Illusions

by Aprilynne Pike

  Tamani bit back a sigh. What a colossal waste of time.

  “They will be supervised, of course,” the vice principal continued, as if Shar cared. “Now if I can have you sign some paperwork,” he said, sliding a piece of paper forward.

  Tamani shot a look at Shar, but Shar either didn’t see or chose to ignore it. “That’s fine,” he said. He took the pen and managed an illegible scrawl across the signature line.

  “Excellent,” Vice Principal Roster said, rising from his chair and shaking hands with Shar. “We want nothing more than for our students to succeed, and parents, or uncles in your case, are the biggest factor in that.”

  “We will make sure things improve,” Shar said. “I’ll take Tam out to the parking lot and chat for a while before I send him back into class.”

  “Good, good,” the vice principal said proudly, surely assuming Tamani was about to receive further discipline. He opened the door and gestured to the hallway.

  Tamani felt the human’s eyes on them all the way down the hallway and out the front doors. They walked silently to Tamani’s convertible, where Shar stopped and leaned against it, turning to face Tamani.

  “Well, young man,” he said, his face serious, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

  They stared at each other for a moment longer. Tamani broke first, a quick chuckle escaping his lips, and then both faeries burst out laughing.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  SPEECH CLASS WAS PAINFUL.

  Laurel could feel the tension in the room and knew there was no way anyone else missed it. Especially with the way everyone kept glancing at David and Tamani, who very carefully avoided even looking at each other. She’d overheard Tamani telling Yuki that he had to serve three days of in-school suspension with David, but she hadn’t had a chance to talk to either of them about it. David had spent his lunch hour in the office with his mom and the vice principal, and Tamani had spent his lunch hour with Yuki. Chelsea was away at a cross-country meet, so Laurel had spent her lunch hour fretting. Alone.

  “Okay,” Mr. Petersen said, finally starting the class about a minute after the bell rang. Longest minute of Laurel’s life. “You’ve all had a chance to present your own speeches. But giving a speech sometimes has very little to do with the words you are actually saying. Today you will all be giving someone else’s speech.”

  He waited, as if expecting a reaction. What he got was silence.

  “Each of you will be handed a personal ad; you will have sixty seconds to read it over, and thirty seconds to present it.”

  Now the murmurs started.

  “Your goal,” Mr. Petersen said above the buzz, “as a persuasive speaker, is to convince the members of this class that they should meet you. Over nonalcoholic drinks, of course,” he added, chuckling at his own lame joke. After another moment of silence, he cleared his throat and continued. “I spent a long time preparing these materials. I think I’ll make it ten percent of your presentation grade this month,” he declared. “Don’t take it lightly!” The class groaned and Mr. Petersen raised both hands in the air. “The assignments will be random. Just give it a chance! You might be surprised how fun this can be.”

  No one seemed convinced.

  Laurel spent the next fifteen minutes completely mortified on behalf of her classmates and dreading her turn at the front of the classroom. Mostly it was a lot of pretend puppy eyes and exaggerated poses as people read Mr. Petersen’s hokey personals. Laurel wondered if adults really wrote things about themselves like I’m a sweet Romeo without a Juliet or I’m sassy, sultry, and super-fun, and how serious they could possibly be if they did.

  “Tam Collins.”

  Several of the girls sitting near Laurel began whispering excitedly. Clearly, they hadn’t lost hope. Laurel wanted to sink into her chair and die.

  Tamani took the small piece of paper from Mr. Petersen and stood at the front of the classroom, studying it for his sixty seconds.

  “And begin . . . now,” Mr. Petersen said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

  Tamani looked up from his paper and, instead of starting to speak, he took a few seconds to lock eyes with several of the girls in the class.

  “Single Scottish male,” he said, his voice low, his accent more pronounced, “seeks beautiful woman.”

  Every human girl in the classroom sighed as one. Laurel wondered how many other liberties Tamani would take with the assigned speech.

  “I’m looking for that special person, the one who can complete me. I need someone to share my life and my heart. More than just a fun time, I’m looking for commitment and . . . intimacy.” At that point, if anyone else had been speaking, there would have been whistles and catcalls. Coming from Tamani’s lips, the phrase actually sounded inviting, sexy.

  “I am a twentysomething who likes loud music, fine food, and”—he paused dramatically—“physical activity. I’m looking for someone creative, artistic”—his eyes flitted to Laurel’s, for just a second—“musical, to share my love of beautiful things. Are you looking for something real in this world of illusions? Call me. Casual flings need not apply. I am looking for love.”

  Without another word, Tamani crumpled his ad in his hand, shoved it in his pocket, and took his seat.

  Every girl in the room burst into applause and a few shrill whistles.

  Laurel cringed and dropped her head to her desk. There was no digging out of this hole.

  After school, Laurel practically ran to her car. She knew she’d done poorly on her own personal ad speech, but seriously, who could expect anything else today?

  She had managed to go the whole day without speaking to David, but she couldn’t put it off forever. She had no idea what to say. That she still loved him, she just didn’t know if she loved him like that? Or that she wasn’t sure she could live the rest of her life without getting a chance to be with Tamani—really be with him—with a clear conscience, to see if it was as good as she dreamed? That she had made a snap decision, it had been a mistake, and she wanted him back? That she needed space—from both of them, maybe—to decide what she wanted?

  It hadn’t felt like a mistake, back at the land. But this morning, seeing David’s face—it made her ache for him. She wanted to make everything better. Was that because she loved him as a friend, or because she wanted him back?

  Did he want her back?

  That was something she couldn’t consider as she locked her car and walked into the very empty house where, she had been reminded by her mom that morning, she was to stay. Easy enough—she had plenty of homework to do. And she could work on figuring out what kind of faerie Yuki was. Laurel could hardly believe it had been two weeks since the troll attack. It felt like ages. Time was like that, though—racing forward when she wanted it to slow down, then crawling to a stop when she could least bear it.

  But rather than heading straight for her room, Laurel flipped idly through a stack of mail on the counter. She was still frustrated by not finding out anything conclusive from the phosphorescent tests. Tamani’s sap had glowed for just under forty minutes—a little longer than Laurel’s. She had hoped to find a substantial difference between the kinds of fae, but apparently sap wasn’t going to do it—at least not without samples from a lot more faeries. She wished she could just assume Yuki was a Spring based on probability, but assumptions were a luxury she couldn’t afford.

  Beneath a Publishers Clearing House postcard Laurel encountered a large envelope with her name on it. Her SAT scores! She’d all but forgotten about them; she’d taken the test so long ago. When she and David were together. When they’d studied every day to improve her scores. They had both planned on checking online, to get their scores early, but Laurel was clearly not the only one who had forgotten. She grabbed the letter opener from the mail rack and sliced open the top of the envelope, then stood clutching it in both hands for a long moment before she reached in and pulled out the small stack of papers.

  When she finally
managed to locate her scores, Laurel squealed.

  Mid six-hundreds and a 580. A huge improvement. Laurel ran to the phone and dialed half of David’s number before she realized what she was doing. This was never what she intended. No matter what happened, she at least wanted them to be friends. It wasn’t until that very moment that she realized it simply might not be possible.

  No.

  She would never know if she didn’t try. She finished dialing his number.

  “Hello?”

  “David?”

  “Hello?”

  It was David’s voice mail. He thought it was clever to pretend he was really answering the phone. Laurel found it irritating, but she hadn’t left him a voice mail in months.

  “You know what? Just leave a message.”

  Laurel hung up. He would see the missed call and who it was from. If he’d gotten his envelope today, he’d probably be able to guess why she was calling.

  Laurel sank down onto a barstool, her scores held loosely in her hand, feeling deflated. Obviously, breaking up with David wasn’t the answer to all of her problems. It was its own problem. And the longer she waited to solve it, the more likely it was that David would move on, making the decision for her.

  David moving on. It was a horrifying thought.

  She grabbed her scores and her backpack and started up the stairs. She had to cool things off with Tamani and decide what she really wanted. She had chosen David before, one hundred percent, and for a long time it had been wonderful. She wanted that feeling again, but first she had to figure out who she wanted it with. And maybe that was going to require no kissing for a while. No kissing anyone. She needed a clear head.

  Laurel startled when someone rapped quietly on her door.

  “Can I come in?”

  Tamani.

  Laurel shoved her scores under her backpack and went to her bedroom door, hesitating a moment before letting him in.

  “Sorry for not waiting at the front door,” he said apologetically. “But with you being grounded I figure it’s better if no one sees you let me in.”

  “You’ve finally learned about my spying neighbors,” Laurel said, forcing a laugh.

  Tamani studied his shoes for a moment. Then he looked up, smiled, and stepped forward, arms open.

  Every resolve, every promise she had made to herself about taking time to clear her head, crumbled as she folded herself into his arms. She clung to him and even when he pulled back, ever so gently, she held him harder. One more second and she would let him go.

  One more.

  Or two more.

  Finally she made her arms drop and forced herself not to look up at him. If she did, there would be nothing to stop her from kissing him, and once that happened, it would be over. She would want nothing but him for the rest of the afternoon.

  “So,” Laurel said as she sat down on her desk chair—where he definitely couldn’t sit beside her—“how was your chat with Roster?”

  “Ridiculous. Pointless.” Tamani rolled his eyes. He sat on her bed and lounged on one elbow. She had to grip the arms of her chair to remain seated—every ounce of her wanted to join him. To snuggle against his chest with her head tucked under his chin, feeling the vibrations in his throat when he talked and—

  Focus!

  “What’s your punishment?” Laurel asked, not wanting to admit she’d been eavesdropping on the school gossip and had a pretty good idea already.

  “Three days in-school suspension. David”—he said David’s name like it was a bad word—“is going to tutor me, to save my grades.”

  “Are you serious?” Laurel asked, louder than she had intended. None of her sources had told her they would be working together. This was bad.

  Tamani scoffed.

  “Well.” Laurel was silent for a few seconds. “He actually is a really great tutor.” She knew it put Tamani on edge when she praised David, but how could she not? After years of homeschooling, it was David who’d taught her how to cope with the public school system.

  “I don’t doubt it. But the whole concept of grades is pretty insulting. I’ve never seen a more arbitrary, uninformative metric. The way humans measure their differences is—”

  “Worse than the way you do it in Avalon?”

  Tamani pursed his lips. “Well, anyway, it’s just a good thing I’m not really a student. I’d have to do something drastic. I don’t know what I’m going to do with David for three days.”

  “Be nice to him,” Laurel said.

  “We’re going to be supervised, Laurel.”

  “I mean it. No bragging, no taunting, nothing. Be nice.”

  “No taunting, I promise.”

  Laurel nodded approvingly, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. Finally she decided to just change the subject. “So Shar’s here now?”

  Tamani shook his head. “Just for a few days. He has duties back at the land.”

  “How does he get here? Does he have a car too?” The idea of the faeries all driving around in cars made Laurel laugh.

  But Tamani looked a little chagrined. “Tamani de Rhoslyn, sentry, Fear-gleidhidh, and chauffeur, at your service.”

  “When? I thought you watched me, like, all the time.”

  “Less when I know you’re at home. And in for the night. And don’t forget,” he added with a grin, “I have a cell phone—Aaron can call me if anything goes wrong.” He leaned forward, his partially unbuttoned shirt affording her a splendid view. “And then I come rushing back to save you.”

  Laurel quelled the giddy warmth that was spreading through her limbs. “That’s good,” she said. Then, realizing that maybe—maybe—her chest wouldn’t feel quite so tight if her ribs weren’t bound with a sash, she untied the knot and let her limp petals go free. What was left of them. They’d been falling out all day. By tomorrow morning she could stop hiding entirely. That was going to be a relief.

  She was momentarily frozen in place by the realization that this might be the last time she would ever have to hide it. If she were in Avalon, it wouldn’t be necessary. College, on the other hand, meant at least four more years of binding down her blossom. Her SAT scores were still hidden underneath her backpack. They were high enough to get into a good college. They even gave her a reasonable shot at Berkeley. Last spring Laurel’s below-average scores had pretty much made up her mind for her—especially since they’d been followed by a stellar summer at the Academy. But now? There was a whole new road she could take, if she wanted.

  Options were beginning to feel more like a burden than a blessing.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THREE WHOLE DAYS, LOCKED IN A ROOM WITH MR. Robison and David.

  Doing homework.

  Pretending to do homework.

  And trading glares.

  The first day, David had done more glaring than Tamani. But then, considering Tamani was the winner, it was only fitting.

  Well, kind of the winner.

  For one perfect day Tamani had actually wondered if he could perish of happiness. Being with Laurel, really with her, holding her in his arms as she smiled up at him—it was better than he had ever dreamed. Everything else in his life paled in comparison. Becoming the youngest commanding sentry in three generations? A minor success. Training as the leading expert on applied human interaction? Nothing more than a means to an end. But being with Laurel? This was his crowning achievement, and he had surprised himself with how easily he slipped into the role. How perfectly she fit in his arms. The complete joy he felt when she smiled at him. Nothing else mattered.

  He would get that back. He’d thought himself determined before, but he’d only been chasing a dream. Now he knew what he was missing and he could do anything if it meant one more day like the one they’d shared at the cabin.

  When Tamani realized he was smiling, he cleared his throat and forced himself to look dour again and pretend to focus on David’s explanation of the Pythagorean theorem. What a waste of time.

  “Boys, if you’ll excuse me
, you seem to be doing fine on that assignment. I need to step out for a moment.”

  Tamani suppressed a chuckle. Their “supervision” was a joke. Mr. Robison had left the room fourteen times today—twice as many as yesterday. And whenever he did, David would just shut down. He wouldn’t respond to anything Tamani said. He’d just sit and stare at the whiteboards hung at the front of the room. When Mr. Robison returned, David would launch back into whatever halfhearted tutorial they’d been on before. It was uncanny, really—he’d just start up exactly where he’d left off. Mr. Robison didn’t seem to notice.

  What got Tamani was the way David seemed to be brooding almost as much over this punishment as over losing Laurel. As far as Tamani was concerned, punishments were just part of life. You suffered them and went on your way—there was no reason to stop and regret.

  Tamani sure didn’t.

  He wondered if humans couldn’t escape their anxieties because they were always cooped up. It must be hard to cope when a person couldn’t breathe fresh air and work things out constructively, with some honest physical labor. Before Tamani was ten years old, he had spent several years out in the field with his father, maintaining dams with his sister’s companion, or running errands for his mother at the Academy. Humans, on the other hand, were lined up and put in pens like cattle. Perhaps it worked for them—maybe animals liked being boxed up. But Tamani had his doubts.

  Mr. Robison had been gone for five minutes. There was only an hour left before the final bell. Tamani wondered if they’d be seeing him again before tomorrow.

  “You’re fighting a losing battle, you know,” Tamani said. “Always were.”

  Predictably, David said nothing.

  “Faeries and humans, they just can’t be together. You’ve had a good run and, quite frankly, I’m glad you were there for her when I couldn’t be. But it just won’t work. You’re too different. We might look the same, but faeries and humans have very little in common.”

  Still no response.

  “You can’t have children.”