Torment

Luce had sudden vivid ashbacks to the mental jungle gym Arriane had taken her through when they'd rst met. Her Shoreline roommate's tough exterior was a lot like Arriane's, and Luce remembered a similar how-will-I-ever-be-friends-with-you feeling her rst day at Sword & Cross. tough exterior was a lot like Arriane's, and Luce remembered a similar how-will-I-ever-be-friends-with-you feeling her rst day at Sword & Cross.



But though Arriane had seemed intimidating and even a little dangerous, there had been something charmingly o -kilter about her from the start. Luce's new roommate, on the other hand, just seemed annoying.



Shelby popped o the bed and lumbered into the bathroom to brush her teeth. After digging through her du el bag to nd her toothbrush, Luce followed her in and gestured sheepishly at the toothpaste.



"I forgot to pack mine."



"No doubt the dazzle of your celebrity blinded you to the small necessities of life," Shelby replied, but she picked up the tube and extended it toward Luce.



They brushed in silence for about ten seconds until Luce couldn't take it anymore. She spat out a mouthful of froth. "Shelby?"



With her head in the belly of the porcelain sink, Shelby spat and said, "What?"



Instead of asking any of the questions that had been running through her head a minute before, Luce surprised herself and asked, "What was I saying in my sleep?"



This morning was the rst in at least a month of vivid, complicated, Daniel-ridden dreams on which Luce had woken up unable to remember a single thing from her sleep.



Nothing. Not one brush of an angel wing. Not one kiss of his lips.



She stared at Shelby's gru face in the mirror. Luce needed the girl to help jog her memory. She must have been dreaming about Daniel. If she hadn't been ... what could it mean?



"Beats me," Shelby said nally. "You were all mu ed and incoherent. Next time, try enunciating." She left the bathroom and slipped on a pair of orange ip- ops. "It's breakfast time. You coming or what?"



Luce scurried out of the bathroom. "What do I wear?" She was still in her pajamas. Francesca hadn't said anything last night about a dress code. But then, she'd also failed to mention the roommate situation.



Shelby shrugged. "What am I, the fashion police? Whatever takes the least amount of time. I'm hungry."



Luce hustled into a pair of skinny jeans and a black wraparound sweater. She would have liked to spend a few more minutes on her rst-day-of- school look, but she just grabbed her backpack and followed Shelby out the door.



The dormitory hallway was di erent in the daylight. Everywhere she looked were bright, oversized windows with ocean views, or built-in bookshelves crammed full of thick, colorful hardcover books. The oors, the walls, the recessed ceilings and steep, curving staircases were all made from the same maple wood used to build the furniture inside Luce's room. It should have given the whole place a warm log cabin feel, except that the school's layout was as intricate and bizarre as Sword & Cross's dorm had been boring and straightforward. Every few steps, the hallway seemed to split o into small tributary hallways, with spiral staircases leading further into the dimly lit maze.



Two ights of stairs and what looked like one secret door later, Luce and Shelby stepped through a set of double-paned French windows and into the daylight. The sun was incredibly bright, but the air was cool enough that Luce was glad she'd worn a sweater. It smelled like the ocean, but not really like home. Less briny, more chalky than the East Coast shore.



"Breakfast is served on the terrace." Shelby gestured at a broad green expanse of land. This lawn was bordered on three sides by thick blue hydrangea bushes, and on the fourth by the steep, straight drop into the sea. It was hard for Luce to believe how very beautiful the school's setting was. She couldn't imagine being able to stay inside long enough to make it through a class.



As they approached the terrace, Luce saw another building, a long, rectangular structure with wooden shingles and cheery yellow-trimmed windowpanes. A large hand-carved sign hung over the entrance: "MESS HALL," it read in quotes, like it was trying to be ironic. It was certainly the nicest mess Luce had ever seen.



The terrace was lled with whitewashed iron lawn furniture and about a hundred of the most laid-back-looking students Luce had ever seen. Most of them had their shoes kicked o , their feet propped up on the tables as they dined on elaborate breakfast dishes. Eggs Benedict, fruit- topped Belgian wa es, wedges of rich-looking, aky spinach- ecked quiche. Kids were reading the paper, gabbing on cell phones, playing croquet on the lawn. Luce knew from rich kids at Dover, but East Coast rich kids were pinched and snotty, not sun-kissed and carefree. The whole scene looked more like the rst day of summer than a Tuesday in early November. It was all so pleasant, it was almost hard to begrudge the self- satis ed looks on these kids' faces. Almost.



Luce tried to imagine Arriane here, what she would think of Shelby or this oceanside dining, how she probably wouldn't know what to make fun of rst. Luce wished she could turn to Arriane now. It would be good to be able to laugh.



Looking around, she accidentally caught the eyes of a couple of students. A pretty girl with olive skin, a polka-dot dress, and a green scarf tied in her glossy black hair. A sandy-haired guy with broad shoulders tackling an enormous stack of pancakes.



Luce's instinct was to turn her head away as soon as she made eye contact--always the safest bet at Sword & Cross. But ... neither one of these kids glared at her. The biggest surprise about Shoreline was not the crystal sunshine or the cushy breakfast terrace or the buckets-of-money aura hovering over everyone. It was that the students here were smiling.



Well, most of them were smiling. When Shelby and Luce reached an unoccupied table, Shelby picked up a small placard and ung it to the ground. Luce leaned sideways to see the word RESERVED written on it just as a kid their age in a full-on black-tie waiter suit approached them with a silver tray.



"Um, this table is re--" he began to say, his voice cracking inopportunely.



"Co ee, black," Shelby said, then abruptly asked Luce, "What do you want?"



"Uh, same," Luce said, uncomfortable at being waited on. "Maybe a little milk."



"Scholarship kids. Gotta slave to get by." Shelby rolled her eyes at Luce as the waiter darted away to get their co ees. She picked up the San Francisco Chronicle from the middle of the table and unfolded the front page with a yawn.



It was right around then that Luce had had enough.



"Hey." She shoved Shelby's arm down so she could see her face behind the paper. Shelby's heavy eyebrows rose in surprise. "I used to be a scholarship kid," Luce told her. "Not at my last school, but the school before that--"



Shelby shrugged o Luce's hand. "Should I be impressed by that part of your r?sum?, too?"



Luce was just about to ask what it was Shelby had heard about her when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.



Francesca, the teacher who'd met Luce at the door last night, was smiling down at her. She was tall, with an imperious bearing, and was put Francesca, the teacher who'd met Luce at the door last night, was smiling down at her. She was tall, with an imperious bearing, and was put together with a style that came across as e ortless. Francesca's soft blond hair was cleanly ipped to one side. Her lips were glossy pink. She wore a cool tted black sheath dress with a blue belt and matching peep-toe stilettos. It was the kind of out t that would make anyone feel dowdy by comparison. Luce wished she'd at least put on mascara. And maybe not worn her mud-crusted Converses.



"Oh, good, you two connected." Francesca smiled. "I knew you'd become fast friends!"



Shelby was silent but rustled her paper. Luce just cleared her throat.



"I think you'll nd Shoreline a very simple adjustment, Luce. It's designed that way. Most of our gifted students just ease right in." Gifted? "Of course, you can come to me with any questions. Or just lean on Shelby."



For the rst time all morning, Shelby laughed. Her laugh was a gru , gravelly thing, the kind of chortle Luce would have expected from an old man, a lifetime smoker, not a teenage yoga enthusiast.



Luce could feel her face pinching up into a scowl. The last thing she wanted was to "ease right in" to Shoreline. She didn't belong with a lot of spoiled gifted kids on a cli overlooking the ocean. She belonged with real people, people with soul instead of squash rackets, who knew what life was like. She belonged with Daniel. She still had no idea what she was doing here, other than hiding out very temporarily while Daniel took care of his ... war. After that, he was going to take her back home. Or something.



"Well, I'll see you both in class. Enjoy breakfast!" Francesca called over her shoulder as she glided away. "Try the quiche!" She waved her hand, signaling to the waiter to bring each girl a plate.



When she was gone, Shelby took a big slurp of her co ee and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.



"Um, Shelby--"



"Ever heard of eating in peace?"



Luce banged her co ee cup back into its saucer and waited impatiently for the nervous waiter to put down their quiches and disappear again. Part of her wanted to nd another table. There were happy buzzes of conversation going on all around her. And if she couldn't join one of them, even sitting alone would be better than this. But she was confused by what Francesca had said. Why pitch Shelby as some great roommate when it was clear the girl was a total hater? Luce milled a bite of quiche around in her mouth, knowing she wouldn't be able to eat until she spoke up.



"Okay, I know I'm new here, and for some reason that annoys you. I guess you had a single room before me, I don't know."



Shelby lowered the paper just below her eyes. She raised one giant eyebrow.



"But I'm not that bad. So what if I have a few questions? Forgive me for not coming into school knowing what the hell the Nephermans are--"



"Nephilim."



"Whatever. I don't care. I have no interest in making you my enemy--which means some of this," Luce said, gesturing at the space between the two of them, "is coming from you. So what's your problem, anyway?"



The side of Shelby's mouth twitched. She folded and set down the paper and leaned back in her chair.



"You should care about the Nephilim. We're going to be your classmates." She ung out her hand, waving it at the terrace. "Look out at the pretty, privileged student body of the Shoreline School. Half of these dopes you'll never see again, except as the object of our practical jokes."



"Our?"



"Yes, you're in the `honors program' with the Nephilim. But don't worry; in case you're not too bright"--Luce snorted--"the gifted track here is mostly a coverup, a place to stow away the Nephs without anyone getting too suspicious. In fact, the only person who's ever gotten suspicious is Beaker Brady."



"Who's Beaker Brady?" Luce asked, leaning in so she didn't have to shout over the rough static of the waves crashing on the shore below.



"That grade-A nerdo two tables over." Shelby nodded at a chubby kid dressed in plaid who'd just spilled yogurt all over a massive textbook. "His parents loathe the fact that he's never been accepted into the honors classes. Every semester, they wage a campaign. He brings in Mensa scores, results from science fairs, famous Nobelists he's impressed, the whole shebang. And every semester, Francesca has to make up some bunk unpassable test to keep him out." She snorted. "Like, `Hey, Beaker, solve this Rubik's cube in under thirty seconds.' " Shelby clicked her tongue against her teeth. "Except the nimrod passed that one."