In My Dreams I Hold a Knife(8)

It was easy to tell who she was talking about. He was the one person in a sea of skirts and blazers who hadn’t dressed up. Instead, he wore black boots and a T-shirt with the collar hanging loose, a colorful tattoo half-hidden by his sleeve. He was tall and lanky, with a shock of dark hair so thick it made him taller. There was something about his face—the cut of his jaw, the fullness of his lips. I shivered.

“My mom would take one look at him and faint,” Caro said.

As if he could feel us staring, the boy turned sharply, his eyes landing on me. My mouth turned dry. His eyes were a light color, though I couldn’t tell which at this distance. A small smile curled his lips.

“He’s hot,” Heather said, speaking at an alarmingly normal volume. “In a one-time, get-the-bad-boy-out-of-your-system kind of way. I’ve moved on to nice boys. But every girl has to go through it. Rite of passage.”

“Am I crazy, or is he walking over here?” I whispered, heart hammering.

“He is definitely coming closer,” Caro confirmed.

The boy came over and stopped, resting one of his black boots on the bench. “Hi,” he said, turning a little to include Caro and Heather. As soon as his eyes left my face, I felt a rush of relief, mingled with disappointment. “You guys feeling honorable, after swearing your oaths and everything?”

“Not particularly,” Heather said.

“Excellent.” He dropped into a seat on the other side of the table and pulled something out of his pocket. “In that case, want to smoke?”

He held out a joint.

I almost toppled off the bench. “Out in the open?”

He grinned at me, and I had the sudden feeling this was what he’d walked over for, to bait me into talking to him. I made the mistake of looking at his eyes, which I could now see were green as summer grass.

“What, you don’t take risks?” He was still grinning in that way that made it seem like he was responding to a second, secret conversation, one I couldn’t yet follow.

“I’ll take the risk,” Heather said. “As long as it’s good weed. Nothing skunky, please—life’s too short.”

“None for me,” Caro said, fingering her cross.

The boy stuck the joint in his mouth, pulled out a lighter, and flicked up a flame, sucking in a breath. Effortless. He ran a hand through his hair, and it remained lifted high on his head, long after his hand dropped back to the table. He took another drag and passed the joint to me.

I shook my head, the movement slight. He smiled a small, knowing smile and held the joint out to Heather, who took it immediately.

His eyes found me again. “Brandon Cooper. East House, floor three.”

“Jessica Miller.” I pressed sweaty hands against my dress. “On four.”

“I know.” He reached into his pocket, digging for something. When he pulled his hand out, he held a small piece of paper.

“I got this for you.”

It was a fortune from a fortune cookie. I picked it up and gaped at him. “What? Why?”

“I’ve seen you around. I got this and thought of you. I was going to tape it to your door, but here you are.”

My blank stare was broken by a loud voice calling from across the lawn. “Coop, dude, are you smoking in the middle of the quad again?”

The four of us turned in unison, like windup toys. Three boys ambled in our direction, led by the one in the middle, who was grinning like he’d stumbled on the funniest thing in the world.

It was hard to keep my mouth from dropping open. All three boys were attractive, but the leader in the middle was easily the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. He was golden—there was no other way to describe it. His skin, light gold, his hair, dark gold, his eyes so crystal-blue they were startling. His teeth were perfectly straight and white—unreal teeth, the kind no human actually possessed. He wore a navy blazer with a crest sewn into it and matching navy slacks.

Caro leaned in close and whispered, “I think we just fell into an Abercrombie catalog.”

The three boys stood in front of us, brimming with good humor.

“You’ve got brass balls, Cooper,” said the massive guy standing to the prince’s left. He had a shaved head and bronze skin, tall and broad, his chest and shoulders thick with muscle, stuffed into an ill-fitting jacket. He held his body stiffly, in a way that screamed athlete. He darted a glance to the prince after he spoke, seeking approval.

Coop shrugged. “If I get kicked out, that’s one less bill to worry about.” He took the joint back and held it up. “Interested?”

Inside, panic swelled. I’d never heard anyone talk openly about bills, as if not having money was simply a fact of life. As if there wasn’t shame in it, and you weren’t broadcasting to everyone that you were a small and unimportant person. I felt a sudden, irrational terror they’d turn to me next, make me talk about my family’s bills.

“You kidding?” The big guy crossed his arms and shook his head. “I’m on the football team. My dad would kill me if he knew I was standing this close to you.”

“Speaking of which,” Coop said, smiling slyly around the joint, “I heard your dad yelling at you during Move-In. Man’s scary-invested in your college football career. I’m worried he’s going to come back in the middle of the night, cut your face off, and wear it around campus, pretending to be you.”