The bell rang, and Kate pulled back, flashing her best smile. The knife disappeared into the lighter and her hand fell away from the girl’s throat. “Run along now,” she said icily. “You wouldn’t want to be late.”
Charlotte clutched her bruised throat and scrambled out of the bathroom.
Kate didn’t follow. She went to the sink, washed her hands again, and smoothed her hair. For an instant, she met her reflection’s gaze, and saw another version of herself behind the stormy blue, one who belonged to a different life, a softer world. But that Kate had no place here.
She took a long breath, rolled her neck, and went to class, confident she’d made a solid first impression.
August was supposed to be in gym.
Or at least, every other junior was supposed to be in gym, and probably was, but thanks to a health condition—asthma, according to his file—he’d been granted a study hall instead.
August did not have asthma. What he did have were four hundred and eighteen uniform lines running the length of one arm and starting to wrap around his back and chest, and Henry was worried that they would draw attention.
So instead, August was in study hall. Or at least, he had been. He imagined a study hall might come in handy, but it being the first day of school, he had nothing to study, so he’d asked the monitor if he could go to the bathroom, and never came back.
Now he was standing outside the ID office.
On the way there, he’d tried to think up an excuse for not wanting his photo taken—he’d read once about a tribe that believed being photographed would steal their soul—but in the end he didn’t need an out.
The office was empty. The lights were on, and when he tried the handle, the door was unlocked. August looked around nervously, then stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind him. The ID form was still up on the computer screen, and he typed in his details: Frederick Gallagher, 16, junior, 5’ 10”, black hair, gray eyes.
An empty rectangle sat waiting to the right of the information. August knew what it was for. He swallowed and hit the delayed action photo button, then stepped in front of the pale backdrop, just like he’d seen the other students do. He looked straight into the camera lens and the flash went off. August blinked the light from his eyes and held his breath as he rounded the counter, but his heart sank when he saw the photo on the screen. His expression was a little too vacant, but his face had almost all the right components—jawline, mouth, nose, cheekbones, hair. An ordinary boy . . . except his eyes. Where August’s eyes should be, there was only a smudge of black. As if someone had drawn his face in charcoal and then smeared it.
Sunai, Sunai, eyes like coal, sang a voice in his head. His stomach twisted.
Retake? prompted the computer.
He clicked yes. This time he didn’t look straight at the camera, but just above it. No luck. The same dark smudge still obscured his gaze. August tried again and again and again, each time cheating his eyes a fraction to the left or the right, high or low, the smudge of black shifting, sometimes thinning, but always there. His vision filled with dots of light, a dozen flashes every time he blinked. The last take stared back at him from the screen, his eyes obscured by the same black streak, but a small, frustrated crease visible in his brow. He shouldn’t have bothered, should have known it wouldn’t work, but he’d hoped . . . for what?
A chance to play at being human? chided his brother’s voice.
Sing you a song and steal your soul.
He shook his head.
Bang.
Too many voices.
Retake? prompted the computer.
August’s finger hovered over no, but after a moment, he clicked yes. One more time. He stepped in front of the screen, took a deep breath, and readied himself for the inevitable flash, the disappointment of a final failed attempt. But the flash never came. He heard the digital click of the camera, but the light must have glitched. He crossed to the screen, heart thumping, and looked.
His breath caught.
The boy on the screen was standing there, hands shoved in his pockets. He wasn’t looking at the camera. His eyes were half-lidded, his head turned away, the faintest blur to his edges, a picture snapped midmotion. But it was him. No black streak. No empty gaze.
August exhaled a shuddering breath, and clicked print, and a minute later the machine spat out his ID. He stared at the image for several long seconds, transfixed, then pocketed the card, and slipped out of the office just as the bell rang for lunch. He was halfway to his locker when a voice called his name. Well, Freddie’s name.
He turned to find Colin, flanked by a boy on one side and a girl on the other. “Alex and Sam, this is Freddie,” he said by way of introduction. “Freddie, Alex and Sam.”
August wasn’t sure which one was Alex and which was Sam.
“Hey,” said one of them.
“Hey,” echoed the other.
“Hello,” said August.
Colin swung an arm around his shoulder, which was hard to do considering he was a full six inches shorter. August tensed at the sudden contact, but didn’t pull away. “You look lost.”