for weeks, maybe months.
Everyone but Trinity and Drew fell right into party talk, just as I’d hoped they would.
Trinity was too sharp for that, though. She’s got a nose for deception. She can smell evasiveness at fifty paces. And Drew, he was a naturally jealous guy, so they were both a little harder to throw off the scent than the others. Finally, though, after a few tense seconds, my casualness won the day and they took the bait. Much to my relief, they pitched in with everyone else on the subject change.
Mentally, I sighed and tried to put lingering obsidian orbs out of my head— tried being the operative word.
********
Chemistry: the last class of the day and by far the most boring. You’d think Chemistry would be one of the most interesting subjects and, really, it should’ve been. In this instance, the problem was the teacher. We had a mind-numbingly boring one named Mr. Dole. I pondered the incongruity of it on the way to class; anything to keep my mind off of him.
With a sigh, I turned in through the door, taking my usual seat at the second long black science table beneath the window. I threw my messenger bag up on the table and slouched down in my chair. I just wanted it to be over so we could go to Norton, cheer at the away game and get home. I was in no mood for extra time on my hands and that’s what I’d surely find under Mr. Dole’s tedious instruction.
In Mr. Dole’s class, no one sat at the front two tables in the room. It was a well known fact that they were semi-dangerous. Mr. Dole spit a lot when he talked and it was nothing to get sprayed in the eye or, heaven forbid, in the mouth if it happened to be open. We all kept a good distance whenever possible. One of our best defensive measures was boycotting the first two tables.
Today, however, there was a black messenger bag lying atop the table to the right and in front of mine, at one of the off-limits tables. I looked at it curiously then put my head down on my crossed arms. My temples were throbbing.
I heard Mr. Dole slam his book down on his desk, just like he did every day, and I raised my head attentively. My expression was immediately one of interest, or so it would seem to the casual observer. I could fake it with the best of ‘em.
My pretense was soon to be genuine, however, when I spotted a familiar dark head directly in front of Mr. Dole. It caught my attention so quickly and held it so completely it might as well have been a flashing neon sign.
He didn’t have to turn around for me to recognize the stylishly disheveled practically-black hair. Or the charcoal hoodie. I’d have spotted it anywhere, probably even at a store that sold black hoodies. It drew me like gravity. He drew me like gravity.
The material was stretched taut over broad shoulders as he leaned forward on his elbows. It hugged his back all the way down to his trim waist and narrow hips. My eyes were lingering on the way his jeans strained over his butt when I saw his head turn.
Our eyes met and, for an instant, I wondered if he could feel me looking at him. But then, just like before, I fell into the sparkling onyx and was lost to the world.
In them, I thought I could see a thousand emotions, all twirling restlessly in the dark.
Some of them were painful, some bewitching, some haunting. All of them were thrilling.
Mr. Dole’s voice penetrated my thrall.
"Class, let’s give a warm welcome to Mr. Jonathan Bowman. He’s a transfer from Southmoore," Mr. Dole said in his bland monotone.
The new guy turned to Mr. Dole and I heard a husky rumble, but couldn’t make out the words. Mr. Dole quickly assuaged my curiosity, however, when he announced, "And he goes by Bo."
"I hope he’s not the Southmoore Slayer," Troy Dennison said from the back of the room.
Troy was a snot and, though I think he just couldn’t help himself, it didn’t make it any easier to tolerate him. I usually just ignored him, but for some reason, his making fun of the new guy, Bo, made me angry.
Everyone snickered. Tight-lipped, I wanted to make a comment, but, as per my usual, I refrained. Nevertheless, I felt stirrings of strong emotion bubbling just beneath the surface.
I tossed a withering look over my shoulder at Troy and when he saw it, he stopped smiling and muttered a quick "sorry", casting his eyes down at his book.
When I looked back toward the front of the room, Bo was watching me and I smiled uncomfortably. He looked at me for a moment longer, straight-faced and serious, and then turned his attention to Mr. Dole who was ready to begin the lesson.
I got absolutely nothing out of class, although I could hardly have called it boring today.
I was on pins and needles the entire hour. Though he didn’t make eye contact with me again that period, I saw Bo turn his head numerous times, as if glancing at me via his peripheral vision. My heart stopped each time he did it, thinking he might turn all the way around and look at me, let me melt into those striking eyes. But he never did. He just teased me.
When the bell rang, I was usually the first one out the door. Today, however, I dawdled as much as possible. I watched Bo from beneath my lashes and he didn’t seem to be in any hurry either. I matched my pace with his, wondering if he was waiting to talk to me, hoping that he was.
I got the feeling by watching him that he never hurried, that very little bothered him or ruffled his feathers. I don’t know what would make me think that, but I was almost certain of it. He carried himself with a languid ease that said he had all the time in the world, and therefore felt no need to rush.
With my books secured in my messenger bag and nothing left to linger over, I made my way to the front of the class and walked in front of the Bo’s table, heading for the door.
I didn’t look his way. I thought for sure he’d say something, anything, as I passed. I mean, he had been watching me an awful lot. But he didn’t say a word. I thought I saw his head come up briefly when I walked by, but otherwise he didn’t move.
I hesitated at the door for a heartbeat, giving Bo one last chance to say something, but he didn’t. So I left.
At my locker, I threw my books inside and took out my duffel then slammed the thin metal door shut. I was feeling prickly and irritable and, though I was loath to admit it, it had everything to do with Bo.
I was really disappointed that he had turned out to be such a dud. I mean, he didn’t speak to me, didn’t even acknowledge me, like he hadn’t been watching me like a hawk for two days. What’s up with that?
Determined not to think about him any more, I sought out Trinity and Aisha and we made our way to the bus. We had a long trip ahead of us.
********
Several annoying hours later, the bus was pulling back into the lot at the school. Maintaining my usual ambivalence had been a true test of my resolve. I felt itchy all night and had to make a concerted effort not to snap at anybody or let on that I was out of sorts. I knew that if I did, the inevitable questions would follow and that would’ve been a disaster.
So, I smiled and cheered happily, all the while seething inside. I messed up three different cheers. After the third one, it wasn’t difficult to conclude that I needed to stop thinking about Bo and his eyes. It was becoming glaringly obvious that he was not doing my life any favors.
On the way home, it seemed I was constantly pushing thoughts of him out of my mind.
The problem wasn’t in getting him out; it was in keeping him out. He just wouldn’t stay gone, at least not for very long anyway.
I knew that I needed to be persistent, however, to resist thinking about him. It’s what needed to be done, so I told myself that’s what I’d do. Simple as that. The funny thing is that, at the time, I thought it would be easy. Turns out resisting Bo was anything but easy.
"Ridley, you need a ride?" Trinity was calling to me from the rear of the bus. We were back at school, unloading people and equipment into the parking lot.
"No, thanks. I drove. I’ll just see you tomorrow night," I replied, lugging my duffel to my car way out at the end of the lot.
"T," Drew hollered fr
om behind me. I stopped and waited for him to catch up. "Why don’t you leave your car and I’ll take you home tonight. I can bring you back over tomorrow before the party to get it," he suggested.
"My mom will worry if she doesn’t see my car in the driveway."
"You can call her when you get home," he said. He stepped closer to me and rubbed my arm suggestively. "We can take a detour on the way to your house."
I looked up at Drew, at the wholesome, handsome face of the most popular guy in school, and for the life of me I couldn’t remember why I liked him. I mean, he’s occasionally funny, fairly smart, sporadically thoughtful and he used to turn me on, but now it seemed that whatever was between us was just gone.
Unbidden, luminous coffee-colored eyes drifted through my mind. Angrily, I swept them aside. Again.
"No. I’m tired. I’m going home. I’ve got plans in the morning anyway," I fibbed.
He sighed deeply and gave in. "Alright. So I’ll pick you up for Caster’s party tomorrow night?"
I briefly considered making up some excuse, but I knew that would sound suspicious.
I’d wait and see how I felt tomorrow. Maybe I was just having an off day. Maybe the demise of our relationship wasn’t really as imminent as it felt.
Come tomorrow night, though, if I still felt the same way, I’d have to have a talk with Drew. At least he’d be loose and happy after a party and a few beers. It might actually work out better that way. Maybe he’d take the news a little more gracefully.
Though I already dreaded the fallout, I felt like there was no sense in pretending that I liked Drew when I didn’t. I wouldn’t string him along; it wasn’t right. Unlike some of the other girls, I wasn’t so obsessed with being popular that I would date a guy I’m not even interested in just because he has great social standing.
Drew prompted me. "T?"
He looked irritated that he’d been forced to bring me back to the present when I’d drifted off into my own thoughts.
"Sorry. Uh, yeah. Pick me up at nine?"
"Good deal," he said, taking me into his arms to kiss me goodnight.
I could tell by his effort that he was trying to get me to change my mind, but it was so not working! In fact, I could hardly wait for it to be over. What’s worse is that I don’t think he even knew that I wasn’t into it.
"See you tomorrow night," he said and then turned to walk back down to the front of the lot where he’d parked.
I proceeded on to my car, unlocked the door and slid my bag inside before dropping my tense body into the driver’s seat. I pulled the door shut, leaned my head back and just sat there for a few minutes, thinking about the strange details of my day. I really did feel out of sorts.
Even when I tried to describe it in my own mind, that was the most accurate label I could come up with: out of sorts.
I listened to the sounds of my friends’ voices as they giggled and whooped, making their plans and saying their goodbyes. I felt sure that many of them would gather at Trinity’s house later for a small party. But tonight, I just wasn’t in the mood to be a joiner.
When all the lights had faded and my car was the only one left in the parking lot other than the empty bus, I leaned forward to start the engine. Only it didn’t start.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," I growled into the silence.
I turned the key again and pushed on the gas pedal, but it only made a tired whirring sound. The dash lights were noticeably dim and when I turned on the headlights, they barely dinted the darkness in front of the car.
While I’m no mechanic, I have enough sense to know when the battery’s dead. And that battery was dead.
I shouted out in frustration. "Crap!"
Options, options, options, I thought to myself, hating to call Drew, but unable to readily think of another choice. After all, I was my own plan B.
I stared out into the night, racking my brain for a person to call that could help me. I doubted Trinity even had jumper cables and most of the other girls probably didn’t even know what they were. Mom was out, as usual, and Dad was gone, as usual. That left me. And since I wasn’t much help to myself at this particular juncture, I was left with Drew.
Frustrated yet resigned, I looked up and out into the night as I rooted around in the console for my cell phone. It startled me when I caught a hint of movement in the gloom. My heart picked up the pace, pounding in my chest like the hoof beats of herd of wild Mustangs.
Frantically, I searched blindly for my cell phone, afraid to take my eyes off the windshield for even one second.
A disembodied hoodie materialized in front of my dim headlights and my runaway heart jumped up into my throat. But just before panic could officially set in, I saw a hauntingly familiar pale face come into view. Though my pulse slowed somewhat, all the excitement seemed to transfer to my stomach, where a nest of butterflies fluttered anxiously.
Some part of my brain warned me that I should be scared, that this was creepy and that I should lock my door and call for help. But it was a small part, one quickly silenced by the voice of my growing attraction. Even more bizarre than that, though, was the feeling in my gut, the feeling that said I could trust him with my life. Now that made no sense at all.
Hands resting casually in the pockets of his jacket, Bo approached my window and sank down into a squat. Obligingly, I reached to lower the window. My fading battery didn’t have enough juice to work the mechanism, however, so I had to open the door in order to address him.
Bo rose and shifted to the side to let me push the door wide. When it was open as far as it would go, he stepped into the V and squatted down right in front of me.
Up close at night, his eyes appeared to be endless wells of inky liquid. The low light shone on their glassy surfaces and sparkled. His hair was the rumpled mass of jagged peaks that it always was and his jaw was dark with five o’clock shadow.
He smelled wonderful, too. I could tell it wasn’t cologne. He just smelled clean, like soap and something tangy, spicy.
"Need some help?"
Though his voice was not much more than a whisper, I heard him clearly. It was as if his soft words resonated somewhere deep inside me, causing a little thrill of pleasure to vibrate through my body like a tuning fork.
I could’ve just answered his question. I should’ve just answered his question. But I had questions of my own and they seemed far more important at that moment.
"What are you doing here?"
"Watching you," he confessed, as if that was the most natural thing in the world, to be lurking in a dark parking lot in the middle of the night.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you watching me?"
"Why does everyone watch you?"
"Everyone doesn’t watch me," I rebutted.
"Yes they do."
"No they don’t."
"You just don’t see them watching you. But they do," he said, his lips twisting up into what might’ve been a tiny grin. I couldn’t be sure since the shadow of the door frame fell across part of his face.
"But why? Why would anyone watch me?"
"Come on. You have to know how beautiful you are. You don’t need me to tell you that," he said, making it sound as if I was fishing for compliments.
"I guess that’s just your opinion," I responded sharply.
He eyed me suspiciously, determining whether or not I was being sincere.
"You really don’t know, do you?" He seemed genuinely surprised.
I shrugged, wishing that I could tear my gaze away from his and look anywhere but into those eyes.
"But you are," he declared softly. "You shine like the sun and you move like water.
Your eyes are the perfect mix of gray and brown, like fog in the woods, and you smell like lilacs in the summer. I think if you laughed, it would sound like music."
If anyone else had said something like that to me, I probably would’ve smiled and written them off as either a total dork or a total nut job. But n
ot with him, not the way he said it. He was enchanting and I was enchanted.
Even though his poetic words stirred something inside me, bringing long dead things to life, it was his eyes that told the real story. They promised that he meant everything he’d said and that he was just as intrigued by and attracted to me as I was him.
My lungs seized, trapping air inside the painfully tight walls of my chest. I didn’t know what to say. I had no such elegant prose to explain the way he made me feel when he looked at me with those hypnotic eyes. I couldn’t even really make it make sense to myself, so telling someone else was hopeless.
But I could feel it. Oh, how I could feel it.
"Your battery’s dead," he stated flatly.
Fated Page 24
