“ Seleeeeene,” she draws out my name.
“ Whaaaat?” I mimic her whine.
She crashes into my pillows dramatically. “I’m bored. ”
I shove aside the sheet music I’d been working on. “ Where’s Kayleigh?” I ask.
“ With Harley. ” Her voice drips with disdain, as if even his name disgusts her.
I glance to the window. “It’s nearly time for the solar lamp to go dark. They’re still working on their projects?”
Victria props herself up on her elbows. “I am certain that the one thing they’re not doing is working on their projects. ”
I let her words sink in. “Oh! ”
“Yeah. ”
“ Well . . . ” I pause, careful about which words I use. “What about you and, uh, Bartie?”
“ He’s annoying,” she snaps, sitting up and tossing my pillow up in the air. She catches it, then stares at me. “What about you and Luthor?”
I shrug, not meeting her eyes.
“You’ve been working with him in the Recorder Hall a lot,” she adds, leaning forward.
“Yeah, but . . . ”
“Listen, be careful with him. ” She doesn’t meet my eyes; her whole demeanor has changed. She sets the pillow back on my bed, carefully smoothing it out and pretending like the simple task deserves her full focus.
“Luthor’s harmless. ” Even as I say it, I can hear the doubt in my own voice, the question seeking confirmation.
“ He’s . . . creepy,” Victria says. “I just . . . I worry. ”
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I say as I shove her off my bed. “It’s Kayleigh you should keep your eye on! ”
But the concern wrinkling Victria’s brow doesn’t fade as she leaves.
Someone knocks on my door before the solar lamp clicks on the next day. “Who is it?” I call, yawning. I pull my cotton tank top over the waist of my soft knit shorts and stagger blearily to the door. At least I know it’s not Victria; she’d have just barreled in before I had a chance to get up.
Luthor’s waiting on the other side, looking excited.
“I know what I want to sculpt,” he says, stepping into the room.
“ What?” After the door zips closed behind him, I push the large button in my wall and soon the room is filled with the scent of breakfast. Wall food isn’t that great—we could go to the caf instead and get something a little better—but it is convenient. I pull out the warm meat pasty from the cavity built into my wall and break it apart, offering half to Luthor.
He takes it, a flicker of surprise on his face. “Thanks,” he mumbles.
“ So, ” I say, spraying bread crumbs before I think to swallow. “What’re you going to make?”
“You. ”
“ What?”
“ You. ” Luthor sets his half of breakfast down on the desk. He’s too excited; he needs both hands to fly around as he speaks. “I read more about the Pig-guy. ”
“ Pygmalion,” I say, smiling. I know the name better than he does.
“Yeah. And he made a sculpture of what he thought the ideal woman would be like. That’s the whole point of his story, that he created this perfect woman with his art. And that’s what I want to do. I want to make the perfect woman. ”