The Best of Us

ten

OCTOBER. 2014.

MY FROWN TIGHTENED. "I don't get it."

"My mother would kill you if she heard you," Bradley muttered, snatching the sheet of homework requirements from my hand. His eyes, bright and quick, darted over the page. "You haven't even tried to get it."

The three of us were having lunch together; Bradley, Heaven and I. After collectively agreeing that there was something more irritating than usual about the din of the cafeteria, we decided to move outside and savor the warmth of a late October afternoon.

Brimming with pleasant heat, the sky, heavy and vivid, was streaked with pale white clouds and the trimmed field that stretched out beyond the courtyard was patched with dancing gold.

We had claimed a table at the edge of the courtyard, closest to the flat land of grass. The sun trickled over Heaven's back like a stream of ichor and glinted in her blonde hair. I could feel it seeping into my face and I knew Bradley could, too; the valleys of our throats flushed and warm. Occasionally, a cloud would drift over and a cool shade would pass over us that made everything seem clear and drab, but the sun was always swift to return.

Surprisingly, we were the only ones sitting at any of the courtyard tables. Everyone else was inside or lazing out further down the grass where some trees congregated or hanging around on the football field, but it wasn't any interest of mine. As long as we had the courtyard to ourselves, even if I had to squint through the flashes of yellow and red light to see my homework, I was pleased.

Heaven, sitting across from me, had her head bowed, her hair falling down around her face until she got impatient and tied it in a ponytail, and was poring over her French textbook. With her back to the sun and the field, it was easy enough for her to see, but, whenever she shifted, little stretches of gold light peeked around onto the color-blocked pages as if they were trying to see what she was reading. She was wearing a pale blue sweater, the sleeves pulled up to her elbows, and her lower arms, fair and thin, were poking out. One of her hands was curving over the wave of the book that came from the spine and she was using her other hand to follow what she was reading, mouthing to herself as she went.

Bradley was by my side, our jackets and bags discarded on the floor, and we were inches apart despite the fact that our bench could have fit two more people without any trouble.

The frown on his face was softened by an aureate flush, a little pool of gold in the space between his brows, and his cheekbones were bright. His thick, dark eyelashes were glinting like they were adorned with tiny golden flowers and he was squinting at the paper he'd taken from me. He was wearing light blue, too. He looked great in blue.

I shuffled even closer towards him and put my right hand on his shoulder, pointing my left index at one of the topics listed on the page and ignoring how he tensed beneath me. "There," I said.

"La influencia de la Iglesia—" he began. His voice was full of gold, too.

"No, no," I interrupted, shaking my head and jabbing my finger against the page. "There."

"Ah," he hummed, nodding his head a little and I felt him relax but not entirely. "Actitudes hacia el matrimonio y el divorcio."

Heaven's head darted up and she grinned, suddenly excited. Melodramatically, she cleared her throat. "Attitudes towards marriage and divorce," she articulated, brimming with pride. She had taken French since freshman year and, despite Layla's efforts to teach her, was always intimidated by Spanish. Whenever she understood, she liked showing it off.