The Masks We Wear by Lee Jacquot

 

THIRTY

 

By the time our bus pulls into the hotel, the back of my neck is raw from the friction of my necklace, and my nerves are shot to hell. The entire three hours, I had to text my support system to keep from jumping over the seats.

Another suggestion from Dr. Floren.

“Create a small circle of those you trust who you can reach out to when you are feeling overwhelmed or upset. Sometimes even when you feel extremely happy. These people can help you calm down or talk to you in order to help find a solution.”

Mr. Jones rises, holding up a hand to silence the dozen of students all buzzing with excitement. My eyes drift to Spencer and notice he’s leaning to the side and can easily see me out of his peripherals.

It forces my spine to straighten, and the hair on my nape stands at attention.

“Alright. We’re running a little behind, but you all have practiced repeatedly over the past few weeks, so I’m confident you have your data memorized by now. We’re in section forty-five B. I’ll call you by partner groups, give you your badges, and then I need you to hurry inside. I’ll also give the team leader your hotel key for the night. Remember, we’ll have dinner after and breakfast in the morning at eight sharp. Good luck, Bulldogs.”

Team leader?

Mr. Jones must’ve forgotten that Spencer is no longer teamed up with a guy. I make a mental note to tell him later as I pack my things inside my purse. He begins calling names, and as luck would have it, Spencer and I are the first called.

He reaches Mr. Jones before me and grabs our lanyards, exiting the bus before I’ve slung my bag over my shoulder. I fumble after him and down the steep stairs.

Spencer stands at the bottom, leaning against the bus, with his hands in his dark jeans. His chocolate locks are a little longer, curling around the shell of his ear. My heart thumps violently in my rib cage, and I’m almost certain he’ll be able to see an outline of it if he looks down.

“Hey.” His voice is throaty, and my breath falters.

I swallow, reaching out for my badge. “Hey.”

“How are you?” he asks, handing me the lanyard.

Our fingers brush against each other, and a shock sparks the length of my forearm. I clamp down on my bottom lip to keep my smile from stretching too far. “We aren’t in the color room, you know.”

One of his shoulders hitches up, and his dimple appears with a smirk. “Yeah, but I still want to know.”

I open my mouth to answer, but Remy appears at our side, her partner following close behind. She eyes us for a moment before tapping me on the shoulder. “Let’s go, you guys. Time to win some money.”

Some money?

Spencer nods and turns but waits until I’m next to him before leading the way.

It’s strange. We wrestled as kids, shared the same bag of popcorn, and slept cuddled up in a treehouse. Yet being six inches away from here right now feels like I’m a breath away from the sun.

Stop.

This is about closure. Letting go so that I can move on.

I repeat the phrase three times before we enter the hotel.

To say the fire Marshall would be disappointed is an understatement. The entire floor lobby is packed, overflowing with students and projects, and men in white jackets with clipboards. They are all moving to a room behind the tall receptionist ar ea. The majority of everything inside is glass or reflective steel. The nearby elevators are see-through, all full of onlooking spectators. The ceiling in the hotel is enormous, at least twenty feet, and a complete slanted skylight. A light sprinkle has started, and I watch as the water beads and rolls down the windows. Soon enough, it picks up, and watching it feels almost like being on the inside of a waterfall.

Suddenly, a firm hand wraps around my wrist and weaves me through the crowd. When I look down at Spencer’s fingers locked on me, every nerve in my body ignites, and my core throbs in a way it hasn’t since our time in the colored room. I squeeze my eyes closed and remind myself.

Closure.

Finally, we reach our section, and he finds our table quickly. His trifold is set up next to a plethora of others, and honestly, pretty badass. There is data and graphs, pictures, and studies. He even has a binder with colored tabs, which I assume have more in-depth information on his color study. That’s when I noticed the title.

COLORS AFFECT HUMANS, BUT TO WHAT EXTENT?

I huff. Of course. How the hell hadn’t I put that together?

Spencer leans in, his breath tickling the stray hairs on my neck. It sends a shiver down my spine. “Thank you.”

My eyes connect with him, and instantly the world around us drowns out. He’s right next to my face, one deep breath away from his lips touching mine. And for some insane reason, I actually consider rising on my tiptoes and closing the distance.

It would be so easy.

There was a time I thought maybe we just needed to get all the tension out of our system. Just one good fuck to make us feel better. And right now, with his gaze on my lips, his deep erratic breaths, and the clench in his jaw, I think he may feel the same.

Sex. Then closure. Yeah. Totally possible.

“Colors.” The husky voice of an older gentleman draws us apart.

Four men, who I assume to be judges according to their large badges, step closer to us. I back up, giving the floor to Spencer, and mouth my good luck.

I feel bad I can’t really be of assistance on this part, but that guilt only lasts five seconds. Watching him explain the depths of our experiment leaves me in awe. He uses terms and vocabulary about the brain I had no idea existed. He’s intelligent as hell and listening to him sends a heaviness between my thighs that makes me clench my knees together. By the time he’s done, I’m fairly certain I have taken at least two college courses about the psyche, and that’s when it hits me.

Dr. Floren doesn’t use too many colors because of how the brain can react to each one differently. Leaving her room clean and neutral lets the brain decide what they want to feel without exacerbating it.

Thinking about it, how I still have so much to learn, sends excited shivers down my spine. I can’t wait to be in my field. Helping those that think they are alone… forgotten. And be a haven for managed souls tormented by abusive parents.

Mr. Jones appears as Spencer makes his final remarks and asks them if they have any questions. “Miss Conley. Your room key.”

He places the card in my hand, still staring at Spencer. “How’s he doing?”

“Amazing.” The word tumbles out, but it’s the truth. He’s incredible.

“I knew he would do great—an absolutely wonderful idea. Alright, don’t forget. We’re ordering pizza and meeting in room seven thirty-four.”

“Oh, Mr. Jones,” I stop him, remembering to remind him that Spencer and I will be sharing a room, but instead, like any conflicted teen, I don’t.

I’m supposed to be amending my past with Spencer. But I don’t recall Dr. Floren saying how that needed to be done. “Nevermind.”

He nods, smiling briefly before running off to the next table. When I turn around, Spencer is leaning against the table, his mouth slightly ajar.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, those deep brown eyes honing in on me. “They said we are going to place.”

“Seriously? They can tell so soon?”

“I guess. I mean, they got our reports a week ago. This is more for show and presentation. Lily... I didn’t tell you about the prize.”

Lifting my chin, I move closer, fiddling with the edge of one of the binders. “What is it?”

“Scholarships to any of the sponsor’s universities. Ten thousand, to be exact, for the last place. The full first year paid for winners.”

“Oh, shit. That’s amazing.” I knew Kentucky wouldn’t be on the list of Washington fair sponsors, but my curiosity piqued. “Any schools I know?”

“Solace.”

Of course.

The dream school I didn’t have enough money for. Without my permission, my brain starts doing the math. Maybe if I stayed home and commuted to school, it could work. I could always continue cheering there, perhaps even teach cheer at the local dance academy on the weekends. My mind continues to spiral, wondering if perhaps I could have my cake and eat it too.

A saying I never really understood after all. Because what’s the point of giving me a cake if I can’t eat it?

My eyes drift back to Spencer, and I think for a second what it would be like to not have to let him go. To not move on and see what could be.

To close our past and move on to our future.