by Diane Farr
I guess that sounds totally childish. I swear, though, I couldn’t help it. I stared out my window at Meg and Lance, taking their own sweet time walking to my house, and this awful, angry, scared, sick feeling just grabbed me by the throat and shook me.
I didn’t know what to do. I could see, even at a distance, that Megan was talking a mile a minute. Meg’s a very expressive person. She was jabbering away, waving her hands and doing this little skip about every fifth step so she could keep up with Lance’s longer stride, and utterly "in the moment," you know. Concentrated wholly on Lance, Lance, Lance. Happy as a rabbit in clover.
She didn’t even notice when Lance lifted his head to return my stare. I might have known he would feel my eyes on him, even at fifty yards (or a hundred yards, or whatever it was). I couldn’t exactly read his expression, but I could feel his smile. It was a mean smile, to tell you the truth. He was taking way too much pleasure in the situation. Taking pleasure in my unhappiness ... because if I could sense his emotions, it was a cinch he could sense mine.
I’m just glad I didn’t duck behind the curtain or something. I kept my dignity. Held my ground. Gave him stare for stare. I was like: Fine, go ahead. Read my feelings, you unconscionable jerk. And I discarded my text. I hit the speed dial.
Megan picked up between the first and second ring. "I’m on my waa-ay."
She sounded all happy. Ick.
"I know," I said. "I can see you."
"Really? I can’t see you." She looked toward the house and waved anyway. "I’ve got Lance with me."
"I know," I said again. "I can see you. So did you guys spend the night together or what?"
Megan gave a scandalized little yelp of laughter. "I’m so sure, Zara! Noooo. He came by just as I was finishing breakfast, so we walked together."
I was all polite and stuff. "How did he know you were finishing breakfast?"
"Natural good timing, I guess."
"And how’d he find out where you live?"
"How should I know? It’s not a state secret. We’re the only O’Shaughnessies in the phone book. Honestly, Zara, what is with you? You’re worse than my mother."
I tried to laugh. "Well, somebody’s got to look after you. You don’t listen to your mother, so that leaves me."
"Yeah, right. I’m hanging up now."
"Oh no, you don’t. Let me talk to Lance."
I watched as she passed the phone to Lance. She was laughing and yelling, "Whatever she says, don’t listen to her."
"Hello, Lance," I said sweetly. "What do you think you’re doing?"
"I’m walking Meg to your house."
"Meg has a bicycle."
"Does she? Well, I don’t."
("Don’t what?" shrieked Meg in the background.)
"Maybe you should get one. How did you manage to show up on her doorstep? Did you just appear, in a puff of smoke?"
"I parachuted in, like anyone else. She had to cut the strings off me. That’s why we’re late."
(Meg: "What are you talking about? Give me back my phone.")
"Hang on," he told me. And then he held the phone high up where Megan couldn’t reach it, and she jumped for it, laughing and sort of climbing up him, you know, trying to boost herself on his shoulders. I was practically grinding my teeth while I watched this little display. Disgusting.
Needless to say, I didn’t get to talk to either of them after that. Not until they arrived. And even then, I had the feeling that I wasn’t really talking to either of them. It was horrible. Megan was focused on Lance, and Lance ... well, without going so far as to encourage her, he did seem to be focused on Meg. Which made Meg ridiculously happy.
The thing is, it was all fake on Lance’s part. He was focused on me. He was getting off on my reaction. And Meg absolutely didn’t see it. How could she? The only reason why I knew it was because of this weird Vulcan mind-meld Lance and I have going on. There was nothing in his behavior to show that he was secretly tuned into Radio Zara. But he was.
And how can I say anything to Meg? Be careful, Megan. He’s really not that into you. I’d sound like a jealous harpy.
Maybe I am a jealous harpy.
Arrrrgh!!!! I don’t think so.
Okay, maybe a little. Maybe some of what I'm feeling is jealousy. I’m only human. (Yes I am, Lance. So there.) But jealousy is not the whole story. In fact, it’s the small half of what I’m feeling. I’m angry at Lance, because what he’s doing isn’t fair to Meg. And I’m worried about Meg, because I’m afraid she’ll get hurt. And I’m going out of my mind with worry about ME, because Lance is bringing changes into my life and I don’t know what they are yet. Except that his list of priorities seems to include messing up the most important relationships in my life. So yeah, I’d call that worrisome!!
And that’s all ON TOP OF feeling, okay, jealous. Because my best friend has found somebody other than me that she likes to spend time with.
Oh, and also a little jealous in the other direction, too, as long as I’m being honest. Jealous that the only boy I’ve ever felt remotely attracted to is flirting with my best friend.
I guess it would help if I knew how I felt about Lance. Do I want him in my life or don’t I?? Do I like him, or what?? It’s totally stupid to feel jealous of Meg if I don’t even like Lance. Right?
The scary thing is, I think I don’t. Like him, I mean. I don’t like him. I don’t trust him.
And the reason why that’s scary is, I also have a hard time taking my eyes off him. And wondering what it would feel like to touch him. So I guess that part of me wishes that I did, in fact, like him.
I mean, it must be nice to like the guy you’re lusting after.
At any rate, I can’t get rid of him. I’m going to have to deal with him one way or the other. Like him or hate him, trust him or not. He’s here, and I’m the reason why he’s here. He is my own kind—a spellspinner. And he’s the only one I’ve ever met. I can’t exactly send him packing. (And if I tried, I bet he wouldn’t go.) I probably don’t want to learn everything Lance wants to teach me, but he may be my only chance to learn something about my ... people. My race. My race?? Are we a race?? Are we a people?? What do we call ourselves????
I’ve asked him over and over, but I still don’t have the answer. Not really. What is a spellspinner??????
Maybe I was right last night. Maybe I’m happier not knowing. Maybe all the other spellspinners are cold and devious, like Lance. A bunch of users. Maybe I’m the weakling of the lot, with my soft spot for “sticks” and my torturous struggle to resist using my powers. Maybe any normal, well-adjusted spellspinner would laugh at me and tell me I’m a diamond trying to blend in with a bag of marbles.
Or maybe Lance is just a conceited jerk who needs to learn a little humility.
When Donald came by in his mom’s Camry to pick Meg up, Lance totally dissed him. It was subtle, but it was there. Now, Donald O'Shaughnessy may be a hopeless geek, but he is Meg’s brother and should not be dissed. I admit I hid in the bathroom, but that wasn’t dissing him. It was just, you know, cowardice.
You know what? It would be great if Lance fell in love with Meg. That would really show him how wrong he’s been, holding himself apart from the rest of humanity and feeling so superior.
I think I’ll tell him so. (Insert evil laugh: Mwa-hah-hah.)
* * *
I didn’t get a chance to tell him so.
If this is hard to read, it’s because my hands are shaking.
It’s somewhere between 3:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m. I’m writing this under the covers with a flashlight, because if Nonny should happen to wake up and look out her window, I don’t want her to see my bedroom light shining on the peach tree. She might come upstairs to check on me. I couldn’t face her right now, I really couldn’t.
I wish I could have my summer back. I should have stayed fifteen forever. Fifteen was good. Fifteen was B.L. (Before Lance). Whatever happens now or in the future, I will never get back to B.L.
I have to
write about tonight. I have to spit it out like a broken tooth.
Tonight, he didn’t summon me and I didn’t summon him. We met by mutual consent, I guess you’d say.
Nonny went to bed early, like she always does. The house grew quiet. The dining room clock struck ten. And it was time. I stood up and slipped out the kitchen door, heading for the edge of the woods where I’d first met him. And he was there, as I knew he would be.
Insects sang all around us. The night was windless, cool and still. Lance was a shadow, darker and more menacing than the shadows of the trees. He sent me a thought as I approached. Had enough, Zara?
I ignored him. If he didn’t have the common courtesy to speak out loud, I didn’t have to answer. So there.
I walked up to him and stopped ... still at a safe distance. Or so I believed. There was a subtle, but definite, change in whatever was between us. Lance wasn’t bothering to turn on the charm. And neither of us smiled.
You could practically hear the hiss of steel as our eyes met and held, like swords flashing in the moonlight.
I suddenly remembered what Megan had told me, not so long ago, in the run-up to my sixteenth birthday. You could meet someone ... And then it hit me.
Lance Donovan isn’t my fairy godmother. He’s my mortal enemy.
9
“Why are you afraid of me, Zara?”
Because I’m not stupid. I didn’t intend to send him that thought, but the words formed so strongly in my mind that he picked them up before I could block him.
Here’s the thing about mind-reading. (Like I’m such an expert already.) You can’t use it for casual conversation. Or, rather, you probably can, but it’s more trouble than it’s worth. It’s more like texting than regular talking. For thought-transference to really work, you have to form the words in your mind and sort of throw them out. The other person catches them. So not every little half-thought gets through. Just the big ones. Just the full-blown, complete thoughts. Just the ones you intend—mostly.
Some of my thoughts were getting through to Lance even when I’d rather they didn’t, because at first I didn’t know I could block him. It was a great moment when I realized I could do that. At first, the only way I knew to keep him out was to avoid thinking in words—like a baby. That is incredibly hard! But I’m learning how to shut him out, at least when it’s important. I only figured this out about halfway through today. I can throw up a block. Place a temporary wall, somehow, between my mind and his. It’s hard to explain.
And it’s not easy to do, frankly. I hope it gets easier with practice. I have a feeling I’ll be practicing this thought-block thing a lot.
Okay. Back to tonight. He asked why I’m afraid of him. And after I (accidentally) let him know what I thought about his question, I answered it. Bluntly, and aloud.
“Number one, I like my life the way it is and you’re here to change it. You should have started up the bibbity-bobbity-boos when we first met, Lance. Because now that I’ve had a couple of days to see you in action, I’m ready to take you back to the fairy godmother shop and swap you for a different model.”
“You really know how to hurt a guy.”
He didn’t look hurt to me. So I went on. “Number two, I don’t know what you want,” I said. “I know you’re here to teach me or whatever. But why? I know why I want to learn, but why do you want to teach me? Somehow I don’t think you’re doing it out of the kindness of your heart. So what’s in it for you? I don’t get it.”
“You suspect my motives.”
“In a word? Yes. Especially after today.” Anger crept into my voice. “I don’t know why you’re dragging Meg into this.”
“That scares you?”
“Yes, it scares me. I care about Meg! Get a clue.”
He studied me. I felt his mind probing mine, touching here and there, seeking more information. I tensed, and threw up a block. It wasn’t very good.
“That’s more than two things,” he said. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re most afraid of.” It wasn’t a question.
See what I mean? I have no privacy around Lance.
“I gave you number one and number two. Let’s start with those.”
“I forget what number one was.”
“You. Changing my life.”
I felt his impatience. Just for a flash, but I felt it. “Of course I’m here to change your life. Come on, Zara. It’s not a punishment. It’s a privilege.”
“Uh-huh. In that case, could you just answer all my questions and then go away? Because that’s really what I want. Teach me how to be a spellspinner, but don’t make me actually be one.” I ripped the head off a nearby weed and started pulling it to bits. Not that I was feeling savage or anything. “That’s not going to happen. I already know.”
“You also know you can’t go on like this forever, with one foot in each world. You’ve always known that.”
I opened my mouth to deny it, but couldn’t. He was right. I had always known.
No wonder he was so frustrated with me. I was fighting the inevitable, and we both knew it.
I would never be a stick. It was pointless to cling to a stick life.
Sorrow stabbed into me, swift and unexpected. For a few seconds I was helpless against the pain. The bits of torn flower dropped from my fingers and fluttered away. Everything I love, everyone I love ... my sweet, peaceful, safe little life ... none of it is mine. It has all been borrowed.
Part of what makes my life so dear, the days so golden, is the bittersweet knowledge, buried deep in my being, that someday I will give it up.
Someday, but not now. Surely not now. Not yet.
I felt anguish twist my features. I hated being so vulnerable in front of him, but I couldn’t help it. “I love my life,” I said. “I don’t want to leave Cherry Glen.”
“You don’t have to go.” Not yet.
Did he want me to hear that caveat? Never mind. I heard it.
He knew I heard it. His expression did not change, but his voice softened. “You’ll move on when you are ready, Zara. Not before.”
“I’ll never be ready.” Was I crying? I hope not.
I felt his impatience flash at me again. “Get over it. Everybody grows up.”
He thought I was just being a baby!! Shock helped me suck in a big gulp of air. I lifted my chin and stared daggers at him. “You’re evil,” I told him flatly.
He gave a soundless laugh and shook his head. “Oh, Zara.” So amused. The creep. “You’re killing me.”
“I wish.” I tossed my hair back over my shoulder, fighting for control. Not over him, unfortunately. At this point, I’d settle for control over myself. “Let’s move on to number two, shall we?”
He jammed his hands in his pockets and leaned against his tree, one foot casually crossed over the other. “You mean, what’s in it for me?”
“Right.”
His smile gleamed in the darkness. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“Oh, really? When?”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
And suddenly he was in my face, looming over me in the night. He hadn’t stepped away from the tree. It was one of his now-you-see-him, now-you-don’t moves. He just arrived, in the blink of an eye, invading my space. His head and shoulders carved a dark shape against the sky, a monstrous blackness blotting out the stars. “Are you ready, Zara?” he murmured.
I felt his intention pulsing in the air. It flashed out of his mind and poured over me in a wave of heat. Lance Donovan was going to kiss me. And maybe more.
I wanted it.
I didn’t want it.
I didn’t know what I wanted.
There was so much heat between us, I couldn’t sort out what was mine and what was his. What if it was all his? What if I didn’t want this at all?
Until I knew what I wanted, I wouldn’t be ready.
In other words, the answer is: No, Lance. I'm not ready.
And as soon as I formed the thought, I knew h
e didn’t really care. Lance knew what he wanted, and that’s all that mattered to Lance.
I recoiled, but it was too late. His hands gripped my arms, holding me right where I was.
I froze at his touch. Couldn’t move.
I had been right to fear this.
The instant he touched me, everything changed.
My world shrank in a dizzying rush, narrowing to the point where his body met mine. The contact wasn’t huge—just his fingers, lean and strong against my soft, bare arms. But that was everything. The whole world became his fingers against my arms. His skin against my skin. Nothing else existed.
I hung there, terrified, while shock after shock raced through me.
It was like ...it was like ... how can I describe it?! It was like I was one drop of water and Lance was another. When two drops of water touch, no matter how lightly, it’s over. For both of them.
And he hadn’t even kissed me! His hands gripped my arms, and that’s all it took. Our boundaries disappeared.
Our communication was instantaneous and total. The feelings I had only sensed dimly in him before, instantly sharpened into focus. I felt what he felt. Our senses merged, intensified. Doubled. The earth smelled twice as raw and green; the air was twice as sweet to breathe, and filled with music. Lance’s breath. My breath. Our heartbeats. Crickets. The breeze. It all melted and swirled into an angel chorus. Colors brightened.
Eve must have felt like this when she bit into the apple. I was paralyzed with knowledge. It was heavenly. It was frightening. It was more power than I could bear. I heard the sharp intake of my breath, simultaneous with his. We were equally overwhelmed. And equally caught off guard.
In other words, Lance didn’t know this would happen.
I felt his confusion, almost as strong as my own—but unmixed with fear. Zara was afraid. Lance was just surprised.
In fact, he was so surprised that he forgot about kissing me. This was my only clue that we still retained separate identities, despite the overpowering sensation of oneness. I barely had time to register this fact before he broke the contact, dropping his hands.
