Not bothering to answer his own silent question, Rahul put his phone away and continued his trek to class.
CHAPTER 4
CATERINA
“He’s not in this class, at least,” Ava said, side-eyeing Caterina. Her entire friend group spent 95 percent of their time side-eyeing her while talking about Alaric or even the topic of dating now, as if they were afraid direct eye contact might reduce them to ash. “That’s good…?”
Caterina maintained a carefully cultivated imperious cool as she studied Ava’s profile—her pronounced brow and famous dark, curly hair (she ran a YouTube beauty channel with over a million subscribers). Ava was of Spanish descent, and her parents were big in oil. “It’s neither good nor bad,” Caterina explained. “I told you, I couldn’t care less what he’s up to. He has nothing to do with me anymore.”
“Of course,” Ava replied, but she and Heather exchanged a glance that Caterina wasn’t meant to see.
“So I see they’re still a couple.” Heather aimed her cool blue gaze across the room at Leo Nguyen and Samantha Wickers. They were huddled up in the corner, laughing at something on his phone. “I honestly didn’t think that’d last more than a weekend.”
Heather and Ava both turned to Caterina, waiting.
This was the point in any conversation when she’d interject something sharp and witty, or derisive, depending on her mood, and her friends would laugh and agree. Caterina was like the motor to their conversational yacht; she kept things running; she gave them direction and momentum. But at that moment, she felt nothing but a deep, abiding sense of fatigue. As if just opening her mouth would cause her to lose precious oxygen and pass out. Her brain was blank; she found she didn’t care about Leo and Samantha or Alaric or even the fact that she was, once again, dressed in the hideously constricting Rosetta Academy’s maroon-and-gray uniform.
“Cat?” Heather said, her dirty-blond eyebrows knitting together. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Caterina said faintly, wishing that for once in her life, she could actually say what she really felt. That, for once, her friends could really know what was going on with her. But her father’s words echoed in her mind: The face is more important than the flesh. If she wanted to be the one pulling the strings, if she wanted to maintain control, it was imperative that her people saw her as unflappable.
Ms. Rivard, the AP Psychology teacher, chose to enter at that moment. She was dressed smartly, as usual, in a houndstooth pencil skirt and a gray chiffon blouse with a big loopy bow at the throat. She wore a discreet platinum-and-diamond Rosetta Academy teacher’s pin attached to her shirt. Inscribed on the pin was the Latin motto illuminare coronam—“illuminate the crown.” It glinted under the recessed lighting as she walked to the large oak desk. Ms. Rivard set her books down before turning to them.
“Good morning, everyone.” She beamed around at them all, as if she were genuinely happy to be here. How peculiar. How could people enjoy jobs with rigid schedules and vacation time that you had to ask for and colleagues you had to pretend to like? “Welcome to your very first class of the semester, and for you seniors, the first class of your last semester in high school!”
There were a few whoops and hoots, the vast majority of which seemed to emanate from Leo’s corner. Caterina gave him a withering look, noting briefly that Rahul Chopra was watching her, then turned back around. Decorum was a lost art.
Ms. Rivard paced the width of the room, from the door with an inset windowpane to the large bank of windows that overlooked the mountains in the distance, covered in snow and fog. “Psychology. The study of the human mind. Is there anything more fascinating or complex? Or impossible? The truth is, we won’t ever learn everything there is to learn about the mind, not in this lifetime, anyway.” She studied their faces, her back to the windows. “Who among you would say you know your mind completely? That you rule it, rather than the other way around?”
A few people raised their hands, including Caterina and Rahul.
“Mm-hmm,” Ms. Rivard said, nodding as she walked toward her desk. “There are always a handful. Okay.” She looked out at them again, her pale hands clasped under her chin, index fingers pointing upward. “Caterina. And Rahul. Why don’t you both come up to the front of the class? Oh, and bring your chairs, please.”
Caterina frowned. “Why?”
Ms. Rivard cocked her head, smiling. “I’m proving a point.”
Knowing she wouldn’t get any more out of her, Caterina stifled a sigh and carried her chair to the front of the room. Rahul was a few steps ahead, carrying his chair in one hand, his feet clomping in shoes that were scuffed at the toe and heel.
“Set the chairs up here, facing each other.” Ms. Rivard stepped aside and pointed to the vast empty space between her desk and the door to the right. “And then have a seat.”
Caterina and Rahul did as they were asked. Rahul kept glancing at her, his big Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. Caterina looked up at Ms. Rivard, waiting.
“Now I want you both to stare into each other’s eyes.” Ms. Rivard walked over to the light switch and dimmed the lights in the airy room. There were titters around the classroom.
Caterina narrowed her eyes. “For how long?”
“Ten whole minutes,” Ms. Rivard replied.
“B-but why?” Rahul asked, his voice cracking. He licked his lips. “I mean, what’s the purpose behind all this?”
Caterina almost felt sorry for him. But mostly, she just felt annoyed at being paraded in front of the class like a show pony.
“I’ll tell you when we’re done, I promise,” Ms. Rivard said, patting his shoulder. She pulled her phone off the desk. “I’m setting a timer now. Look into each other’s eyes when I say ‘start,’ and don’t stop until you hear the timer go off. Got it?”
They both nodded.
“Start,” she said, and Caterina looked into Rahul’s brown eyes.
RAHUL
Why was he being forced to do this? It didn’t make any sense. If humiliation was what Ms. Rivard was after, there were so many other ways to carry it out. Asking for his opinion on the current winter fashion trends, for instance. Or making him perform the floss. Besides, Ms. Rivard didn’t really strike Rahul as the sadistic type.
But Caterina was gazing into his eyes with her big, brown ones, like big bowls of melting, warm chocolate, and he had no choice but to stare back at her. It was weird. The longer he let himself look into her eyes, the looser he felt. Like some internal barrier that he hadn’t even known he had was crumbling, bit by bit, molecule by molecule. As minutes ticked by and he continued staring at her, the more intensely he felt that Caterina and he were the same person. Maybe not literally, but somewhere deep inside, where nerve fibers and bits of tissue lay. They were made of the same stuff. They weren’t so different after all. When they’d danced, she’d seen it, she’d felt it, just as he had. Of this he was sure.
Another minute folded and melted and dribbled down, followed by another and another.
And then things got really weird. Rahul began to… see things. Like a hairy mole, at the corner of Caterina’s mouth, that he was sure hadn’t been there before. And… wait. When had she grown that handlebar mustache? He blinked, but it was still there. Caterina looked extremely familiar now, except she wasn’t Caterina at all anymore. But who was she? The answer was on the tip of Rahul’s tongue, but it evaded him, jellylike and fluid.