly. “It’s more overwhelming than I thought it would be, and I miss my dad.”
I contemplate the late night I am about to have, thinking about the morbidity of what we are being asked to write about next week, and the fact that Dr. Gracia was here during the fire. I stomp off ahead, a flush hitting my cheeks, not wanting Misty to see me flustered.
“You didn’t mean what you said,” Dani yells. “It’s a forty-five-minute walk, Summer, and it’s raining! Let us drive you.”
I ignore her and keep walking. I’m unsure why I have these outbursts of jealousy. It’s like my nameless monster left a hole in my heart, leaving me with nothing but my insecurities I’m desperately trying to hide.
“I’m sorry, Misty,” I call over my shoulder without looking back as tears start to form at the back of my eyes. Maybe if I walk home through the woods, under the cover of the trees, he will finally show himself.