“You and Renee are family?”
“She is my stepsister.”
He nods. “So you moved down here to be with your family?”
“It was an impulsive decision, but I lived here with my parents the first four years of my life. I was born here, so I’m not a total stranger.”
My throat closes up. That’s usually what happens when the conversation touches on my mom.
“Are you okay?” he informs.
I clear my throat. “Yes, my life is sort of complicated. I find it hard to talk about it.”
“Then we won’t.”
I thank him silently in my mind and stare at the horizon for a while.
“By the way,” I say with forced cheerfulness, “since we’re sitting here anyway, maybe you can tell me which category I belong to—not the cool one, not the lame one, so which one then?”
He musters a weak smile. “Why do you want to be labeled so badly? Are you that desperate to belong to a group?”
“Well, isn’t that human nature?”
He lets my words sink in. “Yes, you’re right.”
“I don’t want to spend the last few months in school in total solitude.” I laugh snidely. “But even though I practice my handstand diligently every day, I just don’t seem to be able to get an invitation to Renee’s table,” I joke.
Sam doesn’t laugh. I’m still a little confused about what we are even doing here. Is this really a date, or did he just want me to come watch his show? How does he see me?
“Alternative.”
Did I ask that question out loud? “Sorry?”
“I think you’re an alternative type.”
Visions of alternative types enter my mind: purple dreadlocks, lip piercings, and vegetarian food—although the latter is partly true. I’m just not sure whether to be offended, even though he really just answered my own question. “And you base that on what?”
“I can lay it out for you, if you like,” he says good-naturedly.
“Yes, please.”
He shrugs. “You like to hang out at the beach in temperatures that most people here wouldn’t even think of braving, you ride to school on some sort of ridiculous bike, you eat apples during lunch—probably organic—and you drink soymilk. You don’t want to belong to the lame group, but you don’t want to be part of the popular group either, because you find that superficial.” Sam smiles. “You clearly struggle with your identity.”
I’m too stunned to be angry. “I don’t struggle with my identity, the rest may be true, but to label it as alternative seems like a bit of an overstatement. How did you know about the organic apple?”
“Lucky guess, but it fit into the picture.”
“Are we only going to talk about me, or will I hear something about you now?”
“I’d prefer just to talk about you.” He cocks his head and looks at me with brightly shining eyes, somewhat shyly. “What do you want to know?”
“Which category do you and your friends belong to? Not counting the obvious, since you are rock stars.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “The obvious?”
“Booze and drugs.” I leave out the sex part.
“Ah, that.” He smiles and again a dimple appears in his cheek, turning him into an instant heartthrob. “People like to create stereotypes to make sense out of the world. As soon as we see anything with two legs and wings, we automatically assume it’s a bird.”
“Stereotypes allows us to see things more clearly, otherwise it’s all a mess. You’re dodging the question.”
“I’m not going to be labeled.”
“You just labeled me.”
“You wanted to know how I saw you.”
I did want to know how he saw me, but I hadn’t asked. “I don’t remember asking you?”
“You didn’t have to. I’m good at reading faces.”
I smile. “I think I can live with alternative.”
He answers my smile. “Good.”
“And meanwhile, you know everything about me, even how I eat my fruit, and I don’t know anything about you.”
“I love pomegranate. Preferably organic.”
“You really think you can get away with only telling me that?”
“Let’s say my life is even more complicated than yours. There is no label for me, trust me, I wouldn’t live up to the expectations.”
I look at him with narrowed eyes. “Hmm. Then I’m going to label you enigmatic and inscrutable.”
“I told you I practice combat sport. You know I like making music. I’d say you know more about me than I do about you.” His eyes seek mine.
Storm suddenly comes running our way and stands in between us. Sam gets up in one smooth motion. “Where do you live?”
“Next to the restaurant.”
“Of course, same house as Renee. How did you get here?”
It’s weird that he knows so much about my stepsister. “I walked. It’s a short walk over the beach.”
“Is it okay if I walk you home, or do you want to get back to the harbor, to your friends?”
I look at him, feeling giddy. Sam Laurens wants to bring me home? Me? “No, I… I’m going home.”
“Storm, south!” The dog immediately reacts to the command and starts to run at a steady pace.
The sun set a while ago and a crescent moon is hanging lazily over the vast, dark body of water. Now that we are done labeling each other, we seem to have nothing more to say, and I am both relieved and disappointed when I see the lights of the guesthouse and the restaurant. I want to talk to Sam a little longer, but I simply can’t think of any more questions to ask.
“Laurel, can I ask you a strange question?”
I’m happy with every question. “Sure.”
“Are you in trouble?”
That is a strange question. “Trouble?”
“At school, at home, a boyfriend maybe?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m not sure myself. Forget it.”
“I’m not in trouble.”
He looks at me. “That’s good.”
Confused, I stare ahead of me. This is really weird.
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but that guy that paid for your drinks…”
“Adrian?”
Sam clenches his jaw. “What did he want from you?”
“Why?”
“Do you think you could just answer me?”
I hear a touch of irritation in his voice. “Nothing. I just offered him a drink on the house.”
Sam drops his head. “Excuse me?”
His tongue slips over his lower lip, and for a moment, I can’t think straight. “He recently had dinner in our restaurant and he had to wait for a really long time. I told him that in order to make up for it, next time his drink is on the house.”
“And did he take you up on that offer?” he asks a little rudely.
“What? I don’t know what you’re getting at with all these strange questions, but…”
“Stay away from him! If he comes to the restaurant I want you to stay away from him.”
“Why?”
“Because he can’t be trusted.”
“Why not?”
“Can you just believe me, already?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sure. Thanks for the advice.”
“It’s not advice, Laurel. I’m serious. He’s dangerous.”
It makes me laugh. “I live on an island surrounded by wild animals. I just played with a wolf dog… That’s dangerous.” I straighten up and look away. I’m beginning to feel pretty uncomfortable.
“Listen, you have no idea what he’s capable of and…”
I look up at him. He is at least a head taller than I am. “Why are you doing this? He’s just a guest at the restau
rant, and I think my dad would like to keep him as a customer.”
Sam stops abruptly and pulls his cap off, causing his thick tresses to fall down over his face. With a confused expression on his face, he runs his hand through his hair and I watch him breathlessly, but also cautiously. The sparkle in his eyes has been gone for a while.
“You don’t know him. Believe me, you don’t want to be involved with that guy.”
“He’s just a guest, Sam. That’s all.”
The tension between us is suddenly broken by Storm, and we follow the dog again. Somehow, I feel that our friendship is over before it even began. The atmosphere has changed completely.
I glance at the silent guy walking next to me. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans. His cap is now sticking out of his back pocket. He stops at the cliff and looks up toward the gray-blue building.
“This is it, right?”
“Yep,” is all I can think to say.
Sam stares at me with a blank expression. “I’m going to ask you one more time, did he take you up on your offer?”
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t he?”
Sam towers over me and with an eerily calm voice, he says, “You’ll stay away from him or else…”
“Or else what?”
He curses softly. “I won’t bother you again.” He stalks away with his dog, leaving me standing on the beach.
6
laurel
Sam keeps his promise and doesn’t bother me again. When our eyes meet in the hallways, his are cold. I still don’t understand what happened between us the other night at the beach, but it’s clear that Sam doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. There’s no doubt about it, given his body language.
I exhale deeply. I can’t concentrate at all and I am relieved it’s almost weekend. Annoyed, I look over when someone pokes me in the ribs.
“Homework,” Ava hisses next to me.
“…choose from art, sports, philosophy, or mythology—four thousand words. Hand it in via e-mail and the deadline is May 9th at midnight. This means you still have some time left, but, beware, this essay counts heavily.”
Distracted, I scribble the information on a sheet of paper. When I first saw this subject on the list, I thought we would be doing artsy things like going to the museum. I didn’t think it would involve writing long essays about ancient times. And a paper on sports? I am not interested in sports in modern times, let alone in antiquity. I shake my head and laugh.
“Am I boring you, Miss Harper?”
When I hear my last name I shoot up. “No, Mister Thomas.”
He observes me carefully from behind his glasses. “You are not mocking the Hellenes now, are you?”
“I wouldn’t dare.” People around me start laughing, and one of the girls—who has two distinctive moles on her forehead—gives me a long and thoughtful look. I smile briefly and shift my focus back to the teacher.
“Theater, democracy… without the Greeks we would be nowhere. Only when you understand the old Greeks, can you truly understand the Western world. Are you sure that’s what you want, Laurel?”
“I’m very sure.”
“Good, in that case, you can write five thousand words. Have a great weekend all.”
Because protesting would be pointless, I close my book and notebook, drop them into my shoulder bag, and slide out from behind my table. First stop is the library, followed by the beach. Time to soak in some negative ions.
Someone grabs me by my braid.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ava asks.
“Ehm, to the library.”
“Oh, please,” Ava says rolling her eyes. “You’ve been avoiding us forever, giving vague answers. It’s about time we have coffee.”
It’s crowded in the Cakery. Waitresses are running in every direction with decorated cupcakes and pieces of cake with tempting toppings. I’m glad I came along, but I also realize that I am being led to the slaughterhouse.
“Well?” Ava asks in a sweet voice. She doesn’t waste any time.
I take the cherry from the cake and put it in my mouth. “Well what?” I ask, chewing.
“Well, for starters, was he any good?”
I almost choke on my cherry. “Good at what?”
“Jeez, you don’t catch on quickly do you? At kissing of course.” Ava blushes at her own question. “And don’t leave out any details,” she commands.
I swallow the cherry. “What is this? The Spanish Inquisition? That’s been over for quite some time now, you know.” Ava keeps staring at me without blinking. Obviously, she’s not going to back off.
“Was it wild, just like the way he plays the guitar?” She narrows her eyes. “Did he push you against a wall? He looks like the kind of guy who would do that, doesn’t he Maude?”
“Hmm.” Maude takes a sip of her coffee and studies me in silence.
I try to block out the image that comes to my mind. I will never find out what kind of guy he is. “No, Ava. He didn’t push me against a wall, or any other hard surface for that matter. We were at the beach, remember?”
“He kissed you on the sand, then?”
Ava’s persistency is worth an award. “He didn’t kiss me, Ava.”
She looks disappointed. “Then what did you guys do?”
“We talked. Played with his dog. Then he walked me home.”
“Sam walked you home?” Maude asks.
“Yeah, he did.”
“Wow,” Ava says very impressed. “First he walks you to class, and now he walks you home… He likes you.”
“No, he doesn’t,” I protest, “he’s just polite.” I pick up my fork, hoping the questioning is over.
Maude eyeballs me. “Does he want to see you again?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, why not?”
“We had some words, and then he just left me standing on the beach.”
Ava scrunches up her nose. “What is it with those boys? I think we should boycott them from now on, no more gigs,” she suggests. “They don’t deserve our attention.”
“Well, that’ll bother them, Ava,” Maude says sarcastically, hardly impressed by her proposal.
I shrug my shoulders. “Sam can do whatever he wants. I didn’t ask him to take me home, he offered to do it himself.”
“There’s just no figuring them out,” Ava says. “Renee tried and got dumped. A lot of other girls tried and were rejected, and now you were left behind on the beach. If we’re not good enough for them, then screw them.”
I don’t feel like talking about it any longer and put the fork on my plate. I reach for the phone in my bag and check the library’s opening hours. I can still make it if I hurry. I leave some money on the table and get up.
“I need to get some books real quick. I’ll see you guys on Monday.”
At the counter, I order another soy latte and I rush through the sauntering crowd.
“Busy, or are you just walking this fast because you’re late?”
When I inhale, the hot drink ends up in my windpipe. A coughing fit forces me to stand still.
Sam looks worried. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. And I am running late, so I have to keep going.”
“I would like to talk to you, when you’ve got the time.”
“If it’s about evil maniacs on the loose, I’ll pass—for any other subject, I can give you five minutes while we walk to the library.”
He nods. “Understood. I didn’t have the right to talk to you the way I did at the beach. But I was worried about you.”
“You don’t have to be. Before I met you I managed just fine by myself. I am tougher than I look.”
“I know you are.”
I try to keep my goal in mind and not allow myself to be distracted by the exceptionally gorgeous f
ace next to me. We walk through the city park and end up at a busy intersection. The library is across the street. I cock my head. “Was that it?”
“Listen, I’m sorry for the way I abandoned you at the beach.”
I nervously take a sip of my coffee. It buys me time to let his words sink into my foggy brain. “Okay.” I glance at his slim figure, then cross the busy street with a vague feeling of butterflies in my belly and slip into the library. I blow a strand of hair out of my face and look for the information desk.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where I can find the section on classical antiquity?”
A woman with short graying hair looks up at me apologetically. “I could, young lady, but it’s closing time. You are welcome to come back Monday morning.”
“Please,” I beg. “Just one minute. I promise I’ll be gone before you know it.”
“The last patrons have left, and I just shut down the computer. I was about to lock the door.”
“It’s for a school assignment, and I really need the books this weekend,” I persist.
“I’m sorry, dear. Come a little earlier next time.” She studies the sticky notes attached to the monitor. She has already forgotten about me, even though I am still standing right in front of her in disbelief.
“According to the opening hours on the door, the library is still open for exactly four minutes.”
The monotone voice makes me turn around.
“That’s all we need. I know the way.”
I watch bewildered as Sam starts to work the library lady with his charming smile. His eyes do the rest of the work. The older woman can only stare. At Sam. Poor lady, I know all too well how she must feel. She can hide behind the counter or seek cover behind the cart with stacks of returned books, but she doesn’t stand a chance. His eyes leave you helpless.
“Time’s a-wasting,” Sam says.
“Well, I guess a few minutes won’t hurt,” she says with a blush on her cheeks. Then she turns to me. “No coffee near the books!”
Sam snatches the cup from my hand and puts it on her desk. “Thank you for your cooperation, we will be fast.” He puts his hand on my lower back and almost pushes me up the stairs. On the second floor he ushers me into a room. He stops at an aisle and lets me go first. “An entire wing of classical antiquity. Go ahead, you’ve got three minutes left.”
House of Guardians Page 5
