“Fine, but don’t make a habit of it, Mister… is it Trevor or James? Oh, never mind.” He pointed to the only empty desk in the class, which was the one right behind Claire. “Take a seat.”
The noise level grew as Trevor made his way down the aisle. Claire tried to sink down in her chair. She lowered her face. But it was no use. As much as she wanted to avoid seeing Trevor, something was compelling her to look at him. She raised her eyes, past his knees (and past his crotch), all the way up to his eyes and the moment they met, she felt the same jolt of electricity pass through her that she’d felt yesterday.
He smiled in recognition, broke eye contact as he passed her, sat down. She could hear and feel him exhale. It smelled faintly of
earth
peppermint.
Claire glued her eyes to the front of the classroom, determined not to let Trevor distract her. But she knew that, no matter what Mister Kristofferson was going to teach them that day, there was no way she was going to remember a single word of it.
‡ ‡ ‡
Psst.
She’d been waiting nearly the entire period for it, and when it finally did come, she almost yelped. She inhaled sharply, but otherwise didn’t move.
His breath brushed her neck, sent a chill through her. It started from the top of her scalp and finished somewhere, it seemed, about a mile beneath her chair.
She was frozen.
“Heard what happened to you last night.”
How had he known?
He chuckled quietly, as if he’d read her thoughts: “It’s all over school. I don’t mean to laugh. I mean, I’m glad you’re okay.” And then, “I wish I could’ve been there. I would’ve kicked someone’s ass!”
Claire frowned. Her head seemed to clear for a moment and she thought, Who the hell is this guy who she barely even knew, saying things like this? It smacked of overconfidence. It smacked of male chauvinism. It was—
“Yes?” Mister Kristofferson said, peering over his notes. “Mister James, is it? Do you have something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?”
Claire could hear Trevor’s chair squeak as he shifted in it. She could almost imagine the look on his face, the embarrassment. Well, he deserved it.
“Actually, Mister K,” said that delicious voice, much more cheerily than it deserved to be, “yes, I do. I was just about to ask Claire about the senior ball. Being new and all, I figured she’d be able to help me, you know, find a date.”
Shocked silence passed like a cold wind through the classroom. Then, all at once, everyone seemed to be speaking at the same time, sounds of amusement and surprise pushing away the tension. Mister Kristofferson stammered for a moment. “Well, um, right. Yes, I suppose time is of the essence, in such matters.” His eyes shifted to Claire, quickly settling on the middle of her face. Claire was used to the way the teachers looked at her when they didn’t think she noticed, the hunger, the self-loathing for even thinking what they had to be thinking. She didn’t judge them for it. “But,” Mister Kristofferson added, “kindly please direct all future questions to me.”
“Sorry, Mister K, but I had someone a bit less…masculine in mind as a date.”
Laughter erupted. Mister K’s face grew red. He coughed. “Yes, of course. Just keep the questions on point, hmm, Mister James? This is math class, after all.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” the teacher stammered, struggling to regain his composure. He swung around to look at the clock on the wall. “Looks like that’ll be it for today. Don’t forget to turn in your homework! And quiz on Monday, folks. Have a good weekend!”
The bell rang and the class started to shuffle its way out the door. Several girls hung back, obviously hoping to see what Trevor would do next, hoping he’d notice them. Maybe even hoping he’d ask if they were available for the ball.
“Going for frozen yogurt today?” he asked Claire. “I’ll buy.”
Claire opened her mouth to protest—afterschool time was supposed to be for The Five—but as soon as their eyes met, all coherent thought flew from her mind. She nodded.
“Great.” He gave her a huge grin. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a skateboard, would you?” He raised a battered and scuffed plank of plywood from the floor beneath him. Like his water bottle, nearly the entire surface of the skateboard was plastered with skull stickers. “Cuz if not, you can use mine. I’ll jog. I don’t mind.”
Claire had never ridden a skateboard in her life. In fact, it had long been her policy never to be seen anywhere near one. Skateboards were for geeks and people who didn’t care about scars. And yet, here she was, in the school hallway, where skateboarding was, for obvious reasons, never allowed, and her feet were awkwardly planted on either end of Trevor’s skateboard and her body was swaying and her arms were flailing and she was sure she was going to break her neck. But she was having the time of her life!
“Don’t let go!” she squealed. She was giggling, actually giggling!
He gave her a little push and the crowd in the hallway seemed to magically make room for her.
“You’re doing great, Claire!”
“Claire?”
She was vaguely aware of Heather and Dee’s faces zipping by.
“Claire, look out!”
She felt like she was flying. She laughed at the exhilaration of it. And then the front doors were suddenly right there and right below them were the stairs and she opened her mouth to scream because she couldn’t stop and the stairs were so high and—
But then her breath was suddenly ripped from her by an arm around her waist. The abandoned skateboard flew off the top step. It hung for a moment in mid air, then clattered harmlessly to the ground below.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Trevor said. “A few more lessons before you’re ready for rails and jumps.”
He had a hold of her now by the arm, and her sleeve had pulled up and she looked down because the skin where he was touching her was burning. But she knew without seeing it that it wasn’t because of him, but because of the scratch. He began to turn her arm, rotating the cut into view.
Claire jerked it away with a light laugh and rolled the sleeve down again. She wasn’t sure if he’d seen it, but she was positive that it would look even worse now than it had that morning; it certainly felt worse, anyway. But whether it was or not, was irrelevant. She couldn’t let him see it. She couldn’t let him believe that she was somehow less than perfect.
After a moment, he smiled. Claire couldn’t help but see the tiniest flicker of something in his face. It looked like doubt.
And she suddenly knew that she’d die if he ever found out about the scratch.
‡ ‡ ‡
It was almost as if Trevor had always been a part of their group. He sat right in among them, in the same booth they’d occupied not twenty-four hours before, and somehow there was enough room for all of them, even though yesterday it had seemed like they were all packed in much too tightly. Granted, Heather wasn’t there today, but even her absence couldn’t account for how cozy it all felt.
Trevor had his arm pressed against Claire and it felt so natural, so wonderful, so comfortable. He was joking with Six and Ralph. They were talking about the movie The Princess Bride, of course. It was old material, given Six’s connection to the film, but it now seemed fresh and new all over again. The girls were all laughing and hanging on his every word.
Claire’s lips tingled. Her whole body tingled, but it was her lips she was thinking about just then, her lips and how they would feel if he’d just kiss her. She knew he wanted to.
So what is he waiting for?
She caught him glancing down once, at her arm. She knew it was silly, but it seemed as if he knew she was hiding something, as if he could see right through the fabric to the blemish on her arm. She knew it was stupid and paranoid, thinking that if he saw the scratch, he’d not like her anymore. But maybe it wasn’t so farfetched. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d dated a guy who
was only into her for her looks. In fact, she’d be hard pressed to name even one boy who hadn’t.
When he turned away, she slid her arm under the table and left it there. Once it disappeared from view, she felt herself relax.
Her other hand was wrapped up in his, and it felt so nice there. There was none of that loose, clammy, awkward feeling that always accompanied the acquisition of a new boyfriend. Trevor’s skin was pleasantly cool to the touch, even dry. It felt so welcome on such a warm day.
“Where’d your friend go?” he suddenly asked, startling her. “The one with the dark brown hair?”
“Heather?” Claire frowned, looking over at April, who blinked back at them but didn’t say anything. “No idea. Why?”
He shrugged. “It’s kind of obvious, isn’t it?”
Claire frowned, shook her head.
“The way she was looking at me yesterday? At…us? I just hope I didn’t hurt her feelings.”
“Heather?” She chuffed. “She’s not jealous. She’s not like that at all. She’s probably just not feeling well. It’s been a tough few weeks for her, but it has nothing to do with you.” She hugged his arm tighter, as if he might suddenly get up and run away. Even though her other arm stayed put, a pain shot through it and into her neck, causing her to wince. Thankfully, Trevor didn’t notice.
“Well, you don’t need to worry, either,” Trevor whispered. “You’re a lot prettier than she is.” Claire felt a coldness stab deep into her heart. His words seemed to confirm her fears.
The Hut was packed with students, just as it had been yesterday. When they first walked in, it had seemed as if every eye was on them. But now that the novelty of Edgemont’s newest royalty had worn off—for that’s what they were, king and queen—few people were paying them any attention. April was the exception. Maybe she was just bored. Maybe Claire was just being paranoid. But the darkness in April’s eyes seemed painfully clear; it looked like longing. Claire tried to dismiss it, but every time she’d look up, April’s eyes would be on her.
The door swung open and a group of kids swarmed in, jocks, refilling the hole in the line that had just been vacated by a group of nobodies. That bunch had gone and piled into a booth that had just emptied. The kids who’d sat there, drama geeks from the looks of it, filed slowly out through the door, jabbering away in their own little world with their own made-up language. There was something harmonious in all of this that made Claire feel as if, for the first time in her life, she was a part of, rather than above, the larger world, something greater than anything she’d experienced before.
The Froyo Hut cycle of life.
She smiled, despite all the tiny sparks of worry and doubt inside of her that kept trying to ignite larger fires.
“So, you and Clarabelle,” Six said, holding up his hand for Trevor to high-five. Or was it high-six? “That was, like, bam!”
Ralph laughed and nodded his agreement. “I’ve seen guys work fast, but damn, never that fast.”
Trevor just shrugged. He didn’t seem at all nonplussed by the attention. “I know what I like,” he said. Then he turned and smiled at Claire and added: “Perfection.”
Everyone at the table groaned, but Trevor took it all in good-naturedly. He shifted, wedging Claire’s arm against the table support. Another piercing pain shot into her shoulder. But this time it didn’t stop there: it spread across her back and up into her head. An ear-piercing buzzing rose in her ears. She jerked away, wincing.
“Claire?”
She pulled her arm off to one side and gave it a little shake. She tried to smile. “I think it’s asleep.”
Trevor reached over and gently pulled her hand to his chest. He began to massage it, but it only made the ache grow worse. Now her knuckles and fingertips felt as if they were on fire. “Is that better?”
She pulled it away, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick. Her stomach was cramping painfully and she was certain she was going to throw up.
“I’m—”
But then she was out of her seat, ramming through the bodies that thronged the front counter to the back of The Hut to where the bathrooms were. She hoped and prayed that the one stall in the women’s room that wasn’t broken was unoccupied. She pushed herself through the door and found the stall empty, barely making it before everything she’d eaten that day came rushing back up her throat in a gush that seemed to last forever and a day. How could there be so much?
Her knees gave out. She found herself kneeling, holding her longish hair back with one hand, the other tucked against her belly, the one that had felt as if it had been wrenched from her shoulder. The tang of urine and disinfectant wafted up and into her nose. As she leaned back against the side of the stall gasping for air and struggling to focus, she realized with alarm that it was the scratch doing this to her. Something was horribly wrong with her arm. Dreading what she’d find, she raised her hand and carefully drew back her sleeve. Her gasp filled the silence.
“Claire?” April. The closeness of the bathroom seemed to amplify the concern in her voice, twisting it, turning it into something ominous. “Claire, are you okay? Trevor’s worried about you. We all are.”
Claire hurriedly pushed her sleeve back down, hiding the ugly purple swelling and the bright red lines radiating outward from it in all directions. It was an ugly infection, and it terrified her. She wondered if Dennis’s infection had started off this way, too. But that seemed almost unimportant next to what worried her now.
If Trevor sees it…
“I’m okay,” she panted, still a little out of breath. The vomit in the toilet swirled sluggishly, half-alive it seemed, a putrid, creamy concoction of grape-colored froyo and chunks of undigested lettuce from her lunch salad. The stink of it washed across her face as she reached over to push the lever to flush it down, adding to the acrid stink of fresh bile and old pee. But there was another smell beneath it, something subtle and new.
It smelled like rotting flesh.
“I’ll be out in a sec, April.”
She struggled to her feet, then grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped her face with it. Already she felt better. The pain in her arm was gone, and it didn’t even look as bad as it had just a moment before. Maybe I hallucinated it. But she didn’t dare check. She pulled open the stall door, took a deep breath, and walked out.
Dee, April and Simone were standing in a protective semicircle around the door, their faces etched with worry.
“You’re going straight home,” Dee announced. Claire started to protest, but Dee raised her hand. “Don’t argue, girl. You’re as pale as a ghost. I think you’ve had enough fun for one day. April, go tell the others. I’m taking her home.”
“But Trevor—”
“He’ll understand.”
Deirdre grabbed Claire’s arm and helped her out of the bathroom. Claire was actually beginning to feel much better—almost normal again—but she was also glad for Dee’s strength. Whatever this germ was that had gotten a hold of her, it was really knocking her for a loop. She needed to fix it before it killed her, or worse.
She nodded weakly, and then the two girls slipped out through the side door and out into the bright afternoon sunlight.
It’s better this way, she thought to herself. Better to not let Trevor see me like this. He won’t want me if he knows.
‡ ‡ ‡
The next day was Saturday, and since Claire hadn’t thought to exchange phone numbers with Trevor, she had no idea how to contact her new boyfriend. (She’d already started to think of Trevor that way, even though neither of them had discussed the terms of their relationship in any way.) It was just as well, though. She wanted to see him, but not in the condition she was in, which was worse than yesterday.
When she’d woken up in the morning, stiff and achy and blistering hot, her arm had looked and felt even worse than she had feared. Despite that—or maybe because of it—she couldn’t get Trevor out of her mind. He was a constant presence, lurking in the darkness just beneath
her worries, merging with them, becoming a part of them.
The skin all over her body was super-sensitive. It felt like it was on fire. Her arm was swollen to twice its normal size, which made the skin there taut and shiny. The whole appendage felt heavy and thick and rigid, like it didn’t belong to her, like a cast. She could only imagine what a cast felt like, since she’d never actually worn one. She’d never had a broken bone in her life, much less a muscle strain.
Now look at her. She was a wreck.
She had wrapped a towel packed with ice around the arm, hoping to bring down the swelling, pretending it wasn’t as horrid looking as it was. Most of the purple from yesterday had faded away, as had the angry redness, but what replaced it was a faint green and brown tone that looked a lot like a healing bruise.
In a panic, she called Dee, but Mrs. de Havilland told her that her daughter had gone out with Ralph and ‘that other couple.’ Dee’s mom had never liked Six, though it was never clear if it was because of his tattoos or his extra finger or something else. Then again, Claire didn’t think her own parents liked him very much, either.
She next tried April’s phone, but when she was immediately sent to voice mail, she hung up.
Which left her only one last option.
Heather picked up on the first ring, answering as if she’d been expecting Claire’s call.
“Why did you wait so long?” she scolded, after Claire told her about the infection.
In truth, Heather was the one person Claire had been hoping to avoid. After what Trevor had hinted at yesterday at The Hut, she’d begun to worry that Heather might be angry at them; after all, Heather had been the most excited by Trevor’s arrival.
But by the time Claire had dialed her number, she had convinced herself that Heather wasn’t angry or jealous. Okay, maybe she might’ve been at first, but she’d obviously gotten over him by now, which was so like her, reacting in the extreme to whatever caught her attention, but then moving on to something new without rhyme or reason. The girl would obsess about something, then completely forget about it. Like that time April had come in to school after Christmas break wearing that beautiful new cashmere sweater her father had picked up in Moscow. He was a salesman, though nobody seemed to know what he sold in those far-off places, Kiev and Damascus and Kathmandu. Heather had gushed about the sweater for days afterward, commenting at least a dozen times how pretty it was and how much she just loved it. A month later, April came in bearing a similar, though not identical, sweater as a gift. Heather had squealed with delight, saying it was perfect. She’d worn it for a week, but then it disappeared forever. It was like she had a switch inside her head and could turn her emotions on and off at a whim.
Flawless, a Claire Fontaine novella Page 4