Until Beth Read online

  But Vincent had leapt to his feet, bounding across the dining room to greet a slight figure in an electric wheelchair.

  Lila sighed and rolled her eyes. “There goes Saint Vincent, at it again. The boy thinks it’s his personal mission to heal the sick and give comfort to the needy. If I didn’t know better I’d say he thinks he’s…”

  “The second coming?” Roddy Zuber deadpanned, one eyebrow quirking up.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Lila continued, “Vincent is an amazing person with a heart of gold. But sometimes he carries the Mother Teresa thing a little too far.”

  I tried not to stare at the figure in the wheelchair, a slight girl with white-blonde hair, porcelain skin, and bent limbs. Vincent sank low to kiss her contorted hand. The girl jerked spastically in her chair. I was sickly fascinated but I couldn’t look away. Nausea rolled into the back of my throat and I couldn’t help but think of Carson.

  “Wh-what’s her talent?” I blurted.

  “Try not to stare. Her name is Della Ferguson,” Lila said briskly. “She’s a composer. Apparently she was born like that and it took years before someone discovered she was a musical genius.”

  “How sad.” I thought of Carson trapped inside his own body and wondered what talents he could draw upon with his talent for lacrosse, the only one he’d ever needed, now lost to him.

  “She’s the niece of some big shot on the Board of Directors. Which is most likely the reason she’s here,” Demitri Prishkin said. With his round cheeks and straw-colored curls, Demitri reminded me of an angry oversized cherub.

  Vincent continued to fawn over the disabled girl. The cynical thought that he was just a shameless brown-nose, trying to garner favor with the powers that be, crept into my head. But as much as my instincts told me to think badly of someone so squeaky-clean perfect, I couldn’t get myself to believe that Vincent’s attention wasn’t genuine.

  “C’mon, Demetri. You’ve heard her work. It’s amazing,” Zuber said.

  It was painful to watch the girl’s lips twist into a twitchy parody of a smile as her body jerked and spasmed. If not for her affliction, she would have been delicately pretty.

  “How,” I muttered. “How can she do anything?”

  “One finger works. Some brilliant teacher figured that out and the rest is history,” Zuber said, his long face somber. “She attributes her work as One-Digit Della.”

  I cringed, the contents in my stomach churning. “That’s tasteless.”

  “It’s her name for herself,” Lila said. “Girl’s got a sense of humor, I guess.”

  When breakfast ended I said goodbye to my new friends, still surprised over how easy it was to fit in here. Vincent ushered me from the dining room to Gideon’s office.

  “No need to be nervous,” he reassured me. “I’ll be back for you after my class is finished.” He smiled, ducked his curly mop in one of those ridiculously courtly nods of his, and took off.

  Gideon was already waiting for me behind his monster desk. “Did you enjoy your breakfast, Bethany?”

  “Yes, thanks, everything was delicious.”

  Gideon rose and walked around from behind his desk, the enormous ruby ring on his finger catching the morning light. Silver strands flecked his deep auburn waves. Though not tall, the man was imposing and important-looking, yet somehow not intimidating in the least.

  “Perhaps you are feeling well enough to attend one class today? Our setup is quite unique. The high-schoolers take their academic classes together in the mornings, regardless of grade. Classes are small and instruction is tailored to address the particular needs of the individual. The college students leave for a central site for their studies. In the afternoon everyone gets one-on-one training in their concentration, so you’ll be getting lessons tailored specifically to your needs.”

  Gideon paused and looked me over, clearly proud of the program’s breadth and scope. It dawned on me how little I really knew when I jumped headlong into this, despite all my research, but I wasn’t put off. “How does that sound to you?”

  “It sounds awesome. I’d love to start right away.”

  “We need to evaluate you first.”

  “Evaluate me?”

  Gideon smiled and paced in front of the windows. “Just a series of routine placement tests, both academic and artistic, to determine your levels.” He turned to face me, his figure silhouetted against the light. “I’ll schedule your tests for tomorrow. Consider today a trial run.”

  I never liked tests much, nor excelled at them. And this was not presented as a choice.

  “Uh. Okay. But are you sure I didn’t take them already?” I rubbed my damp palms against the brocade arms of the antique upholstered chair. Every bit of furniture in the High Step compound looked as if it should be in a museum.

  “No. Of course not. We would not subject you to them twice,” Gideon said with a reassuring smile.

  I cleared my throat. The encounter with One-Digit Della had stirred up my worries for Carson. I was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of homesickness.

  “Okay. Cool. I, uh, was wondering when I’ll be able to visit home.”

  Gideon reached for a pipe, which rested unlit in a glass ashtray on his desk. He chewed thoughtfully on the stem. “We have also found that visiting home too soon disrupts the creative flow. It is better to postpone visits until later, when the effects of your training bear fruit, rather than sooner.”

  I swallowed, my throat burning. “But, my brother. He’s so—he’s in such bad shape. I thought—“

  “Bethany.” Gideon walked over and knelt next to my chair so his face was level with mine. “Unless your mother makes a specific request to get a visitation policy waiver, I’m afraid it will be a while until you visit home.”

  I stared at his ring, my insides stiffening. “But what if—”

  Gideon rested a hand on my arm, his voice mild and calming. “Your mother has expressed a very clear wish that you should remain here at the compound until your brother is completely stabilized. Between us, we agreed that this is for the best.”

  I was about to protest when Vincent entered, his sunny presence as reassuring as ever. I felt my shaken nerves settle and understood that Gideon meant me no harm. That he only had my best interests at heart.

  “Nothing worth having comes easily, Bethany,” Gideon continued. “Our program is intensive, our good name built on our efforts. The time will pass so quickly, you will barely notice.”

  He smiled warmly and returned to his seat behind the huge desk.

  Vincent nodded and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you to your first class. It’s Literature. The teacher, Mrs. Halcott, is expecting you.”

  I studied the fine stubble on his chin, like a powdering of gold dust against his tawny skin. He leaned in slightly. “Getting used to this place can be quite an adjustment, Beth. But I promise you, you will not regret your decision in the least.” His blue eyes glowed with conviction.

  “What was it like for you, Vincent?” I blurted. “How long have you been here?”

  Vincent straightened, his cheeks tinged pink. “Long enough. This is my home. The best one I’ve ever had. Class is starting soon. We should hurry along.”

  He led me through meandering halls, lit by glowing sconces and lined with oil portraits, to the academic wing. Students chattered and walked by in pairs.

  Once we arrived at our destination, Vincent smiled and nodded toward my classroom.

  “It’s easy to find your way back,” he said, as if he understood my need to exert my independence. “Make a left, a left, and a right, and that will take you to the grand foyer. You know your way from there, right?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  I watched him stride purposefully away. Beautiful as he was, Vincent was an enigma I was no closer to understanding now than the first moment we’d met. Yet being around him flooded the hollow places inside me with comfortable warmth.

  My Literature class had only six other studen
ts, including Roddy Zuber, who smirked and winked at me the entire time. The mood was intimate and casual, like no class I’d ever been in before. We read out loud from Dickens’s Great Expectations, debating each passage. There was laughter and quips, and Mrs. Halcott, who taught in a conversational manner, joined in the fun. Still, it was all business as we worked our way through the text. I was more engaged in learning than I could ever recall and before I knew it, the class ended.

  Exhilarated by the experience, I said goodbye to Zuber and slipped into the hall, following Vincent’s directions back to the grand foyer. From there, finding my room was a snap. I had reached the massive circular double staircase and started to climb when I heard soft footsteps.

  “Yo.”

  I whirled around. Xavier stood at the base of the stairs gazing up at me, a half-grin quirking his lips. He strode up the stairs to stand beside me. “Hey. Just wanted to apologize for being a jerkoff this morning. It was a bad night.”

  I studied the way the nearly blue-black hair fell over the scar-ravaged eye. The smile suited him well. “It’s okay. You had no idea who I was. I could have been a prowler or something.”

  Xavier nodded, the smile lingering, as if the sight of me amused him somehow. “So, I hear you’re a killer guitar player and singer. I’m in room 324 if you ever get a midnight urge to—uh—jam, if you—” He rested a leather-gloved hand on the banister. I looked away, not wanting to stare. “If you ever can’t sleep. Like me.”

  I was dying to ask what troubled his sleep and how he’d gotten his scars. Instead, I blurted, “You play guitar, too?”

  “Used to,” Xavier said casually, as if he was talking about the weather. He tugged off the leather glove to reveal the curled fingers of his left hand, the tightly stretched skin raw and patchy. He flexed it slightly, the range of motion clearly impaired. “Can’t do much with this.”

  “Jeez. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” Meeting my gaze, his eyes flared briefly then cooled, a red flush spreading across the sharp plane of the one visible cheekbone. He hesitated as if the words burned painfully in his mouth, yet he couldn’t force them out. Finally, he stammered, “I-I k-kind of sucked, anyway.” He pulled the glove back on the ruined hand and chuckled, the words once again flowing as smoothly as ever. “My thing has always been singing.”

  Xavier held me in his gaze and I shifted my weight uneasily. Something unspoken had passed between us, but it was hard to put my finger on precisely what it was. Attraction? Contempt? A warning? With my mind so muddled, he was no easier to read than the ambiguous Vincent.

  “You have an amazing voice,” I said and managed to look away. It was obvious he wasn’t comfortable talking about his injuries and I’d put him on the spot.

  Xavier exhaled and sighed. The tension released. “Yeah. Whatever. Everything is what it is. See you around then, Bethany.”

  Pivoting, I watched him lope down the steps in a few nimble strides. Then he was gone.

  Somehow, on the way up the stairs, my energy drained to the point where I was too exhausted to drag my own weight around. When I got to my room, Vincent was already waiting, leaning against the wall.

  “How was class?”

  “Stimulating. Exhausting.”

  He nodded. “You look tired. We thought it would be a little much for you so soon. Perhaps you would like to rest until dinner. There’s no point in rushing into your activities before you are fully well.”

  Though I’d been looking forward to meeting with my teachers, my head buzzed, my eyes heavy with the need to sleep. “I guess.”

  Without even undressing, I climbed into bed and buried myself under a warm nest of feather comforters. Before I could fully process the events of the morning, I was asleep.

  But sleep was anything but restful. Vague images and half-formed impressions flitted through my dreams. I chased a shadowy figure. Carson’s accusing eyes stared out at me, his body wasted and immobilized, his face bloated. For some reason Xavier was in my dream, too, unscarred and magnificent, whispering unintelligible things in my ear. His speaking set me on edge, though I had no clue what he said.

  I bolted awake in my bed; the sun had already gone down. There was nothing tangible I could latch on to or remember in the dream, but I woke shaky and trembling, my head spinning with vague impressions, like the brush of invisible bird wings. I wondered if in all the excitement I’d missed a dose of my meds.

  I was about to climb out of bed and hunt down my pills when I heard a light tapping at my window. Edgy, but still groggy with sleep, I pushed back the heavy drapes and cried out. A large crow perched on the sill. Its bright black eyes met mine for a flash of a second before it fluttered off, vanishing into the night.

  I rubbed my eyes and wondered if this was one of those dreams when you think you’re awake, but you’re really sleeping. Midday naps could be so disorienting, I told myself. I glanced at the clock. I must have slept for hours.

  But no, I wasn’t dreaming. On the windowsill, again the Blast Mahoney button glinted in the moonlight.

  Stunned, I staggered out of bed, and stumbled through the dark room to the vanity where my pills were scattered among my personal items. I flipped on a light switch and blinked. My eyeliner, glittery blue performance eyeshadow, makeup remover, and dirty Q-tips littered the vanity top.

  But my three bottles of prescription anti-anxiety meds were gone.

  10

  I OPENED THE WINDOW AND STARED AT THE BLAST Mahoney button, my heart pounding. There was no way I’d forgotten how I’d stuck it to that tree.

  Either my mind was going or, more likely, someone was trying to mess with my head. If someone was playing tricks on me, I was going to have to wring their neck.

  Setting the button on the sink basin, I ran the shower as hot as I could stand and stripped out of my clothes. The steam enveloped me, but without the meds to take the edge off, my anxieties quickly took hold. Sam’s beautiful smile, his soft gray eyes, invaded my vision until I couldn’t breathe around the memory. I felt him reach for me through the hot mist. And I saw Carson, his once-athletic body now a useless husk, eyes pleading. What was I thinking to leave my mother to care for him alone? Guilt swirled with the soapy water as it ran down the drain.

  I squeezed my eyes closed, letting the hot water scald my skin. I talked myself into believing that the school nurse had my meds and it was just another thing I’d forgotten. That they probably wanted to evaluate my dosage, monitor my intake with all the painkillers I’d been on. Maybe they were worried I was having an adverse reaction. As for the button, I wasn’t sure, but I figured that a logical explanation would eventually materialize.

  By the time I’d toweled off, I’d convinced myself that it all made sense. That I was just being paranoid and my stressed mind was having a delayed reaction to past traumas.

  Just as I slipped into a fuzzy terrycloth robe, apparently the High Step compound standard issue, a knock at the door startled me.

  “Beth? It’s Vincent.”

  Though I’d talked myself off the ledge, I was still edgy and skittish, nearly hyperventilating. I didn’t want him to see me like that. I didn’t want to be expelled from the High Step Program because I was having trouble holding myself together.

  “Just a second.” I scrambled to wedge the Blast Mahoney button under my mattress, swung the door open, and slapped on the best smile I could muster.

  As always, the sight of Vincent left me just a little breathless. He wore a button-down shirt, a few lazy curls overlapping the collar. He was freshly shaven, the gold dust peppering his jaw gone.

  “Are you feeling rested?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He must have seen through my lie because he stepped inside, his expression wary. “Are you sure?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

  He reached for my arm, the warmth of his fingers penetrating my skin. I tracked the heat’s climb through my nerve endings to the source of my jitters. My fears dissolved and v
anished.

  Vincent smiled, blue eyes glowing.

  “How,” I asked, incredulous, “do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “C’mon. You sent some kind of heat up my arm, then poof, everything that was bothering me melted away.” And it was true. For the life of me I couldn’t remember what I was so worked up about a few moments before.

  “Something was bothering you, then.” He leaned in closer and cupped my face with one hand, his voice tender and low. “I knew it. I am so glad you feel better now.”

  The heat from his palm tingled on my jaw. I shivered and swallowed hard, my mouth dry. Vincent leaned in close enough for a feathery curl to brush against my cheek. He smelled delicious, an intoxicating blend of aftershave, baby powder, and some indefinable spice.

  “But how did you know something was bothering me?” I murmured, wondering if what was keeping me close to him was a good thing or not. “I didn’t say.”

  He framed my face with the other hand. Eyes like the open sea were all I saw. “Your pain is written all over your face, impossible to miss. I wanted,” he said, so close now I feel his breath in my own mouth, “to take it away.”

  And then, as if tugged by invisible strings, he took a step back.

  “I forget myself. I am sorry.”

  I rubbed the place on my jaw where he’d touched me.

  Tension had already begun to return to the muscles at the back of my neck.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  Vincent straightened and spoke softly, his face serious, as though he was praying or taking an oath. “I promise to look out for your best interests. You have my word.”

  He pressed his hand to his heart and I struggled to stifle a laugh. Such a strange boy. But the sense that large chunks of understanding had faded out of my mind clouded my thinking. Through my own confusion, I felt the need to throw him a bone, to reassure him, somehow. “When am I going to hear you play violin? You said I would.”

  “Yes, yes,” Vincent said, suddenly distracted. I wondered if I’d offended him by mocking his solemn duty to watch over me.