The Boy with the Blind Eyes

TWENTY ONE

Detective Gray looked the same as ever—silver highlights, bald patches, and wrinkly, rubber skin, his figure overfilling the obviously expensive navy tux he wore. It had been a long day, and Tamsin was in no mood to deal with the infuriating man today. While he shuffled his papers and sipped his disgusting black coffee, Tamsin's mind drifted back to this morning, when it had all started.

Lauren had been in tears at breakfast, not unusual given the outburst of Violet's a few days before. Lauren was embarrassed and blubbery about her sexuality, and they hadn't seen her for days. Today was the day she finally decided to join them again, which put Tamsin—and everybody else—on eggshells. Lauren was blatantly ignoring the presence of Violet, who turned red every time Lauren voiced a depressive thought. Then came Blake's comforting back-pats and soft murmurs, assuring her it would be all over soon. She wouldn't feel this way forever.

Tamsin tried to hide the fact she was walking on air. It was obvious that Brett was doing the same thing for the sake of their other friends. It wouldn't be fair of them to officially declare themselves a couple on such an awkward, not to mention sad, day.

Much as they tried to hide it, Tamsin felt like it was as obvious as if someone had written on her forehead: I am in a relationship with the man sitting next to me! She giggled at the thought, prompting another grin from Brett, who of course had his arm around her. Brett shuffled his chair a little closer to hers, the fabric of their jeans touching. Tamsin blushed suddenly, not really sure why.

She felt as if she didn't know herself at all lately. It wasn't like her to break down crying all the time, like she'd done yesterday over her brother's situation, and she was confused about the actions she was taking, who was her friend, who wasn't. And then Brett seemed to add to her list of complications, but it was a nice addition. He was somewhat of a distraction from the rest of her less-than-envious life.

That part of the day had been good, at least. Apart from Lauren's tears and the awkward conversation, breakfast's usual drama-fest was non-existent. But it was when piano class rolled around that things began to get ugly.

First, Mr. Pearson had lectured Tamsin—in front of the entire class—for not getting a start on her assignment. She could have listed another ten, maybe fifteen other peers who had also neglected their work, but kept her lips sealed. Mr. Pearson was right, in a way. The man was odd and eccentric and obviously had different sides to his multi-personality, but he was the educated one, not her. She should've started her assignment last week when it had been given.

After blindly accepting his insulting little spiel, Tamsin had got to work with Angus. She didn't know why—didn't know much about anything lately—but whenever she spoke to him, or even looked at him, the memory of Angus cradling her in his arms that day at the pond continued to resurface. She didn't know what they were—friends, acquaintances, whatever, but whatever odd relationship that might have been sprouting between them was long dead. Angus was cold and unhelpful when it came to the assignment. Tamsin had sighed countless times, trying to include him, trying for his opinion, but he just kept shutting her out, locked away in his own mind.

It had taken all of her patience to get past that.

After piano class, it was her lunch break, and so she'd headed to the cafeteria, expecting to see her friends there. She could have slapped herself for forgetting that Lina and Brett and all the others had different schedules. Their lunch was an hour away.

That left Tamsin only a few options: Eliza, Violet, Rachel or Angus.

She could easily rule out Rachel and Angus, since, a) Rachel hated her guts, and, b) Angus obviously didn't want to even talk to her. Besides, he was already off with his other group of guy friends and she didn't want to be the unexpected, awkward outsider who didn't fit in with the group but only sat there to gain some kind of social recognition. She didn't need any more social recognition than what she had.