“So. History class? You planning on keeping it a secret?”
~
I wasn’t sure how this bodyguard arrangement was supposed to work, but I was doing my absolute best not to use up all my saves in the three minute walk. It wasn’t easy, however, walking and maintaining eye contact as Dominic shared openly the story of how he’d come into my classroom and essentially saved me from one of many possible punishments. And once I had all the details, it actually made perfect sense.
I hadn’t expected him to confess to a meeting with Mr. Michaels. He did, though, which was where I had taken my second stumble. Dominic winked as he caught me, placing me safely back on my feet, all without missing a step or pausing his explanation. He explained—briefly—about the scheduled initial, then moved on to the part of the story where he’d walked by my class and seen my backpack on the ground outside the door. He heard my voice coming from inside the girls’ bathroom and was about to knock on the door to see if we needed help, when he remembered what I had said about the truculent Ms. Dashels. Deciding he might be of better use in another way, he boldly knocked on the locked door of my History class, prepared to beseech my teacher, and let her know I was helping a student to the infirmary.
By the time he was finished speaking with her, I had already left the bathroom with Vanya, so he assumed we had made it to the nurses’ office. Just barely, I thought, remembering the five minute trek across campus. In the end, he had shown up only a few minutes late to his meeting with Mr. Michaels. As for what had happened inside the classroom, that was actually quite impressive. Come to find out, Ms. Dashels wasn’t the only one with a military background.
“I had no idea what I was going to say,” Dominic admitted, squinting in the afternoon sunlight. His black hair gleamed like a freshly polished onyx stone. “And honestly”—he glanced sideways at me chuckling—“she kinda scares me a little. When I asked her if I could talk to her for a minute, I seriously thought she was going nail me in the face. But once she let me in, it turned out to be much easier than I had anticipated. I took one look at all the posters, platitudes, and Military paraphernalia on the walls and realized I couldn’t have been any luckier, in terms of cajoling a ticked off teacher.”
Dominic told me then about how his family prides themselves on being able to provide very old and authentic artifacts documenting their lineage, even having some ancestry records that date back clear into the late fifteenth century, where a relative fought in The Italian war of 1494.
“Before my Grandfather retired, he was a widely respected and high ranking officer in the Army. He fought in the Vietnam War and succeeded in bringing every single solider under his command back home to their families. Something like that was a very big deal for that time. Still is, actually. More than forty-seven thousand Americans died in that war and over three hundred thousand were wounded.”
His tone was neutral, but I could tell just by looking at him how proud Dominic was of his Grandfather. And in addition to what I already knew from our conversation last night, I found myself lamenting the fact that I would never have a chance to meet someone . . . not only a hero, but Dominic’s hero.
“Sorry,” Dominic shook his head admonishingly, “this has very little to do with your teacher. I hav—”
“No, please,” I interrupted, lightly touching his shoulder. “I don’t mind at all.” His eyes flicked to my hand. I quickly lowered it to my side and looked away, but thought I saw him smile.
“We visited him and my Grandma often—at their home there on the base. It wasn’t the most exciting place on earth to stay for three weeks, but we ended up meeting some very influential people. Some—and this is where I get back to how this pertains to your teacher,” he said in an aside, “of which I assumed would impress Ms. Dashels if she knew them, too. So . . . I saw no harm in name dropping a little bit, and as it turns out, her Father served as a Lieutenant General around the same time my Grandfather did. Not at the same base, but it doesn’t really matter in the Military; they’re a network in constant communication with one another, especially within their own branch. But in fact, she was pretty sure she had met him once before. After that, I asked her if she remembered one infamous prank that has been circulating for years, about a bunch of cocky E3’s that needed to be taught a lesson on respect and humility.”
“Oh—an E3 basically means a newbie,” he clarified, seeing my blank expression. “The story goes, that a few of the Commanding Officers snuck into their barracks late one night after they had all gone to sleep, setting off a round of caps and chucking a bunch of fake grenades at them. They completely freaked—some started crying, others fleeing out the door half-naked, screaming and waking up the entire base. Ah, man . . . they were never able to live that down.” He laughed at the memory, shaking his head. “Anyway, your teacher was familiar with the prank, and—actually was even able to add a few details I had never heard.” He shrugged. “I casually mentioned where you were and that was that.”
Stunned into speechlessness, I moved my head from side to side, straining to picture my teacher, Ms. Dashels, laughing and having a pleasant conversation with someone. And not just any someone, but a student! Perhaps it was only that my imagination was unexceptional, but try as I might to envision this encounter, I simply couldn’t see it.
“I can’t begin to thank you enough,” I said meaningfully. “The risk—the risk you took in interrupting her lecture . . . there’s no telling what she might have done had things gone differently. Detention, suspension, manual labor.” And as I listed off the variety of plausible punishments, Ms. Dashels’ face burst into focus, allowing me to picture her only too well. “Or worse.”
He laughed quietly. “It was worth the risk.” The murmur was spoken without any inflection; calm and even. I peeked up, thoroughly curious.
His head was angled toward me, his expression a paradox: intensely serene. This is how it was with him, I thought, a tremor of something unexplained zip lining down the slope of my spine. Even with eyes heavy-lidded—blue crescents hiding behind the plumage of black feathers—and only the slightest bit of smirk on his face, he could be nothing short of vital and magnetic. Walking beside him, I could almost feel the electric charge he radiated, constant and strong, pulsing in harmony to the steady flicker of a shirt pressed snugly over his heart. With Dominic, it didn’t matter whether he was angry, amused, forlorn, or pensive. It was with effortless and unconscious procedure he assembled equal measure, exploding with emotion when the act itself required none. To be so passionate about everything . . . the idea thrilled me to nearly the degree in which it frightened me.
He turned away, eyes focusing ahead. “Shouldn’t get in trouble for doing something nice for someone,” he said offhandedly, then snorted. “Especially you, though.” I said nothing, but he must have felt my eyes fall on him. “Recognition and self-gratification,” he announced, without enthusiasm. “Primarily, the two reasons people do nice things.” He turned to me, smirking, eyes wildly roaming my face. “You, on the other hand—I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more determined not to be recognized for all the nice things she does for others.”
I was about to deny this assertion when he lengthened his stride and leapt ahead, reaching the final pair of doors a few seconds before me. He stood aside, his lower back pressed against the metal bar. The second we made eye contact, he sputtered and laughed, wagging his head at the ground. By the time I reached him, he was watching me amusedly, arms crossed over his chest.
“Go ahead,” he invited cordially, lifting a likewise invitational hand. He had dutifully wiped his face clean of emotion, leaving only a placid mask that hid the truth beneath it.
I stood very straight, fidgeting as I read his face to no avail. “Wh—I’m not—go ahead and what?”
He maintained the prodigious aplomb. “Prove me right by refusing to let me acknowledge you’re a nice person.” I opened my mouth and immediately shut it, lips clamping tightly shut. After exhausting possib
le counterarguments, coming up embarrassingly empty, I nodded in acquiescence. He had me outwitted and he knew it.
“Thank you,” I said, stepping the rest of the way through the door.
He gave no indication that he’d proved his point, save for the slowly blinking eyes emanating victory with every languid bat. Seeing a group of people approaching, he stayed where he was until three girls and two boys had entered. All three girls thanked him, sending various looks of approval, appreciation, and invitation over their shoulders as they sauntered away. Dominic murmured a polite response in return, though eyes were fixed on me, a beam of stark curiosity in them.
“What?” he called from where he stood, unable to wait until we were closer. “What’s that look?”
“It’s nothing,” I replied, bowing my head and biting down on a smile as he began walking my way. He snorted; it was a sardonic sound, coupled with the arrogant amusement of one who’s much too clever to ever fall for such a poorly delivered lie.
“You’re kidding, right?” He laughed again, now standing directly in front of me. “A buffalo would have better luck hiding behind a fire hydrant.”
“Really,” I assured him, and if possible, sounding less convincing than the first time. “It’s not—”
Then my heart was hammering as Dominic’s finger came beneath my chin, forcing me to look up and meet his eyes. He left it propped there, the knuckle gently pressed into my skin. I couldn’t help it and swallowed; it felt like trying to choke down a grapefruit whole.
Dominic continued to search my face, encouraged by whatever he saw, and dropped his hand as he began speaking. “Oh, yeah . . .” He nodded slowly, the gesture full of conviction. “You’re definitely laughing at me, Foster Kelly.” He crossed both arms over his chest and planted his feet. “I can see it.”
For a reason having nothing to do with the inconsequential thought, my hands went to my cheeks, a very poor shield indeed. I met his smiling eyes, wavering in my resolve. I knew by denying this claim I was only making things worse, my refusal only stoking his curiosity, but I had never intended to voice the thought aloud. Not because it was embarrassing or anything like that, but because it was fleeting and merely an observation—one I was surely going to have to share now.
I decided to give it one last try, to see if I could diminish his intrigue. “Once you’ve heard it, you’re going to be disappointed.” He gave me a look that said “doubtful,” and proceeded to appear even more interested in what I might be about to disclose. “Okay,” I sighed, all too late and wishing I had just come right out and said it, rather than building his expectations. “But I wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. And really, it’s not funny—or anything . . .” I temporized, flicking my eyes everywhere but his face.
I heard him take a very deep breath through his nose. “Foster?”
“Mm?” I said, glancing up innocently.
His face was torn; stuck in that in between place where it’s not sure if it wants to erupt into laughter or scream very loudly. “Will you just tell me.” His eyes darkened, crinkling at the corners. “Please.”
“I—I’ve just noticed that you open quite a few doors,” I said briskly. Then slower, “You say ‘excuse me’ when someone bumps into you, stop to pick up others’ dropped belongings, are quick with an apology, put yourself in the middle of disputes.”
He continued to stare back at me, blinking. “So, what is it you’re trying to say?”
I had the distinct feeling he was bating me. “I’m saying . . . I’m not the only one who does nice things for people.”
“Whoever said you were?”
“But you—”
“I said,” he interrupted, then paused for a brief second, “that I had never met anyone more determined not to be acknowledged.”
“Right,” I agreed, nodding my head.
“So, there’s Saints . . . and then there’s Saint Bernards.”
I hadn’t the faintest idea what to make of this, and his face gave nothing away. “And you are . . .” I trailed off, waiting for him to finish my incomplete sentence.
“Not a Saint.” He laughed, a warm, comfortable sound like logs kindling in the fireplace. Then, he spun me around, steering us toward those lunching in the distance. “Anytime you like,” he began, smiling angelically, “feel free to acknowledge me.”
~
We walked a little further, our steps slow susurrant and in perfect alignment. Too soon, we had arrived at our final destination. I couldn’t help but release a small sigh as we did. Dominic released a long breath of his own; not quite a sigh, but a noise of preparation maybe? Could he possibly have an idea of what he was about to step into? And could I do anything to prevent this catastrophe from happening? And so we stood just outside the doors of the great room, lost in our own thoughts, not speaking, but both of us understanding the easy conversation of the last ten minutes had come to an end—that it must for now, anyway.
And it had been easy, hadn’t it? Even following the morning’s eventfulness, and despite conversations like separate merry-go-rounds—Dominic and me in the car, Dominic, Emily, Jake, and me in the parking lot, Jake and Dominic in the parking lot, Emily and me in the band room—being with him felt natural. Not comfortable—just breathing normally around him was often challenging—but natural, so that being elsewhere would have left me feeling tweaked and misshapen. Most amazing, even knowing what I did about the topic discussed inside Mr. Michaels office, my feelings hadn’t changed.
It had also changed everything.
With those findings, another layer of the mystery had been revealed, only to be compounded upon with seemingly indefinite obscurity. What? When? Why? How? When given the opportunity—and if the two of us survived what lie beyond these doors—these would be the questions I whisper to the night, their incessancy driving me to madness and insomnia. Until I had answers, it was a stagnant unrest I must make do with. And I would make do, because . . .
I felt the prickle scurry up my spine, and my mouth go moistureless. Too close. I was much too close to thinking things I knew I wasn’t prepared to handle, to admitting I was no longer just waiting for those moments when he found me, but wanting them. This want had started last night, I realized, and followed me soundlessly into today. Around him, I was different; I spoke freely, unguarded. I could relax enough to make it through a sentence without stammering. Not completely, of course, but I believed there were other factors involved there, having much more to do with him than me. It was more often than not that I found myself laughing—really laughing—in his presence, opening up about the mundane and personal, listening and sharing equally, even braving sarcasm for the first time. It was calm that ebbed as regularly as it flowed, never staying in one place for very long, but a ride I enjoyed for all its offerings: the climb, the free fall, and all the loops in between.
This wasn’t to say I found any of this unchallenging; I did. When Dominic’s bright, sharp eyes would reach into mine, pulling the truth from me, it actually stung. Or occasionally when the gaze turned to a wander, slow and deliberate, studying my face for no apparent reason—this I managed with even less ease.
Where there was once only a consuming need to hide, to vanish or flee during the rarity of being noticed, there was now something else . . . not quite bravery, but a curiosity, the very beginnings of “I wonder” starting to explore and take root. I was not at all familiar with this alien living inside me, nor did I feel confident to make the decision whether it was welcome or should be warned off.
Everything about what was happening was . . . different.
When I was with Dominic, I became less aware of my blaring social ineptitude, defunct verbal skills, and all the minor and major quirks that set me apart from the masses of teenagers everywhere. This wouldn’t be all that surprising if I were speaking strictly in conventional terms, such as the amorous haze that infatuation promotes. Nothing about Dominic or the way he made me feel was conventional, however. What puzzled me was how instead
of overlooking those less than desirable qualities, they were in fact highlighted and focused on; though not in a way I was accustomed to. Dominic had me believing that those flaws, the things I loathed about myself, were what made me special and unique. He made me feel special and unique.
“It looks nice on you,” came the softly spoken words to the left of me.
Blinking, I turned abruptly, wondering how long my mind had been elsewhere. As I raised my chin to meet his eyes, again I observed the juxtaposition of his intense serenity; though, there was some humor knitting the expression together.
“I’m sorry,” I said, sheepishly smiling. “I think I might have missed some of what you said. Do you mind repeating it?” I asked, scolding myself for giving way to the indulgent daydream.
The smile deepened. “Sure. I said, ‘It looks nice on you.’”
“Oh.” Reflexively, my fingers went to fiddle with the hem of my sleeves, pulling each one down in small increments. I had in fact heard that, but figured it wasn’t in context. I glanced down, blushing.
“Thank you. It’s my favorite.”
“Well, actually, if I’m being honest, I didn’t mean your sweater.”
I lifted my eyes, and found him slightly contrite. “Oh . . . you weren’t?” My hands relocated on my scarf, which I jiggled inquisitively.
“No.” His mouth twitched, like he was restraining a smile. “Not your scarf, either—not that I don’t like what you’re wearing,” he elaborated, looking into my eyes with sudden attentiveness. “The color makes your eyes especially green.” My natural instinct was to look away. I could feel it now, forceful, like one of my kids pulling on my arm, determined to have all of my attention. I resisted.
“What were—what was it—” Holding his stare was not without consequence; my ability to speak coherently, for one.
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