But he just looks at me, gazing into my eyes as he says, 'Tm not interested in Drina. I'm only interested in you."
I stare at the ground, wanting to believe, wishing it were only that easy. But when he takes my hand again, I realize it is that easy, because all of my doubts just slip right away.
"So now's the part when you tell me you feel the same way," he says, gazing at me.
I hesitate, my heartbeat so severe I'm sure he can hear it. But when I pause for too long, the moment flees, and he slips his arm around my waist and leads me back to the gate.
"That's okay." He smiles. "Take your time. There's no rush, no expiration date." He laughs.
"But for now; let's get you to class."
"But we have to go through the office." I stop in my tracks and squint at him. "The gate's locked, remember?"
He shakes his head. "Ever, the gate's not locked."
"Uh, sorry, but I just tried to open it. It's locked," I remind him.
He smiles. "Will you trust me?"
I look at him.
"What's it going to cost you? A few steps? Some additional tardy minutes?"
I glance between the office and him, then I shake my head and follow, all the way back to the gate that is somehow, inexpli cablyopen.
"But I saw it! And you saw it too!" I face him, not under standing how any of this could have happened. "I even shook them, as hard as I could, and they wouldn't budge an inch."
But he just kisses my cheek and ushers me through, laughing as he says, "Go on. And don't worry, Mr. Robins is incapacitated and the sub's in a daze. You'll be fine."
"You're not coming?" I ask, that needy, panicky feeling building inside me again.
But he just shrugs. 'Tm emancipated. I do what I want." "Yeah, but-" I stop, realizing his phone number's not the only thing missing. I barely even know this guy. And I can't help but wonder how he can possibly make me feel so good, so normal, when everything about him is so abnormal. Though it's not until I've turned away that I realize he's yet to explain what happened on the freeway last night.
But before I can ask he's right there beside me, taking my hand as he says, "My neighbor called. My sprinklers failed and my yard was flooding. I tried to get your attention but you were on the phone, and I didn't want to bother you."
I gaze down at our hands, bronze and pale, strong and frail, such an unlikely pair.
"Now go. I'll see you after school, I promise." He smiles, plucking a Single red tulip from the back of my ear.
Usually, I try not to dwell on myoid life. I try not to think.about myoId house, myoId friends, myoId family, myoId self. And even though I've gotten pretty good at heading off that particUlar storm, recognizing the signs--'the stinging eyes, the shortness of breath, the overwhelming feeling of hollowness and despair-before they can take hold, sometimes it just hits, without warning, without time to prepare. And all I can do when that happens is curl up in a ball and wait for it to pass..
Which is pretty hard to do in the middle of history dass.
So while Mr. Munoz is going on and on about Napoleon, my throat doses, my stomach denches, and my eyes start to sear so abruptly, I bolt from my seat and race for the· door, oblivious to the sound of my teacher calling me back, immune to my dass mates' derisive laugh.
I turn the corner, blinded by tears, gasping for air, my insides feeling empty, deaned out, a hollow shell folding in on itself. And by the time I see Stacia it's way too late, and I knock her with such speed and force she crashes to the ground and rips a hole in her dress.
"What the-" She gapes at her splayed limbs and torn dress, before leveling her gaze right on me. "You fucking ripped it, you freak!" She pokes her fist through the tear, displaying the damage.
And even though I feel bad for what happened, there's no time to help. The grief is about to consume me and I can't let her see.
I start to brush past her just as she grabs hold of my arm and struggles to stand, the touch of her skin infusing me with such dark dismal energy it robs me of breath.
"For your information, this dress is designer. Which means you are going to replace it," she says, fingers squeezing so tight, I fear I might faint. ''And trust me, it doesn't stop there." She shakes her head and glares. "You are gonna be so fucking sorry you ran into me, you're gonna wish you never came to this school."
"Like Kendra?" I say, my stance suddenly steady, my stomach settling into a much calmer state.
She loosens her grip but doesn't let go.
"You planted those drugs in her locker. You got her expelled, destroyed her credibility so they'd believe you and not her," I say, transcribing the scene in my head.
She drops my arm and takes a step back, the color draining from her face as she says, "Who told you_ that? You didn't even go here when that happened."
I shrug, knowing that's true, though it's hardly the point.
"Oh, and there's more," I say, advancing on her, my own personal storm having passed, my overwhelming grief miraculously cured by the fear in her eyes. "I know you cheat on tests, steal from your parents, clothing stores, your friends-it's all fair game as far as you're concerned. I know you record Honor's phone calls and keep a file of her e-mails and text messages in case she ever decides to turn on you. I know that you flirt with her stepdad, which, by the way, is totally disgusting, but unfortunately it gets much worse than that. I know all about Mr. Barnes-Barnum?
Whatever, you know who I mean, your ninthgrade history teacher? The one you tried to seduce?
And when he wouldn't bite you tried to blackmail him instead, threatening to tell the school principal and his poor pregnant wife " I shake my head in disgust, her behavior so squalid, so self-serving, it hardly seems real.
And yet, there she is, standing before me, eyes wide, lips trembling, stunned to have all of her dirty little secrets revealed. And instead of feeling bad or guilty for exposing her, for using my gift in this way, seeing this despicable person, this awful selfish bully who's taunted me since my very first day, reduced to a shaky, sweaty mess, is more gratifying than I ever would've imagined. And with my nausea and grief now merely a memory, I figure, what the heck, I may as well continue.
"Should I go on?" I ask. "Because believe me, I can. There's plenty more, but you already know that, don't you?"
I go after her, me walking forward, her stumbling backward, eager to put as much distance between us as she possibly can.
"What are you? Some kind of witch?" she whispers, eyes scanning the corridor, looking for help, an exit, anything to get away from me.
I laugh. Not admitting, not denying, just wanting her to think twice before she messes with me again.
But just as quickly she stops, finds her footing, and looks me in the eye when she says, "Then again, it's your word against mine." Her lips curve into a grin. "And who do you think people will believe? Me, the most popular girl in the junior class? Or you, the biggest fucking freak that ever came to this school?"
She has a point.
She fingers the hole in her dress, then shakes her head, and says, "Stay away from me,freak.
Because if you don't, I swear to God you'll regret it."
And when she steps forward, she slams into my shoulder so hard, I've no doubt she means it.
When I get to the lunch table I try not to gawk, but Haven's hair is purple and I'm not sure if I should mention it.
"Don't even try to pretend you don't see it. It's awful, I know." She laughs. "Right after I hung up with you last night I tried to dye it red, you know, that gorgeous coppery shade like Drina's?
Only this is what I ended up with." She grabs a chunk of it and scowls. "I look like an eggplant on a stick. But only for a few more hours,_ 'cuz after school, Drina's taking me to some big celebrity salon up in L.A. You know, one of those A-list hot spots booked a full year in advance?
Only she was totally able to sneak me in last minute. I swear, she is so connected, she's amazing."
"Where's Miles?" I ask, cutting her off, not wanting to hear another word about the amazing Drina and her velvet ropecrashing abilities.
"Memorizing his lines. Community theater's doing a production of Hairspray, and he's hoping for the lead."
"Isn't the lead a girl?" I open my lunch pack, finding half a sandwich, a cluster of grapes, a bag of chips, and more tulips.
She shrugs. "He tried to convince me to tryout too, but it's so not my thing. So, where's tall, dark, and hot, a.k.a. your boyfriend?" she asks, unfolding her napkin, and using it as a placemat for her strawberry-sprinkle cupcake.
I shrug, remembering how, yet again, I forgot to secure his number, or find out where he lives.
"Enjoying the perks of emancipation I guess," I finally say, unwrapping my sandwich and taking a bite. ''Any news on Evangeline?"
She shakes her head. "None. But check this out." She raises her sleeve, showing me the underside of her wrist.
I squint at the beginnings of a small circular tattoo, a rough sketch of a snake eating its tail.
And even though it's far from complete, for the briefest moment, I actually see it slither and move. But as soon as I blink, it's stagnant again.
"What is that?" I whisper, noticing how the energy it emanates fills me with dread, though I can't fathom why.
"It's supposed to be a surprise. I'll show you when it's finished." She smiles. "In fact, I shouldn't have even told you." She adjusts her sleeve and glances around. "I mean, I promised I wouldn't. I guess I'm just too excited, and sometimes I suck at keeping secrets. Especially my own."
I look at her, trying to tune into her energy, find some logical reason for why my stomach should feel as awful as it does, but I come up empty. "Promised who? What's going on?" I ask, notic ing how her aura is a dull charcoal gray, its edges loose and frayed all around.
But she just laughs and pretends to zip her lips shut. "Forget it," she says. "You'll just have to wait."
Eighteen
When I get home from school, Damen is waiting on the front steps, smiling in a way that clears the sky of clouds and erases all doubts.
"How'd you get past the gate guard?" I ask, knowing for a fact that I didn't call him in.
"Charm and an expensive car works every time." He laughs, brushing the seat of his dark designer jeans and following me inside. "So, how was your day?"
I shrug, knowing I'm breaking the most fundamental rule of all-never invite a stranger insideeven if this stranger is sup . posedly my boyfrienq. "You know; the usual routine," I finally say. "The substitute vowed to never return, Ms. Machado asked me to never return-" I glance at him, tempted to keep making stuff up since it's clear he's not listening. Because even though he nods like he is, his gaze is preoccupied, distant.
I head for the kitchen, poke my head in the fridge, and ask, "What about you? What'd you do?" Then I hold up a bottle of water in offering, but he shakes his head and sips his red drink.
"Went for a drive, surfed, waited for the bell to ring so I could see you again." He smiles.
"You know you could've just gone to school and then you wouldn't have had to wait for anything," I say.
'Tll try to remember that tomorrow." He laughs.
I lean against the counter, twisting the cap on my bottle around and around, nervous about being alone with him in this big empty house, with so many unanswered questions and no idea where to begin.
"You wanna go outside and hang by the pool?" I finally say, thinking the fresh air and open space might calm my nerves.
But he shakes his head and takes my hand. "I'd rather go up stairs, and check out your room."
"How do you know it's upstairs?" I ask, squinting at him.
But he just laughs. "Aren't they always?"
I hesitate, wavering between allowing this to happen and finding a polite way to evict him.
But when he squeezes my hand and says, "Come on, I promise not to bite," his smile is so irresistible, his touch so warm and inviting, that my only hope as I lead him upstairs is that Riley won't be there.
The moment we reach the top of the stairs, she runs from the den and calls, "Omigod, I am so sorry! I so don't want to fight with-oops!" She stops short and gapes, her eyes wide as Frisbees, darting between us.
But I just continue toward my room as though I didn't ~ven see her, hoping she'll have the good sense to disappear until later.
Much later.
"Looks like you left your TV on," Damen says, going into the den, while I glare at Riley who's skipping alongside him, looking him up and down, and giving him two very enthusias tic thumbs up.
And even though I beg her with my eyes to leave, she plops right down on the couch and places her feet on his knees.
I storm into the bathroom, furious with her for not taking the hint, for overstaying her visit and refusing to split, knowing it's just a matter of time before she does something crazy, some~ thing I can never explain. So I yank off my sweatshirt and race through my routine, brushing my teeth with one hand, rolling deodorant with the other, spitting into the sink just seconds before pulling on a clean white tee. Then I ditch the ponytail, smear on some lip balm, spritz some perfume, and rush out the door, only to find Riley still there, peering into his ears.
"Let me show you the balcony, the view's amazing," I say, anxious to remove him from Riley.
But he just shakes his head and says, "Later." Patting the cushion beside him as Riley jumps up and cheers.
I watch as he sits there, innocent, unaware, trusting he's got the couch to himself, when the truth is, that prick in his ear, that itch on his knee, that chill on his neck, is courtesy of my dead little sister.
"Um, I left my water in the bathroom," I say, looking pointedly at Riley and turning to leave, thinking she'll follow if she knows what's good for her.
But Damen stands up and says, 'Allow me."
And I watch as he maneuvers between the couch and table in such a way that clearly avoids Riley's dangling legs.
Then she gapes at me, and I gawk at her, and the next thing I know she's disappeared.
'All set," Darnen says, tossing me the bottle and moving freely through the space that, just a moment ago, he navigated so carefully. And when he catches me gawking, he smiles and says, "What?"
But I just shake my head and stare at the TV, telling myself it was merely a coincidence.
That there's no possible way he could've seen her.
"So would you please just explain how you do it?"
We're sitting outside, curled up on the lounge chair, having just devoured almost an entire pizza, most of which was eaten by me, since Damen eats more like a supermodel than a guy.
You know-pick, pick-move the food around-take a bitepick some more, but mostly he just sipped his drink.
"Do what?" he asks, arms wrapped loosely around me; chin resting on my shoulder.
'fDo everything! Seriously. You never do homework, yet you know all the answers, you pick up a brush, dip it in paint, and voila, the next thing you know you've created a Picasso that's even better than Picasso! Are you bad at sports? Painfully uncoordinated? Come on, tell mel"
He sighs. "Well, I've never been much good at baseball," he says, pressing his lips to my ear.
"But I am a world-class soccer player, and I'm fairly skilled at surfing, if I say so myself."
"Must be music, then. Got a tin ear?"
"Bring me a guitar and I'll strum you a tune. Or even a piano, violin, or saxophone will do."
"Then what is it? Come on, everyone sucks at something!
Tell me what you're bad at."
"Why do you want to know this?" he asks, pulling me closer. 'Why do you want to wreck this perfect illusion you have of ?" me.
"Because I hate feeling so pale and meager in comparison. Se riously, I'm so mediocre in so many ways, and I just want to know that you suck at something too. Come on, it'll make me feel better."
"You're not mediocre," he says, his nose in my hair, his voice far too serious.
But I refuse to give up, I need something to go on, something that'll humanize him, if only a little. 'Just one thing, please? Even if you have to lie, it's for a good cause-my self-esteem."
I try to turn so that I can see him, but he grips me tighter and holds me in place, kissing the tip of my ear as he whispers, "You really want to know?"
I nod, my heart beating wildly, my blood pulsing electric. "I suck at love."
I stare into the firepit, wondering what he could possibly mean. And even though I seriously wanted him to answer, that doesn't mean I wanted him to answer.so seriously. "Um, care to elaborate?" I ask, laughing nervously, not sure if I really do want to hear it. Fearing it might have something to do with Drina-a subject I'd rather avoid.
He presses against me, his breath drawn out and deep. And he stays like that for so long I wonder if he's ever going to speak. But when he finally does, he says, "I just always end updisappointing." He shrugs, refusing to explain any further.
"But you're only seventeen." I move out of his arms and face him.
He shrugs.
"So how many disappointments could there be?"
But instead of answering, he turns me back around and brings his lips to my ear, whispering, "Let's go for a swim."
One more sign of how perfect Damen is-he keeps a pair of trunks in his car.
"Hey, this is California, you never know when you'll need them," he says, standing at the edge of the pool and smiling at me. "Got a wet suit in the trunk too; should I get it?"
"I can't answer that," I say, wading in the deep end, steam rising up all around. "You just have to see for yourself."
He inches toward the very edge and pretends to dip his big toe.
"No testing, only jumping," I scold.
"May I dive?"
"Cannonball, belly flop, whatever." I laugh, watching as he executes the most gorgeous arcing dive, before popping up beside me.
"Perfect," he says, his hair slicked back, his skin wet and glis tening, as tiny drops of water cling to his lashes. And just when I think he's going to kiss me, he ducks back under the water and swims away.
So I take a deep breath, swallow my pride, and follow.
"Much better," he says, holding me dose.
"Scared of the deep end?" I smile, my toes barely touching the bottom.
"I was referring to your outfit. You should dress like this more often."
I gaze down at my white body in my white bikini and try not to feel overly insecure next to his, perfectly sculpted, bronzed self.
"Definitely a big improvement over the hoodies and jeans."
He laughs.
I press my lips together, unsure of what to say.
"But I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, right?"
I search his face. Something about the way he just said that seemed like he meant something more, like he might actually know why I dress the way I do.
He smiles. "Obviously it protects you from the wrath of Stacia and Honor. They're not too keen on competition." He tucks my hair behind my ear and smoothes the side of my face.
'Are we competing?" I ask, remembering the flirting, the rosebud retrieving, our brawl today at school, the threat I've no doubt she'll make good on. Watching as he looks at me for the longest time, so long that my mood has changed, and I move away.
"Ever, there was never any contest," he says, following me. But I duck underwater and swim toward the ledge, grabbing hold and wriggling out, knowing I need to act fast if I'm going to have my say; because the moment he comes near, the words will evaporate.
"How can I possibly know anything when you run so hot and cold?" I say; my hands trembling, my voice shaky; wishing I could just stop, let it go, reclaim the nice, romantic evening we were having. But knowing this needed to be said, despite whatever consequences it brought.
"I mean, one minute you're gazing at me in-in that way that you do-and the next thing I know you're all over Stacia." I press my lips together and wait for him to respond, watching as he climbs out of the pool and moves toward me, so gorgeous, wet, and glistening. I fight to catch my breath.
"Ever, I-" He closes his eyes and sighs. And when he opens them again, he takes another step toward me and says, "It was never my intention to hurt you. Truly. Never." He slides his arms around me and tries to make me face him. And when I do, when I finally give in, he looks into my eyes and says, "Not once did I set out to hurt you. And I'm sorry if you feel that I played with your feelings. I told you I'm not so good at this sort of thing." He smiles, burying his fingers.in my wet hair, before coming away with a single red tulip.
I stare at him, taking in his strong shoulders, defined chest, washboard abs, and bare hands. No sleeves for hiding things under, no pockets to stow anything in. Just his glorious half-naked body, dripping-wet swim trunks, and that stupid red tulip in hand.
"How do you do it?" I ask, holding my breath, knowing damn well it didn't come from my ear.
"Do what?" He smiles, his arms encircling my waist, pulling me closer.
"The tulips, the rosebuds, all of it?" I whisper, trying to ignore the feel of his hands on my skin, how his touch makes me warm, sleepy; verging on dizzy.
"It's magic." He smiles.
I pull away and reach for a towel, wrapping it tightly around me. "Why can't you ever be serious?" I ask, wondering what I've gotten myself into, and if there's still time to retreat.
"I am serious," he mumbles, pulling on his T-shirt and reaching for his keys as I shiver in my cold damp towel, watching speechless as he heads for the gate, waves over his shoulder, and calls, "Sabine's home," before blending into the night.
Nineteen
The next day, when I pull into the parking lot, Darnen's not there. And as I climb out of my car, sling my bag over my shoulder, and head for class, I give myself a pep talk and prepare for the worst.
But the moment I reach the classroom, I'm completely immobile. Staring stupidly at the green painted door, unable to open it.
Since my psychic abilities evaporate wherever Damen's concerned, the only thing I can actually see is the nightmare I craft in my head. The one where Damen's perched on the edge of
Sta" cia's desk, laughing and flirting, retrieving rosebuds from all manner of places, as I slump by and head for my seat, the warm sweet flicker of his gaze skimming right over me as he turns his back so he can focus on her.
And I just can't go through with it. I seriously can't bear it.
Because even though Stacia's cruel, mean, horrible, and sadistic, she happens to be cruel, mean, horrible, and sadistic in a straightforward way Holding no secrets, cloaking no mysteries, her unkindness is out there, clearly displayed.
While I'm just the opposite: paranoid, secretive, lurking be hind sunglasses and a hoodie, and hoarding a burden so heavy there's nothing simple about me.
I reach,for the handle again, scolding myself: This is ridiculous. what are you gonna do-drop out of school? You've got another year and a half to deal with this, so just suck it up and go inside already!
But my hand starts to shake, refusing to obey, and just as I'm about to make a run for it, this kid comes up from behind, clears his throat, and says, "Uh-you gonna open that?" Completing the question in hi,S head with an unspoken-You fuckin' freak!
So I take a deep breath, open the door, and slink right inside.
Feeling worse than I ever could've imagined, when I see Darnen's not there.
The second I enter the lunch area, I scan all the tables, searching for Damen, but when I don't see him, I head for my usual spot, arriving at the same time as Haven.
"Day six and no word on Evangeline," she says, dropping her cupcake box on the table before her and sitting across from me.
"Have you asked around the anonymous group?" Miles slides in beside me and twists the cap off his VitaminWater.
Haven rolls her eyes. "They're anonymous, Miles." Miles rolls his eyes. "I was referring to her mentor."
"They're called sponsors. And yeah, she's no help, hasn't heard a thing. Drina thinks I'm overreacting though, says I'm making way too big a deaL"
"She still here?" Miles peers at her.
My eyes dart between them, alerted by the edge in his voice and waiting for more. Since most everything to do with Damen and Drina is psychically off limits, I'm as curious to hear the answer as he is.
"Um, yeah, Miles, she lives here now. Why? Is that a problem?" She narrows her eyes.
Miles shrugs and sips his drink. "No problem." Though his thoughts say otherwise and his yellow aura turns dark and opaque as he struggles with saying what he wants, versus not saying anything at all. "There's just " he starts.
'Just what?" She stares at him, eyes narrowed, lips pinched. "Well "
I stare at him, thinking: Do it, Miles, say it! Drina's arrogant, awfit.l, a bad influence, pure trouble. You're not the only one who sees it, I see it too, so go ahead and say it-she's the worst!
He hesitates, the words forming on his tongue as I suck in my breath, anticipating their release. Then he exhales loudly, shakes his head, and says, "Never mind."
I glance at Haven, seeing her enraged face, her aura flaring, the edges sparking and flaming all around, forecasting a major meltdown scheduled to start in just three-two-one"
Excuse me, Miles, but I'm so not buying that. So if you have something to say, then just say it." She glares at him, cupcake forgotten as she drums her fingers against the fiberglass table. And when he doesn't respond, she continues. "Whatever, Miles. You too, Ever. Just because you're not saying anything doesn't make you any less guilty."
Miles peers at me, eyes wide, brow raised, and I know I should say something, do something, make a show of asking just what exactly it is that I'm guilty of. But the truth is, I already knOw.
I'm guilty of not liking Drina. Of not trusting her. Of sensing something suspicious, sinister even.
And not doing nearly enough to hide those suspicions.
She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, and she's so upset she practically spits out the words, "You guys don't even know her! And you~ave no right to judge her! For your information, I happen to like Drina. And in the short time I've known her she's been a way better friend to me than either of you!"
"That's so not true!" Miles shouts, eyes blazing. "That's such total bullsh-"
"Sorry Miles, but it is true. You guys tolerate me, you go along with me, but you don't really get me like she does. Drina and I like the same things, we share the same interests. She doesn't secretly want me to change like you do. She likes me just as'I am."
"Oh, is that why you changed your entire look, because she accepts you for who you really are?"
I watch as Haven closes her eyes and takes a slow breath, then she looks at Miles and rises from her seat, gathering her things as she says, 'Whatever, Miles. Whatever, both of you."
'lilld now, ladies and gentlemen, behold the big dramatic exit!" Miles scowls. "I mean, are you kidding? All I did was ask if she was still here! That's it! And you turn it into this major ordeal. Jeez, sit down, find your happy place, and chillax already, would your"
She shakes her head apd grips the table, the small elaborate tattoo on her wrist now finished, but still red and inflamed.
"What do you call that?" I ask, gazing at the ink rendering of the snake eating its own tail, knowing there's a name for it, tlIat it's some sort of mythical creature, but forgettilIg which one.
"Ouroboros." And when she rubs it with her finger I swear
I saw its tongue flicker and move.
"What does it mean?"
"It's an ancient alchemy symbol for eternal life, creation out of destruction, life out of death, immortality, something like that," Miles says.