Torment - Lauren Kate [17]
“Your mom used to tell you what story?” Luce asked slowly. “About me and Daniel?”
“Just some of the highlights,” Dawn said, opening her eyes. “Does it feel like a hot flash? Like a menopause kind of thing, not that you would know—”
Jasmine smacked Dawn on the arm. “Did you just compare Luce’s unbridled passion to a hot flash?”
“Sorry.” Dawn giggled. “I’m just fascinated. It sounds so totally romantic and awesome. I’m envious—in a good way!”
“Envious that I die every time I try to get with the guy of my dreams?” Luce hunched up her shoulders. “It’s actually kind of a buzz kill.”
“Tell that to the girl whose only kiss to date was with Ira Frank of the Irritable Bowel Syndrome.” Jasmine gestured teasingly at Dawn.
When Luce didn’t laugh, Dawn and Jasmine filled in with a placating giggle, as if they thought she was just being modest. Luce had never been on the receiving end of one of those giggles before.
“What exactly did your mom say?” Luce asked.
“Oh, just the usual stuff: The war broke out, shit hit the fan, and when they drew a line in the clouds, Daniel was all ‘Nothing can tear us apart,’ and that pissed everyone off. ’Course it’s my favorite part of the story. So now your love has to suffer this eternal punishment where you still desperately want each other but you can’t, like, you know—”
“But in some lives they can.” Jasmine corrected Dawn, then winked impishly at Luce, who almost couldn’t move from the shock of hearing all of this.
“No way!” Dawn flung out a hand dismissively. “The whole point is that she bursts into flames when she—” Seeing Luce’s horrified expression, Dawn winced. “Sorry. Not what you want to hear.”
Jasmine cleared her throat and leaned in. “My older sister was telling me this one story from your past that I swear would—”
“Oooh!” Dawn linked her arm through Luce’s, as if this knowledge—knowledge that Luce had no access to—made her a more desirable friend. This was maddening. Luce was fiercely embarrassed. And, okay, a little excited. And absolutely unsure whether any of it was true. One thing was sure: Luce was suddenly kind of … famous. But it felt strange. Like she was one of those unnamed bimbos next to the It-boy movie star in a paparazzi photo.
“You guys!” Jasmine was pointing exaggeratedly down at the clock on her phone. “We’re so super-late! We’ve got to book it to class.”
Luce grimaced, quickly grabbing her backpack. She had no idea what class she had first, or where to find it, or how to take Jasmine and Dawn’s enthusiasm. She hadn’t seen such extended, eager smiles since—well, maybe ever.
“Do either of you know how I figure out where my first class is? I don’t think I got a schedule.”
“Duh,” Dawn said. “Follow us. We’re all together. All the time! It’s so fun.”
The two girls walked with Luce, one on either side, and took her on a winding tour between the tables of other kids finishing their breakfasts. Despite being “so super-late,” both Jasmine and Dawn practically sauntered across the freshly cut grass.
Luce thought about asking these girls what was up with Shelby, but she didn’t want to start off looking like a gossip. Besides, the girls seemed nice and everything, but it wasn’t like Luce needed to make any new best friends. She had to keep reminding herself: This was only temporary.
Temporary, but still stunningly beautiful. The three of them walked along the hydrangea path, which curved around the mess hall. Dawn was chattering about something, but Luce couldn’t take her eyes off the bluffs’ dramatic edge, how abruptly the terrain dropped hundreds of feet to the glittering ocean. The waves rolled toward the small stretch of tawny beach at the foot of the cliff almost as casually as the Shoreline student body rolled toward class.
“Here we are,” Jasmine said.
An impressive two-story A-frame cabin stood alone at the end of the path. It had been built in the middle of a shady pocket of redwoods, so its steep, triangular roof and the vast open lawn in front of it were covered with a blanket of fallen