Page 47 of The Bleak Beginning

As Sutton continues to chatter excitedly about potential love interests, I find myself only half-listening. My mind wanders to the carefully crafted letters hidden in my lap, each one a potential landmine in the dangerous game I’ve chosen to play.

“…and then there’s Christopher from the swim team.” Sutton’s voice cuts through my reverie. “He’s always been a flirt.”

I force myself to nod, as if considering her suggestions. “You’ve certainly given this a lot of thought,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from my fictional love life.

She grins, leaning back in her chair. “What can I say? I live vicariously through my friends’ romantic adventures.”

Friends. The word catches me off guard.

I’ve never really had a lot of those. Most of my youth was spent alone, practicing piano day after day. Other than my sister, that had been the closest relationship I’d ever maintained.

I feel a pang of guilt at the thought of deceiving Sutton. She seems genuinely interested in my love life, and here I am, plotting revenge against a group of boys who’ve wronged me. For a moment, I consider coming clean, telling her everything.

But then I remember the humiliation, the feeling of never being enough, the nights spent wondering what I’d done wrong and why I wasn’t better. No, I can’t back down now.

That hopeful version of myself died a long time ago, and I was her cold, void replacement.

“You know,” I say, forcing a playful smile, “maybe I’ll tell you more about it sometime. But for now, let’s just say it’s…complicated. Kinda like your art,” I say.

I swear I see Sutton’s eyes flash with disappointment, but they change so quickly I can’t be sure. “Fine. But you have to promise to try to keep me updated, okay?”

“I will when you do the same with your art,” I negotiate.

Her mouth twists and I can tell she doesn’t like my answer, but she doesn’t argue further.

“What are you doing at the dining hall so late?” I ask, shifting us back to a safer topic. “It’s the weekend.”

“So?”

Now she really does sound offended, and for some reason it catches me off guard. It’s a complete shift from her bubbliness minutes ago.

I backpedal quickly, realizing I’ve struck a nerve. “I just meant…most people are out partying or something on weekends. Not that there’s anything wrong with being here, of course.”

Sutton’s expression softens slightly, but there’s still a guarded look in her eyes. “Yeah, well, parties aren’t really my scene this year. Too loud, too many people. I prefer the quiet.” She gestures around the nearly empty dining hall. “Plus, the lighting in here is great for sketching.”

I get it. I’ve never been much for crowds either, unless they were inside an auditorium while I played onstage.

“I bet with these windows it’s stunning in the daylight.”

The dining hall is a grand room, with tall, arched windows stretching from the floor to the high ceiling, which are now reflecting the clouded night sky as a soft rain taps at the windows and ceiling. Tables and chairs are haphazardly spread across the room, giving it a disorganized but cozy feel. Four towering pine trees, their branches stretching outward, frame the front of the room, unable to reach the lofty ceiling.

The first time I came in here I literally lost my breath at how stunning it was, now in the late evening it was heart-stopping.

There’s a moment of awkward silence between us. I fiddle with my pen, unsure of what to say next. She seems lost in thought, her fingers absently tracing patterns on the tabletop.

Finally, she speaks again, her tone gentle. “You’re right, it is beautiful during the day. The sunlight streams through those windows and creates these amazing patterns on the floor.” Sutton’s eyes light up as she describes it, her earlier defensiveness fading. “Sometimes I come here just to appreciate how the light changes throughout the day.”

I find myself smiling at her enthusiasm. “That sounds nice. Maybe I’ll check it out sometime.”

“You should.” She nods, then hesitates before adding, “You don’t think that’s weird?”

“Why would I?”

She shrugs, her gaze dropping to the table. “I don’t know. Some people think it’s strange to get excited about things like light patterns.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Nah, I don’t think it’s weird at all. Actually, I think it’s pretty cool that you notice those kinds of details. Most people are too busy rushing around to appreciate stuff like that.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. I guess I’m just used to being around people who don’t get it.”

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