She was talking to another guy. Nick was surprised by the deep twinge of jealousy that reverberated throughout his system.
He should have known this would happen. He was nothing next to her strength, her passion. She deserved so much better than Nick.
But somehow, impossibly, Nick had let himself hope. She’d thawed the icy barrier to his emotions and wormed her way in. It must been the way she looked at him: so startling and brave, searching as if to find a window to his soul. Or maybe the way she laughed: her whole body shaking with merriment, her shoulders angled so they could partake together in this moment of mirth. Or the way she talked to him: dropping little pieces of herself, leaving him endlessly longing for more.
Nick should have been ravenous after half-starving himself before the weigh-in that morning. But for some reason, all he could do was pick at his food. At one point, he glanced up, and his mind suddenly filled with glee. Kate wasn’t talking to the other guy. She was arguing with him!
His appetite renewed, Nick wolfed down three slices of pizza, a hot dog, a few scoops of spaghetti with marinara, five chicken nuggets, and a cheeseburger. He made sure to save room for dessert. It looked delicious! For dessert, he had two slices of cheesecake, a hot fudge sundae, and three cookies. He leaned back in his chair, stuffed to the brim with contentness.
“Are you sure you ate enough for dinner?” a voice mocked from behind him. Although he’d only met her a few hours before, he recognized it immediately.
“Very funny,” Nick replied dryly. Remembering their conversation earlier, he asked, “How are you?”
“Fraternizing with the enemy, Nick?” the walrus-like voice of The Hornet bellowed from behind him.
“Here, take this,” Kate whispered. She passed Nick a folded piece of paper, and then slipped out of sight.
Now, Nick sat cross-legged on his bed. A loud grunt sounded from the shower, followed by a stream of swear words. It was The Hornet, Nick’s roommate for the weekend.
The Hornet would be out of the shower soon. Nick was running out of time to open the letter. He reached forward and unfolded the paper with quick, jerky movements. Inside were three words:
Thirteenth floor, midnight.
Chapter 4
If anyone caught Nick and Kate, they would be suspended temporarily from school and permanently from wrestling. The offense would go on their permanent records. Their parents and coaches and teammates would find out. Nick would be grounded for life.
The choice was obvious.
She was worth it.
Nick pulled on long sweats and a t-shirt. He stuffed a long line of pillows under the blankets. If any of the coaches came to check on him, they’d imagine the lumpy creation was Nick, frozen within the deep tangles of sleep. He didn’t worry about waking The Hornet. The guy could sleep through anything. Legend had it that a couple of years ago, a few seniors used sharpies to draw penises all over his face. They shaved off his unibrow and his horrid, wispy mustache. The Hornet slept through the whole thing. When he finally woke up, he beat the seniors into such a pulp that one of them had to spend five days in the hospital. The seniors pretended the injuries came from a car accident, but everyone knew the truth. Nick wondered what The Hornet would do if he caught Nick sneaking out to spend time with the enemy; an enemy who happened to be the same girl Nick had disqualified himself for. Nick decided he didn’t want to know . . .
Eerie silence entombed the hallway. The corporate speckles of the carpet danced like silhouettes, the off-white stripes of the wall darkened into shadows. Plexiglas lamp sconces looked red in the dim and watery light.
In the elevator, Nick breathed a sigh of relief, only to be confronted by a horrid twist of fate. There was no thirteenth floor! Icy terror clawed at Nick. He found he couldn’t breathe, as if the atmosphere had assumed a stranglehold on his throat. Suddenly, Nick remembered a strange fact, forced upon him by a drunken uncle at a family reunion: because people were so suspicious of the number thirteen, engineers omitted the number from elevator dials, switching straight from twelve to fourteen. Sure enough, a second inspection revealed the exclusion. Nick pressed the fourteenth button, and the elevator jolted to life.
Slumped against the gilded handrail of the lift, Nick watched his reflection stretch out to a curving infinite. His skin was sallow and pale, his eyes sunken deep into his eye sockets: a consequence of nightmares and sleepless nights. His mop of dark brown hair was messy and unkempt, making him look like a dog desperately in need of a haircut. He was stupid, in letting himself hope. Yet, for some reason, he couldn’t stop.
The doors slid silently across smoothly oiled hinges, and a new hallway yawned out into the darkness beyond. Cautiously, Nick stepped out.
“Yo, Cobra!”
Nick jumped.
She emerged, the yellow illumination warming her features. Her chocolate and mahogany hair fell in copious waves over her shoulders. If Nick’s hair looked like the fur of an unkempt mutt, Kate’s looked like the mane of a galloping mustang. It was thick and rich, with volume that let it float nearly to the edges of her shoulders. Even Kate’s hair defied gravity.
She elbowed him playfully. “How’d you get that nickname, anyway?”
“The Hornet says it’s because I strike quickly and with venom,” Nick replied, sarcasm creeping into his voice.
“The Hornet?” Kate snorted. “Is that really his name?”
“It’s what everyone calls him.”
“Wow. Just . . . wow.”
“I know.”
“Come on!” Kate grabbed his arm. “I have something to show you.”
Nick followed, unable to focus on anything but this warm, living tendril of connection that now swung between them.
They emerged into stinging coldness. The clear scent of night surrounded them, perfumed with the mystery and emotion that all but eluded air during the day.
“Are we allowed to be up here?” Nick wondered.
“No.”
She led him towards a dark, malformed shadow. When they grew closer, pearly moonlight illuminated its metal composition.
“The heater,” she responded to the unspoken question in his eyes. “It will keep us warm.”
They sat down, their backs against the slippery surface. The warmth radiated like a caress onto Nick’s back, expanding to fill his entire body with sunlight.
“Would you like some chocolate?” With a grandiose flourish, Nick produced a bar from his enlarged jacket pocket.
“No thanks! I don’t eat sugar.”
“You don’t eat sugar?” Nick asked incredulously.
She shrugged. “I don’t like sweets. I like food to be bitter, like my soul.”
They laughed.
Silence overcame them. Nick grew hyper-aware of Kate’s closeness. They weren’t touching, but the proximity of her was tangible in the air, a scent like damp earth and clear, luminescent moonlight.
“Nick, I was wondering –” she trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Why did you act differently when we went back to the gym?”
“What do you mean?”
“When it was just us, you were confident, smart, and mature. You were quiet, but it was obvious that you have a deep personality. But when we went inside, you were like a different person. You regressed to being a teenage boy, one who let others push him around and tell him how to act. What happened?”
“I don’t know . . .” Nick was astounded by her perceptiveness.
Kate caught his eyes while she waited for him to continue. Her irises gleamed with moonlight, her pupils as dark as the midnight around them.
“High schools sucks when you stand up to people,” he explained. “It’s easier just to blend in and fade into the background. I’d rather bide my time and wait for college, when grades and transcripts will weed those people out of my life.”
“There will always be bullies, Nick.”
“I know,” he shrugged. “But that’s the way I am. I lay low,
and I avoid conflict . . . Why does that change around you? I think it’s cause you’re different, Kate. You aren’t like other high schoolers.”
She laughed, “Thank goodness! I’d rather die than become one of those zombies.”
“It’s more than that, you’re –”
They were nearing the cliff’s edge, treading in dark water surrounding the black hole. A few more steps and they would tumble over the edge.
Nick couldn’t talk about his emotions. It might kill him. He felt himself shutting down.
“Nick?”
The blackness was swallowing him up. His body froze with sweat, the world shrunk to a pinprick of light against an ocean of darkness. He was lost. He would never be found.
“Nick?”
Somehow, she pulled him out of the darkness.
She sat there, looking at him with concerned eyes.
“Nick, what just happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
Kate studied him for an immeasurable moment, “Fine.”
Together, they leaned back against the heater. Above them, stars stretched into infinite boundlessness. The blue of midnight dappled the darkness around them.
Kate turned to him, her eyes glittering with starlight. “My favorite childhood memories come from family camping trips. Each year, I would beg my parents to sleep under the stars. At first, they would refuse. Neither of them wanted to sleep on the cold hard ground, or wake up to the freezing dew of the morning. But in the end, one of them always relented.” She laughed softly, the sound chiming through the midnight air. “I never slept a wink. How could I, when confronted by such magnificence? Something about stars is so philosophical.”
She leaned over, her head falling heavily on his shoulder. Cool waterfalls of hair cascaded over his chest and back. Her body perfumed his senses with vanilla and sunshine.
Nick often experienced awkward silences, the kind of hush that prevailed when conversation was scarce and speakers fought desperately to fill it. He had experienced other types of quiet: the silence of disappointment, of anger, of sadness, and of failure.
This was different. Silence like soft silk and satin permeated from the darkness and stretched immeasurably to surround them. He did not hunt for words to fill it. Breaking this silence would be a crime, like crushing flowers or shattering glass.
The air was clear and sharp as a whistle, bright and open against the window of night sky. The wind was not knife-like, but rather an embrace of flutes and bells to their awe-stricken bodies.
A siren rang out, and the silence was broken.
As if emerging from a deep sleep, Nick blinked owlishly into the surrounding night. Kate did likewise.
“That was beautiful,” Nick murmured.
“Yeah.”
Words could not capture the experience. Like an enchantment, the magic drifted away to leave them freezing in the stillness.
Kate stood up. Nick imagined a permanent imprint, left to forever memorialize the time when her head had melded so perfectly next to his.
“We should go,” she told him. “I need to sleep. I have a wrestling meet to win.”
Reluctantly, he stood up and followed her inside. He knew he wouldn’t sleep a wink.
Chapter 5
A slanting row of sunlight knifed through the upper window. From downstairs, came the sound: the hoarse gasping for a final breath or perhaps the phantom symphony of nails across a blackboard.
Time flashed forward. The rubber grip slipped beneath his sweat, shivering and terror morphed the glass of the windshield into a tangle of obstruction.
There was no sound, only silence. He was too late. Death was his only companion.
Nick jolted awake. Even in this time of ultimate happiness, the nightmares would not leave him.
Chapter 6
Black and white were his only companions. The white came first. Then the black swirled over it, a tornado of dancing darkness. Eventually the white was obscured, leaving only shady gray and harshly domineering black.
The shapes began to emerge. Streaming ribbons of wind spilled across the depths. Faces, morphed strangely by overpowering tempest, glared strangely out of the darkness. Grasping hands lunged towards the forefront, greedy in their acquisition of control and supremacy.
In stark contrast to the dusky surroundings, white luminescence of hope cascaded across the central figure. The skin shone with vitality and light. Eyes glowing like candles pierced the omnipresent gloom. The smile, open and boisterous, shed brilliance to obscure silhouettes and shadows.
“Wow. That is so beautiful,” she whispered in his ear.
Nick jumped violently and slammed the math notebook shut. He’d absentmindedly obscured an entire sheet of homework.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, surprised by the accusatory tone that shot into his voice.
“A while,” she admitted. “Nick, your artwork is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. There’s so much raw emotion and meaning. . . I didn’t even know that you’re an artist!”
“I’m not an artist,” Nick stated harshly, eyes scanning shiftily to make sure no one was listening. “Look, don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”
“Why? Nick, you shouldn’t be ashamed by your artwork! I’m so impressed.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“All right. I’ll keep your secret.” She sounded so hurt that Nick glanced up in surprise.
“Kate, what’s wrong?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“Nothing.” She turned away and refused to meet his gaze.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine,” she turned to face him, eyebrows angled down sharply, eyelashes glistening with tears. “I shouldn’t be so disappointed. It’s stupid, really . . . I guess I just thought . . .” She paused, and then suddenly blurted out, “I thought you trusted me!”
“Kate,” he murmured gently. Without thinking about it, he reached out and softly turned her shoulders to face his. Her shoulders were small and delicate, like birds’ wings. He couldn’t help but notice how gorgeous she looked. Before, she’d always been so stoic. Now, with raw emotion dancing across her face, she looked so beautiful that he wanted to cry. “Kate, I’m sorry. I do trust you. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I am an artist. I just keep it quiet, because it’s embarrassing. Guys aren’t supposed to be artists. If any of my friends found out, I’d never hear the end of it.”
Kate suddenly laughed, her eyes lighting up with glee. Nick looked down, trying to hide the sudden flash of hurt.
“I can’t believe you fell for it!”
“What?”
“I just played the oldest trick in the book! The girl starts crying, and the guy gives her whatever she wants.”
“Wow. I feel really stupid.”
She grinned, dimples sinking deeply into her cheeks. Then her expression grew somber. “Sorry, I guess that was kind of mean.”
He shrugged. “I should be angry. But honestly, I’m not.”
“Good.” Her expression suddenly grew playful. “Were you drawing a picture of me?”
“No!” he replied immediately, and then sighed. “Well, maybe . . .”
“You made me look so beautiful.”
“Stop it!”
“What?”
“I’m not going to fall for it this time. You’re trying to make me compliment you.”
“Well, maybe . . .”
*****
At dinner, it was Nick’s turn to pass her a note. It wasn’t a note at all, really, but rather a strangely artistic piece of math homework. On the back, it read:
I have something to show you. When and where should we meet?
He gave it to her before dinner. By the end of the meal, she had crafted her reply, written on a stray bit of napkin.
Come to room number 1403 at 9:00 . . . And don’t get an
y ideas. We’re only meeting there to escape certain mean-spirited peers (*cough, cough* THE HORNET!).
Chapter 7
Breaking the rules was too easy.
Although guys and girls were forbidden to enter the same hotel room, the coaches were too busy patrolling for parties and alcohol to notice other lapses in school policy. Looking as casual as possible, Nick paced the hallway towards Kate’s room.
Inside, he felt anything but casual. Roiling hope jumped about, alternating between burns and frostbite. The tips of his fingers jiggled strangely, like a phone endlessly caught on vibrate. Colors were brighter than usual. The white stripes on the wall glowed neon yellow, the maroon speckles in the carpet blazed fiery red.
The elongated book weighed heavily against his side. It slapped his leg with a burning like muscle fatigue. The acute ache of a thousand broken bones spread heavily into his gut. Fear and panic mixed like poison in his brain.
Somehow, impossibly, he made it to her door.
She opened it quickly, hiding behind the bulk of the wood until Nick was safely inside.
The room looked empty and unlived in. The bed was made with wrinkle-free military precision, the carpet bare of all personal possessions. In the corner, a small school duffel bag was the only sign of human inhabitance.
She wore a loose set of school sweats, her hair free and flowing around her face. Her eyes were like a cat’s, wide and unbounded. When she spotted the book by his side, her eyes brightened and grew warm with curiosity.
“Is that . . ?” she wondered, face sharpened with inquisitiveness.
“Yes,” he said, answering her unvoiced question, “these are my drawings.”
“Oh my god,” she snatched for them, and then hastily drew her hand back. “May I?”
Nick laughed. “Go ahead.” He handed her the sketchbook. He was astounded by the overpowering wave of terror that overcame him, along with the instinct to snatch his artwork out of her hands and race away as quickly as possible. He resisted the urge, and moved as casually as possible to sit down beside her.
They were sitting on the bed. Nick was in a hotel room, alone with a beautiful girl, and they were sitting on the bed. It was a teenager’s dream come true. It was the chance of a lifetime. But Kate had made it quite clear that nothing was going to happen: not now and not ever.
He tried to ignore the feel of an elephant stampede across his chest. Wallowing in disappointment wasn’t going to get him anywhere. He forced himself to tread water and return to the present.