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  “Looks like Ronan’s made himself a new friend,” Fritz observed.

  This wasn’t news to Nakano and he had to control every muscle in his body not to lash out at Fritz for stating the obvious. “Looks like you’ll need a new date for the festival.” Nakano ignored Fritz’s comment and even the boy entirely and stared at Michael and Ronan. It was a good thing that Nakano had replaced his goggles with dark-tinted glasses because one look into his black eyes and his secret would be revealed. He was consumed with a white-hot rage.

  The second-largest building on campus was St. Martha’s, where all the students had their meals. It was cavernous and consisted mainly of one extremely large dining hall filled with rows of long rectangular tables, each lined with ten chairs apiece. The chairs were upscale folding chairs, cushioned, and made of heavy-duty plastic in a silver color designed to look like metal. They were modern utilitarian and completely out of place with most of the décor in the rest of the school, but they were efficient since their sole purpose was to temporarily house hundreds of hungry boys.

  Michael sat across from Ronan, but the distance between them would have been less if Michael were sitting back at the lunchroom in Two W. On the way from gym to lunch, something else happened between Nakano and Ronan, something else that Michael didn’t fully understand but was determined to figure out.

  While Penry informed Michael that he and his girlfriend, Imogene, had just this morning decided to date each other exclusively, Nakano and Ronan fell to the back of the crowd. With one ear listening to Penry gush about how Imogene was his first real girlfriend and how she thought she needed to lose five more pounds, but how Penry thought she was perfect just the way she was, Michael used his other ear to try and pick up Nakano and Ronan’s conversation. Unfortunately, he could only pick up a word or two. Never, forget it, don’t interfere. Fortunately, between those words and the stern tone of Ronan’s voice, he knew the conversation was not a pleasant one. By the grave expression Ronan now wore on his face, Michael was convinced it could definitely be categorized as unpleasant.

  “Your eyes bothering you again, Nakano?” Penry asked. Nakano’s sunglasses reminded Michael of the ones his driver wore and he wondered if they were considered trendy here in England. “Chlorine turns my eyes red,” Nakano said. “I keep forgetting to take my contacts out.”

  Penry regaled them with a story about how Imogene had to be rushed to the emergency room once because she couldn’t see out of her left eye after wearing her contacts for a whole week. She was fine now and there was no permanent damage.

  “Are you sure about that?” Nakano asked, fiddling with his mashed potatoes.

  “Oh yes,” Penry confirmed. “Right as rain.”

  “Then if she can see, why the hell is she still with you?” A few of the guys at the table laughed, including Penry. It was kind of funny, but Nakano’s face remained serious. Michael got the distinct impression that he hadn’t been trying to make a joke; he was just being mean-spirited. Fritz might be obnoxious and loud, but Nakano appeared to have a bit of a nasty edge to him. Maybe that’s why Ronan pushed him; maybe he said something spiteful about me, Michael thought. Ronan could have been defending him. But if Nakano did say something against him, something that made Ronan respond physically, why was he sitting next to him now? Granted they weren’t having a friendly conversation, but they weren’t arguing and they weren’t completely ignoring each other either.

  “You trying out for water polo on Saturday?” Nakano asked. Although he looked straight ahead, it was clear that his comment was directed to the person to his right.

  “I’m the captain,” Ronan said.

  “Was,” Nakano corrected, raking his fork through a pile of creamed spinach.

  Ronan stared at his food. “And will be again,” he seethed. He got up so suddenly, everyone at the table was startled, even Ronan himself. He didn’t move, he didn’t look at anyone. It was as if his action took even him by surprise and he didn’t know how to follow it up. He pressed his left index finger into the table so hard that the white flesh turned deep red, and then mumbled to no one in particular, “Excuse me.”

  Helpless, Michael watched Ronan walk away from the table, from him, and down the aisle. He felt all the energy in his body will him to get up, to go after Ronan, but he stayed in his seat. Something within him told him not now, he needs to be alone. Nakano’s inner voice was telling him something completely different. “Guess I have to make things right with my mate,” he announced.

  As he got up, Nakano looked directly at Michael, his sunglasses slipping down just a bit on his nose. Michael shivered as a ribbon of cold fear shimmered down his spine and tied a knot around his breath. Nakamo’s eyes weren’t just black, they were filled with blackness. Cavernous, they were like tunnels that lured toward something he couldn’t quite identify. Michael wasn’t sure if evil was the right word, but that’s what came to his mind. For an instant, Michael wasn’t surrounded by a hundred other boys in St. Martha’s; for an instant, it was just him and Nakano, and he was afraid. It didn’t make any sense, but there was something wrong with the boy who stared at him, something terribly wrong. And then the feeling was gone. Nakano pushed his glasses back into place and Michael’s fear disappeared. As he watched Nakano walk out of the lunchroom, Michael wondered what had taken hold of him and why he wasn’t the one leaving in search of Ronan.

  “Boys!” Fritz declared. “Sometimes I just don’t understand ’em.” With that announcement he and a few others got up from the table and left, leaving Michael between Penry and Ciaran. Michael tried to catch Ciaran’s eye, but it was as if he were deliberately avoiding him. He knows something, Michael thought. He knows what’s going on between them. As if he could read his mind, Ciaran turned to Michael. “If you want to know their history, ask Ronan. I’ve already done enough.”

  Gathering his books quickly, Ciaran got up to leave. He didn’t mean to snap at Michael and he would spend the rest of the day feeling guilty about it, but there was very little he could say. He couldn’t be honest with Michael, only Ronan could, and he found it wearisome to lie, so he kept silent. Michael would find out the truth soon anyway; the way he and Ronan kept staring at each other, it was inevitable. And inevitably, Ciaran would be there to pick up the damaged pieces once the truth was revealed. But for now he had to leave.

  “Another lab?” Michael asked.

  Ciaran nodded. He looked at Michael and made himself smile. “I’ll see you back home.” It wasn’t Michael’s fault. Ciaran’s problems were here long before Michael arrived, so he shouldn’t take them out on him. “I have an English quiz tomorrow; maybe you could help me study?”

  “Sure,” Michael said. “Of course.”

  Both boys felt the urge to say more. Michael hadn’t yet thanked him for arranging the meeting with Ronan the other day, and Ciaran wanted to warn him about any future meetings, but both remained silent, instinctively knowing that the other really didn’t want to hear what they had to say. They didn’t have to worry about finding the right thing to say or even being heard, because suddenly Penry made enough noise for the both of them.

  “Imogene!”

  Everyone looked at the front of the hall, near the kitchen entrance, to see a rare sight at Archangel Academy. Standing next to the headmaster was a girl. And not just any girl. It was Penry’s girlfriend.

  “What the devil is she doing here?” Penry cried out, looking quite shocked, but very delighted.” ’Scuse me, mates, I have to see my girl.”

  Imogene Minx was a sophomore at St. Anne’s, the all-girls school on the outskirts of campus, but Michael thought she looked more like a pop star or someone you would see on TV. She had a look about her that demanded attention. Of course she wore the mandatory uniform, which for the girls was a navy, white, and gold plaid vest and pleated skirt, which could rise no more than a half inch above the knee; navy blue stockings and tie; and a white long-sleeved shirt with a Peter Pan collar.

  On the upper left si
de of the vest, over their hearts, the girls each wore an oval patch of St. Anne, her hands folded in prayer, her white robe bright against a golden yellow backdrop. Each girl had to hand-sew the patch on herself in front of the headmistress, Sister Mary Elizabeth, as a ritual before being allowed to attend class. No words would be spoken between the headmistress and each student until they submitted their handiwork for inspection, at which time Sister Mary Elizabeth would say, “Welcome.” It didn’t matter if the effort was perfect or flawed; all who tried were accepted. The sewing was more an offering than a test.

  Now it looked as if Mr. Hawksbry’s patience would be tested as he stood between Penry and Imogene. Her lips were the same red color as Penry’s hair, but that’s really all they had in common. Where Penry was almost always brimming over with enthusiasm and movement, Imogene was calm and still. She held a small stack of books that she rested on her right hip, which was slim and hadn’t yet developed a womanly curve, and a black bag hung from her left shoulder, adorned with a large gold A, presumably for St. Anne’s. But it was her hair that caught Michael’s attention. She wore it in a severe style, bangs high and straight across her forehead and the rest no longer than her chin, cut the same length all the way around. The color was beyond dark, so black that in places where the light hit it, it looked blue. And even from where Michael stood, he could see her eyes were the same color, round and open, as if she didn’t want to miss anything of her surroundings. But right now, all she was looking at was Penry.

  Michael and Ciaran walked by them just in time to hear Imogene announce that she was interviewing Mr. Hawksbry for her school paper and he was kind enough to let her grab lunch here instead of walking all the way back to the cafeteria at St. Anne’s.

  “Mr. Hawksbry,” Imogene said, “you’re a scholar and a gentleman.”

  The headmaster coughed, uncomfortable being on the other end of such a pointed compliment on school grounds, and for no other reason than to change the subject, he put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, preventing him from walking any farther away.

  “I don’t presume you’ve met our newest student,” he said, turning Michael to face Imogene. “This is Michael Howard all the way from the Midwest. America, that is, and specifically Nebraska.”

  Up close, she looked even more severe, but despite her look, she wasn’t at all aloof. She seemed to possess the same friendly quality Penry did; she just wasn’t as loud. “It’s a pleasure, Michael. I’ve been to the States a few times, actually. I’ve relatives in California, Los Angeles.”

  “Nebraska is pretty far from L.A.,” Michael said. “In every sense of the word.”

  Mr. Hawskbry’s eyes brightened and he snapped his fingers. “I have an idea. Perhaps you could arrange to do a story on Michael.”

  “That’s brilliant!” Penry shouted. “New bloke on campus and all that.”

  Imogene thought about it for a minute. She was obviously the type of girl who didn’t like to be told what to do. “I’ll consider it. I’ll present it to our editor and see if we have room.”

  “It’s a right smart idea, Ims,” Penry said. “You know it is.”

  Imogene smiled at Penry, making him become quite self-conscious in front of the headmaster, who not so selfconsciously glanced at his watch. “Next period is about to begin; time to carry on.”

  “See you later, Ims,” Penry said. Imogene’s smile softened her look. She didn’t say anything but merely winked at him. She was trying to appear cool, but she was definitely infatuated. It was fun to see the two of them in each other’s presence, and Michael hoped he would see more of them as a couple. Then just as she was about to enter the kitchen, she turned around, her hair swaying a bit so that a strand of hair caught the crease of her mouth. “Michael,” Imogene said, “I’ll be in touch.” Looked like he would be getting his wish.

  After school, walking aimlessly across campus, Michael couldn’t get the image of Penry and Imogene out of his head. Had Michael met Imogene first, he would never have imagined she would go for a guy like Penry, but sometimes opposites attract. All that mattered was that they looked happy together. He wondered if he and Ronan were going to be happy. Or better yet, would there ever really be a Michael and Ronan? Today had started out with such great promise. Ronan was flirty, attentive, but then Nakano ruined everything. As Michael wandered in front of St. Florian’s Dorm he saw that Nakano was still at work.

  He stopped in his tracks as he saw Ronan and Nakano at the side of the building in the shade of a huge oak tree. They were covered by late afternoon shadows, but Michael could see enough to know that they were having an argument. To be exact, a one-sided argument. Nakano was whispering loudly. None of his words reached Michael, but his arms were moving up and down, a finger poking the air to accentuate a point, a hand forming a fist. It was clear he was angry. But Ronan just stood and listened, his eyes never leaving Nakano’s face. Then he raised his hands and reached out, looking as if he was going to grab the sides of Nakano’s head.

  Instinctively, Nakano raised his hands inside Ronan’s arms and deflected them, making them swing out to the side and away from his face. Instead of growing angrier, reacting more physically, both boys settled down. Michael could feel the knot in his stomach grow tighter as he watched Ronan reach his hands up to Nakano’s face, slowly, and gently take off his sunglasses. They stood facing each other—they didn’t speak, they didn’t move—until finally Ronan hugged Nakano. Michael couldn’t tell if it was a friendly hug or a tender one. He didn’t care; they were hugging. This morning Ronan was shoving him in the pool and now he was hugging him; it just didn’t make sense. Devastated, Michael wanted to scream or hide or return to Weeping Water, where at least he knew he would never be happy. Here he thought he could be and briefly he was, but already it was over. Everything he thought was possible was destroyed in that one embrace.

  Just as Michael turned to run from the scene, Nakano turned his head and saw him. His eyes, two black dead holes, showed absolutely no emotion, but his mouth formed a victorious smile.

  chapter 8

  Michael was hardly interested in trigonometric functions, but today he hung on every word that came out of Father Fazio’s mouth. He wasn’t fascinated by what his teacher was saying, nor did he fully grasp the importance of learning about right angles, but if he focused on each word of the lesson, he wouldn’t have to think about Ronan. Or about Ronan and Nakano hugging in the shadowlight. Or about how Michael and Ronan had ended even before they truly began. He needed to occupy his mind with something else, anything, so he tried to push everything else from his mind and just concentrate on what his teacher said. It wasn’t working.

  There were several reasons why: Father Fazio, one of the few priests who taught at the academy, spoke in a monotonous drone that lulled students to sleep. Michael didn’t like math, so even during the most interesting or easy-to-follow lessons, his mind had a tendency to stray. But mainly it wasn’t working because Ronan was sitting two seats behind him to his left and had been trying to get his attention ever since he walked into the room.

  Ronan was already seated when Michael entered a few seconds before the last bell and looked relieved when he saw him. Michael, on the other hand, looked startled. He knew Ronan would be in class, but he had avoided seeing him all day, so this was their first encounter and it made his stomach flip. Earlier in the day, he ignored his text messages and rebuffed his request to meet at St. Joshua’s, claiming he needed to catch up on some reading. But when he entered the room, the magnetic pull between the two boys was in full force and Michael’s eyes immediately found Ronan’s.

  Briefly, Michael forgot about his odd behavior and the hug and he only saw Ronan, handsome and muscular and staring right at him, but then it came back to him in a flash and he realized no matter how hard he wanted to erase what had happened, he couldn’t. Head down, Michael walked to his seat and gave Ronan the barest of nods and a quick half smile before sitting down and facing the front of the classroom.

>   If this were British literature, Michael could lose himself in the lecture, or if Father Fazio looked more like Professor McLaren, good-looking and tanned instead of portly and pasty, Michael’s mind could wander in a different direction, but every few minutes, no matter how hard he tried to pay attention to the mathematical drivel about sine and cosine, his mind always wound up at Ronan’s doorstep.

  Finally, he gave in and for the last ten minutes of class, he ignored everything his teacher said and thought about Ronan. Replaying in his mind Ronan pushing Nakano, whispering to Nakano, hugging Nakano, over and over again. Out of the corner of his eye, Michael could see Ronan try to smile at him. He’s acting like nothing happened. Maybe nothing did happen, Michael told himself. No, no, he saw it with his own eyes.

  Why won’t he look at me? Ronan knew he had acted strangely yesterday, but he didn’t think he deserved the silent treatment. There were some things that Michael didn’t understand just yet, might never understand, but he had to know how he felt about him. He had never been so obvious in all his life. He had never before taken such a chance on exposing himself, but the moment he saw Michael’s beautiful face outside the cathedral, he knew the time had come. Their time had come, but now it appeared as if their time was already over. What in the world was going on?

  Before the bell stopped ringing, Michael was already at the door. Ronan had to push past some students just to catch up to him. He wasn’t letting him get away, not after the risks he had already taken.

  “Michael,” Ronan called out. “Wait up.” Instinct lost and Michael obeyed. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Don’t look into his blue eyes, Michael told himself. Don’t look at how shimmery they are and don’t give him the satisfaction.

  “Is something wrong?”

  All around them, boys hurried past, laughed, shouted, but the space between the two of them was silent. There was so much they both wanted to say to each other, but how to begin? How could Michael say what was really in his heart when he hardly understood it himself? He had lived such a sheltered life in Nebraska, so alone and lonely, that the first time he met a boy who he thought was interested in him, a boy that stirred within him a real passion, he made a fool of himself. He created a world that didn’t exist. He built a relationship based on a few conversations because he was so desperate to connect with someone else. It didn’t matter that in his heart and his mind he felt the connection was real. It didn’t matter that he felt a peace he had never known. It was all fake.