But when?

I sit in class while Angel Penelope talks about paint and abstractionism and the Mona Lisa and–

I don’t know. I’ll be honest, I zoned out. That’s not the important part. 

My heart is racing, my mind is racing, my leg’s bouncing up and down. It’s like my body is having a contest to see who can break me first. News flash: my mind is winning. Per ushe.

When?

Camrice said she would tell me everything. Everything I’ve been itching to find out. That’s not why I’m so on edge, though. 

She didn’t fucking say when she would tell me.

A bucket of paint is slammed onto my desk; a drip of paint lands dangerously close to my eye. I flinch, almost toppling over when a hand catches my chair and steadies it.

“Careful, Chiro,” a nice-looking Lev says, holding back a laugh.

I blink. “Thanks,” I manage to get out. 

The hell? When did he get here? Was he sitting behind me this whole time?

“Better get started on your painting,” he advises. 

“Painting, what painting?” a befuddled me asks. “Where’re the paint brushes? Where’s the canvas? And only one bucket of paint? What are we supposed to do, dump the paint all over the table? Ta-da! Art!”

Lev dips his finger in his bucket of blue paint and dabs it on his desk. “Table, yes. Brushes, canvas, and dumping paint, no.”

Damn it. 

“You’re supposed to make a piece of art using the bucket of paint and the table. No brushes." He dips his finger in his bucket again.

“So you can technically dump the paint.”

“C’mon, you have 40 minutes to create something. But, yes, you can.”

I dip my finger in the bucket of paint–ew, it’s yellow. 

“Can we trade?”

Lev rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

I drag my finger across the table. It makes a surprisingly good canvas. The paint’s thick and doesn’t disintegrate. 

Well, might as well make something. I chose to be here. Remember.

“Do these tables go on display or something?” I dip my whole hand into the bucket of paint. “How many tables do they fucking have to buy?”

“A magician never reveals their secrets,” Lev answers, acting all posh. “But I actually don’t know,” he says normally. “I mean, there’s a lot of things I don’t–oh, shit. Where’s your halo?”

What?

I tilt my head up. No blinding light. Nothing. 

“Do I even need my halo?” I ask. “Like, what the hell is it even for?”

“Uhh…” Lev lifts up a finger, then curls his hand into a fist. “I don’t…know. You’re still alive–well, not really–so not having it shouldn’t damage you. It is supposed to heal you”–Like when I bumped into Noelle, I think–“but you’ll still heal without it.” 

Where did I leave my halo, though? Hmmm. Guess it’s one of those unsolved mysteries.

Maybe Camrice knows.

CAMRICE.

When is she going to tell me?

“Chiro!”

I whip my head around.

“Chiro,” Lev says, laughing. “What the hell did you draw?”

What I…

OH. 

I smile. “It should be pretty obvious, dawg.”

He cracks up, which makes me crack up.

Lev as a dog. What a masterpiece.

But, seriously, when?