Unravel Me (Shatter Me, #2)(8)
Heads still spin in my direction when I walk into the dining hall.
I am a spectacle, an anomaly even among the anomalies. I should be used to it by now, after all these years. I should be tougher, jaded, indifferent to the opinions of others.
I should be a lot of things.
I clear my eyes and keep my hands to my sides and pretend I’m unable to make eye contact with anything but that spot, that little mark on the wall 50 feet from where I’m standing.
I pretend I’m just a number.
No emotions on my face. Lips perfectly still. Back straight, hands unclenched. I am a robot, a ghost slipping through the crowds.
6 steps forward. 15 tables to pass. 42 43 44 seconds and counting.
I am scared
I am scared
I am scared
I am strong.
Food is served at only 3 times throughout the day: breakfast from 7:00 to 8:00 a.m., lunch from 12:00 to 1:00 p.m., and dinner from 5:00 to 7:00 p.m. Dinner is an hour longer because it’s at the end of the day; it’s like our reward for working hard. But mealtimes aren’t a fancy, luxurious event—the experience is very different from dining with Warner. Here we just stand in a long line, pick up our prefilled bowls, and head toward the eating area—which is nothing more than a series of rectangular tables arranged in parallel lines across the room. Nothing superfluous so nothing is wasted.
I spot Adam standing in line and head in his direction.
68 69 70 seconds and counting.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Something lumpy hits me in the back. Falls to the floor. I turn around, my face flexing the 43 muscles required to frown before I see him.
Kenji.
Big, easy smile. Eyes the color of onyx. Hair even darker, sharper, stick-straight and slipping into his eyes. His jaw is twitching and his lips are twitching and the impressive lines of his cheekbones are appled up into a smile struggling to stay suppressed. He’s looking at me like I’ve been walking around with toilet paper in my hair and I can’t help but wonder why I haven’t spent time with him since we got here. He did, on a purely technical level, save my life. And Adam’s life. James’, too.
Kenji bends down to pick up what looks like a wadded ball of socks. He weighs them in his hand like he’s considering throwing them at me again. “Where are you going?” he says. “I thought you were supposed to meet me here? Castle said—”
“Why did you bring a pair of socks in here?” I cut him off. “People are trying to eat.”
He freezes for only a split second before he rolls his eyes. Pulls up beside me. Tugs on my ponytail. “I was running late to meet you, your highness. I didn’t have time to put my socks on.” He gestures to the socks in his hand and the boots on his feet.
“That’s so gross.”
“You know, you have a really strange way of telling me you’re attracted to me.”
I shake my head, try to bite back my amusement. Kenji is a walking paradox of Unflinchingly Serious Person and 12-Year-Old Boy Going Through Puberty all rolled into one. But I’d forgotten how much easier it is to breathe around him; it seems natural to laugh when he’s near. So I keep walking and I’m careful not to say a word, but a smile is still tugging at my lips as I grab a tray and head into the heart of the kitchen.
Kenji is half a step behind me. “So. We’re working together today.”
“Yup.”
“So, what—you just walk right past me? Don’t even say hello?” He clutches the socks to his chest. “I’m crushed. I saved us a table and everything.”
I glance at him. Keep walking.
He catches up. “I’m serious. Do you have any idea how awkward it is to wave at someone and have them ignore you? And then you’re just looking around like a jackass, trying to be all, ‘No, really, I swear, I know that girl’ and no one believes y—”
“Are you kidding?” I stop in the middle of the kitchen. Spin around. My face is pulled together in disbelief. “You’ve spoken to me maybe once in the two weeks I’ve been here. I hardly even notice you anymore.”
“Okay, hold up,” he says, turning to block my path. “We both know there’s no way you haven’t noticed all of this”—he gestures to himself—“so if you’re trying to play games with me, I should let you know up front that it’s not going to work.”
“What?” I frown. “What are you talking abou—”
“You can’t play hard to get, kid.” He raises an eyebrow. “I can’t even touch you. Takes ‘hard to get’ to a whole new level, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh my God,” I mouth, eyes closed, shaking my head. “You are insane.”
He falls to his knees. “Insane for your sweet, sweet love!”
“Kenji!” I can’t lift my eyes because I’m afraid to look around, but I’m desperate for him to stop talking. To put an entire room between us at all times. I know he’s joking, but I might be the only one.
“What?” he says, his voice booming around the room. “Does my love embarrass you?”
“Please—please get up—and lower your voice—”
“Hell no.”
“Why not?” I’m pleading now.
“Because if I lower my voice, I won’t be able to hear myself speak. And that,” he says, “is my favorite part.”