"Yeah, go figure." Miles laughs. "Though I was referring to Damen. Remember how he got sucked over to the other side for a while? But eventually he came to his senses and found his way back, just like Roman will."
I gaze down at my drink, twisting the bottle around in my hand. Because even though I know Damen was never sincere about his brief flirtation with Stacia, that he only did it to get to me, to see if I cared, the images of the two of them standing so close together are forever burned into my brain.
"Yes, I did," Damen says, squeezing my hand and kissing my cheek, sensing my thoughts even if he can't always read them. "I certainly came to my senses."
"You see? So, we can only have faith that Roman will too." Miles nods. "And if he doesn't, then he was never truly cool to begin with, right?"
Haven shrugs and rolls her eyes, licking a glob of frosting from her thumb and mumbling, "Whatever."
"Why do you care so much anyway?" Miles peers at her. "I thought you were all about Josh?"
"I am all about Josh," she says, avoiding his gaze as she wipes some non existent crumbs from her lap. But when I look at her and see the way her aura wavers and Hares a deceitful shade of green, I can tell it's not true. She's smitten and that's all there is to it. And if Roman becomes smitten too, then it's adios Josh, hello creepy new guy.
I unzip my lunch pack, going through the motions of pretending I'm still interested in food when I hear: "Ay, mate, what time's the premiere?" "Curtain's at eight. Why? You coming?" Miles asks, his eyes lighting up, his aura glowing in a way that makes it pretty obvious he hopes that he will. "Wouldn't miss it," Roman says, sliding onto the space beside Haven and bumping her shoulder in the smarmiest, most insincere way. Clearly aware of the effect it elicits and not afraid to exploit it. "So how was life among the A-list? Everything you dreamed it would be?" she asks in a voice that, if you couldn't see her aura, you'd think she was flirting. But I know she's serious, because auras don't lie. Roman reaches toward her, gently pushing her bangs away from her face. A gesture so intimate her cheeks flush bright pink. " Wot's that now?" he says, his gaze fixed on hers.
"You know, table A? Where you were sitting?" She mumbles, struggling to keep her composure while under his spell.
"The lunchtime caste system," Miles says, breaking their enchantment and pushing his half-eaten yogurt aside. "It's the same at every school. Everyone divides into cliques designed to keep others out. They can't help themselves, they just do. And those people you were just with? They're the top clique, which, in the high school caste system, makes them The Rulers. As opposed to the people you're sitting with now —" He points at himself. "Who are otherwise known as The Untouchables."
"Bullocks!" Roman says, pulling away from Haven and popping the top on his soda. "Complete rubbish. I don't buy it."
"Doesn't matter if you do. It's still a fact." Miles shrugs, gazing longingly at table A Because despite how he goes on and on about our table being the truly cool table, the truth is, he's painfully aware that in the eyes of the Bay View student body, there's nothing cool about it.
"It may be your fact, but it's not mine. I don't do with segregation, mate. I like a free and open society, room to roam around and explore all my options." Then, looking at Damen, he says, "What about you? You believe in all this?"
But Damen just shrugs and continues gazing at me. He couldn't care less about A-lists and B-lists, who's cool and who's not. I'm the only reason he enrolled in this school, and I'm the only reason he stays. "Well, it's nice to have a dream." Haven sighs, inspecting her short black nails. "But it's even nicer when there's a remote possibility of it coming true." "Aw, but that's where you're wrong, luv. It's not a dream at all." Roman smiles in a way that makes her aura beam a bright shimmery pink. "I'll make it happen. You'll see."
"So what? You fancy yourself the Che Guevara of Bay View High?" My voice contains a sting I don't bother to hide. Though to be honest, I'm more surprised by my use of the word fancy than the tone of my voice. I mean, since when do I talk like that? But when I glance at Roman and see his expansive, overwhelming, yellow-orange aura, I know he's affecting me too.
"I rather fancy that, yes." He smiles his languid grin, his eyes gazing into mine so deeply, I feel like I'm naked —like he sees everything, knows everything, and there's nowhere to hide. "Just think of me as a revolutionary, because by the end of next week, this lunchtime caste system will come to an end. We're going to break these self-imposed barriers, push all the tables together, and have ourselves a party!" "Is that your prediction?" I narrow my gaze, trying to deflect all of his intrusive energy away. But he just laughs, not the least bit offended. A laugh that, on the surface, is so warm, engaging, and all-encompassing—no one would guess at the subtext beneath—the creepy edge, the hint of malice, the barely concealed threat meant solely for me. "I'll believe it when I see it," Haven says, wiping red crumbs from her lips.
"Seeing is believing," Roman says, his eyes right on mine.
"So what's your take on all that?" I ask, just after the bell rings and Roman, Haven, and Miles head off to class as Damen and I lag behind.
"Of all what?" he asks, pulling me to a stop.
"Of Roman. And all of his lunch-table revolution nonsense?" I say, desperate for some validation that I'm not jealous, possessive, or crazy —that Roman really is a creep —and that it has nothing to do with me.
But Damen just shrugs. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not focus on Roman right now. I'm far more interested in you. "
He pulls me toward him, bestowing me with a long, deep, breath-stealing kiss. And even though we're standing right in the middle of the quad, it's as though everything around us no longer exists. Like the entire world has shrunk down to this one single point. And by the time I break away, I'm so charged, so heated, and so breathless, I can barely speak.
"We're going to be late," I finally manage, taking his hand and pulling him toward class. But he's stronger than I am, so he simply stays put. "I was thinking —what do you say we skip it?" he whispers, his lips on my temple, my cheek, then my ear. "You know, just blow off the rest of the day—since there are so many other, better places we could be."
I gaze at him, nearly swayed by his magnetism, but I shake my head and pull away. I mean, I get that he finished school hundreds of years ago and now finds it all rather tedious. And even though I mostly find it tedious too, since having instant knowledge of all the stuff they're trying to teach really does make it seem pretty pointless, it's still one of the few things in my life that feels somewhat normal. And ever since the accident, when I realized I'd never be normal again, well, it made me prize it that much more. "I thought you said we were supposed to maintain a normal facade at all costs," I say, pulling him along as he grudgingly lags behind. "Isn't attending class and feigning interest part of that facade?"
"But what could be more normal than two hormonal teens, ditching school and getting an early start on the weekend?" He smiles, the warmth of his beautiful dark eyes nearly luring me in.
But I shake my head again and hold firm, gripping his arm even tighter as I drag him toward class.
CHAPTER 9