BRINK: Book 1 - The Passing by Rivers Black Arienna

Author:Rivers Black, Arienna [Rivers Black, Arienna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-09-07T22:00:00+00:00

VI.

The moment I step through the door, I can feel the soft pressure of someone watching me. Intent. Curious. I scan the faces of the people until I'm looking straight into the eyes of a tall, bearded guy with dark blond curls standing across the room. He's wearing dark jeans and an open plaid button down over a t-shirt that reads, “Sorry I'm not better looking.” Which is funny, really, both because of how much thought he apparently put into the awkwardness of the coming situation, and because the warmth I feel in my cheeks suggests that I find him very attractive indeed. I drop my gaze to my hands, but when I gather enough courage to look back up, he's still there, still watching. He lifts his hand and waves, friendly. I blush harder. He grins.

With a vigorous shake of my head, I force myself to disengage. This is ridiculous. I have too much to worry about to add a prospective suitor to the list. Besides, in a few hours, I'll be spoken for. We all will be. I look for Johanna's red dress and find her standing with Harlow near the center of the room, talking with her hands, as usual.

“How was it?” she asks as I sidle up to her. “The test?”

I shrug, trying to hide the fact that my heart still feels like I've just sprinted a mile. Uphill. In the snow. Wearing Wellingtons three sizes too big and carrying a squirming baby panda on my back. “I guess we'll see. You two still look nice and calm.”

“It...”

“...doesn't really matter. I know.”

Johanna smiles, softly apologetic. Then her eyes flick up to focus on something over my right shoulder.

“Incoming,” she murmurs with a slight tilt of her head.

I know it's Bearded Guy without even turning my head - can sense it when he reaches my side. I wonder what on earth this stranger thinks he's going to accomplish by addressing me now, seconds before the Choosing begins. It's not exactly the most opportune moment to suggest meeting for coffee sometime. I hear him draw a breath to speak, and turn to look at him.

“You're kind,” he says without preamble, catching me entirely off guard.

“I...I what?”

“I saw you give that guy water earlier,” he says, his voice lower and more...musical...than I expected. “And I saw you hold the door for everyone before the test, and smile at that little redhead who keeps looking like she's going to burst into tears any second. You're kind. I appreciate that.”

I open my mouth to tell him that none of that meant much. That the water was day-old and luke-warm, and I was tired of carrying it around. That I held the door because I was terrified of what was on the other side. That I probably smiled at the redhead, who I don't even remember, because smiling is my default position. But before I have a chance, the microphone squeals and we cringe as a group, necks into shoulders, like frightened turtles.

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