The Revealing

I knew that after class, I would punch myself for agreeing to a public kiss with Damian, but I couldn’t let him win. We discussed our roles for the rest of the class, and then it was time for cooking class. I considered skipping class, but I knew Damian would just find me eventually. Plus, Willow was going to be there, so it promised fun.

“We have a new student on our class list: Willow. You all probably know her; however, she does not have a partn—”

At that point, every single male hand in the room shot up before Mrs. Shire could finish her sentence. She gave all the males in the room the death stare, and they pulled back their hands. Mrs. Shire was the alpha that alpha males were afraid of.

“As I was saying before you all so rudely interrupted, which qualifies for detention …”

Every guy groaned.

As I’d predicted, Willow used her gifted silver tongue to be partnered with me. I, of course, didn’t mind at all. I guessed that she was an amazing baker, so it would be an asset to have her on my side. Class began with roll call. Mrs. Shire spat each name into the air, and each hand raised as she noted their attendance. She said Willow’s name with the least disdain possible, because well, it was Willow. Mrs. Shire did not mind that Car and I had another person in our pair, mostly because we would work well together.

When class began, my jaw dropped. Willow’s cupcakes flopped twice and tasted like stale bread. It seemed I’d found the one thing she wasn’t good at. Mrs. Shire recruited us to help with our school bake sale. Car and I had gotten an A on our last project. The cake tasted amazing.

“Why don’t you just use your silver tongue and ask the cupcakes to stay up?” Damian joked.

He was enjoying this. Willow was not. I could see the frustration in her expression. After her second batch of cupcakes sank in, I took over. I mixed new batter in five minutes and stuck it in the oven. I gave Willow a new task, which I knew she would be good at: decorating the finished cupcakes. She enjoyed the idea, probably because she did not have to touch the batter again.

When Willow finished icing the first batch, the bell rang. I’d successfully avoided a detention. That was a positive point for me. After baking, it was time for art. I walked into class with Damian tailing me closely. Mrs. Aubrey smiled at the sight of me and smirked at the sight of Damian. In return, he winked at her. He actually winked. How cocky do you have to be to think you could get away with winking at a teacher? Willow walked in and looked at the teacher.

“Hey, Shannon!” She hugged the teacher, who hugged back, and both girls squealed, revealing that Mrs. Aubrey was actually as young as she looked.

“Shannon?” I asked. She did look young. It was possible that she was friends with Willow.

“Oh, sorry! We go way back,” Willow said. My mouth dropped open as she continued. “She is also Tharsion. She used to babysit us when our parents were away.”

Mrs. Aubrey smiled at me and told everyone to take his or her seat, because people had started filing into class. I, on the other hand, went to the back of the classroom, where I had my easel and paint already set up.

“All right, guys, take out your sketchbooks. Today we are working on colour and texture.”

She trailed off, and everyone paid attention—everyone but me, who’d already learned about the elements of colour and texture when I was 4. I dove into my painting, mentally seeing every little star, even the dim ones. I painted those too. I painted each glimmer, fading light and shadow. I painted it all as I saw it in my mind. As I was picturing the painting in my head, Willow popped into my mind, as did Damian, but I stopped myself before I added them into my picture of space. I shook my head and tried to see space again so I could finish my painting, but now all I could see was a girl. The image wasn’t clear, and it wasn’t a picture. Was I having another vision?

The little girl was crying loudly. I couldn’t recognize her, because her face was smudged. There was a boy there too—probably about two or three years younger than me, from what I could make out. He was behind bars, chained to two separate walls, and people in robes were hurting the girl. Every time the girl would cry out, the blurred boy would scream and pull on the chains. The men torturing the girl kept screaming and yelling muffled words I could not make out. I felt as if I were in the same room, but everything was on mute, except for the sound effects. I heard the chains rattling, and I heard them hit the girl. I wanted them to stop. She was crying. I could hear it. I opened my mouth, and a scream built up in my throat. I tried to yell, “Stop!” but nothing came out. The men got more aggressive and hit her more. I kept screaming. The voices started to become clearer. Tears were running down my cheeks.

“Go ahead—scream! The only one who can hear you is him, and you are making him suffer!” one man said.

The little girl sobbed.

“Tell us where you put her, and we will let him go!”

They hit her again, and she shrieked. One of them said, “Damn! Jack, get her in the water! She did it again! I’m pretty sure that one stopped this body’s heart for a second.”

I thought for a second they were drowning her, and I leaped forward, but something pulled me back. I turned around, but there was no one there. I turned back around when I heard the chained boy shout.

“She is only six years old!” he said.

I heard a splash, and they hit her again. This time, no one jumped back. The boy shouted again.

“She can’t control it when she is like this! Take her out!”

I listened as the voices became clearer and more revolting by the minute. I heard a grunt, and the chains rattled. The little girl screamed as bright lights lit the room. I jumped forward again. I wanted to help her, but it was as if my feet were nailed to the ground. Then I saw her—Lisa. They were torturing Lisa! I saw someone else in the far corner. The clearest person there, Lisa, was still blurry, even though I could make her out. Peridot was in the corner, sitting with her knees against her chest, crying.

“Tell us where you put her!”

Lisa leaned forward. “I don’t know!” she managed to say through her sobs. “I never did that before! A person is different from a house! It’s not that easy!”

She began crying like crazy; her blurred body shook in the water. The boy was out cold, possibly dead. I couldn’t check, as I was glued to that spot. Peridot stopped crying and did something that surprised me. She looked right at me. She could see me.

“Obsidian!”

My mind came back to art class. I heard a strange, high-pitched sound, which I soon figured out was coming from my own mouth. I was screaming.

Everyone in the classroom was staring at me. My face felt wet. Was I crying? I was also bleeding and lying on the floor. Damian and Willow were hovering over me. My arm was broken. What the heck had I missed? Obviously, my arm was still broken because there were humans in the classroom; if it had been just us, Damian would have healed me, or they would have called Mason. I was soaking. How much blood had I lost? I tried to say something, but Mrs. Aubrey stopped me.

“There you are. An ambulance is coming.”

What? Can’t they just heal me or something? Mason had healed my broken ankle before. I looked at Damian and Willow for answers. Damian gave me the most concerned look I had ever seen him wear; his eyes were full of emotion—guilt. What did he have to be guilty about?

I looked at Willow. Her face looked horrified, but the horror wasn’t at what had happened to me. I followed her gaze to my painting.

Lisa was in a tub of water with electricity flowing through her body, and a boy was wrapped in chains, bleeding. Robed people were torturing Lisa, and in the corner where I had seen Peridot was a blurred-out figure. The painting was not on my canvas, though; it was on the floor where I’d been standing a couple minutes ago. I realized that I was bleeding, but that was not why I was soaked. I’d covered myself in red paint. My shirt was soaked, and my shorts were ruined. I was a mess.

What struck me was that I never painted anything for no reason. I had painted myself red, as if I’d taken a bath in the paint. At some point in the future, I would be covered in red. Blood was red. When I made that connection, I passed out. Damian was holding me, and I collapsed in his arms.