And how long ago it was abandoned, left to rot and eventually turn into a destination for many a teenage pregnancy scare.
The top of the stairs leads to a flat floor in a somewhat open area. The bells and their mechanisms have been stripped from the tower, leaving an empty space in the high pointed ceiling above me. I set my empty cup down on the floor and walk over to one of the windows. The panes have long since been shattered, leaving the glass glittering like sand in the grass down below.
The party has spilled out of the church and onto the grass outside. I lean my face against the glorified hole in the wall and watch the black silhouettes moving in the dark.
The people below me look so small and far away. Everyone’s too distracted by drink and pheromones to look up, so no one notices when I lean out of the window to feel the cold mountain breeze brush across my face. It’s pretty spacious up here. Honestly, I’m surprised I’m alone. It’d be a good make out spot, at least. Much better than the balcony below, where just anyone can glance up and see everything.
Not that I’m going to be doing any of that anytime soon.
I think for a second that I recognize the silhouette of Heath’s shoulders down below. Of all the boys, he’s the most distinctively shaped. Too tall and too broad for someone our age, his shoulders rounded with muscle.
A slight shiver races down my spine.
Stop. I shouldn’t be thinking about that. Not here. Not now. And certainly … not Heath. Not any of them.
I close my eyes to ignore the figures down below for a moment and just focus on the cool air on my skin.
I stay here for a long time, enjoying a long-forgotten peace, long enough to need to rest my arms on the high windowsill and set my head on them. Down on the ground, a few couples have started dancing as music drifts out from somewhere inside the church. Someone’s brought out more flashlights, and the way they sway and bob looks like fireflies darting between the bases of the trees.
I’m not sure how long I stand here, gazing down at the fairy lights while the breeze numbs my face. The cold of the stone wall sinks through my jacket and into my bones, numbing me into a lull that only the sharp stab of voices draws me out of.
Familiar voices. Drunk familiar voices.
I look frantically around the empty room. There’s nowhere in here for me to hide. I turn and press my back close to the wall as heavy footsteps thump their way up the stairs. It’s too late to run. Too late to think of a plan.
All I can do is try to look small and compliant and hope that’s enough.
Jasper spills into the room, his arm around Olive’s waist, followed closely by Beck and Heath. All my efforts in trying to make myself look small are wasted when Olive spots me immediately.
“Alex!” she slurs happily, stumbling out of Jasper’s grasp. “I was wondering where you—hic—where you went.” She comes to me and grabs my hand to pull me against her. Her eyes are glazed, her grip both painfully tight and yet unsteady. She looks into my eyes with a glassy stare and lips carelessly parted, her breaths coming out in short gasps.
“Dance with me.”
That elicits a growl from Jasper, and he scowls as he walks over. “I’ll dance with you, Olive.”
“I can’t dance.” I slip away from her, taking a step toward the exit. I just want to be wherever these guys aren’t.
“Everyone can dance,” Olive says, gushing with misplaced enthusiasm. I wonder briefly if she knows what she’s doing.
She has to know what she’s doing, right?
“So can I,” Jasper slurs at her, and he catches her by the waist again, making her giggle. “Why do you wanna dance with this—this little, this—runt?”
Good insult, I think dryly. Definitely worth all that brain power it took to get there.
Not that Bleakwood actually seems to require much. Not like I was promised. This school for the gifted, the talented … it’s really turned out to be a school for the lineage-inclined.
“He’s not a runt,” Olive replies, still seemingly oblivious to the trouble she’s causing.
I take another step toward the exit.
“Where you goin’?” Jasper asks angrily, lurching toward me. The alcohol has made his words slur even more. He barely sounds like himself.
I wince, but he stops when Olive grabs his arm.
Over by the far window, Beck and Heath turn around. They’ve heard the edge in Jasper’s tone too. They’re getting ready.
Ready for what?