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might’ve hit me has my heart racing but it’s nothing compared to the moment I open my eyes to find him staring directly at me. I didn’t realize they’d come this close.
    I hear the blood rush between my ears, my heart beats too fast against my chest, like a hummingbird looking for a way out of its cage. Sweat gathers on my skin as time seemingly trickles to a stop. He looks at me and I look at him. I can’t hold the intensity of his stare but I can’t look away either. There’s something a little off about his gaze, about him in general. He’s not at all like his brother. There’s no softness, no gentleness to be found anywhere on his sculpted features. But there’s a meanness there, a raw and menacing sort of malice that’s reflected in his near arctic stare. It takes an effort to break from his ensnarement. When I do, it’s to look at everything else except his face.
    “Jesus, Max, you almost hit her.” Noah speaks, his tone almost reprimanding as he draws nearer to me. While the other two hang back, he comes to stand directly over me, and I have to crane my head up to look at him. “Are you okay, Aylee?” I’m instantly uneasy. I know he’s not a threat, but I can’t help feeling overwhelmed by his immense height, especially when he’s standing over me like this. Giving him a brief nod, I close my sketchpad and stuff it back inside my canvas bag along with my pencil case. I find my way back to my feet and although I’m 5’5 I’m still relatively short compared to him, but at least now I’m not at a horrible disadvantage.
    I nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
    He smiles and I’m struck by its brilliance. “Sorry about that, my brother likes to make a nuisance of himself.”
    “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
    “Hey, I saw the piece you did for Media Day last week. I thought it was brilliant.” There’s no hint of artifice in his voice. Everything about Noah seems genuine, including the kindness I see reflected in his royal blue eyes. Blood gathers hotly. Scalding hot. Beneath my cheeks, it burns with the way he’s looking at me. It’s a far cry from the hard, emotionless tundra belonging to his brother. I don’t know why I do it, but I tilt my head a little to the left of Noah’s body to find Maddox. He’s partially sitting on a tombstone, the case of beer set on the ground between his long, parted legs. He’s working on another beer while listening to Bria talk. People talk about him. They talk about Noah, too. But Maddox is infamous. There isn’t a lot that’s known about them, but his extensive criminal record is public knowledge. It’s not hard to believe when just last month I saw him threaten someone with a knife behind the track field. I ran off before he could see me.
    “I’ve been meaning to tell you how much I admire your work.”
    I return my gaze to Noah. “Thank you,” I answer, and duck my head. “Your work is beautiful, too.” It sounds insincere. But I mean every word. He did an acrylic painting titled, “Black Static,” for last year’s young artist show that blew me away. That painting is what sparked my inspiration for my macabre side of art.
    He chuckles. “Thanks.”
    I look down at my feet, and dig the toe of my left sandal into the dirt. My social graces are severely lacking. I don’t have many friends, in fact, I only have one friend. And it’s taken Mallory nearly three years to begin to understand just how awkward I am. It’s not intentional. I’m not very good at entertaining people. Even holding a simple conversation takes effort. This is torture. It’s even worse for Noah, I’m assuming, since he has to deal with my weirdness.
    “…you doing something?”
    “…I should go…”
    He grins crookedly down at me. “You should join us, but if you have to go…”
    He trails off, leaving it open for me to either jump on the invitation or turn it down. I open my mouth to speak but Bria’s bark of laughter draws my gaze back to Noah’s