“Aylee, right?”

I blink, curious as an odd, unfamiliar sensation fires through me at the sound of my name on his full lips. “Yeah.”

Something unexplainable crackles in the air between us, or maybe it’s just my imagination going on overdrive, as I become too aware of my hand still firmly held within his grasp. He lowers his head, his hair falling across his forehead, and the urge to smooth it back is an impulse I have to wrestle down.

“You’re bleeding.” I blink twice—it’s my mind’s attempt to catch up to what he just said. He turns my hand so that my palm faces the ceiling. I’ve lost the scalpel somewhere in between my fall and him helping me to my feet, but the evidence that I’d been holding something sharp is in the smear of blood coating my palm. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to hold sharp objects by the blade?” My attempt to pull my hand away is futile as he retains his hold. “Or maybe you meant to.” His pointed stare eviscerates all pretenses and for an infinite moment I’m left naked to him, exposed in the way it touches the most vulnerable part of me. I can’t—I can’t let him see the ugliness. Can’t let him see that terrible, terrible stain. Wrenching my hand away, I stumble back a few steps. My eyes flick to his face just in time to see him recover from a slight dose of shock at my sudden movement. Curiosity molds his expression as he fixes astute, penetrating gray eyes on me.

“A bit of advice?”

I make it a point to look at everything but his face.

“Don’t cut too deep.”

He walks away then without a second glance back, his words hanging heavy in the air in front of me as I watch him disappear behind the double wooden doors at the end of the hallway. I’m unsure of how long I stand there but it takes the shrill ring of the bell to pull me out of my trance. Students exit their respective classrooms filling in the hallway like one huge thunderous wave. Out of my peripheral vision, I spot the blade to my left against a row of lockers and quickly pick it up. Shoving it into my pocket, I stand up straight and prepare to discreetly glide past the hallway mob.

“Aylee!”

I only notice Mallory when she breaks through the throng lugging my backpack and canvas bag as she hurries toward me.

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me. Tell me you’re okay?”

That question should be branded across my forehead. What’s people’s definition of ‘okay’ anyway? And are they asking because they’re genuinely concerned or is it something you ask just to be polite? I always assume it’s the latter. I don’t think people want to hear you answer any other way than optimistically because it saves them the trouble of actually caring.

Taking my bags from her, I force myself to smile. “Thanks, Mal. And yes, I’m okay.”

“I was so worried! I had to postpone my after-class talk with Hammond just so I could run after you. God, did you see him today?” And that is essentially the end of her concern. Once again putting the art of selective hearing to good use, I tune her out and find my mind drifting to the brief interaction with Maddox. His words, just like the last time, have an impact. They stay with me, playing over and over inside my head, while imprinting themselves inside my memory bank to scrutinize later.

***

Astronomy is my last class of the day. It’s also one of my favorite classes. But Mr. Solomon has a tendency to ramble and given my short attention span, I only listen with half an ear while he talks about the latest induction of Pluto as a planet again. What I’m really focused on is the front entrance of the classroom and how I find myself staring almost too neurotically at it. I know it’s stupid of me to think he’ll actually do something completely unexpected and show up to class but I can’t help the small surge of hope that keeps me tethered with futile expectation. I wait and wait the stretch of a small eternity only to end up with my hopes curdling inside me like blood from a fresh wound. Forty-five minutes into our fifty-five minute class and I’m forced to pay attention when Mr. Solomon gives us our latest assignment. Group project. Fun.

Luckily he splits the class into groups of two. Whoever you’re seated with is your partner. The girl who usually sits next to me, Mina, has been out sick since last week. I don’t have a partner. But that’s nothing new considering I do most of the work when I do end up partnered with someone in class. The bell rings and everyone picks up their things to leave. I trail behind. When I walk by Mr. Solomon’s desk, I stop. He’s hunched over a pile of papers, his red grading marker moving like a sword down the sheet in front of him, leaving a trail of bloody X’s behind.

“Mr. Solomon.” He stops grading and looks up with curious, teary hazel eyes.

“Yes, Aylee?”

I want to ask if I can bring the packet that outlines our project to Mina’s house and see if I can work on our assignment with her. What comes out of my mouth is something completely different. “I’d like to have Maddox as my partner…if that’s okay, I mean…” I trail off, my burst of impulse dying with my sentence.

Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows shoot up to a receding hairline in obvious surprise. And I’m thinking we’re sporting the same expression because even I can’t believe what I just said.

“You do realize Maddox Moore hasn’t shown up to class since the beginning of the year, yes? We’re now nearing October and he’s missed a lot of assignments.”

I nod in agreement ready to tell him I agree and that this is a bad idea and that he should just forget it because I’m a crazy person. And crazy people generally don’t think things through. “I know, but I was thinking I’d be his partner for this assignment and that maybe if he was willing, I’d help him catch up with everything else he’s missed so far.” See, crazy talk from an extremely unstable girl.

Leaning back into his chair, he says, “Can I ask why the sudden interest in wanting to help Maddox?”

I shrug, unsure of how to reply. “I want to ask him to pose for me for my portfolio and I kind of figured if I help him he’d be more inclined to say yes.” That’s the basic gist of it. I want to capture the aesthetics of his dark beauty to a canvas in acrylic. That’s all there is to my obsession.

At Mr. Solomon’s pointed look and wry chuckle, my cheeks unexpectedly flame. “You’re one of my best students, Aylee. You’re extremely bright and you have a lot going for you. While Maddox...that kid is on a path to destruction. I’d hate to see you get mixed up with him.”

“You’d be surprised just how much a smile can cover up,” I say, with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. There’s a pause to his expression, like he’s trying to read more into what I just said. I don’t give him the opportunity. “I’ll be fine, Mr. Solomon.” I add just enough cheer to dissuade his confusion. “If it’s okay with you, then I’ll just bring him the project outline packet…?”

Pushing his chair away from his desk, he nods slowly as he reaches down to the drawer next to his left leg. “I don’t expect much, but if he agrees to work with you, then give him this.” He hands me the twenty-page, stapled packet for our project. “I’ll even consider letting him make up what he’s missed if you can get him to come to class. Bonus points if he actually stays awake for it.”

I let out a small laugh. “I don’t make any promises.”

Chapter 8

Aylee

What the heck am I doing? This isn’t me. This is the complete opposite of me. This is me taking my stalking to a whole new, completely psychotic level. These thoughts however seem to matter very little as I continue to pedal my way to Maddox’s house. The minute track practice finished, I stopped Noah to ask him for his home address only to learn that Maddox didn’t live with him.