The Colors of Your Soul
a story by happysmiley474
Chapter 3
I don't know specifically when Jackson and I first began going out. We'd been friends since the start of middle school; I guess it was inevitable that we develop this kind of relationship. However, as I always attempted to explain to classmates, we were not officially girlfriend/boyfriend. When I would tell them that, they would cock their heads and raise an eyebrow, as if to say, that's impossible. But it is. We're living, breathing proof.
Or rather, I am. Jackson's seemed to have developed more of an attraction to me than I ever imagined. According to his friends, he believes we are in love.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, something's telling me that he expects us to get married.
I sigh, and Kayla smiles. "Speak of the devil." She says, nudging her head toward the lunch line, where Jackson is walking, a haze of cotton-candy pink moving towards us. Cotton-candy pink. Kayla's smile grows wider. "You haven't seen him in, what, a month?" She says. "Look how happy he is."
I bury my head in my arms. "I know." I say miserably.
"Hiya," Jackson says. By the time I lift my head, he's already settled in next to me and is looking at me fondly. "I missed you. I missed you all summer."
"I missed you too." I say, faking a smile. "A lot."
"I tried calling you a million times, but you never picked up—"
"Yeah," I say. "I know."
Kayla snorts, and I shoot her a look. She knows all about the thirty or so messages he left on my cell.
"I'm sorry," I continue. "I guess I was outside a lot."
Jackson scrunches his eyebrows. "Outside?" He says, incredulous. "Since when you are you the outdoorsy type?"
"Since when I was really, really little." I say. "I just keep that side very well hidden."
The sudden neon green slicing through Jackson's pink soul is entirely obvious. In my world, neon green equals affection.
He throws an arm over my shoulder, and I should have been ready for it, but I tense. "Another secret." He says, voice lilting with an unfamiliar flirty tone. "What a mystery you are."
Kayla laughs. "God, Jackson, you sound like you're quoting Shakespeare."
"That's what I was aiming for." He says, grinning.
His arm is still around my shoulders. All around us couples are walking around, hands around waists and hands held tight together, but that doesn't make me any less uncomfortable.
"Hey," I say, standing up. His arm slides off my shoulders. "I'm going to go get something to eat."
Kayla looks at me. "But you just ate that—"
I give her a look.
"Oh, well," Jackson says, eyeing his drooping arm reproachfully. "Do you want me to go with you?"
I laugh. "C'mon Jackson," I say. "I can get my lunch on my own."
I walk through the field and finally get close enough to see the lunch line, still surprisingly long.
Perfect.
I'm standing in line trying to remember what my lunch account number was, when a voice behind me shrieks, "Cassandra!" I'd know that color anywhere.She's the only person I've ever known that has a stripy color. Purple and neon yellow, glowing against her colorful clothing. Kelly. "Missed you!" She proceeds to give me a big hug, which I return not-so enthusiastically. One of the reasons we haven't gotten as close to be best friends is because I'm not a big fan of touchy-feely.
"Kelly." I say dully.
She pokes me with a bright pink fingernail. "I saw you." She says deviously. "I saw you with Jackson."
"Everyone's seen me with Jackson," I mumble.
"Really?" She says. "Because you know, you guys aren't big on that PDA thing, are you?"
"I know I'm not." I say, but she isn't listening.
"So," She says, lowering her voice. "Have you seen him?"
"Seen who?"
She rolls her eyes, and I feel a spasm of annoyance. "God, you're clueless. That guy."
I clench my teeth. "That guy who?"
"Seth," She says, drawing the word out. "Seth Hamilton. New kid. Black hair. This year's bound-to-be hottie super-bomb."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Hottie super-bomb?
But then the meaning of her words sinks in and I stare at her, dumb-founded. "You said black hair?"
"Uh-huh." She says.
"Black eyes?"
'So you have seen him."
"No. Well—yeah." I stammer. "What grade's he in?"
"Same as us." She grins. "But I heard the senior girls are already hitting on him. Haven't heard about anybody who's been successful, though."
I nod, not listening.
"He's just perfect, isn't he?" She says dreamily. "My god, I would kill the girl who gets him."
"Yeah," I say, snapping back to my senses. "Yeah. You know what? I'm not hungry anymore."
Kelly gives me a weird look.
"Uh, so… I'll be on my way." I say awkwardly, and step out of the lunch line.
When I go back to the lunch table Jackson is gone and Kayla is poking at her peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. She looks so forlorn sitting there, with her deep blue color swirling around her, that I want to give her a hug.
"Hey." She says, looking up at me. "Back so quick."
I press my lips together. "Yeah." I say. "I talked to Kelly."
"Nice. How'd that go?"
The truth is waiting, ready on my tongue, but somehow I don't feel like telling her. "Okay, I guess." I say finally. "Colorful, as usual."
Kayla nods absently, taking a huge bit of her sandwich.
"There's this new guy, apparently," I say. The words just slide from my mouth.
"Huh." Kayla says. I can tell she isn't really listening. But somehow I feel the urge to speak the words lodged in my throat, even if I am just talking to myself. "And his name—" I say quietly. "His name's Seth Hamilton."
He's the first thing I notice when I walk into my language arts class. It's hard not to. Even without the color. His colorless soul. Or rather, his nonexistent soul.
There's a huge crowd of girls surrounding his desk; girls leaning back on the edges of chairs as if they didn't really care he wasn't talking to them, girls in tight tank-tops leaning earnestly forward, smiling and talking with bright, shiny eyes. So many bright, vivid colors mixing into each other in a single space that I feel woozy.
As I enter the room, his black, black eyes flit up across the room and looks at me with such ferocity that I can almost feel his gaze burning through my clothes.
The girls around them all simultaneously turn in my direction, but I can't move. It's as if I'm paralyzed by his eyes.
"What exactly do you find so fascinating," says a voice from behind me. "You have to stand right in front of the door to observe it?"
I whirl around, looking directly into the face of Mr. Hill. "Oh." I say. His rusty red color is more intimidating now than ever. "I'm sorry. Just—ugh—didn't know where to sit."
I pretend to scan the room, noticing how all the girls have segregated themselves into different cliques, sitting close enough to Seth to talk to him but too far away to seem really desperate. The result is an open seat right next to him.
"Why so much confusion?" Mr. Hill asks, and I know what's coming next. From the corner of my eye I see Seth's dark eyes widen. "There's an open seat right there." I grit my teeth before realizing he's pointing to a completely different direction.
"Oh." I say. "Yeah."
I take a seat, then listen half-heartedly to Mr. Hill's introduction—the same one we receive in every class the first day of school—up until the point he starts discussing the whole 'Project Teamwork' thing. We did this last year, and it was absolute hell. The guys I got stuck with—for the whole year, no less—ended up doing nothing while I gave them both easy As for my hard-earned work.
"This year, as it was last year, it will be a raffle." He says. "You will work with your randomly picked group members for the rest of the year. No exceptions. You get stuck in a group-full of slackers? I. Don't. Care. It is your job as the responsible individual to get their act together and keep them moving."
The smart kids groan, and the slackers laugh in response. Most of the girls are silent. I can practically read through their mind: Please let me be with Seth Hamilton. Please let me be with Seth Hamilton.
"I have the names all ready here. Let's start." He pulls three names from a hat and reads them out. "Hailey Parker, Sharon An, David Watkins." He calls out. "Marissa Tilling, Lillian Walker, Roger Davidson…"
The girls groan as one by one, they are picked into different groups, and I'm waiting for my name; waiting for him to mispronounce my last name, as he did all last year.
"And—" He says, wrinkling his nose. "Seth Hamilton and Cassandra Castros," He says, and I want to point out the mispronunciation, but suddenly I hear what he says. "I guess you two will have to work on your own."
I feel the girls' glares on my back as Mr. Hill instructs us to move so we can sit next to our group members.
I make a move to stand up but Seth is already besides me, having taken the seat next to me before anyone else. He looks even more intimidating up close.
"Hi." I squeak.
He nods silently at me. My heart is thumping—I can't think of anything to say.
Then, suddenly, "I've seen you before."
I practically melt. That voice. So perfect, so smooth.
"Yeah," I say quietly. My voice, in comparison to his, sounds scratched and old, like a broken record.
There's silence.
According to Mr. Hill and his detailed weekly syllabus, our first assignment is supposed to be getting to know each other. But how will I do that when he won't even look at me?
Then, suddenly, "I know what you can do." He says, and I'm thinking maybe he wants me to shove off, or start writing that essay or something, but his eyes are looking into mine, sucking me in, and I can't concentrate on anything.
I break my gaze, flustered. "What do you mean?"
"The colors? It's okay."
I gape at him. "Wha-What colors?" I stammer.
"It's okay." He repeats. His voice is like tap water running through your fingers. Silken. Perfect. "I'm like that too."
"You see colors?" I ask, not quite believing this conversation.
"No. I'm inhuman." He nods. "Just like you."
"What do you mean, I'm inhuman?" I say.
"It means you're not normal. Not like most of these people are." His eyes sweep over our classmates.
"You know." I say. "Who told you? Who told you about my colors?"
"I guessed." He says. "You should really try to be more careful."
"Nobody could have--" I sputter.
"I did."
His voice is as still as silken and glossy as it has always been, but somehow, right now, it doesnt seem as perfect.
"You've got some nerve." I say. "Nobody could have guessed. You must have done something." Nobody could know about me and my colors. They were special; one of a kind, only to me.
"What are you?" I ask angrily.
He smiles, and as hard as I try not to, I'm sucked into his black eyes, intoa vortex of darkness. But this time I notice a silvery, bluish tinge at the very back, the light in a world awash in darkness. He looks away before I can see further.
"Me?" He says. "I'm a mystery."
Finally. A longer chapter. Harder than I thought it would be, so it probably turned out to be a really, really bad chapter. I don't know what the heck I was writing through the middle, but somehow I enjoyed it... so, well, i hope you do too.
reviews and critiques appreciated!
-happysmiley474