Palindrome

Fourteen

Chapter 14

The good news is, we did not walk in with Giselle and Chase in any compromising position. (Nagi's words not mine.) Instead the two were working on sets as if the world outside wasn't on the verge of falling apart. They've gotten the rest of us to work too. In one corner the puppy lies cushioned in my jacket and Paxton's. He's sleeping soundly, all curled up into one tiny ball.

"How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and Scotsman."

Oh here we go again. Mr. Chase has Hamilton playing on the television screen mounted on the wall of the black box. Which meant that Nagi was going to flip out and go around singing the lyrics.

"Dropped in the middle of a forgotten," She says holding her paintbrush out at Paxton.

His mouth curves up in a smile, "Spot in the Caribbean."

"Grow up to be a hero and a scholar," I finish reluctantly as she points to me.

Nagi goes on to torture the pair of siblings after that, leaving me and Paxton to paint the sign in front of us. Pushing the sleeves of my sweater up, I dip my paintbrush into the can ready to fill in the space. Then I catch Paxton staring at it with his brows furrowed.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

He scratches the back of his neck, mumbling something under his breath. If I didn't know any better he sounded embarrassed?

"You're going to have to speak louder Paxton."

"I can't paint," he confesses mussing up his hair with one hand.

I arch an eyebrow, "Okay?"

"I'm not joking, stick figures are the only thing I can draw," he tells me.

"All you have to do is move the paintbrush up and down across the surface," I say demonstrating the action for him.

He groans desperately but gives in by picking up a paintbrush. I watch amusedly as his eyes flicker across the surface, deciding where to start. This lasts for a good fifteen seconds before he looks at me with pleading eyes. "I can't do this."

"Alright fine," I say. "Push the sleeves of your shirt back first."

"Why?" he asks.

"Because you're not getting away with this," I tell him somberly.

He rolls his eyes, rolling the sleeves of his shirt back to reveal his muscular arms that you wouldn't expect beneath all those hoodies of his. And now I'm hyperaware of his chiseled jaw, freckles, and that small scar by his left eyebrow. Averting my gaze, I end up locking eyes with Abraham who tilts his head to one side questioningly.

What? I mouth.

He shrugs, opening his mouth to say something before Bronwyn shoves her phone in his face. Sighing I look at Paxton who twirls a paintbrush in his hand ideally.

I clear my throat awkwardly and he looks up, "What's next?"

"We paint," I state simply.

"Wait why do you have your bracelets on?" he asks.

My blood chills to ice as sudden nausea takes over me. That clouding headache slowly drifts back as I desperately try to come up with an answer. I try and recall if I've done anything to my wrist today. Usually nothing stays past the first few hours unless you're really looking. No one's needed to look and I'm pretty sure they won't. The idea of it makes me highly uncomfortable though.

"Why not?" I retort as nonchalantly as I can.

"Double standards," he says with mock outrage.

"Right," I say, laughing nervously.