Maybe it was when I started observing people that I first noticed him. I can remember him being around, somewhere at the edge of my vision, but I don’t know when it was that he first really made an impression on me, or what that impression was. I do know that it happened back when his hair was still dyed black, because he was to me “that good-looking guy with the black hair and brooding face” before we actually met—in a word, dismal. Actually, there might have been a little physical attraction there at first. The point is, he was there in the background for at least a good six months before I lost my cell phone in the park after school, went searching for it, and found him looking through it.
It was early enough that the sun was still pretty high in the sky, but late enough that most kids had gone home from school, so there were just enough people still in the park to make a little sleepy afternoon chatter as I approached the young man standing by the tree I had been leaning against about an hour ago, a cell phone in his hand. He looked up when I got within ten yards of him, glancing at the cell phone and then holding it up so I could see it.
“Is this yours?” Not the most brilliant question, since a self-taken picture of me was displayed on the screen, but I nodded, holding out my hand for it as I came to a halt in front of him. I expected him to hand it to me right then, but instead, he asked another question.
“Can you prove it?”
I blinked. That seemed pretty self-explanatory with aforementioned photo on the screen. Glancing between his face and the cell phone uncertainly, I let out a mumbled “um” before I noticed a slow grin start to spread across his face.
“I’m kidding.” The phone dropped into my palm. I offered a quiet thank you as I tucked it into my pocket. Adjusting his jacket (which I only then noticed was unusual for such a warm summer), the dismal guy met my gaze with a pair of eyes that were startlingly blue, considering his apparent hair color, and gave me a once-over. “I’ve seen you before. Aren’t you from that high school down the street?”
“Clearwater High. Yeah.”
He nodded, scanning the park thoughtfully. Then, as if just remembering something, he said, “Oh! I’m Trystain.” He held out his hand, and I took it and shyly introduced myself, feeling flimsy in his firm handshake.
“Clearwater got out about an hour ago, didn’t they?” he asked, releasing my hand to glance at an ancient-looking wristwatch. “What are you doing here so late?”
“Looking for my cell,” I replied, patting my pocket. “I told my parents I’m hanging out with some friends so I could look for it.”
“Why not just tell them you forgot your cell phone?”
“I don’t want to hear my mom bitch about what happens if I don’t find it. I already know what she’ll say.”
By now, Trystain was wearing the smile I would soon get to know as his patented expression of approval, amusement, and most other positive emotions, and the initial idea of him being “dismal” had virtually evaporated. In just a moment, he would ask if I was a compulsive liar. In a moment and a half, I would reply that I’d probably deny it whether I was a liar or not, so it didn’t matter what I said anyway. In three moments, he would take a liking to me and say so, and I would develop an attachment to him in response. In the span of two weeks, he would become the one person I could be truly honest without being afraid of the consequences, and six months later, I would discover his true nature as a nonhuman. And, a year or so later, I would explain to Kat how all this happened.
“Wait.”
I stop talking and turn my gaze to the tousle-haired girl I’ve cried to twice in the two months I’ve known her. Fingering the chains of the swings we’ve moved to, Kat furrows her brows at the ground and continues, “You said he seemed dismal at first, but then that idea went away pretty quickly. How come?”
