Wander Dust (28 page)

“But what about your arm, your bruises?” I ask.

“They’re telling me I can move about in the next few days. How about a date this weekend, coming up—like Friday?” he asks.

“I think I have a meeting with CeCe that night, I’ll have to check my schedule,” I say. We laugh together.

“So, it’s a yes, then?” Bishop questions.

“Yes.” I smile, and he takes my hand, entwining his fingers around mine. A surge of energy washes through me as his thumb lightly brushes my skin. We both gaze at our hands, finally together.

::36::
A Secret

Due to Bishop’s injurys, our team’s studies remain on hold until Monday of next week. At which point, we will only take up a modified schedule. With the lack of action around here, the weekdays have crept past.

The extra time allows me to reconcile in my mind that my mom still lives. Even though I saw her for myself, her existence seems unreal. Is she on true time? I think so, judging from our surroundings in Rome. I worry about why she’s in a wheelchair. Is her condition serious enough that it would hinder her from looking for me? Whatever the reasons are for us not being together, I’m happy. She’s alive. This fact sub
dues every other emotion of confusion, disbelief, anger, hurt, and distrust.

Now that it’s Friday, I allow time for myself. I let every thought of my mom go, at least for the evening. In time, I’ll uncover the truth. For now, I need to focus on a perfect evening with Bishop.

As I brush out my hair, relief sweeps over me, knowing that Ray won’t witness my first official date. In the past, he repeatedly threatened background checks on future boyfriends. For as long as I can remember, I’ve imagined suitors sitting at our kitchen table, filling out a job application before acquiring permission to leave the house with me on their arm.

This is easier. I laugh to myself. Although I miss Ray, being away from him allows me to grow up and do the things I want without his concerns and worrisome meddling.

I peruse my closet, pulling out multiple clothing choices. The possibilities are tossed across my bed. I inspect the options, noting that my decision may be easier if I knew the location of our date this evening. Unfortunately, Bishop’s remained tight-lipped about his plans.

“I saw what you did,” a voice accuses me. Sam walks in and shuts the bedroom door behind her.

“What are you talking about?” I glance over my shoulder.

“I saw her,” she says.

“Who?”

“Your mom.” She puts all her weight on one leg and crosses her arms.

I put down the jacket and turn completely around to engage her. “What do you mean you saw my mom?” She would have only seen what Bishop experienced, and according to him, that didn’t include my mom.

“Don’t worry, Bishop doesn’t know,” she says, walking around and inspecting my room.

“
What
?”

“I saw what he saw—a glimpse of the woman in the wheelchair. Your mom.”

“Bishop, never saw anything like that,” I attempt to call her bluff.

“He did,” she assures me. “He saw her but didn’t make the same conclusion. I see what he sees, but I have my own thoughts, you know? I made the connection. He didn’t. Her face—it was yours, just slightly older,” she explains.

“So?” I say abrasively.

My secret is out. I found my mom, but I’m not ready to share that information yet. I don’t even completely know how I feel about the situation yet.
What’s Sam’s angle? Will she rat me out to Terease or something?

“Don’t get defensive,” she responds. “It’s just—” her eyes search the room.

“Just what?” I press.

“I know you had to choose between your mom and Bishop. I didn’t see it exactly, but I know you did.”

I turn back around to conceal my emotions, pretending to consider the outfits. It physically hurts to think about how close I came to having my mom back.

“It was the right decision. Bishop needed me. He was going to—die,” I choke out the last word. “Just don’t tell anyone about her—okay?”

The air tenses with silence as I wait for her answer. She walks around me and plants herself on the bed.

She reaches out and places a hand on my arm. “I just want to say that I’m glad you made the decision you did, and I’m glad to have you on my team.” She smiles a little. I can tell she’s uncomfortable sharing her feelings with me.

“I think you should wear this one,” she says, pointing to a ruffled skirt and leggings, “with the gray boots—they’ll complement this outfit.”

“They would,” I agree then realize she hasn’t promised to keep her mouth shut. “Sam, can I please count on you to keep the secret?” I push.

“For now,” she says and picks up a scarf and folds it into a perfect square. She’s like the annoying little sister I never had. At the thought, I realize I’m happy to have her on my team, too.

“Thanks,” I smile. Maybe she’ll just forget about it.

“So, you think I should wear this?” I point back to the outfit she’s chosen, changing the subject.

“C’est beau!” she says in French. France is the topic of the Night Classes this week. Sadly, our team missed the field trip to Paris today. I always wanted to see the city, its beautiful architecture and shops.

I walk to the closet to find a matching set of earrings in my jewelry box, but when I return to show Sam, she’s gone. Where she sat, rests a note.

My name, in crappy boy handwriting, scrolls across the front. On the inside...

Very much looking forward to our date this evening. Please meet me in Olde Town, outside the theatre, at 7pm. Be sure to bring a warm coat. —Bishop

•

When I step across the bridge into Olde Town, twinkling stars sprinkle across the ceiling like the planetarium. I stroll to the theatre under the Clock Tower Building and sit down on the wide stone steps. Students stream past me, up the stairs, to see the evening movie. With Bishop’s injuries, it makes sense that we might do something normal. Something a Normal couple would do, a movie date.

A puttering noise echoes in the distance and increases as it nears. The noise doesn’t alarm me, it just doesn’t belong in Olde Town. I glance over my shoulder and down the nearest darkened tunnel, waiting for a machine to appear.

Gabe darts out of the shadows on an old, wooden veneered, scooter. He screeches to a halt in front of me. Bishop sits behind him.

I jump up. “Hey!”

“Mon amie!” Gabe says, swinging his leg off the bike.

“What’s this about?” I point to the scooter.

“Oh, Sera, you two are going to have so much fun!” Gabe air kisses each of my cheeks. He turns and playfully twirls off in the opposite direction. “Bonsoir!”

I turn to Bishop. “What’s with the bike?”

He holds up a shiny black helmet. With one hand, he carefully cradles it over my head. “This bike is our relic for this evening,” he says as he fastens the strap under my chin.

“Our relic?”

“Yes, Sam spent all week trying to find this for me.” So Sam knew the destination of our date all along.

I look the bike over, and then I look back at Bishop. “We can wander with this?”

“Yes. As it turns out, motor vehicles do the trick quite nicely.” I guess if running could work, why not this?

“There’s only one catch,” he says, flashing me his dimple.

“What?”

“
You
have to drive.” He holds keys up in front of my face.

“Is it safe?” I ask.

“Your driving? That remains to be seen,” he says with a chuckle. His eyes squint into upside down smiles.

“No!” I smack him lightly. “I
mean
if we leave the Academy—are we safe from the Underground?”

“I think we’ll be fine. Without Stu and Perpetua spying on you, how will they locate you?”

“Good point.”

“So you’ll drive?” he asks. His eyebrows raise, like he’s unsure if he should relinquish the keys.
Bishop doesn’t know what he’s in for.
I flash a grin.

“Hop on!” I swipe the keys with confidence. “Where to?” I ask, flinging my leg over the seat.

“No, no. I’m still in charge of this trip,” he says, “It’s a surprise.”

“All right, whatever you say.” I turn the bike on after he settles. He wraps his good arm tightly around my waist. The motorized bike lurches forward, and I make a quick U-turn. We accelerate back down the dark tunnel as fast as the scooter will allow, and the world folds in behind us.

Together we journey through a prismatic haze of dark blues and purples. I grasp onto the bike, Bishop onto me. After only a few moments, we explode through the other side of the wormhole, racing down a wet, paved walkway along a river.

I still don’t know what city we’re in. Low-rise historical buildings wrap around us in the darkness. Chilled air caresses every building. The city lights glow a hazy pink in the most beautiful fog I’ve ever seen.

“It’s just a little farther,” Bishop says.

We ease around a long bend and that’s when I see it. The black, iron latticework winds a thousand feet up into the sky, and disappears into the fog—the Eiffel Tower.

“Paris!” My face gleams.

“Surprise,” he says quietly in my ear. “I know how very disappointed you were when we missed the field trip today.”

“This is much better,” I say, and then I slow the bike down to a crawl.

“You can park just up there, next to the street lamp.”

I park the bike. We dismount, and I take off my helmet, then I help Bishop with his. His sling covered arm remains tucked under his bomber jacket, on top of a vest.

He grabs my hand and pulls me toward a long, elegant barge. We step across a wood plank and onto the boat. Except for the staff, the dining boat is empty.

A slender man, all in black, attends to us immediately. “Monsieur Bishop, I presume?” the man asks.

“Oui,” Bishop says in a perfect French accent.

“Your dining table is prepared on the first floor, but the preferred view is from above.” He stretches his arm out, gesturing to the stairs.

“Merci beaucoup,” Bishop says. He pulls me up a flight of metal steps and into the open chilled air. We cross the length of the ship and walk over to the ornately detailed railing.

We stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the Eiffel Tower. Its iron lace glows in a multitude of changing colors: purple, blue, green, white, and then back to purple again.

“It’s beautiful!”

“It was built in 1889 for the World’s Fair by Gustave Eiffel. It stands 1,063 feet high,” he explains.

“I’m just glad you didn’t want me to jump off of it,” I say then laugh.

“We could—after—if you want?” He nudges my shoulder playfully.

“You’re kind of showing off—you know?” I say.

“How?”

“Paris—on the first date? How are you ever going top this?”

“You’ll be quite delighted with what I have in store for you, Miss Parrish.” My face flushes.
He’s planned for more dates.
I smile, and we lean into each other.

“I can’t wait,” I say. He wraps his good arm around my back and squeezes, snuggling close. My eyes water slightly in the crisp breeze.

The tower sits across the Seine River and stands in a park filled with trees. Colors emitting from the tower reflect on the river, which mirrors everything.

“The colors—they’re changing faster now. What’s that noise in the trees? Is that cheering?” I ask.

“Well, yes.”

“Why?”

“Just watch.”

The colors on the Eiffel tower ascend into a frenzy, switching from one color to the next. Then the tower turns completely dark. One large, white block of light appears at the very top, radiating behind a haze of fog. The light block descends as though it’s falling slowly to the bottom. When it reaches the ground, the people in the distance cheer erratically. White blasts of light pop on and off in a chaotic array of bursts around the entire tower. The firework display is breathtaking.

“Happy New Years,” he says with a smile.

“New Years?” I turn to him. He unwraps his scarf with his good arm. Gently, he wraps it around my shoulders.

“What year is it?” I question.

“The perfect year,” the words roll out of his mouth in silvery clouds, just as they did when I saw him in the Academy’s courtyard.

“What makes it so perfect?” I grin.

“Being able to start it with my Seraphina, my angel from the painting.”

He tugs on the scarf, pulling me closer to his chest. When my body meets his, I feel his heart beat wildly out of control with mine. His hand reaches for my face. He lightly touches my beauty marks with his thumb.

“You are simply lovely,” he says softly.

I trill inside.
He sees me.

His hand drifts to my neck and slips behind my loose hair. His touch warms me as I slide my arms into his jacket. My palms settle on his defined back. His head dips down until his forehead meets mine. We sway for a moment, taking in each other. I inhale his presence, happy to finally be able to do what I’ve wanted to for so long now. His face slides to my ear, and he kisses my lobe. His breathing sends racing tingles through my body. My shoulders scrunch to my ears. We both giggle. His lips graze along my cheek, and finally our lips brush. His breath warms my face, and then he finally kisses me. Softly. Sweetly. It’s exactly the way I’ve always imagined. Perfect.