Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
But if it wasn’t...what would be?
What would be enough for him?
Or was he just so accustomed to a life of excess—the chef, the marble-colonnaded house his parents laughed about because it was just a small mansion, how humble, sleeping and flitting about and playing at curating fine art, dabbling at making his own—that he couldn’t appreciate that simplicity itself was the point, and worthy of being enough?
The tree, unfortunately, hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with any answers.
And Rian had turned away to make himself trudge back through the trees, climbing the hill up the path and to the school, guided by that lonely burning light in the upstairs window.
He’d stayed up too late making sketches of the tree, committing it to memory, trying different styles and interpretations so he could choose one to put to canvas—and he’d dozed off over his sketchbook, curled up in a corner of the bed in his room in the suite he shared with Walden. In fact, the only reason he woke up just in time to throw on a clean shirt, shove his feet into his sandals, and race to first period was because...because...
Walden...was late?
Rian barely got a glimpse of Lachlan Walden darting from the suite with his tie flying over his shoulder before the door slammed in his wake. Walden was always last to sleep, first to wake, always on the ball, always five minutes early for every day, every meeting, every school event.
So what the hell had that been about...?
Rian didn’t have time to wonder. Not when he had approximately two minutes himself to race upstairs, and he managed to skid into his morning class exactly three inches ahead of the last freshman and four seconds before the last bell chimed to start. Thank God he didn’t have a homeroom session, or he’d have been in trouble.
But he froze behind his desk as he realized...
The entire class of freshmen was staring at him.
Probably because he was gasping from running, leaning hard on the desk, his hair falling into his face and one of the loose, oversized linen tunics he didn’t mind getting dirty slipping off of one of his shoulders.
“What?” He blew his hair out of his face, then straightened and shoved it back, before catching his shirt and tugging it up over his shoulder, sweeping the room with a look. “What are you waiting for? This isn’t a free period, get to work.”
Normally the boys would be reluctant, groaning and grumbling and slogging to obey, especially in the morning when they were both not particularly eager to start the school day and just far enough past homeroom for the energy kick from breakfast to actually wake them up, versus falling asleep over their seats.
But apparently he must look an entire hot mess today, because without much more than a few mutters...
They scrambled to drag their bags off the tables and started digging out their sketchbooks or checking the drawers for the tools for their sculpture projects.
Well then.
Rian cleared his throat, smoothing his clothing and gathering his hair back with one hand, rummaging into his desk drawer with the other for a rubber band.
At least his little slip this morning had had one positive side effect.
He’d managed to gather himself by the end of first period, though—at least, to outward appearances. Inwardly...
Inwardly, his mind kept wandering.
And through first period, second period, third period, fourth, more than once a student had to say his name twice to drag him back on task, leaving him blinking and asking them to repeat the question.
He couldn’t even say why he was so distracted. Maybe because he’d hardly slept, and started his day so off-kilter. Maybe because he couldn’t stop worrying about Chris, and wondering if the boy would be distracted and dispirited in last period again.
Or maybe because his mind kept wandering back to the light in the window.
And the fact that when he’d come back last night, straggling back toward the haunting spires of the school building and tapping in that code on the door...
That lone silhouette had remained in the window high above.
Maybe Damon hadn’t been able to sleep, either.
Rian was nearly dead on his feet by the time the lunch bell rang, and he straggled into the cafeteria to steal a thick wrapped BLT sandwich from the cooler before the boys snagged them all, then checked the coffee pot. Thank God, fresh brewed; sometimes the cafeteria staff didn’t bother putting out fresh after the breakfast rush, but in a school like this half the teachers practically needed the energy injected in their veins twenty-four seven to even function. Rian laced a tall paper cup liberally with sugar, then buried his face in the fresh caffeine infusion and stole a spot against the wall.
He told himself he was helping out. It wasn’t his day on cafeteria duty, watching the boys to make sure they didn’t start a food fight or a brawl, or sneak contraband under the tables, but an extra pair of eyes never hurt.