by Dela
“So, which one do you want to do?” I asked before she could go off and ask someone else to be her partner.
She glanced around briefly. Everyone else was already pairing up. She sighed and turned to me. “Maybe we can do the archaeology one. It sounds easier. Plus, I’ve got a friend at the library who knows a lot about this sort of stuff.”
I leaned back, crossed my arms, and chuckled to myself.
“Is this funny?” she asked.
“No. It sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.”
“Well, if you don’t speak up, I won’t know if you don’t want to do this one.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. You choose.” Her quirkiness pleased me so much that I was letting her do whatever she wanted. No, what is wrong with you?
“Okay. Archaeology,” she stated proudly.
Hot air escaped me in a second laugh. The clueless little doll—this will be fun.
“What?” she asked.
“Are you sure? I mean, the Aztecs were pretty gruesome. Lots of blood.” I delighted in rubbing it in as her face washed with disgust. “It might make for a better report. But like I said, you choose.”
It was cute how her nose wrinkled. “You are sick.”
“No, muñeca, actually I’m not.”
She gave me a strange look and opened her textbook. “We’re going with civilization, so start reading.”
I watched her. It was like watching Gabriella make a decision on which bracelet to wear. Zara wasn’t upset; she was flustered.
I looked at her book, wondering what wrongful words were in there about my people. “I don’t need that.”
“Whatever.” She slammed it shut and pulled a notepad and pencil out of her bag. “Then let’s start with what we know.”
The irony was killing me, and I couldn’t help but laugh again.
“Now what is so funny, Lucas?”
“Nothing, nothing. This isn’t going to work. How about you start with what you know, and then maybe I can fill in the gaps,” I suggested.
“Fine.”
I looked over her shoulder as she wrote the two things everybody knew about the Aztecs.
“That’s it?” I asked, unimpressed.
She slammed the pencil down. “Look, you chose this topic!”
“I’m not mad. I told you I would fill in the gaps,” I said, laughing as I raised my hands.
“Yes, you did. So feel free to start.”
She shoved the paper at me, but my eyes skipped to the pencil sitting on her lap. She sat there, oblivious.
“May I?” I asked, reaching for it.
I knew exactly how to push her buttons; my proximity was one of them. I could hear her heart race as I grabbed the pencil, and I took my time backing away, enjoying the pleasure of teasing her. What surprised me, though, were the hot pulses throbbing through my own body.
I glanced down, ignoring the heat I now felt, and wrote in all caps until I’d filled the entire page. “Done.”
Zara stared at it in shock. “Lucas, this is half the report!”
“I know.”
“Well, what else do you know?” she asked ecstatically.
“More than that.”
“Then why don’t we finish it right now?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
She waited patiently as I sat there, thinking. “What’s your e-mail address? Maybe that would be better.”
“Um, okay.” She wrote her address down on a scrap piece of paper and handed it to me. “What’s yours?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t have one,” I repeated dryly. It was a lie. I’d had plenty of alias addresses, strictly for college, in my past. But I wanted to give her one, a personal one—with my name—that had never existed before, but I feared if I didn’t watch what I did, I’d be in even bigger trouble.
She chuckled. “Who doesn’t have an e-mail address?”
I was working out the mechanics in my head when the professor ended class. I sensed Zara’s panic.
“Lucas, how are we going to finish this? It’s due next class,” she asked.
“We are not . . . you are.” I stood and walked away. I could hear the tile clink as she followed me.
“What?” she yelled. “No! Give me your number at least.”
“No,” I replied with a sly grin, thriving on her frustration.
When I returned home, Gabriella was in the den. The windows were open, letting the shade of the cool mountain chill the room—not that I could tell the difference. She sat on the leather couch, staring outside at the creek below. I sensed that her mood wasn’t any good when I stepped in. Her cell dangled between her loose fingers. A text from that Bri girl was across the screen, asking Gabriella to go to Reno with all the girls. Gabriella stared out the window as a tear fell from her eye.
“I’m sorry, Gabriella. But we need to be sure. There is too much at risk,” I said.
“I have to go out with the girls tomorrow night?” she sniffed, unmoving.
“Yes.”
I found myself restless. I walked over to the golden globe and began spinning it.
“Lucas, is there something you are not telling us?”
“Of course not.”
“Dylan told us . . . about you touching her . . . and what you saw.” There was fear in her eyes when I stared back blankly. “And how you aren’t afraid. Lucas, stop it. Stop it all right now. Have you even considered what the Celestials will do if they find out we saved her? Or worse, the war this could start? Please, I beg you, just let her go.”
My blood boiled, but my voice strained past an unintentional chortle. “War? Gabriella, everything is too premature to decide such a fate. If we decide to keep her, we shouldn’t be worried about war or the Celestials. We should worry about Solstice.”
Gabriella stood with a huff and headed for the door. I let her go without argument.
I retired early that evening, but later that night found myself walking past Zara’s house, looking into her lit window. There was something about her that I returned to constantly. My ageless body ticked these days in a way it hadn’t since the transformation.
When I put my hand in my pocket, I felt a crumpled piece of paper. I pulled it out and saw Zara’s e-mail address. I chuckled to myself. I’d never created a personal e-mail account for many reasons, traceable identity being one. But as I looked back up to her window, seeing her on the computer gave me an idea.
I rushed back home and sat on my bed with my laptop. Within minutes I was writing my first e-mail as Lucas Castillo.
To: Zara Moss {[email protected]}
From: Lucas Castillo {[email protected]}
Subject: Reno
So what (or who) is in Reno?
Yours,
Lucas Castillo
I tapped my fingers on the side of the laptop as I obsessively refreshed my inbox. For a moment, I thought it would be quicker for me to go to her house and perch right outside her window to just see what she was doing, but then that seemed rather ridiculous. I restrained myself and rolled the citla between my fingers as I paced in my room. On the tenth roll, my computer chimed. It nearly fell over as I stormed to it.
To: Lucas Castillo {[email protected]}
From: Zara Moss {[email protected]}
Subject: My savior. Really?
Reno is none of your business and I wouldn’t know. I have to do a report all by myself so I’ll probably miss out. My partner sucks.
I’m not yours,
Zara
. . . . . . .
To: Zara Moss {[email protected]}
From: Lucas Castillo {[email protected]}
Subject: Report
Ungrateful. Do you not remember
that I practically wrote the entire thing already?
Yours (whether you like it or not),
Lucas
. . . . . . .
To: Lucas Castillo {[email protected]}
From: Zara Moss {[email protected]}
Subject: NOT YOURS!
How am I supposed to know if what you wrote are true facts? If you’re not going to help, quit e-mailing me.
I left the e-mails at that. I didn’t care if she was upset with me, but I didn’t want to make her hate me. I cared too much about her for that to happen.
The next day, while Zara met her friends inside the cafeteria to keep out of the cooling weather, I stayed with Gabriella and Dylan out at the cars. Gabriella’s braids kept the wind from flapping her hair as she yelled about why I was wrong to save Zara. I argued back, of course, but as I did, she turned to Zara and scowled at her as if she was going to kill her on the spot. My muscles tensed with anger. It was one thing for me to treat Zara coldly, but I would not tolerate Gabriella doing so.
“Gabriella, párate!” I commanded.
She looked back with a cheap, satisfied grin. I ignored her and checked the cafeteria. By Zara’s startled expression, I knew she’d noticed the death threat. I glowered at Gabriella.
“What?” Gabriella snickered and smoothed a loose strand of black hair away from her eyes. “It’s only fair. She has no idea how miserable she is making me right now while we keep her safe. The good news is that the redhead caught the flu. Heard it in the TAs’ office today. Now I don’t have to go out with the girls until next weekend,” she said, sounding relieved.
When I saw Zara coming toward us, I turned toward the lake and began walking. “Nobody can make you miserable except for yourself, Gabriella,” I yelled back.
Dylan straightened from his conspicuous boredom. “Where are you going?”
“A walk. And honestly, Gabriella, you’re going to let a human get you all worked up like this? The poor girl has no idea, give her a break. By the way, don’t wait for me after school. I’m going to get meat for Niya and Malik.”
After I returned from the lake, I walked aimlessly around campus, waiting for Zara to go home. When she did, I left for the market.
When my family arrived in Tahoe, the first thing we did was find a butcher we could trust. We met Joe at the supermarket off Lake Tahoe Boulevard, a smuggler trying to make extra coin for his family. I usually went straight to the alley behind the store for special orders, but I didn’t need too much, so I went inside to pay civilly.
“Hey, Lucas, what can I get you?” Joe said, dropping his customers. The husband and wife waited for a second, confused, then walked away, muttering, when they realized Joe wasn’t going to help them.
“I need twenty pounds of sirloin steak, two turkeys, and six racks of ribs,” I said.
He smiled as he did every time. “Ever going to tell me what you do with all this meat?”
“No.”
He laughed overdramatically and disappeared behind the thick hanging plastic doors. He returned with several packages wrapped in butcher paper, tied tightly with twine.
“Your special order should be here by November,” he added under his breath as I handed him flaps of cash.
“Great.” I didn’t care.
Afterward I decided to go down the dairy aisle for a kick. When I passed the produce, I made a note to never buy avocados from there. They were pathetically small, not like the ones at home, which looked like large squash. I was still wandering the aisles, bored and thinking about how I missed eating like I used to, when I saw Jett staring at me and all the meat I carried. I turned away and left the store to avoid an unnecessary confrontation.
Niya and Malik were waiting for me outside the garage. They drooled as I laid all the meat on the ground and unwrapped each package one by one. When I was done, I threw each piece of meat far into the woods. Niya and Malik had disappeared hundreds of feet into the trees before I could tell them to go, so I sealed the bloody butcher paper tightly, discarded it in the trash, and went in through the garage, wondering if Zara had e-mailed me back.
Zara
CHAPTER SIX
Best Interest
Lucas was insane. Why didn’t he e-mail me back? That arrogant jerk. What, did he think that I was really going to pull this off on my own?
When Ashley caught the flu and canceled our Reno trip, I was tempted to do the rest of the paper myself, but I bit my lip and set the project aside, assuming that he would e-mail me back. But Sunday night came, and he never did.
After dinner I went to my room, crossed my legs on my bed, and flipped open the thin, glossy pages of my history book to chapter 1, “The New World.” In history class sophomore year, we’d brushed briefly on the subject of the New World; unfortunately, it had not advanced my knowledge of the subject. I vaguely remembered Spain, explorers, and Pocahontas, who I was sure was not a real person. Or was she?
As I skimmed for ideas on what to write about, a black-and-white painting of a stele caught my eye. It was a large, flat stone with a warrior carved in its center, facing sideways, holding a club or a head. It was strange, but what stood out to me was the tree standing next to it. I thought its spiraling roots looked familiar.
The next image showed Hernan Cortez, the famous Spanish explorer, in a metal breastplate. The caption read, “The Aztecs and Mayans survived amidst bloody battles between each other until the arrival of Spanish explorer Hernan Cortez, who set in motion the fall of their primitive empires.”
I was yawning, already bored, when my phone buzzed against my pillow. It was a text from Bri:
Everyone is meeting at the slaughter house Wednesday morning to catch some rays before it gets too cold.
The slaughter house was the spot we went to all summer. It was a foreclosed house Bri’d found along the lake earlier that summer. The balcony was right over the water, so we bought cheap folding chairs and left them there for when we decided to go back. I yawned again and rubbed my eyes as I set the history book on the floor.
You should invite that boy from Lucky Pin.
What was Bri on? Lately she seemed like a hippie at Woodstock—too much of this free love.
Funny. I was just thinking how much I couldn’t stand him.
Why are you always so upset lately?
And just do it . . . he’s HAWT.
No.
I put my phone on silent and rolled over, then an idea came to me. I sprang to my desk and shook the mouse to take the computer out of sleep mode.
To: Lucas Castillo {[email protected]}
From: Zara Moss {[email protected]}
Subject: Lake House
Some friends of mine are meeting at Lake Tahoe tomorrow, at a vacant house on Baldwin Beach. You can’t miss it. Why don’t you meet me there and we can finish the report.
Zara
I didn’t expect him to e-mail me back, so I was shocked when I heard the new-mail alert whistling on my computer a minute later.
To: Zara Moss {[email protected]}
From: Lucas Castillo {[email protected]}
Subject: Doesn’t sound fun . . .
And I hate the water.
Ew. Ew. Ew! I clenched my fists and screamed into the pillow. When I’d caught my breath, though, it took minutes to fall asleep.
A rainstorm swept in that night. The wind scraped the branches against my window so loudly that I woke up. The whistling gusts prevented me from falling asleep again, so I lay on my back and let the wind play its song, wondering what Lucas would be like if he were bearable to be around.
When I woke up the next morning, the sky was black. I could hear thunderstorms coming in. Jett called to cancel the lake party and instead came over with Bri and Tommy to watch a movie (in a friend sort of way). On Tuesday, despite the gloom, the girls resumed planning for Reno, hoping the
skies would clear by Friday—so they could wear their slutty clothes, of course. But the odd, omnipresent storm stuck around until Wednesday, and it didn’t look like it’d leave us any time soon. Tahoe’s weather forecasters had no idea where it came from or why it hovered, unmoving, over Lake Tahoe.
“Well, it doesn’t look like it’s getting any worse, so we’re all still going to meet at the slaughter house today in one hour.” Bri had called bright and early. Wednesdays were our off days.
I glanced out my window. It was gray and drizzly. “To do what? Nobody is going to get in the water, and we’ll all get soaked.”
“Why do you always have to be the party pooper? Who cares what we’re doing? Everyone is going to be there, so it’ll be fun.”
“I might stop by. I have to deposit my last check from Lucky Pin and work on my history report that’s due tomorrow.”
I could hear Bri yelling at her little brothers on the other end. “One hour,” she said before hanging up.
I checked my e-mail, curious if Lucas had happened to e-mail me back. Zip. Now I’d have to stop by the library too. That lazy piece of . . .
I cursed under my breath as I dressed. With the storm, everything had cooled off a ton. The leaves were changing colors quickly and falling in flurries that left the branches bare. I slipped into a light sweater, not understanding why anyone would want to go to the lake to hang out. The water would be freezing. But I hopped in the Subaru anyways, turned up the heat, and headed to my bank at the edge of town.
It was a small building surrounded by towering pine trees, just off the 89. Thunder had gradually become constant, and the underbrush rattled as I stepped out into the empty parking lot. I ran inside, out of the drizzle, deposited my check, and went back into the grayness. Then I heard a suddenness of soft whispers carrying on the wind.
I froze in my tracks and checked around for other people, holding my breath. But there was no one. As I looked back at my car, a shower of simultaneous lightning bolts struck the mountainside just past the bank. It was unnatural and terrifying, but amazing—I counted at least fifteen bolts at one time. I stepped out from under the bank’s awning, watching in astonishment as the barrage continued for seconds, then minutes. And then, before I knew it, my ears were listening to musical rain tapping on the asphalt, the lightning had stopped, and the whispers were gone.
