"Pretty girls like you get lost in these woods all the time, Alexa."
On the night of Sebastián's annual Beginning of Summer Bash, amiable and adventurous Melody Tryniski went missing. What might have appeared as a juvenile escapade - a casual incide...
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"WHY ARE WE WASTING our time doing homework?" Logan mutters beside Sebastián, his large hand clutching a page of his notebook so tight that it begins to crinkle. "I mean, what's the point?"
"Gee, I don't know. Maybe our entire future depends on it?" Micah says in front of Logan, rolling his eyes. "Just a wild guess."
"There's more to life than school, idiot. Not my fault if you ain't have an actual life outside of it."
Micah glares at Logan with an intensity I haven't seen before, his grip on the black-inked pen shaking. The tip of the pen glides on the Calculus problem he's resolving, leaving behind dark smudges that should be round numbers. Logan leans forward on the table, his hands gripping the edge of it so hard that his knuckles begin to protrude from his skin and his veins start to outline the route of his bones.
I can't help but wonder if his hands looked like this when he hit Melody for the first time. Were they a warning for what was about to come? Do they symbolize his rage, announce his anger? I guess I'll never know.
As they continue to glare at each other with no intention to fight, my eyes trail to Christopher. He's sitting motionless in front of me, the rest of the diner unfocused behind him. People are just dots of colors moving from one place to the other as I focus on him. He's wearing a thin, black hairband that pushes the front of his blonde hair back, revealing his handsome face. Ever since news broke about Melody's murder, he hasn't bothered with a haircut. Not that I'm complaining. It makes him look rough, yet angelic.
It's clear that he's still a little weird with me. He's actually focused on his homework, not paying attention to his surroundings. Strange, considering the fact that he hates doing homework and loves to disrupt the ones who are actually getting some work done. Instead, he's sitting there quietly, pretending not to notice that I'm looking directly at him. An earphone is on one of his ears as he highlights passages of his History text, the highlighter's cap trapped in between his teeth. Bags are prominent under his eyes, proof of his lack of sleep.
Here I am again, ignoring everything just to have a glimpse of him. Every detail is important, every aspect is lovely. And despite catching myself distracted with him, I can't seem to break from this reverie. I can't help but fall a little more. It's like I'm tethered to him.
My eyes lower to his torso, where a black crop-top gives way to a perfect, toned stomach. It's milky white as it peeks out from his washed-out overalls, a part of his body that hasn't seen the sun. A part of his body that's been touched by lots of female bodies, but that trembles against the simple brush of my hands.
A picture-perfect nineties' boy.
Christopher stops highlighting a sentence midway for a second, his lip twitching a little as he balances the cap from one side of his mouth to the other. He knows I'm looking. But then, Nari places her hand on top of his and draws soothing circles with her thumb. His body stiffens, the twitch of his lips halting to form a frown. I bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from saying something stupid. A trickle of blood reaches my tongue, a metallic pang that makes me gag. I often forget that Christopher is not mine and he never will be. He is everybody else's, but never mine. The thought resonates painfully in my mind, squeezing at my heart until it hurts to look at him next to Nari.
