L. Smith - Moonsong

He wasn’t particularly modest, but he was realistic, and he could list his best qualities: athlete, good friend, honorable guy. He wasn’t stupid, either, but if excel ing in intel ect and creativity were prerequisites for being part of the Vitale Society, he might as wel give up now.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced around at his fel ow pledges. It was reassuring to see that most of them were wearing expressions of barely restrained panic: apparently “encompassing al these attributes” wasn’t something they’d reckoned on either. Chloe, the cute round-faced girl he’d noticed at the first gathering, caught his eye and winked, just a quick brush of her lashes, and he smiled back, feeling oddly happy.

“Today,” Ethan announced, “we wil work on athleticism.” Matt sighed with relief. Athleticism he could do.

Al around him, he saw faces fal . The intel ectuals, the leaders, the budding creative geniuses—they weren’t looking forward to testing their athletic prowess. A low rebel ious murmur swel ed among them.

“Don’t sulk,” said Ethan, laughing. “I promise you, by the time you become ful members of the society, each of you wil have reached your peak of physical perfection. For the first time, you wil feel what it is to be truly alive.” His eyes glittered with possibility.

Ethan went on to outline the pledges’ task. They were about to embark on a fifteen-mile run, with several obstacles along the way. “Be prepared to get dirty,” he said cheerful y. “But it wil be wonderful. When you finish, you’l have achieved something new. You are welcome to assist one another. But be aware: if you do not complete the run in three hours, you wil not be invited to continue to the next step in the pledging process.” He smiled. “Only the best can become members of the Vitale Society.” Matt looked around and saw that the pledges, even those who looked like they had never left the science lab or the library, were retying their sneakers and stretching, wearing determined expressions.

“Holy cow,” a voice beside him said. It was a nice voice, with a real twang to it, a voice that came from somewhere deeper in the South than Virginia, and Matt was smiling even before he looked around and saw that it was Chloe. “I figure you’re about the only person here who isn’t going to have a lot of trouble with this,” she said.

She was so cute. Little dimples showed in her cheeks when she smiled, and her short dark hair fel in curls behind her ears. “Hey, I’m Matt,” Matt said, grinning back at her.

“I knew that,” she said cheerful y. “You’re our footbal star.”

“And you’re Chloe, the amazing artist,” he said.

“Oh.” She blushed. “I don’t know about that.”

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” he told her, and her smile widened.

“Any tips for today?” she asked. “I never run unless I’m about to miss the bus, and I think I’m about to regret that.” Her face was so appealing that Matt momentarily felt like hugging her. Instead, he frowned thoughtful y up at the sky. “Under these kinds of conditions,” he said, “the best thing to do is incline your arms at a fifty-degree angle to the ground and run with a light bounding step.” Chloe stared at him for a minute and then giggled.

“You’re teasing me,” she said. “That’s not fair. I have no idea about this stuff.”

“I’l help you,” Matt said, feeling good. “We can do it together.”

9

Where r u? Elena texted impatiently. Stefan was supposed to meet her at her dorm room more than twenty minutes ago. Surely his study group was over by now? She was starving.

She paced around the room, occasional y glancing at the dark tree branches beyond the windows. It wasn’t like Stefan to be late.

She checked her phone. It was too soon to try to reach him again.

Outside, something dark moved, and she gasped.

Then she shook her head. It was just the branches of the trees out there, waving in the breeze. She moved closer, trying to see past the reflections on the glass. Their room was on the third floor; there wouldn’t be anyone sitting that high up. At least not anyone human. Elena shuddered.

“Elena,” said a cool, clear voice from outside.

With a squeak that sounded like a frightened rabbit, Elena jerked backward, pressing one hand to her pounding heart. After a moment, she stepped up to the window and threw it open.

“Damon,” she said. “You scared me to death. What are you doing out there?”

There was a flash of white teeth in the shadows. A mocking tone rang through his answer. “Waiting for you to invite me into your room, of course.”

“You don’t need an invitation,” Elena said. “You helped me move in.”

“I know,” Damon said, smiling. “I’m being a gentleman.” Elena hesitated. She trusted Damon, of course she did, but this seemed so intimate. Damon outside in the dark, Elena alone in her bedroom, neither of her roommates around. He’d been in her room at home, but Aunt Judith and Robert had been just down the hal . She wondered if Stefan would mind her being alone here with Damon, but she shook off the thought. He trusted Elena, that was what mattered.

“Elena,” Damon’s voice was soft but insistent. “Let me in before I fal .”

Rol ing her eyes, she said, “You’d never fal . And if you did, you’d fly. But you can come in anyway.” With a soft whoosh, faster than her eye could fol ow, Damon was suddenly beside her. She had to step back a pace. Eyes and hair as dark as night, pale luminous skin, perfectly cut features. He even smel ed good. His lips looked so soft….

Elena caught herself leaning toward him, her own lips parting, and pul ed away. “Stop it,” she said.

“I’m not doing anything,” Damon said innocently. When Elena arched a skeptical eyebrow at him, he shrugged and shot her a brief, bril iant smile. There, Elena thought. That’s why Stefan might mind Damon being here. “Oh, al right.

I’m only teasing you.”

He looked around the room and quirked an eyebrow of his own. “Why, Elena,” he said, “I’m almost disappointed.

You and your friends are running so true to type here.” Elena fol owed his eyes. Bonnie’s side of the room was a mess, a tumble of stuffed animals, rejected outfits, and Dalcrest paraphernalia. In contrast, Meredith’s area was rigidly tidy, books lined up alphabetical y, a single silver pen on the desk next to her slim silver laptop, her bed neatly draped in a silk duvet in subtly patterned gray and white.

Her dresser and closet were closed, but inside, Elena knew, Meredith’s clothes would be organized by type, color, and season. Damon was right: just by looking at their parts of the room, you could tel that Meredith was rational, sophisticated, careful y control ed, and private, while Bonnie was fluffy, fun-loving, and disorganized.

What about Elena’s own things? What did they say about her? She looked over her part of the room with a critical eye. Framed art prints from her favorite exhibits, her silver brush and comb lined up on her dresser, deep-blue sheets that she knew set off her eyes and hair. Someone who held on to what she liked and didn’t change easily?

Someone who was very aware of what suited her? She wasn’t sure.

Damon smiled at her again, without the mocking edge this time. “Don’t give it a second’s thought, princess,” he said affectionately. “You’re more than your possessions.”

“Thanks,” Elena said shortly. “So, did you just drop in my window to say hel o?”

He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. They were standing very close together, and Elena backed away a little. “I thought maybe, now that you’re a col ege girl, we could go out tonight and have some fun.”