He shrugged. Onstage, Jonathan was announcing the next act. When Chris spoke again, he leaned in closer so his lips were inches from my ear.
“I was in a band back home,” he said. “I mean, before here. Kinda gave it up to come here.”
“You should get back into it,” I said. “That was amazing.”
He smiled and reached over, like he was about to hug me. Instead, he just squeezed my shoulder and turned to face the next act.
Our knuckles touched; electricity sparked through my veins.
My hand jerked away.
“You okay?” he asked, looking at me, confused. I suppose to him it felt like I was swatting his hand.
“Sorry,” I said. It wasn’t an answer.
Because the moment our hands touched, I saw Brad’s smile. And in the darkness of Brad’s eyes, I saw the raven, bleeding.
“Kaira, wake up.” Something fluffy smacked into my face.
“Bitch,” I mumbled. I rolled over and grabbed the toast plushie, nestling it to my chest. “Mine now.”
She giggled. “Come on, it’s almost nine. You don’t want to miss brunch.”
My eyes shot open. Whatever dreams were drifting around the edges of my mind vanished in the promise of ice cream and all the glorious toppings provided. Definitely a reason to wake up.
“Is it waffle or omelet day?” I asked.
“Waffle.”
“Score.”
Yes, I’m ruled by my stomach. Aren’t all sensible people?
I hopped out of bed and slid a pair of baggy, torn jeans over my pajama pants (because it’s Michigan, and one must layer to stay alive) and a sweater over my top. Brunch was the only time I felt okay dressing like I had a house I shouldn’t be leaving. I pulled my hair into a short ponytail and grabbed a hat Elisa had knit for me a few months back, just in time for the first snow. It was magenta and matched the streaks in my hair perfectly.
“Ready,” I said, probably all of three minutes later.
“Damn girl,” Elisa replied. She was still at her computer. “That was easily your fastest yet.”
“Stress makes me hungry,” I replied. I glanced out the window. Two crows perched in the branches of a fir tree, and suddenly memories of last night refocused. Touching Chris’s skin, the flash of a vision . . . I turned from the window and tried to convince myself it had just been stress. That the crows weren’t warning me away from Chris. Then what are they warning you away from?
“Everything makes you hungry,” she said.
“It’s like you know me or something.”
She grinned and shook her head, then stood and pulled on her coat. She was already in boots. I wondered if she woke up at her usual weekend-sleep-in seven a.m.
“So,” she said as we wandered down to the lobby.
“So?” I knew that tone of voice. There was mischief in her eyes.
“I hear you and Chris were getting close last night.”
I nearly tumbled headfirst down the steps.
“What? We were just standing next to each other.”
“Yeah? Cassie said her friends said you guys were making out after Coffee House.”
I snorted. Of course—the dance community was even tighter than the drama department and a whole hell of a lot cattier. None of the girls in front of us had been Cassie, but I’m sure everyone in ballet had heard some iteration of the rumor by now.
“Right. Because that’s so me.” I shook my head. “At least now people might stop thinking I’m a lesbian.”
She took my hand as we stepped out into the still, cold air. It was like walking into a freeze-frame of Antarctica. Pun only moderately intended.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Even the people who think you’re gay know you’re off limits. Because you’re mine!” She growled the last bit and wrapped me in an awkward hug that nearly sent both of us to the snowbank.
“Careful, crazy!” I squealed. But we caught our balance last minute. Overhead, a murder of crows flew past, cawing. I definitely had no place calling her crazy. She wasn’t stressing over the appearance of common birds.
She just giggled and took my arm again and dragged me toward the cafeteria.
“When do you put up your show?” she asked.
Long ago, she learned that saying “thesis” was a no-no. Unlike Oliver.
“After brunch,” I said. I already had all the mounting materials (Ethan had nearly pissed himself when I asked him to drive me to town to get stuff for mounting) and my space was assigned (front hall, right where all of Mandy’s stuff was). I wasn’t about to say my project was done, or even ready to admit that I was going to display it today. It felt too momentous. I wanted to tell myself it was because I was excited, that I wanted the school to see what I’d been doing with my time, that I was proud or whatever. It didn’t feel like that at all, though.
It felt like admitting defeat.
My time here was almost done. Islington was nearly over. The end was here, and it was eager to rip everything I’d worked so hard for away.
Elisa went silent for a moment.