Under Ground

by Alice Rachel

  He has caught me blushing under his stare—an obvious sign that he interests me. I didn’t mean to open that door to him; I didn’t mean to seem inviting. And now, it’s too late to turn back and pretend that I didn’t care about his watching me. I hide my confusion by looking at my feet, but I can still feel him contemplating me, just for a few seconds before his gaze shifts away. I look up, but he’s watching the game now. A pang of disappointment grasps my heart, a part of me hoping he was still staring.

  My heart races when I gaze at him. Everyone around me will soon hear its beat and turn around to judge me. They will see the shameful thoughts printed all over my face in scarlet letters. I cast one quick glance around to make sure no one has witnessed this reprehensible exchange. My parents are deeply enthralled by the game, and everyone else is either chatting or watching the match. No one’s paying attention to me—no one but that one boy that is.

  His image is now printed in my mind, his face filling my vision. I have this desperate need to look at him again. I know I shouldn't, and it makes me want to do it even more. I try my best to focus on William instead, but to no avail. I can’t control this urge inside me. I turn around and study the boy's profile. He’s as handsome from the side as he is from the front. That thought alone makes my heart ache with deep longing. I find myself wanting what I know I can’t possibly have, and I know it’s bad, really bad.

  He must have felt my eyes upon him because he shoots me a glance from the corners of his eyes. It lasts but a flicker of a second, just long enough for my heart to jump with frantic joy. I somehow care what this boy thinks of me, knowing quite well that in the end it won't ever matter. This encounter won't lead anywhere; I’ll never know anything more about him. I’d better forget it ever happened.

  I hold my hands together, take a breath, and watch William for the rest of the game. But focusing on William is a struggle.

  And then the game is over, just like that. It has passed me by as I was fighting the mayhem inside my mind. Everyone moves. I look around to find the boy, but he's nowhere to be seen. Disappointment runs through me as I realize I might never see him again. We head down the stairs and join William’s family at the bottom. I’m so distracted I don’t even understand what’s being said. Mrs. Fox is talking, so it’s probably nothing I care to listen to. After the match—which William’s team apparently won—my parents and I go back home. I walk through the rest of the day in a trance.

  I pretend to be aware of my surroundings, and no one says anything to me. It’s easy to fake it when no one pays attention to you to begin with. It’s Sunday, so I claim I have homework to do. I go to my room and sit on my bed with a book, but my mind is gone. I see him, the boy, in front of my eyes, his face still quite clear. I wish I had never seen him to begin with, because now I know what longing feels like: It feels like misery.

  Chapter 6

  I can't stop thinking about him. At dinner last night, when my parents were lecturing me about my upcoming wedding, my mind kept drifting away. I was trapped, caught in a web of my own thoughts spinning over and over again. I found an imaginary refuge in his facial features, a perfect way to block out everything else around me. I tried to envision what his voice and laughter sound like, and I spent far too much time giving him made-up names, wondering which one might fit him the best.

  When my mother finally snapped me out of it, I claimed I was daydreaming about my wedding. It was still rude that I hadn’t been listening, but it was better for them to think it was because of William than for me to acknowledge the truth. I keep hoping against all hope that I might see him again, a wish both dangerous and childish on my part. I have no rights to try and get to know a man other than William; the punishment for it would not be worth the risk.

  "Miss Clay," a voice calls out to me, shattering the picture of him I was drafting somewhere in my reverie. "Earth to Thia Clay," the social studies teacher speaks louder. I sit up, fully awake, my back suddenly straight.

  "Would you mind sharing what has captured your attention, Miss Clay? Or would you rather answer my question?"

  "I apologize, Sir. I didn't hear your question," I acknowledge, flushing in shame. I lower my gaze as a few girls snicker around the classroom.

  The teacher rolls his eyes and calls for another student to answer. She's quick to respond and prove that, unlike me, she was paying attention. "Attempt at divorce today leads to imprisonment, Sir," she tells him.

  I almost snort with disdain. Divorce is only a concern for women. Men, after all, hold all the possessions. If a man is tired of his wife, he can simply have her committed while he holds on to the belongings. Women don't have that luxury. Some of them are desperate enough to choose their own demise and commit suicide rather than remain married. The situation of women is always dangerous and unstable. A woman never knows if her marriage will hold, and her life can be over if her husband wishes it.

  Being a woman in this world is anything but enjoyable. The unfairness of our situation makes me mad, but I can never fully acknowledge it, even to myself. In my heart, there is this hidden place where anger is always boiling. I constantly try to quiet down the wrath raging inside me because showing anger would be dangerous, maybe even fatal. I've heard rumors about what happens to those who don't comply, those who digress and break our strict rules, and that has been enough to convince me I have to keep my thoughts a secret.

  "Correct, Miss Wilson," the teacher says. "And what happens to the girls who refuse to follow all common sense? To those who transgress?" he asks Melissa, his eyes shifting to me quickly in disapproval.

  "They are disowned by their families, Sir."

  That's exactly what would be happen to me were I to disobey. My parents would kick me out of their house. I would have nowhere to go. I doubt anyone would be willing to take me in, for fear it might tarnish their reputation.

  "Correct. And what happens to those girls?" the teacher asks.

  "They become homeless."

  "Yes, and rightfully so," he replies.

  I have to breathe deeply to remain impassive. I’ve seen some of those girls before; they roam our streets like wraiths before disappearing into oblivion, so inconsequential that they end up fading away. I think about the boy I saw at the football field and suddenly hope never to see him again. He had trouble written all over that impish smile of his. I don't need this kind of temptation in my life.

  ***

  The rest of the month is filled with classes that do nothing but insult my intelligence, followed by painful meetings with the Foxes on weekends. William ignores me every single time. Thus far, all he has proven is that I'm not worth the effort of a mere interaction. I might as well turn into the brainless decorative plant that he believes me to be. I just take my fate like a pill, swallow it down, and try to digest the multiple offenses I undergo on a daily basis, my fists discreetly clenched in anger, my fake smile hiding my grinding teeth.

  I hope today will help change William's attitude toward me though. A ball has been organized at his school. This is our first official date, the first outing involving just the two of us. William is to pick me up at my house. I’m terrified at the thought of being alone with him. I don’t even know what he likes. I’m afraid the conversation might run dry really quickly. I have to seem knowledgeable and avoid any idle small talk that would make me sound like a foolish girl. Mother has put a lot of emphasis on all this, and she has put a lot of work in choosing the perfect dress for me, too.

  All day long, my heart has been pounding to the point where it might explode. Every so often, I’m able to breathe, calm down, and think about something else. But any time I think about the ball and the car ride to William's school, my heart starts hammering again. Because William comes from a higher part of the upper class, his family owns a car, which is quite rare. Only the richest members of our society are allowed to possess a vehicle. The rest of us must take the trains dedicated to our different social ranks.

  The moment William comes to pick m
e up arrives faster than I expected, and when the chimes ring, my heart stops beating. Walter opens the door. William’s driver is there waiting. My mother looks at me one last time and nods. I look good enough that I may proceed to the car. I walk to the front door like a condemned woman on death row. I try to breathe over and over again. Breathe, I tell myself, the trick is to keep breathing and not faint.

  The driver leads me to the vehicle. I’m shocked to see it’s a limousine. Such luxury implies that William’s family is even wealthier than I had realized. The back door is open. The driver takes me to it, and I step inside as graciously as possible. William is there sitting in the back seat. He doesn’t turn his head as I get in. He’s looking outside the window as if he can’t get far enough from me. This promises to be a great date! I clear my throat to indicate that I’m here though for sure he’s aware of my presence. He finally deigns to turn his head and look at me. He sizes me up, but he doesn’t smile. He just nods his head to greet me.

  The car starts and my heart squeezes slightly.

  "Are you thirsty?" William asks me.

  My throat is dry. I could definitely use a drink.

  "We have soda, juice, or liquor," he adds.

  I’ve never been in a car before. I’m surprised there’s actual alcohol in it and even more shocked that William is allowed to drink it. I’ve never drunk spirits before, but I’ve heard they can confuse your senses and blur your thoughts.

  "Juice, please."

  He fills a cup for me, hands me my drink, and pours himself a glass of soda mixed with vodka. I’m not sure if he just wants to try it or if he’s more nervous than he's letting on and needs the alcohol to relax.

  I look at him and find myself stunned by the splendor of his face, his features sculpted with delicacy and refinement. His aloofness is still keeping me at bay though, making him unreachable. It's been close to impossible for me to connect with him. I hope tonight will help improve our relationship and that I'll finally get a bit closer to him. As soon as his glass is full, William just stares outside the window. He takes a sip and ignores me completely. I want to talk to him, but I don’t know how. He's hiding behind that wall he has built around himself to keep me and everyone else at a secure distance. I don’t know how to catch his attention.

  He suddenly turns his face and puts his eyes on me. “Do you often write poetry?”

  His question surprises me. I stutter some kind of answer. I sound horribly dim, unable to find my words. I take a deep breath. “Yes, I do.”

  “What do you write about?”

  I don’t trust myself to tell him what most of my poems truly involve, so I describe the ones I show everybody else. “I write about things that touch me. The poem I read at dinner was an ode to my late grandfather.”

  William looks at me as shock and embarrassment flicker through his eyes. “I’m sorry my mother was rude about it then,” he says. “Sometimes she can be cruel, just for the sake of it.”

  I stare at him for a bit too long. Do William and his mother not get along as well as she would like us to believe? I want to say that it’s okay, to make him feel better, but it would be a lie. It is not okay, and thinking about his mother's behavior just makes me mad all over again. I clear my throat and change the subject.

  “Do you sometimes write also?” I ask.

  “No, that’s not a skill of mine, I’m afraid,” he replies before taking a sip of his drink. “I do read a lot though.”

  I love reading too, which means that William and I have something in common after all.

  "What do you like to read?" I ask.

  "Science fiction," he replies. "I own a lot of books. My father also has a huge library in his office. If you're interested, I might show you one day."

  I nod with enthusiasm, my body now fully turned toward him.

  "I also enjoy poetry," he adds, not smiling once as he speaks.

  I would never have guessed that William could be sensitive enough to appreciate poetry. Maybe I could grow to love him after all. William and I might get to know each other better tonight. I feel lighter now.

  "What's your favorite book?" I ask, truly curious about him.

  "The Picture of Dorian Gray," he answers, with a tiny smirk. "I find the character truly likable. He's quite an inspiration, really."

  "I've never read that novel. Would you lend it to me someday?" I ask.

  His left eyebrow rises and he takes a few seconds to study me, his eyes slightly narrowed as if I were an enigma he couldn't quite understand.

  "Sure," he replies. His hand reaches for mine, and I accept it more willingly than I thought I would.

  By the time we reach the school, I've relaxed and feel more comfortable in his presence. After stopping the car, the driver opens the back door for us. William walks out first and extends his hand for me to grab. I take it and step out. He puts his arm under mine and leads the way. We step under a porch before reaching the courtyard. There, many students are standing around or talking together. There are more boys than girls since only those with a match living close-by could bring a girl with them.

  William looks around as if he's searching for someone. Then he leads me toward the gymnasium where the ball is taking place. The outside is decorated with paper lanterns and ribbons. The music is pounding loudly from inside the building. As we get closer, more students appear in my view. Most of them are chatting, with drinks in their hands.

  William's green eyes dart around some more before he takes me inside. The gymnasium at my school is big, but this one is gigantic. Posters representing the different teams ornament the walls. I recognize the one for the football team: a blue panther engulfed in purple flames. The floor is covered with confetti. A disco ball is hanging from the ceiling, reflecting lights all around the dance floor. No band was hired for this event. Instead, a DJ has taken the job.

  William takes me further in. He doesn’t look at me once. Maybe he’s simply nervous. He pulls me in as quickly as possible, drops my arm, and finally turns to me. "Do you want a drink?"

  I nod and he heads to the punch table to fill two cups. I use that time to study my surroundings and observe the other couples. Some of them seem nervous while some others are familiar with each other. All the girls are wearing blue dresses.

  William walks back to me, his head held high with pride. I catch his eye when he gives me my drink. I open my mouth to talk, but his glance shifts right away, cutting me off. I can’t tell if he’s just extremely shy or truly inconvenienced with having to bring me here tonight. If anything, I should be the nervous one. It is my future resting in his hands after all and not the other way around.

  I'm about to reach for him when he says, "I'll be right back." And just like that, he’s gone. It’s as if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  His attitude is upsetting me. The boiling anger surfaces, erupting slowly, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain it this time. I cross my arms and send him a nasty glare as he turns his back on me. The arrogance and rudeness of this family is getting on my last nerve. I didn’t ask to be dragged to this stupid ball. The least he could do is act like he appreciates my presence here. I watch him closely as he walks toward his friends. They tap him on the back when they see him. I notice that one guy doesn’t though; he just holds out his hand for William to shake.

  I'm vexed that William didn’t care to present me to his friends. I wonder if he’ll have the decency to do so at some point, but seeing how things have gone so far, I don’t really count on it. Am I that repulsive that he’s trying to hide me like some nasty little secret?

  I thought we had managed to cross a bridge and reach toward each other in the car. I thought I'd be more comfortable around William. But now, I realize I was wrong. William is not interested in me. I’m just a formality, something he has to deal with, and he doesn’t want to put any effort into our relationship. His snubbing me makes my position quite unstable and shaky, and I’m not comfortable with that.

  I keep on
staring at him with anger. I couldn't care less if he sees me. He’s being rude. I wish my eyes could throw daggers so he would fall down on the spot. I’m so mad that my life and future are resting in the hands of such a careless, inconsiderate jerk that I’m shaking at the mere thought of it. But he just stays there, talking to his buddies and laughing as if nothing’s the matter. I have a sudden urge to walk up to him and slap him right in the face in front of all his friends. The anger is still rising from within. Something new is taking shape inside my heart. It’s not hatred really, but something close to it. Right now, I just truly despise William, and knowing I'll have to spend my life with him makes me want to throw up.

  I'm ready to walk out of this place when a gap opens in the group and he appears—the boy who held out his hand for William to shake. It’s him—the boy from the stadium. I stand here, frozen. Of course, his presence at the football field means he’s going to William’s school. Why didn't I put two and two together?

  I stare at him a bit too long, and he must have felt it because his eyes rise to take me in, for just one second. It doesn’t seem like he has recognized me, and disappointment seizes my heart right away, tearing at it. What I felt during the football game was not returned. This boy is like all the others, and I am nothing to him. But then, his eyes meet mine again and remain there. I can't look away; his gaze is holding mine with intensity. He doesn’t smile, and I forget to breathe. I avert my eyes. I’m blushing. I'm embarrassed at how my cheeks keep on betraying me. When I dare steal a glance again, his eyes are still devouring me whole and I get nervous that someone might catch him staring.

  I turn around and walk to the punch table. I’m walking on a cloud, as if I were flying. I step as steadily as I can in my high-heels, with emotions rushing through my core.