Dead Beautiful
Page 31
“I never used to be. I guess you could say I just woke up one morning and it clicked. You know how that happens?”
I nodded as he flipped through my papers. We spent the next half hour going over the mistakes I’d made on last week’s homework. And then something unexplainable happened. As Dante turned a page, the corner cut into his thumb, slicing the skin. He pulled his hand away.
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.”
I nodded as he flipped through my papers. We spent the next half hour going over the mistakes I’d made on last week’s homework. And then something unexplainable happened. As Dante turned a page, the corner cut into his thumb, slicing the skin. He pulled his hand away.
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.”
