Wicked Hunger

by DelSheree Gladden

  Chapter Eight: Noble

  (Zander)

  I don’t have to wait long to see Ivy again. As soon as I pull into the parking lot, I spot her car. She didn’t drive to school with Laney. That strikes me as odd since teenage girls seem generally incapable of doing anything solo, but I push any thoughts about why that might be out of my mind. Instead, I look for a parking space. There’s one at the end of the row, and one two spaces down from Ivy. I know which one I should take. Van glances over at me nervously when I pull into the one near Ivy. Her hands clench around the strap of her backpack, and I scramble to avoid having to answer any awkward questions.

  “You don’t want to stop hanging out with Laney, then you better get used to seeing her,” I say.

  Van looks over at me. The doubt in her eyes is hard to miss. “Are you sure this is about me?”

  “Get to class, Van.”

  “Zander, about last night…”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I know, but…”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it!” I snap at her.

  She shrinks back and turns away from me. “I just wanted to apologize.”

  “What?” I ask after taking a slow breath.

  “I… I knew Ivy was going to come to class last night. I texted you to wait for me outside. Didn’t you get my text?”

  “I did.”

  “Then why didn’t you wait outside?”

  “I did, but you were taking a long time. I got worried something was wrong.” I look over at Van, suddenly angry at her. “Why didn’t you just tell me she would be there?”

  “I didn’t know if telling you would keep you away… or make sure you did come in. I guess I should have told you either way,” Van says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  My hands finally slip from the steering wheel and fall limp at my sides. I sigh, but I don’t look over at her. My little sister sees so much. She was always the one being protected, but not anymore. “It’s okay. Thanks for stopping me.”

  “Sure,” she whispers. Van’s hand moves to the door handle, but she doesn’t get out. “Ivy’s going to keep coming to the dance class. I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay with that, but I wanted to make sure you knew. Grandma can pick me up from work if you need her to. She’ll understand.”

  “No,” I say a little too quickly. We turn to each other at the same time. I blanch at the worry and curiosity in Van’s gaze and struggle to explain my quick response. “Same goes for me, I guess. I have to get used to her, too.”

  Van nods, but hardly seems convinced. When she doesn’t reach for the door right away, I worry she has more to say about Ivy. She does have another question, but it’s not about Ivy.

  “Hey, do you remember the other day when I said I tasted something weird in the hallway?”

  My fingers cinch closed around the steering wheel in panic. I would have preferred another accusing question about Ivy over this one. The effort it takes to answer her is not small. “Sure. Why?”

  “The same thing happened last night at the studio.” She stares out the window pensively. “Do you have any idea what that was?”

  The shake of my head is slow, grinding. “Who knows,” I manage to say. “The closer you get to your birthday, the more odd things you’ll experience. Just forget about it.”

  Van’s face scrunches up, but she holds back whatever she’s thinking and opens the door.

  “Don’t be late today,” I remind her. “I want to leave right after school.”

  “I know, Zander. It’s Friday. You always want to get there as early as possible. I won’t be late,” Van assures me.

  After that, I let her get out of the truck. As soon as the door closes, my attention redirects to the opposite side. It catches me off guard to find Ivy looking right at me. Hunger simmers along with the desire to touch her. Laney is standing next to her, and by the looks of her animated expression and waving hands, she is regaling Ivy with the tale of another klutz-induced mishap. Ivy nods at one point, but her eyes don’t leave mine. They watch me, her head tilting to one side, seeming to pierce through me. Sweat beads on my forehead. It makes no sense, but I am almost certain she can see more of me than what is visible.

  The feeling passes as soon as her lips turn up in a smile. Suddenly, she is the one who looks like someone has glimpsed her true thoughts. A faint blush turns her cheeks a lighter shade of the pink in her hair. When Van reaches the pair, Ivy turns. For a few moments, I watch them walk away. Van keeps her distance, not enough to make it obvious, but enough to keep her hunger from tasting too much of Ivy. It’s only when my little sister tucks her hand behind her back that I realize she’s holding something.

  The sight of the tattered bit of purple flannel makes me frown. I haven’t seen any piece of the blanket our mom made for her when she was little in years. She made one for each of us. They were made especially to help calm our hunger. Not that there is any special power imbued in them, they were just simple fabric, but they were filled with our mom’s love and compassion for her children’s curse. I haven’t seen Van’s blanket in a very long time. I sleep with mine every night.

  When Ivy is far enough away from me, I get out of the truck, lock it up, and follow her. And that’s pretty much what I do all day. Along with her address and license plate number, I looked up her schedule. At the time, I had memorized her classes in order to avoid her as much as possible. That should still be my goal. It’s obviously not, though, when I skip my lunch hour in order to get some help on my calculus homework.

  When I walk through the door, most of the eyes in the room peer up at me. I focus on my favorite teacher, and leave the rest to stare all they want. Mr. Dalton grins and gestures for me to come in.

  “Zander, what brings you to my homeroom?”

  “Got a minute to help me with my calc homework?” I ask.

  Mr. Dalton was my trigonometry teacher last year, and aside from being a likable guy, he was one of the few teachers who believed I wasn’t just another brainless jock who expected to get passed because of my athletic abilities. He also knows the last two years have been especially hard, and he’s really helped pull me through it.

  He gestures me over to his desk. “Of course I’ve got time. All I do in homeroom is keep the delinquents from doing anything too stupid. Isn’t that right, Arnold?”

  Some pimply, angry-looking sophomore sitting by the window pops his head up long enough to glare before hunkering down in his seat even further. Mr. Dalton laughs and shakes his head. “So, what are you getting stuck on?”

  “Derivatives of continuous polynomial functions. It’s just not making sense to me.”

  “Who do you have his year?”

  “Raeburn.”

  Mr. Dalton winces. “No wonder you’re struggling. She is all theoretical, never bothers to put a problem into real world terms so kids can understand why they’re doing what they’re doing. Here, let me get a different book.”

  He stands up and wanders into the tiny shared office situated between his room and the next. I really do need help with my calc homework, but the desire to turn around and scan the room for her has my foot tapping. I can’t resist. Attempting to look casual, I note each face, and am disappointed when I don’t find Ivy’s. I want to check again, but Mr. Dalton reappears with a book in hand.

  “Here,” he says, “this should help.”

  I stare at the book doubtfully. “This looks like a college textbook.”

  “It is. Calculus for business and economics. I teach it at night over at UNM. It isn’t any harder than what you’re doing now, but it’s put into practical terms, like finding the optimal price for movie tickets. It explains why you’re finding a derivative or doing integrations.”

  “That sounds great, but I’m still struggling with how to do it, not just why,” I argue.

  Mr. Dalton shakes his head. “I worked with you all last year. You’ll understand the how better if you understa
nd the why. Let’s go through a few problems together, and then you can try some on your own.”

  I’m not convinced, but he saved me last year, and I trust him. So we get to work. The minutes pass slowly as he runs through the basic instructions for me and tries to apply them to a real situation I can understand. I won’t lie and say I latch onto it right away, but it does start to make a little more sense. He’s pointing out a small error I made when I hear the classroom door open. Instantly, I can feel her on my skin. My muscles bunch up and battle me for control.

  “Hey, Zander, what are you doing here?” Ivy asks.

  My tension-bound muscles make it difficult to move, but I manage to look over at her. Actually speaking takes a few seconds longer. “Just getting some help with my calculus homework.”

  Do I imagine that her mouth turns down in disappointment? Was she hoping I was there to see her, or is she upset that I might still be here for a while?

  “Oh, really? I’d offer to help you out, but I’m sure Mr. Dalton has it covered,” she says.

  Her response surprises me enough to let me focus more on her than my hunger.

  “You’ve taken calculus already?” Most kids don’t take it until their senior year, if they take it at all. I’m only taking it my junior year because I tested out of geometry when I was a freshman. Don’t ask me why shapes make much more sense to me than numbers, they just do.

  Ivy shakes her head, her cheeks darkening to pink again. “No, it’s just a hobby.”

  Even Mr. Dalton raises his eyebrows at that comment. Ivy blushes even deeper.

  “My dad’s an actuary. He loves math. It’s super nerdy, but he used to teach me about math rather than reading me bedtime stories. I guess it kind of stuck with me. I like math, too.” She closes her eyes and bites the corner of her mouth. “Sorry, I should let you get back to work. I didn’t mean to interrupt you and admit what a dork I am.”

  Ivy doesn’t wait for a response. She walks over to her desk, slides into it, and promptly puts her head down. I’m so off balance, my hunger can’t even get a good grip on me. Every conversation I have with her becomes a new exercise in odd.

  “Huh,” Mr. Dalton says, “I’m going to have to pay closer attention to her homework assignments. If she really knows what she’s doing, I may recommend her for AP next year.”

  I hear him, but I don’t respond. I’m still staring at Ivy’s ducked head, wishing futilely she would look up at me. It’s not until Mr. Dalton swats my shoulder that I look back at him. “What?”

  His eyebrows rise expectantly. “How do you know Ivy? She just transferred here this week, and let’s face it, Mr. Social you aren’t.”

  “She’s Laney’s cousin.” I don’t generally talk to people much, especially not about my family or friends, but like I said, Mr. Dalton helped me through a lot the last few years. He nods with understanding.

  “You like her?” he asks.

  My head starts nodding before my brain can catch up. “What? No.”

  “Zander…”

  “I said no, Mr. Dalton. Don’t push me.”

  He shakes his head and stares past me to Ivy. “I’m not trying to push you, Zander, but you obviously like her. Why not ask her out? She seems nice enough.”

  “You know why not,” I say.

  “What happened to Lisa was an accident. There’s nothing you could have done to save her. You can’t let losing her stop you from getting close to people.”

  Hearing her name sends a spike of guilt and self-hatred through me. My shoulders hunch inward and I can feel myself starting to shrink away to nothingness. Mr. Dalton’s hand on my shoulder halts the inevitable descent. “Hey, calm down. Don’t let it get to you. You have to let it go.”

  “That isn’t the kind of thing you can let go,” I argue.

  I’ll never forget, never rid myself of seeing her face when I close my eyes, never be free of nightmares of that night. My fingers wrap around my pencil and squeeze it in an effort to vent the raging emotions that are threatening to rupture.

  “Zander, it wasn’t your fault. The trail you were on, neither of you knew how difficult it was. With the storms earlier that week that damaged the terrain, I know you did everything you could once the four wheeler starting slipping.”

  A shiver races through me like burning acid. That’s what he thinks. That’s what everyone thinks.

  “Hey, man, I was just making a suggestion. Don’t get upset. You’re a good guy. It would just be nice to see you with a smile on your face once in a while. You’ve been through a lot. You could use some good in your life,” Mr. Dalton says.

  “Yeah, I could,” I say, half to myself.

  “Then ask her out.”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I say with a sigh.

  “Teenagers. You all think everything is way more complicated than it is. Just wait until you have pensions and 401Ks and income taxes and student loan payments. That’s when things will actually be complicated. Right now, it’s all so much easier than you think.”

  If only. But that’s one thing I won’t discuss with Mr. Dalton. So I settle for halfway appeasing him and say, “I’ll think about it.”

  That seems to be enough for now. He settles back into helping me, and the rest of the hour passes quickly. When the bell rings, most of the bored students fly out of the room like a pack of wild dogs that just spotted their next meal. My next class is only two doors down, so I make no effort to rush as I pack up my books. At least, I tell myself that’s the reason. Ivy seems to be taking her time as well.

  “Hey,” Mr. Dalton says to me, “come back any time you need a hand. I’m happy to help. I think someone else might be, too.” He follows his comment up with a grin and makes for his cramped office. He’s not the most subtle guy in the world.

  “So, did you get everything worked out?” Ivy asks.

  The hunger that has been gnawing at me since she walked in flares. I have to take a deep breath and clench my jaw several times before I can face her. I remind myself that I made the choice to come here. If I can’t control myself around Ivy, sneaking into her room at night will be the only relationship I’ll ever have with her. Play nice, pretend I’m normal. When I do turn, I’m careful to keep my distance. “Yeah, mostly,” I say.

  “That’s good.”

  I feel stupid standing there staring at her, but I’m not sure what will happen if I move. I might try to kiss her. I might do something worse. Just to be safe, I opt for not moving at all. She doesn’t move either. In fact, she seems happy to wait for me to say or do something. The silence is starting to weigh on me. I say the first thing that comes into my head.

  “Did your dad really teach you math at night?”

  Ivy blushes, a look I’m starting to find extremely attractive on her. “Well, it was more like any time we were together. It’s hard to get him to talk about anything but math, actually.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “No,” she says, shrugging away her embarrassment. “I think it’s fun figuring out the answers to problems. It’s like a game.”

  Talking to her occupies my mind enough for it to distract me from my hunger and let me move away from her to a safer distance. I head toward the door, and Ivy follows. When we get out to the hallway, I stop again, relieved to be amid dozens of rushing students. The more people there are around, the harder it is for my hunger to focus on one person. I’m sure there are at least a few others in the crowd that my hunger wants, but right now, Ivy overpowers anyone else.

  “Math is like a game,” I repeat. “Not exactly the way I would put it, but okay.”

  Ivy starts to take a step closer to me. She seems to think better of it, and steps back instead. “How would you put it?”

  “Bamboo shoots? Hot pokers?”

  Ivy laughs. It’s a full, beautiful sound. No one would ever accuse me of being a funny guy, but I suddenly wish I were. I want to hear Ivy laugh again. If it were the only
sound I could ever hear, I would be perfectly happy.

  “That’s awfully dramatic. Why not throw in some water boarding as well,” Ivy says, a smile still playing on her lips.

  “Okay, maybe math isn’t that bad, but it doesn’t come naturally to me.”

  Ivy’s head drops down self-consciously. “Well, I’m happy to help if you need it.”

  “Really?”

  I can’t help asking. After the way I’ve treated her, I honestly don’t understand why she doesn’t run every time she sees me. Could Van possibly be right? Is there some ulterior motive to her interest in me? Maybe if I take Mr. Dalton’s advice, I’ll find out.

  “Sure,” Ivy answers.

  She watches me like she did this morning, holding me in her gaze so intently I can’t look away. It is an experience I both love and hate. I want her to look at me and see through the façade I wear for everyone else, but I’m also terrified that is exactly what she will do. I don’t want her to see inside me and find out what I am and what I’ve done. I lose my nerve and drop my gaze.

  Ivy leans against a row of lockers and says, “It was mostly my fault Van was late getting out of class last night, you know? She asked how I liked the class and I started talking about the type of dancing I used to do. I feel like every time we meet, I do something that makes you upset. I hope you weren’t too mad at Van last night.”

  “I…”

  Was that what she thought last night, that I was mad at Van for making me wait? Everyone else in this school thinks I’m the most pleasant guy in the world. Thanks to how I’ve acted like a lunatic every time we’ve met, she must think I fly off the handle about things as small as being late. It’s much better than her realizing I was two seconds away from killing her last night, but it still bothers me that she thinks of me like that.

  “I wasn’t mad at Van.” I pause, struggling to find some kind of excuse that won’t lead her to the truth. I fall back on yesterday’s argument. “I mean, I was mad at Van. We got in a fight when I dropped her off. I thought she was being a jerk and making me wait because she was still mad.”

  Ivy eyes me thoughtfully. I know I still don’t come off as some stellar guy with that lie, but she’s been willing to overlook my supposed short temper so far, so I hope she’ll do it again.

  “Well, I promise not to make Van keep you waiting, if you promise not to jump to conclusions. She really was just trying to be nice to me. She didn’t seem upset about whatever you two argued about at all. Besides, getting so upset all the time isn’t good for you.”

  “It isn’t?” That may apply to other people, but I’m not exactly like everyone else.

  “No, it isn’t,” she says. “So, do we have a deal?”

  I ignore the fact that this is absurd and say, “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good.” She smiles up at me then, a strip of pink hair falling in her eyes. On some instinct I didn’t even know I had, my hand moves to brush it back. Whether Ivy acts like my “temper” is something that can be overcome by a deal made in a school hallway or not, she flinches. My hand freezes and falls back to my side.

  Ivy lithely tucks the stray hair away behind her ear and I decide it’s time to go. I’m too… embarrassed, frustrated, angry… I don’t know. Whatever it is, I turn away without saying anything to her and fix my eyes on the door of my next class.

  “Zander, wait,” Ivy calls after me. I don’t stop. I hope desperately that she’ll just leave me alone and walk away. She doesn’t. She does something much worse.

  Her fingers touch my arm. The all-consuming fire that blossoms under her touch spins me around. My body lurches toward her. Somehow, I stop short of actually grabbing her. I think it’s the panicked expression on her face that reigns in my reaction. “Ivy,” I gasp, drawing in a breath to try and calm myself. “I’m sorry. You startled me.”

  “I… I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Even as I say it, though, I take several steps back. “I… I have a thing about people touching me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No, it’s fine. I thought you heard me call out, but I guess you didn’t.”

  “It’s kind of noisy out here,” I say, grateful a good majority of the students who have lunch right now are standing around eating in the halls rather than the cafeteria. It’s not a great excuse, but it’s semi-plausible. Ivy seems to take it at face value. I fold my arms across my chest to minimize any chance of accidental contact and say, “Did you need something? I must have missed…”

  “Yeah,” Ivy breaks in, “well, kind of. I just wanted to say that maybe we could get together this weekend. I could help you with whatever math homework you still have, and since Van is going out with Noah anyway, I thought you might have some free time.”

  “Oh, uh, maybe,” I start. Her last sentence sinks in and I falter. “Wait, what? Van is going out with who?”

  “Noah,” Ivy says uncertainly, “her English project partner.”

  “I thought she was doing that solo.”

  “She was, but Noah moved into her class and they got paired up. Is that a problem?” Ivy watches my reaction carefully, no doubt worried I’m going to freak out on her again.

  “No, of course not. I was just surprised. Van didn’t mention it to me. She’s not usually one for study dates or things like that,” I say.

  Ivy offers me a timid smile. “Is that some kind of sibling thing? I thought you might need some help still, but if you don’t, that’s okay.”

  Now she’s the one to take a step back, eager to turn away and leave it at that before I have another chance to reject or attack her. My hunger takes a backseat to the pain it causes me to think I’ve hurt her feelings, or made her think I don’t want to be with her every second.

  “No, it’s nothing like that,” I say, stopping Ivy from leaving. “Van is just, well, she’s not really into dating right now.”

  “That’s what Ketchup said about you, too,” Ivy says, her eyebrows rising in a silent question.

  I roll my eyes at the mention of his name. “Ketchup says a lot of things.”

  “Things that aren’t true?”

  I hesitate. “Things he doesn’t understand very well. Some things are more complicated than his little brain cares to figure out.”

  “Oh,” Ivy says.

  “But with Van, it is true. She’s more focused on getting into a good college than dating.”

  “I’ve seen her brush off Ketchup,” Ivy says, thankfully letting me change the topic from myself back to Van, “but she seems to really like Noah.”

  I don’t have any clue about Van’s feelings for Noah, but I know exactly why Van won’t date Ketchup or bring him around the house, and it has nothing to do with how much or little she likes him. I realize Ivy is waiting for me to say something. “I’ll have to ask her about that later.”

  Ivy nods, but I’m not really sure whether she’s agreeing with me or just doing it to acknowledge I said something. It drives me crazy that I find it so hard to talk to her. I can’t read her at all. I feel like I’m constantly floundering every time I get near her, something that has nothing to do with hunger.

  “Well, I guess I better get to lunch. Your class already started, I’m sure,” Ivy says. She starts backing away, toward the cafeteria.

  “This weekend,” I say without thinking, “you really want to get together?”

  There’s a moment of hesitation, but she says, “Yeah, give me a call.”

  “Does Van have your number?”

  “I’m not sure, but Laney does. You can get it from her, if you want.” Ivy turns, then, and disappears around the corner.

  The relief I feel at her leaving and giving my hunger a reprieve is hard to quantify, but along with it comes confusion. It would have been a simple thing to exchange numbers. I have my cell phone in my pocket, and I’m sure she had hers. What teen doesn’t have their cell phone with them at all times?

  For a moment,
I wonder if she’s playing some kind of hard-to-get game, but that doesn’t seem like her. She’s the one who’s made the effort to talk to me, not the other way around. Understanding hits me when I sink into my seat in my calculus class. She’s giving me a way out. If she’d given me her number directly, I wouldn’t have had an excuse not to call her. This way, I could say Van didn’t have her number, or I couldn’t get a hold of Laney to get it from her.

  Ivy is leaving it in my hands. She talks to me regardless of how I’ve acted around her, but she must see the risk of being near me. Apparently open to the idea of hanging out, it would seem she doesn’t want to be the one to actually make the choice. Deniability in case things go wrong? I shake my head. She doesn’t know just how much danger she’ll be in. Only I know. Keeping her out of harm’s way would be easy. Don’t call her. It would be the noble thing to do.

  Noble, hah.

  People around here may think that word describes me, but I have them all fooled.