“Tell that to Milo. He nearly got detention for calling the politics professor a ‘wannabe CIA reject.’” I laugh at Marco telling me what happened, as I missed that class, because I didn’t want to go.
“Wasn’t wrong.” Milo grins. “He still thinks the Cold War is the peak of strategic warfare.”
Marco snorts, but then his smirk curls wider. “So, you kissed the Irish girl.”
They already know. I wasn’t going to hide it from the two people who probably know me better than I do. I’ve been dodging the talk because I don’t know what to say.
“You stare at her like she’s the desert and you’re,” Milo says, making Marco laugh.
“Don’t be dramatic,” I mutter, taking in a deep drag of my smoke, and letting it settle in my lungs before exhaling.
“Oh, we’re past dramatic,” Marco says. “You kissed the only girl in school whose family wants to see our blood in the gutters.”
Marco’s words hit me, because I’ve been thinking the same thing, from all the girls who could have been on the cliff, from all the girls who grabbed my attention, it had to be the fucking enemy.
“There are nations of girls here.” Milo laughs. “And you pick the one dipped in Irish whiskey and wrapped in knives.”
“Because she’s fire.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
What the hell is happening?
They both go quiet and that silence is worse than the teasing.
“She’s not for you,” Marco says finally.
“I know,” I agree. He’s right, she’s not for me. She has a fucking ring on her finger, and the blood in her veins is poison.
“Doesn’t mean you’ll stop, though,” Milo says, and I look at him as he smiles. “You’re not wired that way.”
“No,” I agree. “I’m not.” Looking out at the garden, seeing some of the other students walking around talking, not really hearing what they’re saying. A few of the girls look this way, and smile, and Milo tells them not to go too far. Already knowing he will be having some fun with one of them.
We stand there a while, watching the mist shift over the gardens. Then Marco nods toward the library board where a new sign is pinned under the lantern light.
“Masquerade Ball,” he reads. “A chance to dance with demons.”
“I already know what mask I’m wearing,” I say. I had the idea soon as I saw the leaflet two days ago.
“Let me guess, something sinful?” Marco asks.
“Something honest,” I reply.
Milo chuckles. “Are we going dark and elegant or loud and threatening?”
“Elegant. Terrifying.” I flick ash. “Let them guess what we’re hiding.”
I finish my cigarette and crush it under my boot. “I need air,” I say walking away from them.
“You’re already outside,” Milo calls after me.
But I don’t answer. I just keep walking, to a place I know I will be alone, to think.
The roof of the west tower is the only place they won’t follow.
The stairs twist like ribs around a spine, narrow and dark. The silence at the top is worth it.
From here, I can see everything.
The academy as a whole. The cliffs. The wild ocean slamming itself into the rocks like it’s trying to climb to heaven. The lighthouse stands firm against it all. Stoic. Alone.
