by Emery Skye
"Well, sort of." I furrow my brow pensively. How is he so in tune with what I'm thinking?
Most people don't understand me. Besides Pierce and Caity, the only person who ever really "got" me was my brother. Again, I feel the tears on the verge of spilling over onto my cheeks and quickly blink them away with the hopes that Hunter doesn't notice.
"Don't worry, I won't let that happen," he vows, seriousness creases his forehead.
I know he can't actually promise me that, but it feels good hearing the determination in his voice. The big question is: Why does he care?
We walk for a while in silence.
"Do you ride, Lex?" Hunter asks, breaking the silence.
I look up in surprise. I'm still not used to being called Lex. "No." His face scrunches up in a way that demands explanation. "What I mean is...I used to ride, but I don't anymore," I stammer. Times like these, times of stress, I sound like I have a speech impediment.
"What do you mean, you used to ride?"
"Just that. I did. It's sort-of how I got the job at the stables," I stress, enunciating each word.
Hunter shakes his head and squares his shoulders.
"What?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest as I continue walking.
"After watching you with the horses..." he pauses and stares off to the side. "You don't seem like you would ever give up riding.”
He reaches down and picks up both our bags once we reach the top of the hill, and carefully hands mine to me. His black jacket rises a little bit and I see his black belt from underneath. He has a muscular, lean torso.
“Do you ride?”
He glances at me. “I have someone close to me who does. She’d never give it up. Not for anything.”
I'm angry and don't know why. Am I mad that Hunter asked me about riding? I don't think so. Am I mad about the judgmental tone he used? Not exactly. I'm mad because he doesn't understand why I gave up riding and I want him to.
The day was warmer than most in December. The aroma of fresh leaves and pine communicated the end of death and the beginning of life again. It was splendid. There was barely any snow on the ground. "Lexi," my dad shouted over to me.
I spun on my heel. He stood near his huge, pristine, black Dodge. "Yeah, Dad?" I screamed back, a little too loud.
"Don't forget to grade the arena," he reminded me. The cold in Colorado hardens the ground and hurts the horses’ feet.
"Cruiser!" I shouted, then whistled. I scanned the pasture, which was coated with a bit of snow, and slowly, I discerned the stunning features of my gelding. He was a black, white and bay paint; severely majestic with a wide warmblood body and the towering height of a thoroughbred.
He galloped to the gate that I had already opened for him. He pranced through and I slipped a halter over his head. Upon his arrival, I was swamped in a heady, but nonetheless comforting, odor. I climbed the gate and jumped on my best friend's back. My hair danced in the wind as we cantered off.
I don't remember what I was thinking as I rode Cruiser around the arena, but I imagine I thought about what a great horse he was.
A rolling tear jerks me back to reality. Hunter’s staring at me dazedly. I want to revert to my old, bone-chilling, defensive ways, but I can't compel myself to. "I don't anymore," I reply numbly, praying that he won't pry.
He doesn't.
As we approach the steps of Main Hall, he grabs my shoulder and I face him. "I forgot my textbook for my next class, I need to get it."
My eyes go wide, "Hunter..." my tone warning.
"Don't worry so much, Lex. You're keeping up your end of the bargain. I'll be in class, I promise," he assures me.
I must give him a "you better" look. He chuckles.
"Seriously," and he raises up two fingers to his head in a mock salute.
"Right, you're a soldier now. Sure," I say sarcastically.
"Not all soldiers wear camouflage and badges," he replies.
"Uh huh. See ya later."
I watch him jog toward the dorms.
EIGHT
[SP1]The rest of my classes go off without a hitch. I pray I'll see Hunter in history. I walk in and search the classroom for any sign of him. Nope.
Miss Messenger hasn't arrived yet. I shouldn't worry.
Miss Lawry hasn't barged in and interrogated me on Hunter’s whereabouts, so I assume he hasn't caused more trouble.
My concern for Hunter catches me off guard.
I sit in the second row and stare at the door. Miss Messenger strolls in and arranges the papers on her desk. Thirty seconds to go and Hunter walks in. Thank God, I inwardly sigh. He smiles at me. I smile back at the sight of his dimples. His dimples shouldn’t fit his otherwise strong and scarred features, but they do.
"Hey, Lex," he smirks and I return the gesture.
"Hunter."
The bell rings. "Class, have you met our new student, Hunter? Hunter, would you mind standing for the class and introducing yourself?" she sings the words.
God, I hate it when teachers do that to the new kids. Don't they have any idea how embarrassing it is to stand up in front of twenty-plus kids and talk about yourself?
Hunter doesn't seem to care. He stands, the image of poise and confidence. "No problem, lovely," his voice emits charisma that you can practically cut with a knife.
Miss Messenger’s cheeks brighten like she’s eaten sweet tarts. "Name's Hunter Daniels, although most of you probably know that already."
I roll my eyes.
Hunter glares at me and I flush under his gaze.
Miss Messenger's beaming, "How about you tell us a little bit about yourself, Hunter?"
"I'm not from around here. I was born and bred in the Big Apple, better known as New York City." The class oohs and aahs at that, and its news to me. Seeming satisfied with the introduction, he sits down. His heavy, black jacket takes up a lot of room in the small blue chair.
Miss Messenger thanks Hunter. "This is the perfect time to introduce our first assignment." Everyone groans as if in immediate pain. Miss Messenger pouts. "I know. It's so terrible when a teacher assigns work for her students to do. Contrary to what you may think, this is actually a fun assignment." She struts across the room, her skirt flowing behind her.
Kids retrieve their notebooks, getting ready to write down this new assignment in their Fairmont agendas. "That won't be necessary." She hands a stack of papers to the students in the front row. "Please take one and pass the rest back." The students comply.
The sheet reads, "Honors History: A look at your own history." The next line states, "We can't know where we are going, until we know where we have been."
"This paper is a semester long project that will enable you to explore your own heritage. I would like for you to work with a partner on this. And--" She raises a finger at the class, "--don't think that saying who your parents are and stopping there is good enough." She looks at Hunter pointedly and I can’t help but smile. "I want this paper to go further back than your families’ first steps in the New World." A few hands shoot up at this announcement, clearly to object. "I don't want excuses. If historians can investigate an entire war, you can investigate your own lineage."
I automatically dread the assignment. I don't want to dive into my family, much less my ancestors. Not only that, I have no one but Gran to ask questions, and she's a pretty hopeless source. The same anxiety is plastered on Hunter's face.
"The person next to you is your partner. Get to know them well." She gives a gaping smile.
This will give me a chance to get to know Hunter a little better. I smile inwardly.
After class, I leave quickly, only to find Pierce sitting by the main doors. "Hey, Pierce," I greet with a smile.
"Hey, Lexi." He smiles back. "I feel like it's been forever since we talked."
I'm slightly confused and lift an eyebrow at him. "Exaggerate much?" I chortle.
"Me? Never." With that, he places a hand up to his forehead like some self-proclaimed drama-queen.
/> "Wow, you're on a roll," I laugh at him.
"Well, since I'm doing so well with this act, I think I'll milk it. Lexi, if you don't accompany me to dinner, I think I'll faint." He makes some sort of pouty face and I laugh.
"Oh, no! We don't want that!" I say as dramatically as I can.
Caity brings out the cognizance and Pierce brings out the laughter. Two parts of me, without one I couldn’t have the other. I always wonder how I was lucky enough to find them. Or, how they found me.
A tall and equally round boy brushes past me, shoving me hard. I stumble into Pierce. He reaches out his hands and catches me, those muscular arms sweep me into his embrace. I awkwardly push myself off and apologize.
I glance toward the staircase to avert my eyes from Pierce’s. Hunter’s heading toward us. Pierce grabs my arm. Annoyance and anger singe his features.
"What's going on?" I ask Pierce. His vise like grip threatens to cut off my blood circulation. Pierce says nothing in response. "Pierce!" I stop dead in my tracks and he practically rips my arm off. I rub my injured shoulder.
He looks back at me and sighs. "Just come with me, would ya?" He gives a cheeky grin and brings his hands into the prayer position.
"Excuse me," I put a hand on my hip for dramatic effect. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on." I'm not used to Pierce's domineering side. He's usually the guy who makes me laugh and offers a friendly smile. He's not the guy that shoves me around.
I would never tolerate that kind of guy.
Students pass us and Pierce moves closer to me, so close that when he speaks, it's louder than a whisper. "I will explain everything, but not here."
I glower.
"Come on, Lexi. It would be fun to get off campus, wouldn't it?" He tries a different approach. I'm cold now, standing here in the shade and shivering in my boots.
In a way, yes. I want to find out what's making Pierce act so strangely. But....
"I promised Caity that I would see her after class," I explain.
"Tell her something came up," he nags.
I know I have a look of shock on my face. I don't cancel on Caity, ever. Neither Pierce nor I ever cancel on her. It's wrong. "You're kidding, right?" I rub my arms and curse this hoodie for not having more insulation.
He shakes his head. "I thought we could hang out.".
"Ugh, first, Caity just got back from Ireland, Pierce. You know, a different country? And since when do you want to hang out? You've been acting like I'm the plague since you got back from your exclusive birthday party."
I wonder why my best friend is acting so bipolar lately. He's more off than he's on. He's hot, then he's cold.
"I..."
"You what? Come on, you're a big boy. Spit it out!" I hassle him.
He rubs his eyes and now they’re red. The cold is getting to be too much. I sniffle again; my nose runs.
Pierce stops rubbing his eyes and stares down at me with eyebrows lowered, "Are you getting sick?"
"I guess so. Maybe."
The next gesture, I have never seen Pierce do before, so I'm a little caught off guard when he throws his arms in the air and kicks the ground while slewing together some totally inappropriate curse words. He looks like a ninja, a very ungraceful ninja, fighting some invisible force. I flinch away.
Slowly, he collects himself and I'm left standing there dumbstruck. "Okay," I say in a singsong voice. "What the hell was that all about?"
"Go with Caitlyn, I'll pick you up at six; and stay the hell away from Hunter," he says menacingly. Before I have to time to object or ask questions, Pierce is gone.
…
"What took you so long?" Caity asks with swindling eyebrows. She's sitting on the unclaimed queen bed in my dorm room. The second she sees my face; little wrinkles form around her eyes.
"What happened?" she asks melodiously.
I sigh and throw my bag down on the floor as I walk to my bed, I notice the books are stacked neatly on my desk.
Caity walks to my bag and picks it up, only to hang it on the hook across the room. "Alexis, cleanliness is next to Godliness," she says.
"Why would that matter to me?" I retort as I fall back onto my bed. Caity knows I don't believe in God, but she's a devout Roman Catholic. The only real fights we've had, have been on the topic of God and faith. Caity has tried fruitlessly to get me to attend church, but she knows better than anyone why I can't go there. She knows and accepts it; for now, but I can tell she's not giving up.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" She sits with her legs bent underneath herself. I notice her latest romance novel is beside her. I shake my head at the silly cover of a muscular man with an open shirt. His arms are wrapped around a blonde, whose hair is flying wildly in the wind.
"That's new," I tell her, looking toward the novel. "Why are all the covers so cheesy?"
"They're not cheesy," she says defensively of her latest treasure. "They're dreamy and so is he," she declares in an authoritative voice.
"Sweetie," she prods.
"Pierce is acting like a lunatic," I tell her and explain my earlier conversation with Pierce.
She listens silently and nods occasionally.
"I'm not sure what's going on with him," she admits and looks up to the ceiling as if searching for answers. "I can tell something is off about him. Today in music, I could hardly play to be honest."
I sit up. "Why?" I ask. That's new.
Caity's the best pianist in the school. The piano is a dance floor for her fingers; all her fingers, light on their tips, create a beautiful sound with every step. It's a talent I envy.
She narrows her eyes in thought. "I'm not sure. It's like I can feel a tear in the energy around me. It made playing difficult."
Caity's like an empath. Not a real physic or anything, but when someone's hurting or in pain, she can feel it. At first, we didn't know what to make of her little ability.
"What did you feel?" I ask.
"Honestly?" she raises a light brown eyebrow.
"Yes," I prod.
"Anger and frustration," she whispers the words like she might end up in hell for saying them.
"You described all the students on the first day back after break," I chuckle, and she grins.
"Yes, but this...this was different," she stares at her French-manicured nails.
"Enough of this talk about Pierce. I'll sit down with him later." We both know that if there's one thing that'll straighten Pierce out, it'll be talking with Caity. Where I would take the "you hold, I hit" approach, she calms people into submission. I personally think my way is seven-times-seventy-thousand times better, but she and the police don't quite agree.
"Tell me about Hunter?" she wiggles her eyebrows; her doe eyes sparkle.
"What about him?"
"Oh no, you don't, Alexis Marie. I've never seen your cheeks so red."
I groan. "He's irritating, frustrating and… I don't know."
She giggles. "I've never seen someone like him before. What do you think his ethnicity is?" she asks innocently.
"His ethnicity?" I raise a dubious eyebrow. Hunter might be a cocktail of Spanish, Indian and something else, or something else altogether for all I know.
Now, it's Caity's turn to laugh faintly. "He's gorgeous," she says. She unbraids her hair and combs the red tresses with her long, elegant piano fingers.
I remove my hoodie and throw it on the chair. Caity glares at me. She hates when I leave stuff lying around. "Yeah, he is. But I think I should stop spending time with him," I tell her and am surprised by the hand that reaches around my heart and sinks its claws in. It’s difficult for me think about anything other than breathing.
"Why?" she questions with a hint of irritation.
"Because, Caitlyn Alia McCullough."
"Because why, Alexis Marie Tollis?" she counters.
My shoulders sag in resignation. Caity knows everything about me, so what I'm about to say will come to her in no surprise. "Because he's a prick," I say
simply.
The corner of her mouth twitches, pulling her lips into a frown.
"You're scared of losing him too, aren't you?"
"No," I retort defensively and feel bad for snapping at her. "There's something about him, that, yes, I find charming," I concede.
"Then, what's wrong?" she pushes.
I sit cross-legged across from her.
"He seems like a player to me." There's also something else that triggers me into believing he's hiding something.
She tips her chin down dourly and I can tell she’s taking my excuse with a grain of salt. Everyone writes off my thoughts as paranoia these days.
"What?"
"I think you should give him a chance."
"No," I argue. My usually freezing dorm room is bordering on inferno with each word.
"Yes, Lexi. He hasn't done anything wrong."
I stare at her accusingly. "Are you serious? He compared me to a fly," I say, my anger flaring; not at his stupid remark, but at this conversation. I know deep in the recesses that Hunter doesn't deserve my harsh feelings.
She giggles and I'm wondering whose side she's on. "Oh, I don't think he said that to be mean."
"Caity, are you deaf? I told you he compared me to a fly and he called me annoying. And, he’s using me as his personal guide. I don’t think he even wants to spend time with me."
“Didn't you call him a man-whore? And, Lexi, if he didn’t want to spend time with you than he wouldn’t."
I jump up from the bed. "You've got to be kidding me! He flirts with anything in a short skirt that has breasts.”
“He didn’t flirt with me,” she argues.
I bite my tongue.
“Whose side are you on?”
“I'm on your side, always. But sometimes that means I’m going to upset you.”
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means, that you'll do anything and everything to make yourself unhappy and I have to counter that," she explains perceptively.
"I do not," I argue with every intent of putting my fist through the nearest wall.
"Yes, you do. You've never had a relationship and every time someone tries to get close, you push him or her away. Heck, sweetie, you push people away before they even have a chance to sit next to you in class."