Dante leans forward and pulls his stool out from under the desk we share, his forehead bumps against mine. To anyone elsepaying attention, it might look like an accident, like hejustgot a little too close, but I know it’s his way of greeting me.
“Hi.” My voice is a little breathy, but I don’t even care.
He pulls his seat a little closer to me so once he sits our arms are touching from elbow to wrist, and his big hand covers mine. The noise he makes, a low rumble, is his response.
Mr. Adams calls for the class’s attention after the second bell rings. We’ve been working on clay for the past week. “If I haven’t given you a rough grade, I need to see your projects before you leave this afternoon. We only have two days next week if you are glazing or painting to get your final mark.”
My sad excuse for a mug is lopsided, I can’t seem to get it smooth, but Mr. Adams gave me a B plus for effort, if nothing else. I still have to put the final coat of glaze on it and place it in the kiln, but I think I should get a B on the final too.
Dante is working on a small lantern. Heshaped the top like a pagoda with four holes on each side, and it’s large enough for a small candle to be placed inside. Apparently, his artistic ability extends beyond drawing.
When Mr. Adamsis done speaking, we all head to the connecting room to gather our projects, and it’s a tense time for most of the kids in the class. I don’t think a day has passed where someone’s clay hasn’tbeen damaged. Often, it’s because they didn’t cover it well enough, or because it dried out too fast. If it wasn’t for Dante helping me, mine would have been among the casualties.
It’s hard to focus on my work when he’s beside me, but I force myself to pay attention to my mug. I’ve picked out a sage green glaze that looks milky when I paint it on. I can only hope it will turn green once I’ve fired it, right now it looksprettybad.
Dante has already done his final glaze firing, sohis project is done. After a quick inspection he gathers his lantern and takes it up to the teacher’s desk. Mr. Adams picks it up and looks it oververyclosely. He traces his finger over the seam where two colors he’s painted on it meet, nodding his head in approval.
Dante pushes his hands deep into his pockets and his shoulders round out a bit, making him look a little smaller, a little unsure. He looks more like the seventeen-year-old boy heactuallyis, more so than he usually does. It’s easy to forget how young he, Ollie, and Milo are.
Making myself look away I continue painting my mug. It’s not long before Dante returns to our desk, his project still in the teacher’s hands. “Need any help?” he offers, glancing at my sad little mug.
His question reminds me of the time Mr. Adams asked him to help me with my portrait. “Oh, so you’re willing to help me now?” I bump my shoulder into his playfully. I don’t need him to know how humiliated I felt that day.
Dante’s eyes narrow slightly, like he’s thinking about them same thing. “I wanted to help back then too.”
I pause my painting and look up at him. Dante’s face is close to mine and he looks sincere, maybe even a little sheepish. “It sure didn’t seem like you wanted to help me.” I forcesomelightness into my tone.
Dante’s hand lands on mine when Ibegin painting again, stopping me. “I was afraid to get too close to you.”His voice is pitched low and he’s leaning over my shoulder. Anyonewatching would assume he’s helping me. But what he’s really doing is frazzling my nerves.
“Why?” I keep my eyes on my project, his hand steadying mine as he brushes the glaze over the clay.
“I was trying to keep my distance. I recognized what you wereto methe moment I was close enough to smell you.” He takes a deep breath,demonstrating his heightened ability. “But youdidn’t show any sign you recognized me. I was afraid I was wrong. That only my animal wanted you.” Dante brushes his cheek against the top of my head, still holding my hand as he dips the brush back into the glaze.
I swallow, I can’t help butbe affected by his touch and the deep rumble of his voice. “I didn’t know itat the time,but I think I had given up ever finding you. Ares got his mark so long ago, and he never found you.Ithought it would always just be us. I was too afraid to hope.”
I turn then, our faces only inches apart. After searching his eyes and seeing the truth, I lean forward and press my lips against his. I don’t care that we’re in class, or that the teacher could see. I don’t care that students might notice and set off a heap of rumors. Iknow I want him to know I’m here, that he doesn’t have to worry about not finding me. He already has.
I pull away quickly, focusing back on my mug. A fissure of regret seeps into me, I hope he’s not mad. I wasn’t trying to cause any drama. Idon’t hear any catcalls or hushed whispers, so I think my stolen kiss went unnoticed anyway.
Dante scoots his stool a little closer so his chest brushes against my back. I let out a small sigh, if it bothered him, he surely wouldn’t be getting closer.
When the class is over Dante snags my hand in his and stalks down the hall, with students moving out of his waywithout any prompting. I glance at his profile, his face is impassive. He looks bored and a little angry, he’s definitely got the bad boy vibe happening today. He peers down at me when he senses my stare, his eyes softening when they land on mine. “Everything okay?”
Keeping pace beside him I nod. “Yeah, fine.” What else could I say? I was just checking you out?
Dante doesn’t question me again as we make our way out to the car. We get a few looks on the way, some are probablypeople just noticing his presence, but I think our intertwined hands probably attract a few extra looks.
“Hey Muenster.” I glance over my shoulder to see Ollie. He’s jogging to catch up with us.
“Hi Ollie.” He eyes my hand folded in Dante’s. Ollie’s eyes take on a wicked gleam right before he snatches my other hand in his.
I have a moment where I feel like a kindergartener who has to hold hands walking through the halls. It passes quickly, but I almost tug my hand free from both of them. The thoughts of what people might say are filling my head, but that passes even faster. What does it matter what these people think? It’s not like I’m hiding my relationship from anyone that matters. All the guys’ parents know, and they’ve accepted it. So who cares, right?
I lift my chin in a rare show of defiance. I’m exactly where I want to be, I don’t care what any of these people think of me. If it’s okay with Ollie and Dante, then it’s more than okay with me.
My bravery fades a little when we make it outside. It’s not the same as being in the overcrowded hallways. Out here, in the parking lot, I feel like I’m on display. Ollie doesn’t miss a beat, and he releases my hand and wraps his arm around my neck instead. Dante is still towing me along, and now he’s pulling Ollie too. He doesn’t bother releasing me, even with Ollie hanging off my neck.
My heart is thumping fast in my chest by the time we make it to the car, not from exertion, but alittle bit of nerves and excitement. Dante unlocks the passenger side door and opens it for me, while Ollie reaches past me and pushes the seat forward so I have to climb in the back. I do so without complaint, assuming he’s getting in the front.
