Dead Beautiful
Page 32
Eleanor smiled, twirling a ringlet of hair around her finger. “Dead beautiful.”
By the middle of October, the last of the trees had changed colors and the entire campus was blushing red and orange leaves. Every morning while I walked to class, the breeze would pluck them from their branches and carry them around campus, making them swirl around my feet like a flutter of monarch butterflies. After a month at Gottfried, things were getting better. My grandfather called to check in on me every so often, but our conversations were brief. I told him about my classes. Horticulture was quickly becoming my favorite. Surprisingly, it wasn’t about plants at all; and while we did spend some time learning the different species of flora and their climates, we spent most of our classes learning about soil, root and irrigation systems, and how to plant things. I was usually the best in the class, and I loved it.
I had made friends with several people, including some of the girls on our floor, who I got dinner with when Eleanor was busy. Brett and I were also becoming friends. I kept bumping into him outside the girls’ dorm or outside the lunchroom when Eleanor and I were leaving, as if he were waiting for someone; but he always walked with us. Although our discourse primarily consisted of light, insubstantial banter, it was okay; it reminded me of the way things had been with me and Wes, who I still hadn’t heard from. Annie, I had. We tried to talk on the phone every week, but the pauses in our conversations were growing longer and longer as we became more involved in our separate worlds. And my world was quickly beginning to revolve around Dante.
We kept meeting after the paper-cut incident, though he still wouldn’t admit that anything weird had happened. After only two weeks, I was getting A’s on all of my assignments, and finally felt like Professor Lumbar was warming up to me. I should have been ecstatic, but when I saw a big A scrawled on top of my latest exam, all I could think of was losing Dante. I clearly didn’t need tutoring anymore, and Dante would know that when he saw my grades. The problem was that I liked having an excuse to be around him. Friday had become my favorite day of the week because of our private sessions. Every time I looked at him, I discovered something new. A freckle on his neck or the white vestiges of a scar next to his left ear. And I couldn’t deny the bond I felt in knowing that he too had lost his parents. He was the only one I could talk to about it—he always knew exactly what to say and what to ask to make me feel better, and he knew so much about dealing with death that I was becoming almost dependent on his advice. It seemed like I had no other choice. So I began to purposely write down the wrong conjugations; I made grammatical errors and mixed up vocabulary words, and to my relief, my grades began to drop. Dante glanced suspiciously over my marked-up exam, bleeding with red ink, and suggested we start meeting twice a week. I happily obliged.
I still wanted to ask him about Benjamin Gallow, about Gideon and his old friends and what had happened last spring, but that hadn’t gone over so well last time. So I settled on something easier.
“What was growing up in Canada like?” We were sitting in the Latin classroom, the candlelight casting shadows across the beamed ceilings.
“Cold,” Dante said, leaning toward me, his dark eyes glimmering. “And wild.”
“What do you mean wild?”
“My parents were ranchers. My father hunted wild game and sold the meat and pelts to traders, and my mother was a taxidermist. We lived in a farmhouse that was so far north there were more trees than people. The house was full of dead animals, but outside was even worse because there the bears and wild boars were alive. It would snow for weeks in the winter—big sheets of it piling up past the windows; wind so cold you’d freeze to death if you sprained an ankle while you were hunting or gathering wood. In a place like that, you’re constantly reminded of your own mortality; of the strength of nature, of how unforgiving it can be. It was humbling.”
I let my eyes fall across his body, envisioning him trekking through the wilderness, an ax in one hand, a shotgun in the other, a dead deer slung around his shoulders. What I would have given to be snowed in with Dante.
“Maine must seem tropical to you,” I joked lamely.
Dante laughed. “Not exactly.”
“Do you like it here?”
He thought about it. “I think it’s good for me.”
His answer was slightly disappointing. What I wanted him to say was something along the lines of, “I was miserable here until I met you.” Or, “You are the only thing worth studying at Gottfried.” Or, “Renée, you are the love of my life. I will follow you to the ends of the earth, carrying a deer on my shoulders that I killed with my bare hands just to prove my devotion.” Or, “I want to take you right now with my strong, inexplicably cold hands, and whisper sweet Latinate words in your ear.”
“And I think you’re good for me,” Dante said.
I blinked. Did he actually say that or was I merely fantasizing about him saying that? He leaned toward me, waiting for me to respond.
“What?” I said softly.
Dante rubbed the side of his neck. “I mean, I think this is good for me. Talking to you. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have friends.”
Friends, I thought, my heart dropping. Right. “What exactly happened with them?” I asked gently. “You never told me.”
Dante scrutinized my face. “We just grew apart. Benjamin died and then Cassie...transferred. After that I realized I had different priorities from the rest of them.”
“What do you mean?” Annie and I were growing apart because we were apart, not because I chose to push her away.
“We all met in a Latin translation class. Back then we were attracted to the same ideas, about myth and lore, about morality, about how to be good people and make the right decisions. I’m still fascinated by all that, but I can’t say the same for the others.”
“But it didn’t have anything to do with Benjamin’s death?”
Dante considered how to respond. “No. Just a coincidence.”
Coincidences. There seemed to be a lot of those going on recently. “And I’m guessing it was also a coincidence that you found Benjamin in the woods?” Just like I had found my parents in the woods, I thought.
Dante crossed his arms. “Yes,” he said, as if it were obvious.
“It’s just too weird that he died of a heart attack in the woods just like my parents. Out of the blue.” I gave him a sidelong glance, hoping he would tell me something about Benjamin’s death that he hadn’t told the school.
By the middle of October, the last of the trees had changed colors and the entire campus was blushing red and orange leaves. Every morning while I walked to class, the breeze would pluck them from their branches and carry them around campus, making them swirl around my feet like a flutter of monarch butterflies. After a month at Gottfried, things were getting better. My grandfather called to check in on me every so often, but our conversations were brief. I told him about my classes. Horticulture was quickly becoming my favorite. Surprisingly, it wasn’t about plants at all; and while we did spend some time learning the different species of flora and their climates, we spent most of our classes learning about soil, root and irrigation systems, and how to plant things. I was usually the best in the class, and I loved it.
I had made friends with several people, including some of the girls on our floor, who I got dinner with when Eleanor was busy. Brett and I were also becoming friends. I kept bumping into him outside the girls’ dorm or outside the lunchroom when Eleanor and I were leaving, as if he were waiting for someone; but he always walked with us. Although our discourse primarily consisted of light, insubstantial banter, it was okay; it reminded me of the way things had been with me and Wes, who I still hadn’t heard from. Annie, I had. We tried to talk on the phone every week, but the pauses in our conversations were growing longer and longer as we became more involved in our separate worlds. And my world was quickly beginning to revolve around Dante.
We kept meeting after the paper-cut incident, though he still wouldn’t admit that anything weird had happened. After only two weeks, I was getting A’s on all of my assignments, and finally felt like Professor Lumbar was warming up to me. I should have been ecstatic, but when I saw a big A scrawled on top of my latest exam, all I could think of was losing Dante. I clearly didn’t need tutoring anymore, and Dante would know that when he saw my grades. The problem was that I liked having an excuse to be around him. Friday had become my favorite day of the week because of our private sessions. Every time I looked at him, I discovered something new. A freckle on his neck or the white vestiges of a scar next to his left ear. And I couldn’t deny the bond I felt in knowing that he too had lost his parents. He was the only one I could talk to about it—he always knew exactly what to say and what to ask to make me feel better, and he knew so much about dealing with death that I was becoming almost dependent on his advice. It seemed like I had no other choice. So I began to purposely write down the wrong conjugations; I made grammatical errors and mixed up vocabulary words, and to my relief, my grades began to drop. Dante glanced suspiciously over my marked-up exam, bleeding with red ink, and suggested we start meeting twice a week. I happily obliged.
I still wanted to ask him about Benjamin Gallow, about Gideon and his old friends and what had happened last spring, but that hadn’t gone over so well last time. So I settled on something easier.
“What was growing up in Canada like?” We were sitting in the Latin classroom, the candlelight casting shadows across the beamed ceilings.
“Cold,” Dante said, leaning toward me, his dark eyes glimmering. “And wild.”
“What do you mean wild?”
“My parents were ranchers. My father hunted wild game and sold the meat and pelts to traders, and my mother was a taxidermist. We lived in a farmhouse that was so far north there were more trees than people. The house was full of dead animals, but outside was even worse because there the bears and wild boars were alive. It would snow for weeks in the winter—big sheets of it piling up past the windows; wind so cold you’d freeze to death if you sprained an ankle while you were hunting or gathering wood. In a place like that, you’re constantly reminded of your own mortality; of the strength of nature, of how unforgiving it can be. It was humbling.”
I let my eyes fall across his body, envisioning him trekking through the wilderness, an ax in one hand, a shotgun in the other, a dead deer slung around his shoulders. What I would have given to be snowed in with Dante.
“Maine must seem tropical to you,” I joked lamely.
Dante laughed. “Not exactly.”
“Do you like it here?”
He thought about it. “I think it’s good for me.”
His answer was slightly disappointing. What I wanted him to say was something along the lines of, “I was miserable here until I met you.” Or, “You are the only thing worth studying at Gottfried.” Or, “Renée, you are the love of my life. I will follow you to the ends of the earth, carrying a deer on my shoulders that I killed with my bare hands just to prove my devotion.” Or, “I want to take you right now with my strong, inexplicably cold hands, and whisper sweet Latinate words in your ear.”
“And I think you’re good for me,” Dante said.
I blinked. Did he actually say that or was I merely fantasizing about him saying that? He leaned toward me, waiting for me to respond.
“What?” I said softly.
Dante rubbed the side of his neck. “I mean, I think this is good for me. Talking to you. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to have friends.”
Friends, I thought, my heart dropping. Right. “What exactly happened with them?” I asked gently. “You never told me.”
Dante scrutinized my face. “We just grew apart. Benjamin died and then Cassie...transferred. After that I realized I had different priorities from the rest of them.”
“What do you mean?” Annie and I were growing apart because we were apart, not because I chose to push her away.
“We all met in a Latin translation class. Back then we were attracted to the same ideas, about myth and lore, about morality, about how to be good people and make the right decisions. I’m still fascinated by all that, but I can’t say the same for the others.”
“But it didn’t have anything to do with Benjamin’s death?”
Dante considered how to respond. “No. Just a coincidence.”
Coincidences. There seemed to be a lot of those going on recently. “And I’m guessing it was also a coincidence that you found Benjamin in the woods?” Just like I had found my parents in the woods, I thought.
Dante crossed his arms. “Yes,” he said, as if it were obvious.
“It’s just too weird that he died of a heart attack in the woods just like my parents. Out of the blue.” I gave him a sidelong glance, hoping he would tell me something about Benjamin’s death that he hadn’t told the school.
