PROLOGUE:

I COULD SEE IN TECHNICOLOR

It was an April twilight, comfortably warm, and Tyrone and his crew were chilling at the fountain in the park. Tyrone's stereo blasted hip-hop with a bass line that thumped like the heartbeat of a giant mythical beast. Eve sat on the opposite side of the fountain, hidden from the clique's view by the cascading waters. Despite the racket, she paid them no mind. She had her own music, pumped directly into her brain by a pair of noise-canceling headphones with anime cat-ears. She must have really liked those headphones, because the black hoodie she was wearing all the time had two cat-ear pockets in the hood to make room. But I have a feeling it was actually the other way around- It was the hoodie she liked, and picked the headphones because they fit with it. I wondered if she had then dyed her hair blue to match the headphones, though it was equally likely that she had dyed it to match her jeans, or the accents of her hoodie, or even her shoelaces. Or maybe it wasn't anything in particular. Maybe she just had a style, a thing that was hers, and she went with it. And that thing was blue on black. Or black and blue.

Around the other side of the fountain, the bass-beast's loyal servants talked about shit that didn't matter, even to them. Occasionally when a good track came on, they'd take a dance break, or rap along. More occasionally, when they were sure nobody was looking, they'd pass a joint around. To Eve, it didn't matter. She was in her own world. Sitting on the ground, back resting against the fountain, between a backpack on one side and a phone and a collection of colored pencils on the other, she was in her own world. Her legs were pulled up so that her thighs became an easel for her sketchbook, and she focused intently on her drawing, with the pursed face of an artist hard at work. The first sign that she had anything else occupying her mind was when her foot started twitching. It was more like tapping, really, but too softly to make a sound. She tapped along with the beat playing on her head phones. The second sign was her head, nodding along with the same beat. Like an infection, the beat spread to her entire body. Her hips rocked back and forth, swaying in time, and her mouth sang along, though no sound came out. I didn't recognize the beat, but the sense I got was bright, cheerful, summery... yet also calm and chill. Less like the beach in summer and more like a car ride in the heat with the windows down. Or lying half-asleep in the shade under a clear blue sky.

Slowly, the rhythm drew her to her feet. She laid her sketchbook aside, straightened up, and then, with a sudden burst of energy, began to dance. It wasn't anything like a professional dance. In technical terms, it probably wasn't even a good one, but then how could it be? She wasn't a trained dancer, just an 18-year old girl with a beat commanding her attention. She threw out random moves that she'd seen, improvising wildly in time with the music and lip-syncing into her pencil eraser. And yet, it was something beautiful. It was raw and primal and celebratory. Something fundamentally honest and true. This was a side of Eve that nobody was ever allowed to see, not even herself. The person she was only allowed to be when she was alone, and her own senses blinded by the ecstasy of music.

I hid behind a tree and watched her. I hadn't meant to find her like this, and watching felt scandalous, but I had a sense that making myself known would be even worse. I would have sooner stolen the host from a church sacristy then interrupt her in the midst of her revels. Justify as I might, though, I have to admit that the real reason I didn't stop her is that I didn't want to. I was transfixed. The passion, the longing, and the sheer unbridled joy in that unguarded moment was breathtaking. I knew then- with a certainty that comes only from superstitious intuition- that I was going to fall in love with Eve. And I had absolutely no idea, at that moment, what that would mean. I had no idea about the bitter loneliness that weighed on her soul. No idea about the pain and the scars she carried around with her. No idea of the mischief or the drama she'd drag me into. Or the secret she carried, the inevitable revelation of which terrified her more than anything. I didn't know about any of that yet. But if I had, I wouldn't have cared, because in that single, fleeting moment I knew the only thing that truly mattered.

Eve was beautiful. If only I had known sooner.

If only she had known then.