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Instantly, large, strong hands find my hips, and I’m jerked back.
I inhale sharply, meeting Nico’s barren eyes over my shoulder.
Being on the taller side, I’m surprised by how small I still seem against him.
Maybe it’s the way he has me barricaded between his wide shoulders that has me feeling delicate.
His dark gaze is displeased, but a concealed sentiment lines his brow. “Don’t be dumb,” he finally grinds out.
“I wasn’t gonna fall.”
“Nobody means to fall when they fall. It’s called an accident.”
I stare, my eyes lowering to Nico’s bruise.
Wait.
Both Nico and Alex have fresh markings on their faces?
“What happened to your eye?”
He glares down his nose, but his fingers twitch against my hips. “Don’t worry about it.”
Right. We’re not friends, why would he tell me?
“You can let go of me now, pretty sure I’m no longer at risk of plummeting to my death.”
In no kind of hurry, he loosens his grip, his hands dropping to his sides as he steps away, nodding for me to follow him to the other side.
We round the air conditioning units to the opposite end of the building where there’re crates stacked up. They’re raised maybe three feet high, and a solid ten feet from the ledge, a few lawn chairs that look like they might have been nailed down on top of those allowing you to see over the side without being anywhere near it.
It’s a perfect view of the entire football field, and right at the fifty.
It’s not super close, maybe a hundred yards away, but I’d bet, at night, when the lights are on, it’s still a really clear view.
Right now, we can see people running the track during their PE hour.
“This is awesome,” I say more to myself than him.
When I go to turn around, a high stool pushed against the brick building at the other end catches my attention.
I take the few steps off the platforms, and walk over, grabbing onto the back of the seat and look out. My forehead puckers immediately, and I swing my gaze to Nico who is standing where I left him, observing me with open, yet somehow still unreadable eyes.
Slowly, he drops into one of the seats. When his chin raises slightly, I break contact and focus forward again. I step toward the ledge, placing my hands on the edge of the brick but I don’t lean this time.
I trail every inch of the garden I helped plant my freshman year. The flowers were purposely placed in the shape of a crescent, leaving a large opening of fresh, plush grass in the center and facing the glass wall of the library, giving those inside who chose a window seat, the perfect scenery should they need a minute to breathe.
Me, though, I use it after hours.
Around four or five in the afternoon the sun is positioned against the building just right, allowing for the windows to work as mirrors.
Perfect place for a dancer to work.
It’s secluded, uninterrupted. Beautiful.
Leadership chose this side of the school for the garden because there are no classes on this side of the campus, meaning no foot traffic to destroy our hard work.
My eyes fall to the stool and then shift to Nico who is leaning carelessly in his chair, squinting my way.
Does this mean he’s watched me practice?
I head his way, settling into the seat across from him.
After a few minutes of neither of us speaking, I ask, “Are you going to Krista’s birthday thing this weekend?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Does it matter?”
With a sigh, I glance across the little set up again and confirm the chairs are in fact nailed to the wood. “Did you bring this stuff up?”
He shakes his head. “Found it freshman year. I guess some teachers used to sneak up here to smoke, but I’ve been coming up for years and nothing’s touched or moved from how I leave it, so I don’t think they do anymore.” A sudden frown covers his face. “If people hear about this spot, they’ll start locking the door.”
I regard him a moment before looking off. He wouldn’t have brought me up here if he thought I’d rat him out.
“I’m not going to mess up your chill spot, Nico. I have one of my own, and I would be mad if someone ruined it for me.”
“The attic left of the theater stage.”
My head snaps his way. “How do you know that?”
He doesn’t say anything but continues staring with a deliberate emptiness.
“Did Trent tell you?”
That has him blinking hard, and slowly, he leans forward, placing his forearms on his knees as he delivers his question with an icy tone. “And how would Trent know?”
My skin prickles at the sudden shift in him.
It’s strange, his expression remains completely blank, but his eyes...
Anger?
Frustration?
Maybe.
“You know his mom and mine are friends.”
“And that means he knows where you like to go when you get pissed off or annoyed, or just want a fucking break from having to pretend you’re perfect all the time?” he spits, his word choice making it seem as if he knows and understands what goes on in my head.
