I could tell he was tall by the way his knees were bent as his elbows rested over them. A white shirt hung loose around his neck, black and white tattoos painted over each of his arms, and I could hardly make out the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he took in deep breaths. But I did notice. My attention made the journey to his face when our eyes met. A gray beanie covered his head, but dark strands poked out from underneath. His brows pressed together and then he—barely—nodded in my direction. When I didn’t return his advance, he held his head up in his hands and brought his fingers to his mouth. Rings decorated each finger and a dimple appeared beside his hidden smile.
Breaking our connection, a small milk carton flew across the mess hall between us and my eyes followed it to a young boy who sat at the table across from me, smacking him right in the head. White liquid flew in all directions, ultimately soaking the young boy. The mess hall went up in a roar as the boy, who was just hit, jumped from his seat and threw himself back against the large window. A scream belted from his lungs and I pushed my chair back and stood to my feet.
Tattoo Guy hopped off the table and ran over to the boy. “What is wrong with you, Liam? You have a death wish?” His voice was loud yet controlled as he spoke to the group of laughing hyenas with his arms in the air.
Tattoo Guy crouched before the screaming kid. “Breathe, Zeke,” he insisted, gripping the boy’s arms. The young boy looked up at him. His face was turning from a deep red to a purple in a matter of seconds. “Deep breaths.” Tattoo Guy showed him how by drawing in a deep breath of his own. He counted to three with his fingers in the air before exhaling, and the young boy watched him with the same amazement in his eyes like mine.
The young boy’s screams dissolved and he was able to breathe again. Tattoo Guy glanced over at me, and I quickly turned away. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?” He helped him up off the floor, and Zeke clung to his side as they walked out of the mess hall.
“America, did you think about our offer?” Jake asked as his posse surrounded my table.
I exhaled and retook my seat as Tattoo Guy and Zeke turned the corner out of sight and then answered, “I told you. Not interested.”
“In case you change your mind, it starts at midnight,” Alicia said.
These kids couldn’t take a hint even if it punched them in the face.
The pixie-haired girl smacked Alicia over the head. “You can’t be giving out these details to anyone, Alicia. You have to ask the group first. Have you even talked to Ollie?”
“She’s cool. Trust me.” Alicia continued, “If you’re looking at your window, it’s the fourth block to your left.”
“And how do you suppose I get there?” I had no interest in going, but if there was a way out of my dorm without using my door, I had to know.
Alicia discretely pointed up to the vent in the ceiling before the three of them turned and walked away.
Chapter Three
“Exposing truths and stripping her lies all at once,
And just like that, panic and peace consume me.”
—Oliver Masters
ALL NIGHT I TOSSED and turned over the thin, and incredibly stiff, mattress. Jet-lagged from the change in time zones, and having gotten too much sleep over the last twenty-four hours between the plane ride and my nap in the afternoon, trying to sleep was useless.
I’d managed to count every crack in the cement, every bolt in the steel door, and if I concentrated hard enough, I could see constellations in the swirls of the marble floor as the moon shone over it. A loud click, precisely at six in the morning, sounded when the doors automatically unlocked.
I was the first one in the community bathroom with a toothbrush, my new Dolor shirt, and skinny black jeans in hand. I wasn’t allowed to bring shampoo, conditioner, or deodorant. Not even a razor. My father said everything would be provided to me.
The cement walls in the bathroom were painted white, and a row of six sinks were to my right. Tall mirrors lined the wall evenly, one above each sink. Across from the sinks were the shower stalls. Subway tile stretched across the back wall, and each stall was separated by cedar wood planks with a white curtain enclosure. Clean towels were stacked in the skinny shelves on both sides of the row of sinks, and basic toiletries were stuffed in baskets between the sinks—the same brand for men and women. Thankfully, the smell of coconut didn’t make me gag.
I chose the farthest shower at the end and turned it on to wait for it to heat up. Even though I was fully clothed, I still felt naked and exposed without make-up on in the mirror. Impressing people had never been a goal of mine, and even though I never needed it, I still wore make-up because I knew it bothered Diane. I wore the heaviest of eyeliner, the boldest lip shade, and black on my nails for the simple fact it drove her crazy.
Staring at my reflection, I was just me, looking five years younger with the lightly sprinkled freckles under my eyes and across the bridge of my nose. Though, my eyes didn’t lie. One look, and you could see the secrets, the pain, and the misery beneath the dull brown. My thick brows would usually distract others from the story my eyes held. No one ever took the time to look hard or close enough.
Take my father for an example.
A presence entered the bathroom, triggering my attention to shift. Tattoo Guy shuffled toward me with clothes over his shoulder, wiping the corners of his eyes. Gray joggers hung low on his hips, and a plain black tee covered the rest of him as his wild brown hair lay flat on one side.
After he dropped his hand from his face and he noticed me, he stopped walking. His face held no expression as he stared at me from about five feet away. Then, a sleepy smile greeted me before his voice did. “Hi.”
I returned a smile, but it was only because his was contagious—nothing more. “Hi.”
But he still didn’t move.
Once it dawned on me how long we’re standing there for, I faced the mirror again and flipped on the faucet to brush my teeth. He drew nearer before he appeared in the mirror’s reflection behind me, and leaned over to grab a towel off the shelf, careful to keep a distance, but also lingering longer than he should.
He switched the water on in the stall next to mine and hung his clothes and towel. When he turned back around, he approached the sink beside mine.
Our eyes met in the mirror’s reflection. “Mia, right?”
It was in that moment I noticed his green eyes. They were beautiful. Rare. A color so distinguishable, but indescribable at the same time. It was the color of the reflection of palm trees across a shoreline when the sun was at its highest point in the day. The color was noon. It wasn’t the deep blue shade of the ocean past the reflection of the tree line, or the white when the foam gathered in the sand, but the sweet spot in the middle. It was the perfect timing when three of God’s creations collided: the sun, trees, and water.