Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Through a short hallway that runs beneath the stairs, there’s a room that seems to be a closed-in patio with large windows overlooking a cozy backyard. A cobblestone path leads around to the front of the house, lined with bushes that look in need of some preening. The room is complete with a dresser, a small reading chair in the far corner, and a twin bed fitted with Pac-Man sheets.
“Sorry for keeping you in what looks like a ten-year-old’s bedroom,” says Vann as he sets my bag down on the chair. “The bed sheets are an inside joke. Toby’s a gamer, so when we left Spruce, everyone gave us a bunch of Pac-Man-themed stuff. You should see his beach towel.”
“I’m grateful you’re letting me stay here at all,” I tell him. “You can have SpongeBob sheets for all I care.”
Vann chuckles at that, then gestures at the room. “Just look at this place as your artistic oasis. Dreamwood Isle is all yours to explore. Inspiration is everywhere!”
I glance up at the walls. They’re lined with art that I quickly realize is Vann’s. Drawings of beautiful monsters. Dragons with muscles. Demons with fiery wings and long, flaming chain whips. They could easily be dismissed by a snob as nothing but game-inspired doodles or comic-book derivative fan art.
But to the trained eye, they are so much more. Each of the monsters is unique and thoughtfully designed. Despite the Hellish look of the demon, his eyes are sensitive and appear to be looking right at you, as if daring to defy his authority. Every tongue of flame that erupts around him has a personality of its own, a thousand whips of infernal rage and intention. I can’t peel my eyes from the art.
In truth, I fucking envy Vann’s talent.
He makes it look so easy, too. I’ve seen him whip out one of these creations in mere minutes, sitting at a table in my loft with some of my classmates, lost in his work. Or sitting beside me in class, creating a world in front of him that invites all eyes into it.
He’s the kind of artist my professor admires.
He’s the kind of guy who’s got it in the bag.
The overachiever who couldn’t care less. The genius who doesn’t know his own genius. A demigod among us mere try-hards, whose divine lineage will forever remain unknown and inconsequential.
I’m glad to have him as a friend.
But in the present context right now of being literally surrounded by his brilliance, I feel a tiny stab of jealousy. What I wouldn’t give for a drop of his talent …
“Hell, maybe if you’re up for it, we could grab some tacos at the Desert Moon Diner up the street?” suggests Vann, oblivious to my gawping at the art on the walls. “Or hit up the arcade down the other way and let my boyfriend show off? Or we can just be low-key, stay in, and throw a tasty-ass, frozen-ass pizza in the oven. I can show you the Rivington tomorrow morning if it’s open.”
“Going out or low-key, either is fine with me,” I assure him. “I don’t want to be a bother, or get in the way of—”
“Who’s this?”
Vann and I turn. I deduce rather quickly that the person standing at the door isn’t Toby. Her eyes are soft, yet her expression and tone of voice harsh. From her buzzed head of hair and nose ring, she exudes strength. Her sunburned skin is covered only by a plain white tank top, sans bra, and a pair of boxers that barely reach halfway down her thighs.
“I’m Quintin,” I say at once.
She lifts an eyebrow at Vann. “Again, who’s this?”
“What the hell did you do to your hair?” asks Vann as he comes toward her, then lifts a hand to touch her buzzed head. She swats it away. “You chopped it all off!”
“Wanted a change for the summer. My dads are gonna be so pissed.” She turns her sharp eyes on me again. “I’m Kelsey. Toby’s bestie, Vann’s adopted bestie. And that is my bed you’re leaning on.”
I promptly stop leaning on it, eyes wide.
Vann appears to fumble through ten thoughts a second. “I—I’d thought—Weren’t you going home this morning?”
“Why are you so quick to get rid of me? I’m here for another week or two. Didn’t Toby tell you?”
“Obviously not.”
She brushes past him and comes up to me. “I can be rude to people I don’t know sometimes. It’s one of my less attractive qualities, acquired from my time on the streets when every new person I met was trying to knife me for a nickel. I don’t trust easily, because once upon a time, my lack of trust saved my own life. Then I trusted a guy named Lucky and my whole world changed for the better. What I’m trying to say is, life doesn’t make sense, and nothing we do matters, and we all die unfulfilled anyway. You still haven’t told me who you are.”