A Beautiful Dark

alive?”
    “Because I do.” He dropped down beside me. “And we agreed not to talk about any of this.”
    “What will we talk about, then?”
    “Why do we have to talk at all?”
    Good question. I rested my chin on my knees and studied the vast expanse of stars, noticing as one streaked across the sky.
    “What did you wish for?” Asher asked.
    “I forgot to make one again,” I said. I turned to look at him. “What did you wish for?”
    “That you would be happy.” He dusted off some snow from his jeans as though it was suddenly important that it not be there.
    “Are you happy?” I asked.
    “Pretty much. I’m alone with a pretty girl on a mountain at night.” His grin flashed in the moonlight. “What’s not to be happy about?”
    “Are you ever serious?”
    His grin disappeared. “More than you know.”
    “Shouldn’t it be Ellie who’s here with you now?”
    “There’s nothing going on between me and Ellie. Nothing real, anyway. She’s just a girl who’s there. Not someone you have to work for.” He met my gaze.
    “You give the impression that you like her,” I said.
    “I give the impression that I like Ms. Manning. It doesn’t mean I do. And I guess, if I’m honest, I sorta like that she makes you jealous.”
    “I’m not jealous!”
    “Really?” he needled. “Not even a little bit? That’s not what you implied last night.”
    I opened my mouth to argue but had nothing to say. He was right.
    “So there’s nothing going on between you and Ellie?”
    “Nothing like this.” He glanced at me, but I looked away. I knew my eyes would reveal too much.
    “You were right,” I said after several minutes of the silence easing between us. “I needed this.”
    As the fireballs faded away, I was afraid that maybe I needed him, too.

Chapter 23

    A cold rain fell Monday, smattering against the windows and creating icy puddles of slush in the parking lot at school. After Asher had dropped me off at dawn on Saturday, I’d been left alone—and hated to admit that I’d missed the angels. But when I got in the car this morning, I’d found a note sitting on the steering wheel.
Vacation is over.
Today, 3:15.
No excuses.
—D

    I’d almost torn it up, but Devin was right. I needed to stop avoiding them and face whatever was waiting for me.
    Neither Asher nor Devin was in class. It struck me as odd, but I had to remember that they weren’t normal students. They weren’t even human. They didn’t need to be here. Did I need to be here? I was still thinking about it in history, third period. I hadn’t paid attention to a single lesson all morning.
    Ms. Manning clacked down the rows between our desks in her heels, handing back our Battle of the Somme papers—the one that counted for 40 percent of our final grade. Her calculating eye scanned our faces from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. She stopped in front of me, and a paper fell from her hands to my desk—a big scarlet D scrawled across the top of my report.
    My stomach dropped clear to the floor. Never before had I seen that grade on any of my papers. It made me ill.
    I knew I’d messed up, big-time. My mind had been so preoccupied lately that even when I was studying, I might as well not have been.
    “Skye,” Ms. Manning said as I walked past her desk at the end of class. I hung back.
    “I know,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
    “You’re my best student, Skye,” she said. “What’s going on? I’ve never seen you get a grade like this. I don’t know what to think.”
    “I’ve been really . . . busy,” I said lamely. “Preoccupied. I’ve been struggling with some decisions since the ski trip.”
    “I heard you quit the team.”
    “Yeah, I . . . the avalanche . . . it just kind of spooked me, I guess. I decided I needed a break.” I’d spoken with Coach Samuelson on Friday before I went home. I hadn’t had a chance to tell Aunt Jo before she’d left.
    Ms. Manning eyed me with a mix of severity and worry. “Should I be worried? Do you need to talk with a counselor?”
    “God no,” I said too quickly. “No. Please let me do some extra credit. I’ll make it up.”
    She sighed heavily.
    “I’ll give you an additional paper to write after school today. You’ll have an hour, from three fifteen to four fifteen. But, Skye”—she looked at me over the top of her glasses—“you’ll have to get an A on this paper or your grade for the semester will be seriously affected.