Page 31 of Tracking Snow

I crawl on my bed and kneel on my zebra print comforter, watching him.

"Do you like it?" I ask, still unable to read his reactions.

"You have...a lot," he says without turning to me, examining the vanity table with all my makeup strewn across it.

"You don’t have a lot of stuff?" I ask, doing my best to mirror back his vibe.

Six touches a soft makeup brush, shaking his head. "No. Three and Five probably like things the most, but they don’t come out much."

"Why is that?"

"Three is shy, and Five’s power is embarrassing."

"What’s Five’s power?" I ask, interest piqued.

Six glances at me. "I also think his power is embarrassing." As if that’s enough of an answer to not answer.

"Where do you live?" I ask, then immediately berate myself for sounding like a creep. Not that I’d show up at his place unannounced...

You absolutely would, my inner voice shoots back. There is a reason One calls you little stalker.

I press my lips together, trying to pretend I’m innocent as can be when I know I’d absolutely track him down.

He doesn’t answer.

"Do you not like where you live?" I ask instead.

Six shrugs, now moved onto the bookshelf with my pile of dog-eared paperback romances. He pulls them out one at a time to look at their covers. "It’s functional. Two says he doesn’t like our bed. Not enough pillows." He glances at my bed. "Not like yours."

"Well then," I say brightly and far too proud, patting the spot next to me. "Why don’t you come try it out for yourselves and see if it’s as comfy as it looks?"

I cringe at my own invitation. I sound like a rapey frat boy trying to sound not rapey. I need to develop some chill...fast.

Six stares at the bed and then at me as if he is working out a math problem. But my numbers must be good enough because he comes and sits next to me. Giddiness rises inside me, though I do my best to smother it down with a pillow.

The scent of my apple soap on his skin is drugging. I curl my fingers into my palm to keep from reaching out and running my fingers over his bare chest.

"What’s your power?" I can’t wait any longer, blurting out the question then holding my breath.

In our short time together, I’ve realized he will either tell me immediately or say nothing at all.

"Illusions. I can conjure up illusions," he says without pause. But then he looks off to the side and frowns as if hearing something.

"What is it?" I ask quietly, again, scared of spooking him.

"Seven isn’t happy I told you. He says I should leave. But I explained our clothes are drying."

"Well, since you’ve already told me, can you show me?" I say almost breathlessly, feeling like I’m walking a tightrope to get what I want.

Six shifts to meet my gaze and our faces are suddenly inches apart. My nails dig into my palms so hard they threaten to break skin.

Don’t kiss him. Absolutely do not kiss him.

Instead, I get lost in those vibrant green orbs, finding the striations complex, slightly moving inside them. I am so absorbed by him, I don’t notice at first.

Something moves at the edge of my vision. I turn. My twinkle lights lift off the wall one at a time and drift up. By the time they stop climbing, they're fireflies, blinking slow and gold over my head.

The vanity mirror stretches and expands until it’s a glistening pool of water. My pile of dirty clothes swells and unfurls into ferns as tall as I am. The ceiling opens, and trees come up through where it used to be, trunks wider than my whole apartment, bark wet and ridged, climbing until the tops of them are gone.