by Shaila Patel
The walk to school would take exactly fifteen minutes at full speed. At half past seven, I bolted downstairs, yelled a goodbye, and ignored Mom’s blessings for a good first day. She used to make a whole religious production out of it until I told her I always rubbed off the red kanku from my forehead so I wouldn’t get made fun of. It had taken years of whining, but she’d finally stopped.
I casually walked off our porch and glanced in either direction for our new neighbor. Except for Mrs. Tolbert walking her dog and the sound of a distant lawn mower, a hollow emptiness surrounded me. I exhaled sharply, not realizing I’d held my breath.
I peeked over my shoulder several times while walking but never saw him. The back entrance of the school and parking lot were crowded, and my eyes darted from face to face, visually barging in on students reuniting with friends. A strange sense of excitement surged through me at the idea of seeing him. Would he be late for his first day at a new school? Could he already be here? The house had been sold in early August, so his parents would’ve already enrolled him somewhere. Maybe he’d be going to a private school. I bit my lip at the thought and rubbed my chest.
What is wrong with me? I didn’t even know what he looked like up close or what grade he’d be in. He could be in college, for all I knew.
His smile flashed across my mind. Would I ever get to see it again?
God, Laxshmi. Get a grip.
I’d memorized my schedule weeks ago—school was my thing, after all. First period was AP U.S. History, which was right around the corner from my bank of beige, paint-chipped lockers. With all the first day reunions, the main artery of the school was crowded and noisy. The familiar smell of locker-room mildew, over-perfumed teenagers, and a faint smell of new pencils tickled my nose.
I waved to two good friends and dancing buddies, Caitlyn and Bailey. They were twins, and the combo of their pale blond hair and willowy frames turned heads wherever they went.
I bopped Bailey on the arm. “I heard you’re moving ballet studios.”
“Yeah, I am.” We hugged each other. “Don’t you want to join me?” She, in particular, had taken my quitting hard. We both had dreams of auditioning for UNCSA and transferring for our last two years of high school. Her audition hadn’t gone so well though, and now she’d set her sights on majoring in dance in college. She was getting to live my dream.
“You know I can’t,” I said. “It’ll all be about Indian dancing this year. Sorry. But I can still help with drill team, if you need me to.”
“Now that I’m captain, we’re counting on it,” Caitlyn said, giving me a hug.
The five-minute warning bell rang, and we said our goodbyes.
I maneuvered around the cliques of students and throngs of clueless freshmen and found my class. Colonial posters with white men in wigs, black slaves, and women in pouffed dresses had been tacked up everywhere. I slid into a middle desk in the row closest to the door. It wasn’t too eager of a seat, nor did it scream slacker. Being by the door meant I could make a quick exit and avoid the bottleneck of students when class let out. I didn’t like crowds. They always made me feel awkward and self-conscious, as if they could somehow do more than just invade my personal space.
At the sound of the bell, Mr. Owens closed the door at the back of the room and walked to the front, sharing his class rules along the way. Since taking AP U.S. History was considered an elective, both juniors and seniors filled the class.
Roll call began, and when the teacher paused, I knew it was my name he was stuck on. “Lax … my—me?” Mr. Owens said.
I rolled my eyes and raised my hand, in case he couldn’t see the only Indian girl in the room. Hiding in a deep, dark hole sounded good right about now. “It’s Luck-shmee, Laxshmi Kapadia,” I pronounced for him. “Here.”
After a few more names, he called Jack Thomas. Jack had been part of my life since his sister Shiney and I had become best friends in fifth grade. They were South Indian Christians, and because of that and my friendship with Shiney, Mom tolerated Jack’s presence. Otherwise, the mere mention of a boy’s name would send her on an anti-male campaign to protect her precious daughter’s virginity.
Jack had his irritating, frat boy-like moments, but his older brother routine was sweet—when he wasn’t bossing me around. His ever-present rugby or soccer jerseys paired with longboard or cargo shorts—worn spring, summer, fall or winter—always made me shake my head. He’d even told me he’d marry me if Mom kept up with her ranting. We’d always had a good laugh about that. Mom randomly spewed garbage about how no one would marry me since she was a widow and considered unlucky. Even in India she’d be old-school.
The teacher finished roll call and scanned the room. “Anyone else?”
From the back of the class, a strong, deep voice with an Irish accent resonated through the room. “There is. The front office told me to give this to you.”
Everyone turned to follow the new kid as he came up my aisle to meet the teacher. He smiled at me, and a funny blip in my chest bubbled up and became a lump lodged in my throat.
It was him.
He wore a brand of jeans I’d never seen before, and they fit him the way a pair should fit a guy—good enough to make me bite my lip and take notice. Several girls ooo’d and ahh’d, and it made me grit my teeth. What am I jealous for?
“Liam Whelan, right?” Mr. Owens looked at the transfer paperwork. “Welcome to Cary and your first period homeroom.”
Liam thanked him and turned to come back up the aisle, and gorgeous, pale-green eyes locked onto mine.
Oh, God. Look away. Look away. But I couldn’t. He was absolutely divine, like one of those Michelangelo statues we’d learned about in Art History.
Was he trying to hide a smile? Ugh. How arrogant. He obviously recognized me. Hadn’t my reading light been shining on my face? The thought made me sink deeper into my seat. Breathe in, breathe out.
I had yet to get a good look at his other features, but at first glance, his dark brown hair clashed with my idea of what an Irish guy should look like. He did have a kind of international swagger separating him from the boys at our school. Most of them were lumbering goofballs, walking around like they didn’t fit into their legs.
Mr. Owens handed each student in the front row a stack of history books. As they got passed to me, I turned halfway in my seat to continue sending them down, one at a time. With my breathing under control, I glanced in Liam’s direction with a flick of my eyes. He was talking to Jack on the other side of him, who was probably assigned to show him around. Jack loved volunteering for stuff like that. It gave me a good chance to observe Liam while he wasn’t looking my way.
With the way he leaned back in the seat with his legs spread out, he showed a confidence I didn’t see in the other boys. A small Adam’s apple interrupted the line of his throat. I imagined touching the little speed bump and the stubble around it and shivered. Thick, brown eyebrows framed his eyes, but didn’t overpower them in an old-man way. A slight scruff shadowed Liam’s defined chin and jaw, surrounding full, pink lips. He was animated as he chatted, showing more personality than the boys who tried to act cool. I almost envied Jack. Liam laughed at something and raised his muscular arms to run his hands through his hair.
I gasped at the gorgeous image it created, and my lower abdomen clenched without warning. I spun back around in my desk. What the hell was that? I covered my stomach with my hand, wondering if it would happen again. I waited before turning back around. When my gaze settled on Liam, he was looking down with his shoulders shaking. Jack must really be a riot today.
Mr. Owens passed out some paperwork, and it gave me a chance to study Liam again. I’d had countless crushes over the years, but no guy had ever made my heart jump. Even my lip hurt from biting it so hard. I wanted to scream at myself for acting so stupid about a guy. Whatever this was, my reaction wasn’t normal. Maybe those pancakes were bad this morning.
Mr. Owens cleared his throat,
grabbing Liam’s attention, and I whirled around to avoid getting caught gawking.
Liam definitely had the jock-bad-boy vibe going, and I was too timid to tame a wild animal.
When the end-of-class bell rang, I took my time gathering my things. I didn’t want to run into Liam in case Jack had kept him by the door to talk. They’d been pretty chatty during the lulls in class. If they were out there, Jack would pull me into an annoying headlock, like he always did. My heart couldn’t take any embarrassment today. I entered the hallway, peeking left and right, but there was no sign of them. I sighed. Both relief and disappointment swamped my senses, confusing me even more.
I walked around the corner to my locker and froze. Apparently, Fate loved a joke at my expense. Jack was standing with Liam at his new locker, which was two down from mine. Two doors down from me at home and here?
Could my life get any weirder?
I quickly debated whether I needed to drop off my history book at all and decided to carry it for a period or two until I could gather enough courage to return. I darted to the other side of the main artery, but Jack spotted me. Crap.
“Hey, girl!” he bellowed.
Seriously? He always called himself a brown Ryan Gosling. I waved halfheartedly and sped up.
“Wait up, Laxshmi.”
I stopped and then inched around. Please don’t bring Liam. Please don’t bring Liam.
He was bringing Liam.
“Dude, this is Laxshmi. She lives on your street. You haven’t met, right?”
“No,” Liam said. “We haven’t met—formally.” His lip curled up slightly.
Not formally? Ha! My stomach was twisting in knots, and he looked amused. I almost snorted out loud.
“Hey, Lucky. I’m Liam.” He reached out his hand to shake mine, changing his amused smile into a businesslike one. The nickname sounded flattering coming from him, even though I never let anyone call me Lucky. But the way he lilted the L sound …
I widened my stance a bit to keep my balance. My mouth was so dry I cleared my throat to say hello. I reached for his hand, and a spark flared when we touched, like a static charge on a dry, winter day. Both our gazes shot down to our hands before our eyes met again. His forehead wrinkled for a second before he smoothed it out.
I felt oddly comforted by his strong hands, like turning on the light in a dark room, and my heart slowed its pounding. His eyes kept me hostage, or maybe I was just stupid enough to stare.
This is bad. Really bad.
Jack gave him a you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-her chuckle. “Nah, man, she doesn’t like being called Lucky.”
“Ah, sure.” Liam kept his focus on me when he spoke.
Our hands slid apart slowly. They’d fit together perfectly, and I missed the comfort. My heart protested the loss by throwing a tantrum against my chest. I stretched out my hand at my side. My fingers tingled. Weird. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he flexed his fingers too.
“Uh, yeah, it’s Laxshmi. Not Lucky.” My voice squeaked. I averted my gaze. Wow. That should set him straight.
While Jack was telling Liam how to get to his second period class, I casually raised my eyes to Liam. He was studying my face instead of listening to Jack, and he grinned when our eyes met. Oh. Wow. This smile was wider, with dimples, and seemed genuine, not like his other smiles. Surprise flashed across his face, and then he schooled his features, probably realizing he didn’t want to turn on the charm for a girl like me.
“I’ll be seeing you around then,” Liam said to me. The businesslike smile returned. “Jack, meet up with you later, yeah?”
Why couldn’t I breathe? I’d never acted like such a dunce around a guy I was crushing on, but then again, none of them had ever really spoken to me.
“Yeah, see you later, man.” Jack said. “‘Bye, Laxshmi.” He threw a soft punch at my shoulder before leaving, jarring me out of my stupor.
At least he didn’t put me in a headlock.
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. I glanced down and wiggled my fingers. The tingling was fading, and I missed it. So did my subconscious, apparently.
And with one smile, he stole my heart,
Its beat, a wail, at being apart.
Ugh. I managed to start walking, but kept remembering his eyes and how he’d studied me. When was I ever going to learn? My first crush was in second grade. Nicholas Basel. Unrequited—like all the rest since. It was as if there was something unlikeable about me, something so different that I was an anomaly needing to be ignored.
“I’ll be seeing you around then.” Liam’s voice echoed in my head.
CHAPTER 7
Liam
I left second period French, glanced at the map Jack had given me, and headed to calculus.
I’d gotten some Secondary schooling at home because of all the moving about. I’d already studied calculus, American and European literature, several history intensives, some of them in Irish, business classes to help manage the estate, and European poetry, thanks to Da claiming verse as a building block for love. I’d seen it as preparation for my role as clan leader. If not, I’d have spent the summers there hanging about with my cousins causing trouble, no doubt.
I didn’t mind the poetry as much as I let on, and I suspected Da of knowing that too. On the rare occasion we got hammered down at our family’s pub, we’d start reciting Thomas Moore or Yeats, each of us trying to top the other for a better quote. Those were some of my favorite nights.
Every other memory was soul mate, soul mate, soul mate. Mo shíorghrá, Da called it in the Gaelic. My eternal love.
I stepped into my calculus class. The teacher, Mrs. Lenko, was explaining the seating chart in a heavy, Russian accent. Her tight bun and drawn face wouldn’t be brooking any arguments. A seating chart was being passed around the room, and once I filled out my name, it’d be my assigned spot for the year. I glanced around the room. An empty desk stood right behind Lucky.
Lucky. I’d been feeling exactly that when Jack introduced her to me. The nickname suited her. I’d wanted to touch her something fierce and had held out my hand, hoping she’d take it. I’d not expected the sizzle up my arm. At first, I’d thought it was static, but what sort of static kept on for several minutes?
I slid in behind Lucky and waited to make myself known to her. When the seating chart came to me, I filled it out and held it over her shoulder. She bolted upright. A wave of her anxiety washed over me. My empath interpretations were mental metaphors where I experienced the emotion, and Lucky’s anxiety felt like I was floating on a raft over choppy waters. As with Mum, our readings always expressed themselves through water imagery.
Lucky whipped her head around, and strands of hair framed her face as if they’d been windblown. I could well imagine her in a skimpy bikini on a breezy day. I was hoping it’d not be long before she’d learn to relax around me.
“How lucky to see you again.” I flashed her a smile. Her cheeks reddened as if she were flattered. Jack saying she didn’t like the nickname tugged at my memory. I got the feeling she didn’t much mean it.
But then her eyes narrowed, and she studied my face. “Ha, ha. You’re lucky to be so funny.” She spun back around.
Christ. I shook my head, laughing to myself. I actually liked the sarcastic lip she was giving me. Maybe she’d have a good sense of humor too. I hoped so. But when the hell was a target ever suspicious of me? They’d giggle, blush, or look behind them to see if I was speaking to someone else, but never question if they could trust me. Maybe Lucky could sense an ulterior motive coming from me.
Sensing someone versus being projected upon was a bit like reading body language instead of being told how someone was feeling. She’d projected her panic that first night on the rooftop as loudly as if she’d been cheering at a rugby match. Accidental, no doubt. Even now, without her projecting her emotions, the body of water carrying her feelings to me was clear and pur
e—easier to read than most. Not like the muddied shite I was always having to block out from the people around me.
Her projections had rivaled any empath’s, but she didn’t seem to notice my blocked mind here at school. If she had, she certainly would’ve recognized me as an empath and raised her guard, giving herself away as she protected herself.
If she was strong enough to be projecting accidentally, once she broke through and became an empath—if she broke through—I wondered if she’d also be having the skill like me and Mum to probe and manipulate emotions. Manipulating wasn’t what you’d call an exact science. A manipulated emotion wouldn’t last but for a few seconds, but it was a powerful tool that. As clan leader, it’d definitely be giving me the upper hand in negotiations.
I thought I’d push Lucky’s latent empath abilities by mucking about a bit. Being exposed to my empathic energy could help break out her abilities, and wouldn’t that be nice? With enough exposure, it’d feed the dormant part of her brain, initiating a breakthrough—if she had the genetic potential, that was. Something that never happened with the others. I’d caught a shiver of a chance with the last target, Sejal, but after an entire, frustrating school year, she’d never broken through. Would Lucky be like that—another failure?
I looked at my fingers, remembering the tingling from when we’d shaken hands. Could that mean something? Or was I falling in with Da’s useless dreams again? I pushed aside my thoughts and started on my schoolwork while projecting different feelings at Lucky. Each time she’d stiffen, and she’d scratch her neck as if the sensation were physical. It probably felt like distracting background noise in her head.
I rubbed my palm along my jaw. Damn. I shouldn’t be messing with her, but how else could I keep this from dragging out a whole year like with Sejal? Memphis had been brutal, and the longer I’d tried to make it work for Da’s sake, the harder it had been to lead her on. No doubt Lucky intrigued me, but what if nothing ever came of her potential? Or what if she did break through, but she wasn’t my soul mate? Another waste of time it would be.
