Page 31 of Wicked Dreams

I lean back on my stool, kicking out one leg. Around the room, people are maneuvering their easels to get a clear line of view of their partner. Margo doesn’t move. I just stare at her, trying to resist the urge to drag her out of the room and show her whathellis like.

Instead, I ask, “Why?”

“B-because.” She looks away. Toward the teacher.

I scowl at her. “What does Mr. Bryan have to do with anything?”

She turns bright red. It’s fascinating, really. The color crawls up her neck, over her jaw, and devours her face.

“I asked you a question, little lamb.”

“Is this part of the game?” Her perfect brows furrow.

“Yes.” Everything is part of this game. And it’s a game because it forces me to not take her too seriously. Not like when we were kids?—

Don’t think about that.

For the longest time, I ached for my friend. But then I learned the truth, and it was like my whole childhood warped. Imagine learning that you’re colorblind, and here are these glasses to give you a new perspective.

That’s what happened to me.

Softening to Margo would be going back to a gray world.

She eyes me, the corner of her lip tilting up. “You’re too curious, Caleb. I think that means you lose.”

I lose? I blink in shock, then laugh. It’s been a while since someone has surprised me. But that’s the thing about Margo: she’s full of fuckingsurprises.

She doesn’t say anything, and her lips press together.

“Mr. Bryan.” I draw him closer. “Margo isn’t feeling well. I think I should escort her to the nurse.”

He comes over and puts his hand on her shoulder.

She doesn’t flinch.

She doesn’t eventwitch.

My eyebrows hike up, and my gaze goes from his hand to his face and back to her. I will her to pull away, but she does no such thing.

He leans down. “You okay, hon?”

“Just woozy,” she lies. “I think the past week is catching up to me.”

He nods, sympathetic.

Hon?

I want to strangle him.

“Caleb will take you to the nurse. Let me know if you decide to go home, I’ll write a slip.”

She nods and stands. I jump to my feet, too, waiting for his hand to leave her shoulder. When it does, I take her arm. I grip just above the elbow and lead her out of the room.

My breathing is steady. Years of perfecting my nonchalant attitude has prepared me for this moment. I try not to squeeze too hard, not wanting to scare her away just yet.

Instead of going to the nurse, we go down the spiral steps and across the top hall. Its windows look out toward the front lawn. She doesn’t say a word until we’re in an empty classroom two floors away. It’s a science lab, the rows of benches set out with equipment for the next class.

But for now, we’re alone.

---