Quiver

by Lisa Borne Graves

  “What Lucien is unsuccessfully attempting to explain is that you seem…down to earth.” Archer chose his words carefully. “And exceptionally pretty.”

  This last part made him blush, and he peered down at his feet as he walked. He couldn’t look at me when he made the compliment. Was he not used to flirting with girls? I couldn’t believe that. My face flared up warm as well, and my heart was thumping wildly in my chest.

  Lucien coughed and choked down a mocking laugh, but I didn’t care. Being called exceptionally pretty by the most gorgeous boy I had ever seen could not be ruined.

  We entered the cafeteria, and I joined the line with the boys. I had to admit, the food in this school actually appeared by all counts to be edible. I piled on a ton of food, even though I wouldn’t eat it all because I was still nervous. The first day could make or break your entire year; it was a lot of pressure—cool, attractive, and most likely popular table, or the “typical” table. A lot was on the line here.

  I tried to hand the lunch lady my debit card, but she looked at me as if I were stupid and said, “Your boyfriend already paid for you.” She then glanced at Archer, who was waiting for me, holding his tray and suppressing an uncomfortable but satisfied grin. I had to turn away, too embarrassed to hold his gaze. The lunch lady assumed we were together, and it thrilled me. Who else might make that assumption from his innocently kind gesture? And they said chivalry was dead.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” We walked together, following Lucien.

  “Yes, I did. First days are always atrocious. I’d know. We move a lot. I’ve had a lot of first days.” He smiled at me. “You?”

  “Not really. I’ve moved twice in my life. Well, and traveled a bit.”

  “Lucky. I can’t remember how many times I’ve moved. If I had to guess…well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said with a smirk.

  “Military parents?”

  Archer let out a loud, dry laugh. “You could say that. My dad’s in the military. My mother can’t stand staying settled. Divorced, you see, moves around all the time.” Then he stopped as we approached the table.

  The table was almost full, and mostly of boys. Only three girls sat there, one of whom was Archer’s gorgeous sister, surrounded on all sides by boys vying for her attention. The other two girls were sitting comfortably close to two boys, most likely their boyfriends. There were only two chairs left, but Lucien was sliding one over from the next table.

  “What about you? Why’d you move here? Six weeks into your senior year and everything?” Archer asked, highly interested.

  “Hey, we’re saving that for…” Emily began but, on seeing me, stopped.

  “Would it be awful of us to steal Callie today for lunch?” Lucien said in a sweet, adorable voice, leaning slightly toward Emily with a sincere grin and batting his eyes. He was freakin’ batting his eyes. But it was eerily charming, so much so that I thought Emily might literally swoon in her seat.

  “Um…yeah…okay…” Emily stammered with a huge grin. She giggled loudly, blushing. “Anything for you guys.” Then she was a hot mess of giggles, squeals, and whispers. When I was seated, I peeked over to Emily to give her an apologetic look, but she was ogling the boys on either side of me. Now I understood what Archer had meant by down to earth and why Lucien had called them typical girls. They’d meant I was acting like ridiculously hot guys like them were normal, that I wasn’t a boy-obsessed, slobbering, giggling girl. And yet if they could read my thoughts…

  Archer still awaited an answer.

  “Oh, sorry. Yeah, my senior year. I wasn’t happy.” I hesitated, wondering how much I should tell him. I felt like I could tell him everything, but something in me hesitated, reminding me that I hardly knew him, and unloading the truth on strangers was a pretty crummy ice-breaker.

  “Not happy is an understatement. You seem sad.” Lucien scrutinized me, and his green eyes felt freakishly probing. Archer quickly gave Lucien a reprimanding glare and a small shake of his head before he focused his attention back on me.

  I swallowed hard. How could he see that? Was it so plain on my face? “Is it that obvious?”

  “No. Lucien is very observant.” Why did Archer give Lucien another reprimanding glare? What was with their nonverbal communication, and how did they know I was depressed? I felt like I was imposing on some exclusive club they were in, surrounded by secrets and completely lost.

  “Well, I might as well be upfront about it. We came here because my dad is dying. NYU is including him in experimental treatments that might give him more time. He has…a fatal heart condition.”

  “Which one?” Lucien asked.

  I was a bit confused. “That’s weird. Most people jump on the sympathy wagon instead of wanting a detailed diagnosis.”

  “I’m going to major in pre-med,” Lucien said, but somehow, it rang false. Why would he lie, though?

  “Oh,” I replied, still finding it strange. “He has Loeffler endocarditis. It’s a form of hypereosinophilic syndrome—if you’ve ever heard of that.”

  Lucien sighed sympathetically. “I actually have.”

  Archer studied Lucien’s expression.

  Lucien huffed out an uncomfortable breath, and I knew what was coming. “It’s um…a fatal muscular heart disease where the tissue of his heart, like, slowly thickens, which kind of weakens him and deprives his body of oxygen.” Lucien’s gaze met mine. Those rich green eyes held too much sympathy for me to handle, so I turned away and blinked in case tears wanted to come. “I’m really sorry,” Lucien broke a silence that had been forming.

  Then I said the same thing I had said for many years, for what felt like a million times. “Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.”

  “What about your mom? She didn’t mind the move?” Lucien asked. I figured he was trying to change the topic, and little did he know, it was worse territory.

  “I dunno. She died in a car accident when I was little. Seriously, I wouldn’t ask any more questions, or you’ll feel sorry for me, and I hate it when people feel sorry,” I said quietly and uncomfortably. I had an inkling my first day was about to go to shambles. If they apologized one more time, I might scream (that would definitely ruin my first day).

  “We’d never feel sorry for you,” Archer said. I could feel him move slightly closer to me, a shift in weight, his presence and warmth a little closer. My heart leaped to my throat, and my stomach did a somersault. It felt like ages since I had been interested in a boy. Most boys back home would ask me questions and hardly listen to the answers. They were always after something else, and I wasn’t the type of girl to give in to anything of the sort. I wanted to fall in love, and I hadn’t yet met a boy I loved, so things always tended to end before they began. This pleased the parental unit since no one was “worthy of me.”

  “Who is this?” the bubbly, high pitched, and beautiful voice of the blonde from this morning cut off my thoughts. She was scrutinizing me, judging me—harshly, if the calculated look in her eyes was any indicator. Her beautiful blue eyes narrowed at me. They were different than Archer’s when closer up, not as intense in gaze or hue, but a paler, softer blue than his. The butterflies her brother produced in my belly died out, and an anxious sour queasiness overtook me.

  “Callie, this is my twin sister, Aroha,” Archer said, his voice hesitant. “Sis, this is Callie.”

  Aroha gave me a plastic smile. “Wow, you are really pretty, Callie,” she said in a tone that made me feel she wasn’t complimenting me at all. I wasn’t sure how to take it as an insult, but her voice betrayed a vicious undertone.

  I put on my game face. “Um…thank you. You are too.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You must sit with us every day. I insist.”

  “Sure, thanks,” I told her awkwardly.

  It was clear that my fears of not fitting in were well grounded. She was the queen bee of this school, and she was rejecting me. I scrutinized her back, trying to use my innate intuition to read her
twisted, hidden motives. Was it because I was possible competition? At least, that’s how I thought she viewed me. By asking me to sit with them, she was keeping her enemies close.

  But there was more than her thinly veiled rejection that bothered me. There was something about her, odd and out of place. She seemed older, mature, like a middle-aged woman who resides in the Hamptons and travels abroad often. Her air was pompous, her voice aristocratically tight-lipped. The bubble-gum ditzy voice sounded forced. There was nothing real about her character. Her looks, however, were natural under the make-up. She had a regal beauty, like a princess in a Renaissance painting, majestic and ethereal. Aroha was literally the prettiest person I had ever seen, just like her brother was the handsomest.

  “Sorry, she’s a little full of herself,” Archer whispered to me. His breath felt warm and stirred my hair, tickling my ear. I randomly thought of picking honeysuckles with my mother when I was really small. Something reminded me of that, but was it a real memory? I didn’t remember my mother.

  “As she rightfully should be. She’s gorgeous.” I smiled, hiding from him how much she truly bothered me. Aroha, my first enemy in the new school, was related to my new crush—I could never win.

  For the rest of lunch period, I had study hall. It was divided up alphabetically, so I was split off from everyone, except Lucien, whose last name was Veras. It felt nice to get away from Aroha’s penetrating gaze, but I had to admit that I wouldn’t complain about more time with Archer. The study hall monitor nipped any hope of conversation in the bud right away, so I set to work trying to start the mountain of work I had missed in only two subjects so far. This was going to be a rough few weeks of homework.

  Third period was awful. Number one, no one I had met in my other two classes was in it. Number two, it was Greek, which I only took to please my father. And third, there were only ten other kids, all the nerdy type who, I’m sure, were nice, but they took one glimpse of me and silently rejected me, telling me I didn’t belong. An outcast among outcasts made me feel the lowest of the low. I wasn’t extraordinarily smart like these kids, and I cared more about fitting in than they did. They probably could smell the Ambrose popularity wagon scooping me up already. I tried to concentrate on the material, regretting taking a new language right away.

  It seemed like the class would never end, but when it finally did, most of the Greek I had learned as a child had come back to me. I was going to have to spend a lot of time reviewing, since my old school never offered the language. There, I had learned French and hadn’t bothered with Greek since I was ten.

  Fourth period, I suited up in the locker room for gym. Chatty Emily was there without Linda, so she sucked right up to me and offered to let me share her locker. I hadn’t realized we had to lock our school things up, but Emily explained through various long-winded examples that theft still occurred in the school every now and then, despite the school’s prestige. I think she was just obsessively possessive of her new phone. Either that, or she didn’t have as much money as most of the students, which would be why she clung to her material possessions so tightly. I think it bothered her that her family’s wealth wasn’t enough for her. Again, I needed to stop my wild speculations.

  “So, what are we doing right now in class?” I asked.

  “Archery.” She rolled her eyes. “But it’s not so bad because we’re not separated from the boys.” She shimmied into her tight T-shirt and super-short track shorts. She definitely dressed to show off for the boys. I was hopelessly dull in my graphic-T and the appropriate three-inches-above-the-knee shorts. Apparently, dress code rules did not apply to gym class. Either that, or Emily ignored them.

  We trekked outside. It was warm, almost hot if it hadn’t been for the chill in the wind. I hoped for a long Indian summer. As we made it down to the stadium, I noticed Emily staring longingly toward a throng of boys who were goofing around with one another. On seeing us girls, they began to get rowdier, showing off in their idiotic ways, thinking we liked it when they acted like a bunch of apes. Emily did like it, apparently. Well, to each her own.

  Archer was on the periphery of the boys. I couldn’t tell if he saw us or not.

  “Here goes Ar-cher! Ready to show off, as usual.” One boy I hadn’t met yet grabbed him around the neck roughly.

  Archer shoved him off, laughing. “You’re just jealous.”

  He laughed back.

  “I am,” another guy protested. “He’s like a freakin’ chick magnet.” He followed up with buzzing noises as if Archer were some sort of magnetron.

  “Yeah right. He reels them li’l fishies in, but he never closes the deal,” a third boy said smartly, making the rest of them burst out in expressions of disbelief at the third boy’s nerve.

  According to them, Archer wasn’t as experienced as most hot and popular guys tend to be. I wondered if that were true (I really hoped it was).

  “Lay off it!” Archer barked at them and turned to peek over at us. He smiled at me and waved. I waved back.

  “Who is that?” One boy studied me.

  “Callie Syches,” Archer enunciated clearly, his eyes never leaving mine as he said it, and he smirked smugly afterward.

  “Introduce me, man!” the same boy pleaded. He wasn’t bad looking, just a little short and stocky but with a bright smile. He was no Archer Ambrose, though.

  “Fat chance. Introduce yourself,” Archer said, drifting toward Emily and me.

  “Oh my God, he’s coming this way,” Emily squeaked, squeezing my arm so hard, I thought it might bruise.

  “Hey,” Archer said, slightly less confident than he was among the boys. “Two classes, lunch, and we live in the same building. That’s beyond luck.”

  “Who’s the lucky one, me or you?” I countered. This made him smile.

  “Well, I’m the lucky one, but that lot has been giving me hell.” He pointed over his shoulder to the wild apes who were catcalling us. “Please, Callie, I beg you, help me save face?” His eyes really did plead sadly, as did his melodic voice, but his lips curled into a smile. He held out his arm, as a gentleman would for a lady in an old novel. I slipped my arm in his, and he led me down the hill.

  I peered at him out of the corner of my eyes, ignoring the jeers from the boys.

  “What?” He acted all innocent.

  “Like you need saving.” I gave him a fake glare.

  “Everyone does now and then,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I glanced behind for Emily and caught her glowering at me. Her gaze darted quickly away but too late. It was obvious she liked Archer, and he didn’t notice she existed at all. I wasn’t in a position to make enemies, but I wasn’t sure how to remedy the situation.

  Once down on the field, the teacher handed out bows and arrows and told us to partner up. Apparently, they had been working on archery for days now.

  “Know what you’re doing, partner?” Archer subtly asked me to be his partner.

  I had never attempted to shoot an arrow in my life. “No clue,” I responded. I warily examined the weapon in my hand. Weapon, key word, meaning it could kill, especially in my hands.

  “Don’t worry, Callista, is it? Archer will take care of you. State champ last year,” Mrs. Cooper, the gym teacher, informed me proudly. She patted his shoulder, then moved on to the next pair.

  I raised my eyebrows at Archer. “In archery?”

  “Yeah,” he said modestly, shuffling his feet.

  I burst out laughing. Emily defiantly glowered at us, envious of what was going on. I tried to ignore her.

  “What?” he asked, confused. I felt awful for laughing at him (only a little bit, though).

  “How appropriate. Archer, archery.”

  “Think that was the idea. Runs in the family,” he said quietly, smiling.

  “I’m sorry.” I suppressed my laughter.

  “All right, Syches, you give it a try!” he taunted me, pointing to the target. His face lost its humor, and he paled. Then a second later, he swallowe
d hard, and the smile was back on, and he was happy again. What the heck just happened to him?

  “I’ll kill someone.”

  “Injure, maybe. Kill? No. These are pretty dull arrowheads, and the fletching is absolutely dreadful. Cheap crap.” He took the arrow, placed it in the bow, pulled back quickly and naturally as if he shot bows every day, and released. He didn’t even take time to aim, but the arrow hit the direct center of the target.

  “Show off,” I growled, glaring at him.

  My feigned hate made him smile. “Here, try.” He handed it to me.

  Now, I felt embarrassed. I had never attempted to shoot a weapon of any sort in my life, not even in gym class in my old school. “After that?” I asked, astounded that I was supposed to follow after the best archer in all of New York. It’s a huge state with a lot of people.

  “I’ll show you,” he told me, coming closer. Just as during lunch, I could feel his warmth, his presence, near me. The butterflies returned, and my heart raced in anticipation. He put the bow in my left hand, “Right-handed?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He put the arrow in my right. I placed what he told me was the nock in the bowstring, and aimed toward the target. Archer took my hands in his, leaning his body against mine, his head hovering over my shoulder so he could get a better perspective from my angle. I felt his breath curling on my ear and my neck, which made my pulse quicken. I wanted to turn to face him, to kiss him. Underneath the scent of soap, detergent, and cologne, there was this strange earthy, sweet smell emanating from him that was addicting, like honeysuckles. I couldn’t recall a time in my seventeen years of being so drawn, so attracted, to someone.

  Archer gave me some pointers I could hardly comprehend because I was so distracted by how close he was to me. I felt his soft but nimble fingers part my own, placing one above the fletching, one below. He then raised my left hand, aimed me, and let go of me, stepping back.

  “Now, pull back until you feel the strain build, and then release. Keep your left hand steady the entire time,” I heard him instruct. His voice was barely audible over the frantic beating of my heart.