I was surprised to see how little she seemed to care about what others thought of her. She was frank in her statements and her facial expressions seemed genuine, even caring which was very different than the way most teenage girls of beauty acted. I respected her for that.
“You heard my warning,” she reminded me and then strode away in a fluid manner past the crowd, her sheer gown blowing in the wind.
The crowd broke up, gossiping amongst themselves. Some kids even patted me on the back and praised me for being a “kick-ass-fighter.” I didn’t respond; I abhorred the attention.
I had enough excitement for the night; I was ready to leave. My thoughts drifted and I looked over at the boulders where the rest of the très beaux were. They were watching me. A chill ran through my body. I sensed that there was something very dangerous about them that their beauty could be a disguise that concealed qualities much more threatening than was apparent.
There was something wrong with them. I knew that. They were too clannish, too interconnected. It was like they were one mind acting together. Out in the water, they had all turned at the same times to catch the same waves. That wasn’t normal. Usually people didn’t ride in one line the way they did.
Laurent was peculiar. He found my sapphire ring in the ocean. How probable was that? It was possible, but very unlikely to retrieve such a tiny item in a vast sea.
And earlier, it seemed like he threw that stone so far, all the way into the ocean. Maybe that was nothing; I certainly could have imagined that.
But, moreover, his behavior toward me was so strange. His tease with the ring in his fist held out before me seemed so playful, like a fun game, but a moment later, when my finger touched his palm, he reacted with such utter repulsion. I was entirely confused.
As much as I wanted to leave, I didn’t want to go home and face my dad. I didn’t want to be punished. I felt his rule of keeping me out of the ocean wasn’t fair. Just because his shipmates drowned in the waters near Catalina Island didn’t mean I was going to drown. If he was so worried about me dying, then why did he allow me to swim in the pool? His story didn’t make sense. There must be more to it than he had expressed.
Agatha put her arm around my shoulders. “You okay?” she asked in a gentle voice.
“I am, but I’m not. You know what I mean?” I looked at her.
“Story of my life,” she said with a smile. “Come on—let me take you home.”
We gathered our things and Danny walked us to Agatha’s Volkswagen. As we approached, I noticed the parking lot was dark and quiet. I could have heard a pin drop. For a moment I stopped to gaze at the sky. The stars twinkled magnificently and the full moon gave an ominous feel to the setting. I was glad to be away from the crowds of kids. And now I wanted to go to bed so I could replay the entire evening in my mind and make sense of it somehow.
Before we left I asked Danny the names of each of the French exchange students again. He described them all and told me their names. I wanted to know who was who in my mind.
This time Agatha drove. It was better that way. I wasn’t in the mood to be my wild self on the road. Most of the drive we were silent. I think we both had a lot on our minds.
But, as we neared my apartment complex, I asked her, “What did you say to my dad when you went off by yourselves?”
She laughed uncomfortably. “I didn’t say much.” She blushed a little. “I told him that if he made you go home then Danny would go off with his friends and I would be all alone. I think he knows that I’m not popular and I think he felt sorry for me.”
I shrugged. “Well, that makes sense. I think my dad would be empathetic to that. He really likes you. Your happiness matters to him. But, you were talking to him for a while. I feel like there is more to the story.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re right. I told him I like Danny and if you stayed then maybe he would hang around me longer and start to like me. I begged him to not send you home so that I could work on Danny. I could tell you weren’t interested in him.”
With that, I burst out laughing. “That’s too funny!”
She scrunched up her face. “Why? What’s so funny about it?”
I saw she was uncomfortable, so I backtracked. “Oh, it’s just that I didn’t realize you liked him. That’s so great—really. I could see you two together.”
Her eyes lit up. “You could?”
“Yes, definitely.” I noticed she didn’t even realize she just ran a red light. “I guess I’m not the only bad driver.”
“What do you mean?” She looked confused.
“You just ran that red light.”
Her eyes widened and then she laughed again. “Oh, I hope Danny likes me. I’m so crushing on him.”
“He did spend a lot of time with you. Guys don’t usually spend so much time with a girl unless they like her.”
Her face was beaming with joy.
When she dropped me off, I hugged her. “I have a feeling we won’t be talking on the phone the rest of the weekend. My dad will probably put me on restriction.”
“Oh.” She looked sad. “Good luck with that. So, I’ll see you on Monday at school. If he lets you talk, call me and tell me what happens.”
I glanced at my watch and noticed it was already almost ten o’clock, the time my dad said to be home. “If he lets me, I will call, but don’t count on it.” I hugged her again and then rushed into the apartment.
***
Monday morning my mom drove me to school. The traffic was heavy as usual in the mornings. But even with the car noises and delays, I enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my arms as it shined through the passenger window. To pass the time, I counted the palm trees that lined the streets. When I got bored with that I counted the flashy billboards of supermodels and food ads.
“You’re so quiet today,” Mom commented to me absent mindedly as she tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel while we waited for the traffic to pick up.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
She didn’t respond. I could tell she was distracted.
Now that we were alone, I hoped I could talk to her about my dad. All weekend he was watching over me like a hawk. “Mom?”
“Yeah? Huh? What?” She looked over at me.
Sometimes she was so silly the way she talked. “How did dad find me in the ocean?”
She shook her head in dismay. “One of his shipmates from work told him about the big San Mo High party at the beach that his son was going to.”
“Uh oh,” I uttered as my eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t think about that happening.”
“Me neither.” Again she shook her head. But, her attention shifted suddenly.
She rolled down the window and yelled at a driver that was pulling out of a parking lot and blocking us in the street. The woman looked bewildered. She shrugged and looked around as if trying to figure out what to do. Then she pulled her car back in and we passed.
My mother sighed, but then, after a moment, she continued talking to me about my dad, “When Max found out about the party, he immediately went to the beach and asked the other students from your school if they knew where you were. They told him that you were surfing and they pointed you out.”
“Oh, man.” My body tensed at the thought.
“He didn’t even hesitate. Terrified, he ran into the ocean to get you. He didn’t even take off his shoes. Poor Max—he thought his little girl was going to die.”
“He needs therapy,” I said as we turned into Santa Monica High’s parking lot.
“You don’t talk like that, young lady.” Her voice was harsh. “Therapy’s not for everybody and he’s a hell of a lot better at fighting demons than a shrink is.”
She pulled up alongside the curb before the attendance office and reminded me, “Make sure Agatha brings you right home after school. You are on restriction this week. You’re lucky it’s only for a week.”
“I know, I know. I’ll come right home.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. �
��Oh, no!”
“What is it?” She was startled by my sudden outburst.
“I forgot that I start swim team practice today after school. I can probably find a ride home. Can I go?”
“Of course.” She shook her head again, but this time she smiled. “Have a good first day. Come home right after practice.”
Now that I fought Marine at the beach in front of everybody, I was surprised how much attention I was getting from my classmates. People were cheering me on, calling me “badass.” I wasn’t used to that kind of approval. Usually, I just blended in and went unnoticed.
Agatha met me after homeroom. Her hair was cut and styled differently. It was feathered like Farrah Fawcett’s famous hairstyle from the 1970’s “Charlie’s Angels” TV show. It wasn’t in style, but she looked kind of cute in a quirky way.
We compared our class schedules with each other. We had history and cooking class together. My mom was making me take cooking because I was so awful at it. She said that if I just got some practice, I might get at least a little better. I knew it wasn’t likely, but she insisted.
After I moaned to Agatha about cooking class, I told her how I was on restriction for the week. She was glad it wasn’t for a year like I imagined. The warning bell rang and we both rushed off to our first period classes.
When I got to my English class, I was shocked to see that all five French exchange students were in my class. They were all sitting together in a cluster in the far corner of the room. My nerves twitched when I saw them. Immediately I wanted to leave. I couldn’t bear to be in the same room.
But I didn’t have a choice; I had to stay. The classroom was filling up quickly. The bell rang. I had to take a seat. The only desk open was also in the back of the room, but on the opposite side of the exchange students. At least I wouldn’t have to sit too close to them.
The class was pretty noisy with students digging through their backpacks and all sorts of first day of school chatter. I glanced over at the French kids. They were engaged in conversation.
Laurent was as gorgeous as ever. His golden brown hair hung down in his face. It was a bit of a mess. He wasn’t talking with the others rather he was brooding, looking down at his hands and deep in thought.
Danny was right—they dressed in fine clothing. Their attire looked custom made. It had a sort of understated elegance. The styles were of the latest fashions, even a little casual, but with the slightest hint of décor reminiscent of eighteenth century French aristocracy. And the way Brigitte with her long shiny black hair sat up so straight looked unnatural. I could imagine all of them sipping tea and parsing intellectually.
To my surprise, Marine smiled at me coyly from across the room. I couldn’t smile back, but rather returned her gesture with a blank stare. I just couldn’t figure her out.
Oddly, she was waving a blue and white fan with a painted scene at her lovely face. Her blond hair was extremely long with tiny pearl adornments placed throughout. She wore a plain white t-shirt that laced up in the front in an eighteenth century style with a low bodice that showed the slightest hint of cleavage. But, her jeans were modern and like anybody else’s except that her body was as curvaceous and perfect as a model in a magazine.
I looked away and set up my desk with my folder and notebook. The teacher wrote her name really big on the whiteboard: Mrs. Wallace. Then she proceeded in a boring monotone voice to discuss the novels and short stories we would be reading that year.
It was hard for me to concentrate. My mind kept drifting to thoughts about the exchange students. I wanted to know everything about them. I couldn’t help but turn my head to look at them again.
When I turned, to my surprise, I saw that Laurent Moreau was staring right at me. His ocean blue eyes were boring into me. There was so much intensity underneath his blank expression. Embarrassed, I looked away.
Then the strangest thing happened. I heard him begin to sing a faint tune in the softest voice. It was like a lullaby, but more beautiful and sensual. I looked around, afraid the teacher would have a fit that he was disrupting the class, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Even though the sounds were hushed and subtle, I felt the power of his enchanting voice from across the room, but I could sense that his mind was in turmoil as he sang. Mostly, I just thought he was unruly to start serenading during a lecture. But when I looked around again at the class, I noticed that the other students and even the teacher appeared dreamy eyed. They didn’t even seem aware of what was going on. It was like they were oblivious to the melodic sounds.
And even odder, to my surprise, when I glanced back at Laurent, I experienced a rush of feelings that were different than anything I had ever experienced before. My insides felt warm and fluid like the ocean on a hot day. My connection to this boy seemed powerful; it almost felt otherworldly. It was like I had connected to an energy source of pure pleasure.
I was so inexplicably moved by the exchange that a tear fell from my eye. This wasn’t like me. I wasn’t an overly emotional type.
And then, the most shocking thing happened. In a split second, as the tear was falling to the floor, Laurent suddenly appeared at my desk and caught the drop of saltwater before it hit the ground.
I looked at him in utter shock.
Crouched down beside my desk with the teardrop on the palm of his hand, he looked up at me. And then to my astonishment, he licked the drop from his hand as he looked into my eyes.
Suddenly he stopped singing. He looked surprised, even disoriented. His expression turned to horror as he gazed at me. “Did you see that?” he questioned, seemingly in shock.
The teacher appeared to come out of her dreamlike state. “Return to your seat, young man,” she demanded and then continued with her boring lecture.
Laurent nodded agreeably. But as he strutted back to his desk in his usual rhythmic gate, he shook his head in seeming bewilderment. His body was tense. Once he got to his seat, he looked over at me again, but this time with a streak of hatred in his eyes.
The other French kids looked furious too, but not at me—at him. They stared at him in dread.
He was the weirdest boy I had ever seen in my life.
Curiosity
I felt like the rest of my first day back at school passed in a haze. I couldn’t keep my mind off of Laurent and his ever increasing peculiarities. Over and over again I kept playing the scene that took place in English class in my mind. Obsessively, I analyzed every fine detail.
The whole thing was perplexing. Why did he sing in class? Why didn’t anyone else seem to notice? Yes, his voice was quiet, but still, shouldn’t other people have heard it? But aside from all that, what stumped me the most was that I couldn’t figure out how in the world he appeared beside my desk in a flash of an instant just in time to catch my teardrop. Impossible.
I went over everything that happened step by step in attempt to figure it all out. The first thing that happened—he stared at me. The second thing that happened—he began to sing. Third—I felt an odd rush of emotions—amazing, beautiful emotions, feelings like I had never felt before. Fourth—as a result of my overwhelming feelings, a teardrop fell from my eye. Fifth—suddenly, he was right beside me like he transported his body magically. Sixth—he caught my teardrop. And seventh—he consumed it.
But I just couldn’t figure out how the heck he got to my desk from all the way across the room fast enough to catch my teardrop? It just didn’t make sense. The only explanations I could come up with were farfetched at best.
One idea I had that was very unlikely was that I became so emotional that I imagined it—that I got caught up in my feelings and did not see him run over to me. No—definitely not. That didn’t sit right in my mind. I wasn’t an illogical person. I certainly wasn’t oblivious to my surroundings.
Another possibility was that maybe he hypnotized me somehow and during the bedazzlement he told me not to remember that he ran over to me. But how could he hypnotize me? He didn’t even say anything. Don’t
trained hypnotists have to give verbal commands?
And that didn’t answer for the rest of the class. Why were they so dreamy eyed and oblivious. I knew very little about alternate states of consciousness, though I knew science was evolving in that direction. Maybe he hypnotized me somehow with his eyes. Is that even possible? And even if it was, what about the rest of the students and the teacher? He didn’t stare at them.
It seemed like he just suddenly appeared like a witch or a genie from a TV show who blinks and then appears somewhere else. How could something like that happen in real life? Every idea I came up with was preposterous, beyond all reason.
Another thought I had was that he was a magician. Maybe he was trained in trickery, like a guy who travelled with the circus and had learned all sorts of illusionary techniques. Possibly he planned the whole interaction to mess with me.
But, why would he want to do that? He would have had to set up his stage ahead of time the way a magician plans and arranges beforehand for an audience. He couldn’t have possibly known that I was going to be enrolled in the same class. Like, I said, all my ideas were absurd.
Oh, it all seemed so crazy. I just hated him. Laurent Monreau. What a horrible boy. Why was he toying with my mind? He couldn’t possibly be interested in me romantically. He was ultimate perfection, every girl’s dream boy. And I was just a plain Jane wallflower. Boys like Laurent just weren’t interested in girls like me. Why was he singling me out? And why was his girlfriend, Marine, so determined to keep me away from him?
Thoughts like these ran through my mind all day. I felt so confused and like I said, curiosity was my Achilles Heel. There was no way I could let this go.
As I walked down the hall lost in a sea of maddening thoughts, more students congratulated me on my fighting skills at the beach. There were all sorts of juvenile high fives thrown at me. I had to slap their hands back just to get them to lay off me.
Bluehour (A Watermagic Novel) Page 3
