Page 48 of Midsummer Phoenixes
I hugged him closer with my other arm, resigning to simply lying here with him. “Stop thinking about them, my heart. Back then, I didn’t really think all that much. You looked…out of place. But you came over to hold my hand. That’s what mattered. That’s what stands out to me.”
He pondered that. For a long time. At one point, possibly not too far from today, Amory would be able to read me. I knew this because I knew that a part of me wanted him to, and subconscious desires were a bitch like that.
When that day came, he’d be able to call me on my bullshit, but it wasn’t today, and in the end, he said, “Okay.”
“You sound disappointed, my heart. Fine. I saw you, and—boom! Love at first sight. You were the one for me.”
He slapped my chest again, not coming close to the solar plexus this time, but instead stretching his neck. “You know, you joke. But maybe it was for me. Love at first sight, I mean. I’m not sure, but maybe.”
I’m sure, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
Instead, I said, “I’ll treasure your love, always,” and let my lips meet his.
It was the truth, and he could tell, kissed me like he felt the same.
If he would always feel the same, I dared not hope. I took the now, always. He’d burned the once, and nothing but death made you quite as focused on the now, made you cherish it as much.
“I love you,” he whispered, and in a whisper I returned it, and held him just like he did me.
Soyer Makes a Friend and Scares the Children
CHAPTER ONE
June 15
Isighed,takingmytime washing the batter bowl in the sink, then doing the same with the pan I’d fried the French toast in, then Amory’s and my plates.
There were a few strawberries left over, also some cream. The berries hadn’t been enough to seduce my lover back to bed, and any fantasy I’d entertained involving cream and juicy fruit hadn’t happened either.
I sighed once more.
It was six o’clock, and Amory had left forty-five minutes ago, saying he wanted to be early, for one reason of stupid dutifulness or another, and before that, he’d wanted to stop by his old place.
His determination had left me alone, all alone, with nothing to do but finish the strawberries and cream with my fingers, imagining I was licking something else.
And there was nothing in the whole apartment left to clean but these dishes, nothing. I’d made the bed, had wiped down the bathroom, and that was it.
Worse, my new batch of fitted sheets hadn’t arrived yet, so I couldn’t even do laundry and torture the baby Star-Garbed downstairs with a request to fold it, not that torturing him would work all that well. He knew I was always going to give in to Amory, and those Star-Garbed weren’t above using that against me. Or against my plans to use fitted sheets as an instrument of domestic torture.
But I did have a plan for today, in a manner of speaking. I smiled as I scrubbed the pan with renewed vigor. Yes, I would be doing some gentle scrubbing over at St. Auguste as well.
CHAPTER TWO
I got out of the 47-cab right in front of the school gates. St. Auguste was beautiful in that way you only ever got if you had too much money to spend and an architect who liked to think in superlatives exclusively.
I didn’t know that architect, but I knew Valentin had invested massive sums when the school had first been built, though these days, it was financed just as much by donors as by Hawthorne itself.
St. Auguste was an elitist place, with obligatory uniforms for the lower grades that included ties for all genders. That was despicable, and on top of that, knowing how they’d let slide Ella’s lacking cursive skills—I couldn’t abide.
The most impressive feature of the entire place had to be the school walls of course, high and tipped with iron. The wrought iron gate was locked now and only open when school was in session. Two “volunteers” would help funnel the young students in from the street each morning. The volunteers weren’t that but paid guards who made sure no random humans walked onto the grounds.
Some of the students entered through the secret underground, those who couldn’t pass, and I’d considered taking that route. But people would have seen me, and I wanted to make a splash in front of the principal’s office when I conferred with them about the school’s stance on general educational goals.
And so, after giving the cab time to speed away, I didn’t go for the front gate and the panel there that would connect me to a security person. Instead, I made for a side entrance down the street, hidden around a corner. I knew the smaller entrance there would be open for evening classes. It was, the metal knob turning easily, the door itself opening on well-oiled hinges.
This entrance point was video surveilled, but there were no guards in constant attendance. Those who were here for evening classes walked into the main building through a small courtyard walled off from the main one, that brought them to a basement entrance that was still inviting with a beautifully carved stone lintel and glass sliding doors.
I went through those and came to an information hub foyer-type deal. A lot of the old universities in Europe looked like this too, historic and massive on the outside where the weight of time and reputation had given the school both name and gravitas, and on the inside, updated with all that juicy funding money.
