Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) by Danielle Martin Williams Page B

even go for longer than that.”
                  He lifted both eyebrows high. “Why would one ever want to do that?”
                  “People do it because the higher education you have the better job you will have.”
                  “You mean like a trade?”
                  “Yes, sort of.”
                  He shook his head, not quite comprehending. “And what is your trade?”
                  “I’m a… a waitress,” I admitted embarrassedly.
                  “A what?” He scrunched his nose up.
                  “Like a server.” I flinched at how horrible it sounded.
                  His eyes widened. “Like a servant?”
                  “Not a servant, I am free to come and go as I please but I just bring food and drinks to people, but they pay me…” There was no point in explaining it. It sounded pathetic.
                  He grabbed a leaf off a branch that hung close to him and began ripping it apart as he gave me a long look. “A girl like you should not be serving.”
                  I blushed, taking it as a compliment. “Well, I’m going to school to get a better job than that. I want to be a journalist.” I winced again, realizing he would have no idea what that meant. “It’s someone who tells people of events that happened, like a scribe I suppose.”
                  He nodded, letting a small smile crawl up his face. “Will you tell people of this?”
                  “I think they would have me committed.” I glanced at his blank face. “Uh, they would think I had gone mad.”
                  He laughed, throwing the shredded leaf to the ground.
    “Nobody really believes in magic where I’m from.”
    He looked at me sideways. “And where are you from?”
    “I’m from America… it hasn’t been discovered yet, at least not by your people.”
    His eyes widened. “So I have traveled all the way to a land that has not yet been discovered.” He smiled looking impressed, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how easily amused he was with the idea. “Not so scary now?” he asked me, tilting his head again as if he was talking to a child.
    “Not at this precise moment,” I joked, melting at this momentarily adorable persona.
    He smiled his marvelous crooked smile at me, revealing those perfect straight white teeth. It was one that was playful, not condescending or malicious or even arrogant, and I decided it was my favorite.
    “How many summers are you?” he asked with genuine interest.
    “I’m eighteen, but I will be nineteen soon. What about you?”
    He scratched his head. “Twenty,” he said as he looked off, the playfulness fading.
    In many ways he seemed much older than twenty. He stood up, instantly looking bored, and I couldn’t help noticing he did a rather good job at avoiding questions about himself.
    “We need to move on. You should probably change into the dress,” he added, lips curling into amusement.
    “Okay,” I said, standing as well.
    Proving that he was a decent being, he turned his back to me, walking a few feet away. I changed out of my clothes and stuffed them into the backpack grateful Stacey bought such a beautiful gown; who would have known it would come in so handy. I slid the dress over my head, admiring the way it fit. Then my stomach somersaulted at the realization I needed someone to tie it in the back. 
    “I… um, I need a little bit of help,” I said weakly.
    He turned around, glanced at me, and then gave me his wicked half grin. I instantly felt self-conscious and wrapped my arms around myself as though it would hide me from his view.
    “What?” I hissed.
    His eyes jerked back up to meet mine. “Nothing,” he said quickly. A little too quickly. I frowned.
    “Could you just tie the back?” I said a little more harshly than I had intended.
    He