The good girl. Gemma.
She was the only other person who could have known.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s voice, in all its shrill glory, snapped me back to reality. Brantley and Cade were both staring at Gemma with a devious look in their eye as she sat, completely unaware of anything going on around her.
“Okay, class. I want you to pick one object in the room—I don’t care what it is—and start drawing.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s hands clapped, the sound reverberating around the room. “I just want to see where your potential is! There is no right or wrong way to do art, friends! Let’s get creative!”
My lip curled as I took my eyes off Gemma and brought them back to my boys. “I need to talk to her alone.” I flicked my head to her as she swiped a lock of brown hair out of her face. She began drawing on the paper in front of her, appearing even more angelic than before. She was completely focused, heedless of anything else—even me—as I stared at her, plotting something in the back of my head.
“We’re on it,” Cade said.
I grabbed my pencil and grinned, watching my boys divide and conquer.
Alright, Gemma. It's payback time.
Chapter Six
Gemma
I learned long ago that you had to find good in the littlest of things. The minute of silence in a house full of people you hated. The smell of coffee in the morning, even if you knew you weren’t going to get a cup. The sun on your face, even for a fleeting moment, before a tsunami-like storm hit the grass below your feet.
This right here. This moment was good.
The pencil felt light in my hand, the metallic shine of the lead on the thick paper in front of me was like a little sliver of hope on this awful day. I couldn’t shake the unease that had laid deep in my belly after breakfast this morning. My skin prickled underneath my brand-new uniform during my first two periods. I wasn’t necessarily anxious about being at St. Mary’s, because it really was better than home, but I did feel apprehensive when it came to people staring at me—and trust me when I say everyone was staring at me.
So, this moment here? Art class? Are you kidding me? This forty-five-minute class made up for the lingering gazes that kept following me around the expansive hallway this morning.
Art was my happy place. Art was the one thing he couldn’t take from me. I always found a way back to it, even when I felt like my creative streak had vanished along with all rational thinking. Somehow, drawing was what grounded me. I got lost in it.
It felt like home, and that was a comforting thing to feel when you were a hostage inside the place you’d lived all your life. Not to mention, art had saved my mental state so many times I’d lost count.
My hand continued to flick over the thick, high-quality paper as my pencil moved languidly, sketching the small clay figurines on the top of a nearby shelf. I chose to sketch the first thing my eyes landed on, because as soon as Mrs. Fitzpatrick said, “Sketch”, I jumped at the opportunity.
“Hey, that’s really good.”
The deep voice was close, and my head popped up quickly, a rushed breath leaving my mouth as my fingers wrapped around th
e pencil in my hand. I landed on a set of deep, honey-colored, almond-shaped eyes that sent a rush of warmth through me.
“Oh,” I croaked. “Thank you.” I smiled shyly and then put my attention back to my paper.
My heart started to skip in my chest when his presence grew heavier. He was still standing beside me, a little too close for comfort. But maybe he was just admiring my art work.
“I’m Cade,” he offered as he plopped himself down in the next chair.
The art room wasn’t set up like a traditional classroom, although I couldn’t really be certain what a traditional classroom was since I’d only ever gone to one high school, and it was for a brief time, but it didn’t look like my first two periods’ rooms at all. Instead of desks sitting in an organized manner, there were several rectangular tables set up in different directions all over the room. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to why they were placed where they were placed, but I kind of liked it like this. It wasn’t so direct. It was a little messy and completely out of order.
It was strange that things out of order felt right to me when I’d been taught all my life that there was no middle ground. It was black or white, straight or crooked, right or wrong. There couldn’t be an in between. Ever.
“I’m Gemma,” I said, going back to my paper while trying to ignore the heat I felt from his skin radiating onto mine. A sense of urgency whipped through me, telling me to move away from him, but I didn’t. I didn’t move because I knew in the back of my head I wasn’t feeling that urgent need to flinch because of him as a person. It was because of something else entirely.
Tobias’ voice tickled the back of my brain: Survive, but don’t believe a single thing he says. He has plans for you, just like he did for Mom.
Not everyone was bad, and I had to start trusting my gut more than trusting what I’d been told over the years. I knew that now.
Cade and I worked in silence for the next several minutes, and soon, I felt myself getting lost in my sketch again. My eyes moved back and forth from the little figurines and their ornate details every few seconds, making sure I got every last thing correct when he muttered, “Shit.”
Glancing over briefly, I saw that he was staring at me.