Dead Beautiful by Yvonne Woon Page A

bells. Eleanor suddenly looked distraught. “Is it six o’clock already? We have to go!”
    “Go where?”
    “Fall Awakening, of course. Come on, we’re late.”
    “Wait, but what’s Fall Awakening?”
    Instead of answering, Eleanor grabbed a cardigan. I did the same, and she took me by the elbow and rushed me out the door.
    We walked briskly through campus, past Verning Theater, a massive stone building with Greek columns lining the front; past Horace Hall, made of red brick, with tall darkened windows that gaped vacantly into the mountains. I could barely make out the engraving over its entrance: COGITO ERGO SUM . “That’s where our classes are,” Eleanor explained. Finally, we passed the Observatory, a stone tower in the middle of campus that doubled as an astronomy lookout and science laboratory. It was almost sunset when we reached the green. A low murmur of voices filled the air, and we walked toward them until we reached the clearing.
    The trees grew thicker at the center of campus, enclosing the lawn in a semicircle of oaks and evergreens. Above them, the darkening sky was scratched open, bleeding bright streaks of red and orange. In the distance was the chapel, its bells still swaying.
    “This,” Eleanor said, “is Fall Awakening.”
    The students were divided into four sections, one for each year, she explained. Everyone was already seated on long wooden benches that lined the outskirts of the lawn in the shape of a U. The first row of each section was empty. Eleanor was already squeezing her way onto a bench in the sophomore section. I followed her, but when she saw me take a seat beside her, she shook her head.
    “It’s supposed to be alphabetical,” she explained. “Which means you should be in the back with the rest of the W’s....”
    We both turned to look at the back row. The only space left was on the far side, in between a scrawny blond boy with thick-rimmed glasses and a plump girl with frizzy brown hair who did not look very friendly.
    “Oh … right. Okay.” I hesitated before standing up, studying the blond boy in the back, who seemed to be counting something that no one else could see. “Who is that?”
    Eleanor ignored my question. “But since the guy who sits next to me isn’t here, I doubt anyone will notice if you stay,” she said just as I was about to leave. “You’re way better company. I’ve tried to make conversation, but he barely acknowledges me. Sometimes I think he doesn’t even notice that I’m sitting next to him. He’s like that with everyone. He even stopped hanging out with his friends, and now just does everything alone. He’s sort of like this social outcast, except that everyone is secretly obsessed with him.”
    “Obsessed? What do you mean? I thought you said he didn’t talk to anyone.”
    “He doesn’t. The thing is … he’s beautiful. He’s this rugged, devastatingly gorgeous guy who has inexplicably chosen a life of solitude. And he’s brilliant. Some Latin prodigy or something. Most people here can’t decide if they love him, hate him, or are scared of him. For most people it’s all three. Especially my brother. Brandon hates it when I talk about him, which is sort of weird because I don’t think they’ve spoken even once.”
    “Who is he?”
    Eleanor lowered her voice, the name rolling off her tongue like a dark secret. “Dante Berlin.”
    I laughed. “Dante? Like the Dante who wrote the Inferno ? Did he pick that name just to help cultivate his ‘dark and mysterious’ persona?”
    Eleanor shook her head in disapproval. “Just wait till you see him. You won’t be laughing then.”
    I rolled my eyes. “I bet his real name is something boring like Eugene or Dwayne.”
    I expected Eleanor to laugh or say something in return, but instead she gave me a concerned look. I ignored it.
    “He sounds like a snob to me. I bet he’s one of those guys who know they’re good-looking. He probably hasn’t even read the Inferno. It’s