“Well, she has this amazing costume. She wore it when we met at the studio. It’s a little revealing, but …” Jeb scrapes his palm down his chin. “It’s not a nude series or anything. I told her I wasn’t down with that.”
I’m grateful for his chivalry, but it’s a small comfort. The thought of him being tempted day in and day out by a sophisticated, experienced, half-naked woman makes my stomach churn.
“Al, you just need to meet her. You’ll feel better when you see how serious she is about the art. She has some really cool ideas … eccentric even beyond the costumes. She’s an old soul, like us.”
Old soul. Bad enough that she’s beautiful and rich. He’s not supposed to like her personality, too.
My heart sinks so low I would trip over it if I was walking. That possessive chant resurfaces: mine mine mine.
The leaves around us begin to flutter, even though the wind isn’t blowing. I concentrate on the willow branches, sending everything I’m feeling into them. They curl around Jeb’s shoulders, as if to hold on to him—a puppet’s strings to make him do my bidding.
He jumps, and the limbs loosen. Looking up at the swaying canopy, he frowns. He doesn’t realize I’m causing the motion, that something is waking inside of me, something I’ve kept hidden for months. Something I don’t want to suppress right now, because the feral anger makes my insecurities seem conquerable, which in turn makes me feel stronger.
As I notice the bewilderment on his face, ice-cold shame washes over me. I stanch my anger and jealousy. The branches go still again.
Jeb’s gaze meets mine. “Did you see that?”
My heart pounds. “See what?”
He rubs his hair. “I could’ve sworn …” He stops himself. “Must’ve been a gust of wind.”
I have no response. I’m horrified by how easily my darker side bubbled over—by how much I wanted to overpower Jeb. To control him.
He must see the shame clouding my features because he takes my hand and laces our fingers together. “I’m sorry to spring this Ivy thing on you. But I need to give her an answer. She’s only here through this week. If I turn her down, it could affect my reputation.” He studies our linked hands. “Collectors and reviewers might think I’m a one-trick pony.”
“I get it,” I mumble, trying not to let my emotions control me again.
I wish he’d at least pretend this was a hard choice for him, but his expression is hopeful. It’s obvious he wants me to say I’m cool with all of this, whether for the money or for the artistic growth. But it hurts, even though I know it shouldn’t. I’ve always been his inspiration, and this just proves he no longer needs me … at least artistically.
To be honest, it seems like he’s been growing away from me for a while now, and that’s what really hurts.
The twinkle lights over the porch swing blink on and off, my parents’ subtle hint that I quit studying and come inside. Their timing sucks.
Jeb lifts me to my feet, leans in, and kisses my forehead. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” I take a step back, but he grabs the neck of my tunic and the heart-shaped locket underneath to keep me close. “Hey, don’t you forget that I love you.”
“I love you, too.” I hold his hand at my chest. The leaves rattle around us again before I catch myself.
After glaring overhead, Jeb gives me a lingering hug and kiss, then stretches to pull himself into the tree.
“Wait.” I snag the waistband of his jeans before he can settle in the branches. None of this has to happen. I can get his mind off Ivy and this commission for good by showing him the truth about Wonderland, about me. “Can you pick me up from school tomorrow?”
Hanging above me, he frowns. “I’m not sure I can leave work that early.”
I grind my teeth against the disappointment.
“Okay,” he says, as if to placate me. “Okay, I’ll find a way.”
“Good. Because I’m ready to show you my mosaics.”
I only hope he’s ready to see them.
Thursday morning, I don’t take the time to argue with Mom. I choose an outfit she’ll approve of—a two-layer organza petticoat skirt that hangs past the knees of my pinstriped leggings—and step into first period as the five-minute warning bell rings. I finish my chemistry test before class is half over, which leaves an excruciating two more periods to sweat over what I’ll say to Morpheus about my decision not to leave the human realm until I fix things with Jeb.
Morpheus isn’t going to make it easy for me.
Several times between classes, I pass him in the halls with his harem. He walks by without a word, snubbing me, yet each time manages to rake his arm across mine or brush our hands. It’s painful in the strangest way.
Finally, fourth period rolls around, and I shut myself in the abandoned girls’ bathroom to wait for him. The bell rings, and soon the hall empties.
Sunlight dapples the floor through the hopper window, but the room around me is gray and still. Today the bugs have been relentless in their whispers, as if the cricket from last night is leading them in a revolt:
They’re here, Alyssa. They don’t belong … send them back.