“Where the Weatherman kicked their butts!” somebody said, and most everyone started cheering and clapping. A few people patted the shoulders of a tall, handsome kid in the front row, who hung his head in not entirely false modesty. Balthazar glanced at the seating chart to see that this was WEATHERS, CRAIG… Skye’s ex, he realized. Not that he should care one way or the other.
“Okay, everyone, settle down.” That was definitely a teacherish thing to say. “Basketball is over, and Colonial History Honors Seminar has begun. Let’s see, what do we have here, chapter one is … freedom of religion?”
“It’s, like, about the Pilgrims?” said a cute Asian girl seated directly beside Craig. “And how they came to America so they could create freedom of religion for everybody?”
“Well, that’s not true,” Balthazar said. “Seriously, does it say that?”
Everyone in the class seemed to be glancing around at one another—except Skye, who was now hiding a smile behind her hand. Madison Findley piped up: “Yeah, it does. I mean, that was the whole point, right?”
“No. That was—as far from the whole point as it gets.” He started flipping through that first chapter, which had been written by someone with more patriotism than common sense. “This is wrong. And that’s not—Good God, it’s all wrong. Completely and totally wrong.”
The Asian girl (whom the seating chart called FONG, BRITNEE) said, “Then why did they come?”
“The reason the Godly—wait, let me back up. The Puritans didn’t call themselves Puritans; that was a nickname given to them by people who disliked them—in other words, everyone who wasn’t a Puritan.” Though he’d fallen into the trap of using it himself, in the centuries since: The present always exercised a kind of tyranny over the past, all-knowing, invariably right. “The reason nobody liked them was because they were convinced they knew the only true way to God, the only true way for people to live. They didn’t come to the New World to create freedom of religion; they came to create the kingdom of God on earth. They could worship as they chose, but anybody else who came to that territory—or, in the case of the Native Americans, anybody who lived there already—was going to have to worship in the same way. Even other Christians weren’t welcome. Roman Catholics in particular.”
Some of the students had started to smile, but in a good way, as if they were actually sort of interested against their will. Balthazar decided to go with it. He shut the idiotic book and just went to the board. If the best way to handle this class was to talk about what he already knew, fine.
“The Puritans called themselves the Godly,” he said, jotting it on the board. All around him, students started taking notes. Skye looked down last, though. Their eyes locked for an instant, long enough for Balthazar to realize how good it felt to know at least one person understood that he was telling his own truth.
By the study hall at the end of the day, Balthazar was feeling pretty good about the whole teacher thing—at least until Skye walked into the library, and how could that skirt possibly have become shorter since homeroom? It had to have. There was no way she could’ve walked around like that for hours without being spoken to. Or possibly arrested.
Balthazar realized that was partly the old-fashioned side of him talking—her skirt was short but not indecent. The obscenity of it wasn’t the length of the hemline; it was the thoughts that hemline inspired in him.
Skye texted him first: I’m going straight home after school. Madison asked me over, but I told her I still feel weird. You didn’t tell me you were living over there!
Haven’t had much chance. Listen, are you okay?
Yeah. The vision in Ms. Loos’s class today was intense, but since I fainted yesterday at the game, she was actually nice about it for a change. I think everybody thinks I’m epileptic or something. I should be transferred out of there by the end of the week, though.
Balthazar raised an eyebrow at the realization that Tonia had been giving Skye a difficult time, but that was hardly the most important subject for them to discuss. I just need to say—I’m sorry. About last night.
For what?
For going further than I should’ve gone.
I was hoping you were going to say, for leaving too soon.
The idea of lingering longer in Skye’s bedroom flickered in his mind, invitingly, but Balthazar pushed it away. I think you’re amazing. You know that. But I meant what I said. Getting involved with humans—it’s a line I don’t cross.
There’s a first time for everything.
He glanced up from his phone to look at her the precise moment she did the same. As their eyes met across the library, Skye recrossed her legs, giving him another glimpse of just how long and slim and toned they were.
A bold move—but her eyes told the true story. There he could see her uncertainty, her vulnerability. Whatever it was, that mixture of flirtation and fragility struck deep within him.
Balthazar’s response was as much a reminder to himself as to Skye: We can’t be anything more than friends.
I hear you, Skye sent back, which seemed surprisingly reasonable—until the next line arrived. But nobody said I had to make it easy for you.
He should have been exasperated. Concerned. Something like that.
Instead, it was all he could do to keep from smiling.
Madison walked as far as Skye’s house with her, so Balthazar followed them at a distance. It was easier watching Skye when she was wearing a long puffer coat that hid those legs. Yet as they wound their way through to her house, Balthazar began to sense it—that faint energy in the air, thick and ominous, like the coming of a storm.