29 Students Remaining #2
He was right about one thing. We don’t actually know what happened to Keira and Diego. They just disappeared. But I can’t close my eyes and hope they’re okay. I’ve never been comfortable with ambiguity. I have to know.
I think of the night of my History and Politics test, Ashlyn saying I’m right by the Records Room when she was on the phone with Kev. I remember watching her walk through that door in Sullivan Hall.
If there’s anywhere on campus where I might find information on what happened to all the kids who’ve left Luminary, it’s inside a place called the Records Room. But how can I get all the way to Sullivan Hall without being seen?
After the third time I jerk awake, breathing hard, I give up. It’s no use. Sleep isn’t going to happen. There’s too much adrenaline in my body. I need to do something to release all this pent-up energy, go for a run or punch a wall. Something.
I slip into jeans and sneakers and creep downstairs.
The front door’s locked—it always locks at curfew—but I’ve been looking for an excuse to try out the master key I made.
I slip it out of my pocket and hold it up to the door.
The lock flashes green, and I hear a click that tells me it’s open.
A smile unfurls across my face. There’s no feeling quite like opening a door you’re not supposed to open. It’s a special kind of euphoria.
I’m not planning on going anywhere, but it feels strangely hot inside the dorm, the air stale and stagnant, the way it always starts to feel when it gets cold outside and the heaters click on. I want a cool night breeze on my face. Maybe that’ll help clear my head.
I’m settling on the front steps, pulling my hoodie up over my curls, when I catch movement beneath the massive oak tree directly in front of our house.
I freeze: déjà vu. This moment is exactly like the one from my dream. Sneaking out after dark only to find someone waiting for me in the shadows beneath that tree. Is it Rani? Has he come here to apologize for what he said?
Nope. When the figure steps out of the dark, moonlight catches blond hair and sharp, perfect cheekbones. Not Rani: Ian.
Heat rises in my chest: embarrassment for thinking this moment could turn out anything like what I dreamed. That’s probably why my words come out a bit sharper than I mean. “What are you doing here?”
Ian blinks, but if he’s bothered by my tone, he doesn’t show it. He ignores my question and says, voice low and irritated, “Last I checked, it was your curfew, too.”
I cross my arms over my chest. There’s a brief silence as Ian meets my eyes. That pale, pale blue. In the dark they seem even lighter than usual, two shards of ice.
After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh and says, “Fine. I’m taking a walk. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Past my dorm? At three o’clock in the morning?”
“I didn’t know this was your dorm.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Tell me why I doubt that.”
Ian stands silently in the deep, shadowy space below the tree. After a moment he says, “You stole my key card. I wanted to see whether you were stupid enough to use it.”
“You mean this key card?” I pull Ezra’s key card out of my pocket. “Here, have it back. I don’t need it anymore.”
I toss him the key card, which he catches easily. “Did you clone it?”
“What do you care?”
He lets out a dark laugh. “I don’t.” But his eyes flick to my lips for a split second, his mask cracking just enough for me to see something else underneath, something simmering.
There’s a tiny touch of pink in his cheeks, like he’s flustered, and when he speaks again, his voice is just a bit too annoyed, too mean.
“Believe me, I’d be more than happy to watch you self-destruct,” he says. “It’d be so tragically cliché.”
It’s my line. I’m supposed to shout something equally mean back.
That’s our whole bit, right? But I don’t have it in me.
I’ve already expended too much emotional energy thinking about what happened in Calculus, worrying about Keira and Diego, arguing with Rani.
I don’t want to shout at Ian. I want to shove him. I want to…
I climb down a step. “So, that’s what you think about me? That I’m just a trainwreck waiting to happen?”
“If the hideous motorcycle boot fits.”
“Says the guy wearing boat shoes in September,” I shoot back. “Is there a boat nearby that I’m not aware of? You planning to go yachting in the middle of the night? In Nebraska?”
Ian swallows. I can see the struggle in his expression as he starts to speak, then stops. The air between us feels thick.
I imagine pressing my hands against his chest and throwing my weight against him.
Transforming all this pent-up energy inside my body into violence, into heat.
Every inch of my skin pricks. I’ve never felt more aware of myself, of the blood pumping through me, of the way it makes heat rise on the surface of my skin.
The night air feels electric. C’mon, Ian. Give me a reason to hurt you.
“Did you come all the way out here to psychoanalyze me? Or was there something else?” I climb down another step. There’s only one more between us, which means that, for the first time in our acquaintance, we’re roughly eye level. Ian doesn’t move away from me. He only studies my face.
In my head, I replay the way the platform shuddered, the sound of the cables screaming. I want to scream. I want to hit something. When I blink, I feel something wet at the corner of my eye.
“What are you doing here?” I say in a softer voice. “What do you want?”
Ian grabs my arms and pulls me toward him, his lips smashing into mine.
It’s…exactly like my dream. Chaotic. Hot. This is the release I was looking for, finally, a place to put all the confused, angry, scared energy that’s been building in my body since Calculus.
Ian lifts me off the last step and my legs wrap around his waist by instinct.
He pushes me back up against the tree and his hands are in my hair, cupping my face, traveling down my back, and then settling around my hips, pinning me in place.
I’ve never wanted anything more than I want this.
His lips travel from my mouth to my neck.
I run my fingers through his hair, breathe him in.
I want him closer, closer even than this.
I rest my hands on the waistband of his jeans, and I’m just about to dig my fingers lower, to search for the hot skin beneath his clothes, when my brain snaps to and I realize what I’m doing.
Ian St. Clair. I’m making out with Ian St. Clair.
I push away, breathing hard as my legs slam back to the ground.
Ian looks confused. “What?” he asks. “Did something—”
I shake my head before he can finish. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be kissing Ian. Ian. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I doing this?
It’s because of what happened in Calculus, I tell myself. I was feeling sad and…and out of control, and I wanted to do something to make myself feel better.
People do that, right? Make out with people they don’t even like because they feel weird about other things happening in their lives? That has to be what this was.
I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. I can’t go kissing Ian every time I feel weird. I need to do something else, something constructive.
Ian’s still watching me, looking politely bewildered, a little disappointed. I wait for him to ask me what was up with all the kissing, or even go back to making fun of my shoes. But he doesn’t.
As I stare back at him, something occurs to me: Ian knows how to get across campus without being seen.
He knows exactly how to avoid the cameras and which halls in Sullivan have TAs prowling down them.
He even has the trolley operator on his side.
If anyone can help me get into the Records Room, it’s him.
The corner of my lip lifts into a smile. Before I can talk myself out of it, I clear my throat and say, “Hey…I’m planning on breaking some school rules. Want to help?”