Dead Beautiful

  I sat up in my seat. “Are you okay?”

  “What are you talking about? I’m fine,” he said, his thumb hidden within his fist by his side.

  I gazed at him and then at his arm. “Let me see your hand.”

  Dante gave me a bemused look, but didn’t move.

  “Let me see it,” I repeated, taking his arm. It was ice cold. Startled, I let go.

  Dante studied me, waiting to see how I would react.

  “Open your fist,” I said softly. “Please.”

  One by one, he lifted his fingers until his palm was resting on the desk. I looked at his thumb, but there was nothing. No cut, no blood, not even a trace of a cut. Baffled, I picked up his hand. My fingers began to tingle, but I didn’t care. I held his thumb to the light, examining every angle. There was nothing.

  I gaped at him. “You just cut yourself and it’s not there anymore.”

  “I told you,” he said with a confused smile, “nothing happened.”

  “But why did you pull away like that? Your skin, it... it started to bleed... I saw it.”

  “Maybe the pen leaked.”

  I picked up the pen and shook it. “It didn’t.”

  Dante looked into my eyes. “Renée, you’re imagining things. How could my skin have healed that quickly? I’d have to be some sort of monster.”

  Bewildered, I shook my head. That wasn’t what I meant at all. “I don’t think you’re a monster.”

  “What do you think I am, then?”

  That he was brilliant. That he was dangerous, but still made me feel safe. That he was different from everyone else I had ever met.

  “Strangely perfect,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  Dante looked at me with surprise as the words left my mouth. He didn’t reply for what seemed like ages, and I looked away in embarrassment, staring at my Mary Janes. “You must have a backward view of perfection, if that’s what you think.” He closed my notebook and handed it to me. “See you next week? Same time, same place.”

  Mortified at my admission, I looked at him and then at his thumb. Had I had actually seen what I thought I had, or was Dante right?

  “No one’s perfect, Renée.”

  I nodded, but as I watched him stand up, I realized that everything that was wrong with him was right. His solitude, his callous reticence, his unpredictability—it only drew me closer—his flaws making him all the more real.

  “I always knew there was something different about him,” Eleanor said, half joking, when I told her what happened. I tried talking to Annie about it, but she literally thought I was losing my mind. Was I feeling okay? Maybe I should see a counselor at school. She meant well, but it only frustrated me more. I saw what I saw, and Annie was treating me like a child. Eleanor, on the other hand, was exactly the opposite.

  “I can’t believe I told him I thought he was perfect,” I said, lowering my fork. We were in the Megaron, eating dinner. “It just came out.”

  “Well I guess he is sort of perfect, in a brooding, self-important kind of way. Which really makes him imperfect.”

  “Or more perfect,” I said, just as Nathaniel walked up with his tray.

  “Can I sit with you guys?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Of course.”

  Eleanor pushed her tray over to make room, and then continued. “Maybe he’s superhuman. A demigod. After all, he is an Adonis.”

  I shook my head. “He’s too dark to be a superhero.”

  “That must make him the villain, then,” Eleanor said with a mischievous smile. “Even better.”

  Nathaniel pushed his glasses up. “What are you guys talking about?”

  Eleanor looked at me for permission to divulge, and I shrugged.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Eleanor asked him, lowering her voice seductively.

  Nathaniel glanced nervously at Eleanor and then at me. “Of course I can. Who am I going to tell, anyway?”

  “We’re talking about Dante Berlin.”

  “Oh,” he said, not seeming very excited. “What about him?”

  Keeping my voice low, I told him what had happened when he’d cut his finger. “Have you ever heard of that before?” If anyone would know, it was Nathaniel. He knew everything about science and math.

  Nathaniel stared at me, his eyes magnified through his glasses. “I... I don’t know, Renée. Maybe you were seeing things.”

  I shrugged. I probably was. So why did I want to believe so badly that I wasn’t?

  Nathaniel picked at his tuna. “What’s so great about him, anyway? So he doesn’t have any friends. Lots of people don’t have friends. Why does that make him interesting?”

  “Oh, come on. Haven’t you seen him?” Eleanor exclaimed.

  “It’s because he’s tall, isn’t it? Tall and the long hair.”

  Even Nathaniel’s crude description made me want to see Dante again. Unfortunately, he never came to dinner, probably because he lived off campus.

  “He’s really smart,” I murmured.

  “And confident,” Eleanor added.

  “It’s like he’s older than everyone else,” I said. “Like he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid of taking it.”

  “What she’s saying is that he’s manly.” Eleanor grinned. “Though I think you meant colder, not older.”

  I laughed, but Nathaniel wasn’t amused. “There is one explanation,” he said.

  Eleanor and I went quiet, waiting for him to continue.

  “Cold skin, older than everyone else, withdrawn from society? The only humans who have those characteristics are dead.”

  There was a long silence. Nathaniel was right, but Dante was a living, breathing, moving person. I laughed. “Are you implying that Dante Berlin is dead?”

  Nathaniel blushed and looked at his plate, from which he had barely eaten anything. “I... I don’t know. It was just an observation.”

  Eleanor smiled, twirling a ringlet of hair around her finger. “Dead beautiful.”

  By the middle of October, the last of the trees had changed colors and the entire campus was blushing red and orange leaves. Every morning while I walked to class, the breeze would pluck them from their branches and carry them around campus, making them swirl around my feet like a flutter of monarch butterflies. After a month at Gottfried, things were getting better. My grandfather called to check in on me every so often, but our conversations were brief. I told him about my classes. Horticulture was quickly becoming my favorite. Surprisingly, it wasn’t about plants at all; and while we did spend some time learning the different species of flora and their climates, we spent most of our classes learning about soil, root and irrigation systems, and how to plant things. I was usually the best in the class, and I loved it.

  I had made friends with several people, including some of the girls on our floor, who I got dinner with when Eleanor was busy. Brett and I were also becoming friends. I kept bumping into him outside the girls’ dorm or outside the lunchroom when Eleanor and I were leaving, as if he were waiting for someone; but he always walked with us. Although our discourse primarily consisted of light, insubstantial banter, it was okay; it reminded me of the way things had been with me and Wes, who I still hadn’t heard from. Annie, I had. We tried to talk on the phone every week, but the pauses in our conversations were growing longer and longer as we became more involved in our separate worlds. And my world was quickly beginning to revolve around Dante.

  We kept meeting after the paper-cut incident, though he still wouldn’t admit that anything weird had happened. After only two weeks, I was getting A’s on all of my assignments, and finally felt like Professor Lumbar was warming up to me. I should have been ecstatic, but when I saw a big A scrawled on top of my latest exam, all I could think of was losing Dante. I clearly didn’t need tutoring anymore, and Dante would know that when he saw my grades. The problem was that I liked having an excuse to be around him. Friday had become my favorite day of the week because of our private sessions. Every time I looked at him,
I discovered something new. A freckle on his neck or the white vestiges of a scar next to his left ear. And I couldn’t deny the bond I felt in knowing that he too had lost his parents. He was the only one I could talk to about it—he always knew exactly what to say and what to ask to make me feel better, and he knew so much about dealing with death that I was becoming almost dependent on his advice. It seemed like I had no other choice. So I began to purposely write down the wrong conjugations; I made grammatical errors and mixed up vocabulary words, and to my relief, my grades began to drop. Dante glanced suspiciously over my marked-up exam, bleeding with red ink, and suggested we start meeting twice a week. I happily obliged.

  I still wanted to ask him about Benjamin Gallow, about Gideon and his old friends and what had happened last spring, but that hadn’t gone over so well last time. So I settled on something easier.

  “What was growing up in Canada like?” We were sitting in the Latin classroom, the candlelight casting shadows across the beamed ceilings.

  “Cold,” Dante said, leaning toward me, his dark eyes glimmering. “And wild.”

  “What do you mean wild?”

  “My parents were ranchers. My father hunted wild game and sold the meat and pelts to traders, and my mother was a taxidermist. We lived in a farmhouse that was so far north there were more trees than people. The house was full of dead animals, but outside was even worse because there the bears and wild boars were alive. It would snow for weeks in the winter—big sheets of it piling up past the windows; wind so cold you’d freeze to death if you sprained an ankle while you were hunting or gathering wood. In a place like that, you’re constantly reminded of your own mortality; of the strength of nature, of how unforgiving it can be. It was humbling.”

  I let my eyes fall across his body, envisioning him trekking through the wilderness, an ax in one hand, a shotgun in the other, a dead deer slung around his shoulders. What I would have given to be snowed in with Dante.

  “Maine must seem tropical to you,” I joked lamely.

  Dante laughed. “Not exactly.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  He thought about it. “I think it’s good for me.”

  His answer was slightly disappointing. What I wanted him to say was something along the lines of, “I was miserable here until I met you.” Or, “You are the only thing worth studying at Gottfried.” Or, “Renée, you are the love of my life. I will follow you to the ends of the earth, carrying a deer on my shoulders that I killed with my bare hands just to prove my devotion.” Or, “I want to take you right now with my strong, inexplicably cold hands, and whisper sweet Latinate words in your ear.”

  “And I think you’re good for me,” Dante said.

  I blinked. Did he actually say that or was I merely fantasizing about him saying that? He leaned toward me, waiting for me to respond.

  “What?” I said softly.

  Dante rubbed the side of his neck. “I mean, I think this is good for me. Talking to you. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have friends.”

  Friends, I thought, my heart dropping. Right. “What exactly happened with them?” I asked gently. “You never told me.”

  Dante scrutinized my face. “We just grew apart. Benjamin died and then Cassie...transferred. After that I realized I had different priorities from the rest of them.”

  “What do you mean?” Annie and I were growing apart because we were apart, not because I chose to push her away.

  “We all met in a Latin translation class. Back then we were attracted to the same ideas, about myth and lore, about morality, about how to be good people and make the right decisions. I’m still fascinated by all that, but I can’t say the same for the others.”

  “But it didn’t have anything to do with Benjamin’s death?”

  Dante considered how to respond. “No. Just a coincidence.”

  Coincidences. There seemed to be a lot of those going on recently. “And I’m guessing it was also a coincidence that you found Benjamin in the woods?” Just like I had found my parents in the woods, I thought.

  Dante crossed his arms. “Yes,” he said, as if it were obvious.

  “It’s just too weird that he died of a heart attack in the woods just like my parents. Out of the blue.” I gave him a sidelong glance, hoping he would tell me something about Benjamin’s death that he hadn’t told the school.

  “If you’re looking for incriminating information, I don’t have any. He was dead. In the woods. A heart attack, like they said.”

  I studied him, trying to figure out if he was telling the truth.

  “So why were you spying on Gideon that night in the library?”

  “I wasn’t spying; I was studying.”

  “In that exact spot in the library?”

  Dante straightened out his tie. “As I recall, you were there too.”

  He was right. How had I happened to find them? It was a little coincidental. So fine, maybe he had a point. But there were other things that I still had questions about.

  “They mentioned Eleanor and her brother. I heard that Brandon doesn’t like you, or Gideon. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe out of a personal distaste? Do you know why people dislike you?”

  “Who dislikes me?” I said forcefully. I was a nice, considerate person. Why would anyone dislike me?

  Dante grinned. “It was hypothetical.”

  I blushed. “Oh. Well, how come you never talk to Eleanor, even though you sit next to her in assembly?”

  “She never talks to me.”

  Frowning, I leaned forward. Was he mocking me? He had legitimate answers to all of my questions; questions that I was sure would force him to reveal the truth about Benjamin and his old friends. But what kind of admission was I expecting?

  “Why do you live off campus?”

  “I don’t like shared bathrooms.”

  “Why are your hands so cold?”

  “Poor circulation.”

  Sighing, I pushed my hair out of my face and collapsed back in my chair.

  Tapping his fingers on the desk, Dante gave me a pensive look. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “Why am I the only one you talk to?” I asked softly.

  Dante hesitated. “Because you’re impulsive. And stubborn. And too quick to judge. You question everything and you can’t keep your thoughts to yourself, even when you’re wrong.. ..”

  Incredulous, I gaped at him and was about to interrupt, when he cut me off.

  “And you’re sincere. And searching. And challenging. Even when you’re angry, you’re so full of life that it spills out of you. You think that nobody understands you,” he said gently. “But it’s not true.”

  My lips trembled, and I was unsure of whether I wanted to laugh or cry. “You didn’t answer my question,” I said, trying to hide the quiver in my voice.

  Dante smiled. “I talk to you because you make me laugh.”

  I told Eleanor everything. Which was that I had found out nothing. And upon her advice I put my investigation on hold. The only thing I didn’t tell her about was the last bit, partly because I wanted to keep it for myself, and partly because she wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Eleanor had a crush on our History professor, Mr. Bliss, and couldn’t stop talking about him. So maybe he was young and sort of good-looking for a teacher, but in reality, he was closer to our parents’ age than he was to ours, and he smoked out the window before class, and he ate a weird sandwich every day for lunch that made him smell like onions.

  “But it’s not just the way he looks,” Eleanor said, licking the oatmeal off her spoon. “It’s what he says. He’s brilliant.”

  I rolled my eyes. We were in the dining hall, eating breakfast before class.

  “Like that thing he said the other week. What was it?”

  I shrugged and played with the crusts of my toast.

  “Oh right, I remember,” Eleanor exclaimed. “He said, ‘The truth is generally seen but rarely heard.’ Isn’t that just
so true?”

  A few months ago I would have agreed with it, but now I wasn’t so sure. Nothing that I had seen in the past month had seemed like the truth. How had my parents died? How had Benjamin died? I was beginning to doubt that the truth even existed. “Ironic that he said it out loud,” I muttered.

  “You’re just in a bad mood because of your Latin test.”

  She was partially right. I did get a C on my exam, but that was intentional and I wasn’t about to admit it to Eleanor. Regardless of Latin, I was still convinced that most of the things Professor Bliss taught us were made up. “Okay, so what about that time he told us that Napoleon was actually a little boy? Or his theory that ghosts actually exist?”

  “He’s just a spiritual person,” Eleanor said. “And how do you know who Napoleon really was? You weren’t alive back then.”

  I sighed. Thankfully, it was time for class. And lucky for Eleanor, we had History.

  Professor Lesley Bliss was in his late thirties. “Call me Mr. B.,” he had said on the first day. To my surprise, he was the same professor who I had walked in on teaching Advanced Latin on my first day of school. As a result, I thought he would be cold and brooding like the students he taught, when in fact he was exactly the opposite.

  He was a grown-up boy, with a goofy smile and free-flowing hair that flopped in front of his eyes while he lectured. He always wore hiking clothes to class—zip-off pants and khaki shirts rolled up at the sleeves—which made him look like he had just come from digging in some exotic location.

  “Burials,” he began, and approached the board, drawing several images in chalk. The first was a pyramid, the second was a funeral pyre, and the third was a coffin, just like the one I had seen on the board in Advanced Latin. I looked at it again. In Horticulture, we were also studying burials, though of course there we were using bulbs.

  “Why do we bury our dead?” His nose was dented in at the bridge like a sphinx; the cause of which I could only imagine had been a freak archaeological accident.

  I thought about my parents. They had requested in their will that they be buried side by side in a tiny cemetery a few miles from our house. “Because it’s respectful?”

  He shook his head. “That’s true, but that’s not the reason we do it.”