by C. J. Valles
“Not really,” I shrug, trying my hardest not to gawk.
“This model hasn’t been released for sale yet, so I’m borrowing this one.”
“You mean you stole it?”
He looks at me with mock indignation and then shrugs in his characteristic nonchalant way.
“I wired them the money. It isn’t my concern that they haven’t unveiled it to the public yet.”
“That’s great.” I stop, my shock wearing off long enough for me to be appalled. “Wait. … How did you get here before Ever?”
“My rival, it would seem, has grown too accustomed to human contrivances. I brought my transportation here; clearly he is driving his.”
At the sound of an engine, I look down the street and see Ever’s black sedan turn the corner. In seconds, the Maserati is parked behind the bright red Ferrari, and I’m standing between Ever, who is seething, and Alex, who is clearly elated with his parlor trick. I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulders and look back and forth between the two of them.
“If the two of you car enthusiasts are going to have a whose-engine-is-bigger contest, then I’m walking to the bus stop, all right?”
Ever laughs, surprising me, and I nearly melt into the concrete with relief. The last thing I need is for the neighbors to call the police to break up a fight between two immortals in front of my house. Leaning down, Ever touches his lips to mine. His kiss is nowhere near as intense as yesterday, but this is clearly for his opponent’s benefit. He straightens and stares in Alex’s direction before returning his eyes to me.
“Enjoy the ride,” he says to me before looking at Alex again. “If you touch her, I will make you suffer.”
“Manners. Remember. What you wish on me, she will share,” he says.
Ever smiles in a way that runs ice through my veins.
“Show him if you’d like,” he says.
Hesitating briefly, I reach up and pull at the neckline of my shirt to reveal the blue infinity symbol.
“Nicely played. Wren, shall we?” Alex asks, gesturing toward the open door of the insanely red car.
I look at Ever and then maneuver myself into the low cockpit-like passenger seat of the sports car. Alex closes the door behind me and then reappears almost instantaneously behind the wheel.
“Thanks for wishing pain on me,” I mutter.
He looks puzzled as the car rockets forward. Then he smiles.
“Merely threats meant to keep Ever in line.”
Alex takes the turn off of my street at a precarious speed, but the car’s tires grip the asphalt like superglue. I breathe deeply and try to resist the urge to clutch the armrest.
“Have you thought of what people are going to say when you show up at a suburban high school in this thing?” I ask.
“Perhaps they’ll assume I’m the profligate son of some Internet magnate.”
“Oh, right. Like there are a lot of those floating around suburban Oregon.”
“Granted, wealth tends to collect rather than disperse. And those who have wealth enjoy flaunting it.”
“Clearly,” I sigh.
The sound of the engine is impressive, and the stitching on the leather seat I’m sitting in looks hand-sewn. I can’t even begin to imagine how expensive this car is. I look over at Alex. To him, it’s a toy. The same way he thinks of me, I’m sure. More things for his collection.
“You have forever to wander around. Why don’t you take this car and go pick up some supermodels? You know … party for the rest of eternity? What do you need me for? You said yourself, ‘There will be others.’”
“Maybe I lied.”
I look away, and by the time the car careers into the student parking lot, I have the same nauseous feeling I did when I arrived at school with Ever for the first time. Only that morning, lucky for me, we had gotten to school long before anyone else. Today there are people everywhere, and I can already see heads turning, students and teachers alike wearing the same shocked expression. I look up at the ceiling of the car and wish fervently for the power of invisibility, because I know that all this does is put an even bigger target on my back—more people asking, Why her?
Why me? Because I’m special, I think caustically. Looking back on my years consigned to adapted PE, I wonder if maybe the part of my brain responsible for catching balls—rather than getting whacked on the head with them—somehow got repurposed for mind reading. Right now, I’d definitely pick athletic coordination over mind reading.
The car slides into a space, and when the door pops open, I look up, expecting to see Ever. Instead, it’s Chasen’s enormous frame looming over me. I reach for his hand, and he swoops me out of the car, depositing me on the curb between himself and Audra. Alex, who is already out of the driver’s seat, leans over the roof of the car like he did earlier and smirks at Chasen.
“Would this make you Ever’s loyal canine?” Alex asks.
“It would make me loyal,” Chasen shoots back.
Ever’s head-turning black sedan comes to a stop next to the even more incongruous Ferrari. Moments later, he’s beside me with his arm wrapped around my shoulders. As we begin walking toward school, I see Lindsay getting out of her car. I wave, desperate for human companionship.
This reminds me, though. While my new friends have been very welcoming, and these immortal beings have gone out of their way to protect me, I will always feel out of place in both groups—eternally grateful, but still out of place. I am not a normal human, but I’m not like Ever and the others, either.
I belong nowhere.
“You belong with me,” Ever whispers against my hair.
I smile at him, and I want to believe it’s true, but I’m not naïve. I turn back and see Audra and Chasen just behind us, their hands linked. She smiles at me, and I wonder if having a common enemy to hate has made me less objectionable. For a split second, my eyes focus on Alex, who’s a few steps behind them. He nods and smiles at me, and I face forward with a single mind-numbing realization.
Alex and I have something in common. We are the true outsiders.
When I join Lindsay at the edge of the parking lot, I’m eager to escape the immortal standoff that’s been my morning. Rising up on my toes, I kiss Ever on the cheek, feeling Alex’s eyes burning into me. Lindsay and I start walking, joined by Audra.
“God, did you say you’re all friends?” Lindsay asks Audra. “’Cause I was getting a seriously weird vibe from Ever and the new guy—what’s his name?”
“Alex,” I say before Audra can say Iago, the betrayer.
“They’ve had this rivalry forever,” Audra sighs. “You know, boys will be boys, or something ridiculous like that.”
“Rivalry? You mean a ‘who’s hotter?’ competition?” Lindsay snickers. “God! They totally need to get over themselves.”
I laugh. Even Audra smiles. When we reach Ashley’s locker, she and Taylor are already there, both bent over their phones. Ashley looks up and sighs with a dramatic eye roll.
“Marcus has texted me fifteen times this morning! All about some car in the parking lot.”
She holds up her phone as proof and flips through about a dozen pictures of Alex’s borrowed vehicle.
“Josh, too,” Taylor says, holding up her phone.
“You’d think they discovered the Lost Arc or the Holy Grail!” Ashley says.
I sigh. Do these immortals care how much attention they’re drawing? Then I realize, no, they probably don’t. I mean, why would they care what a bunch of suburbanites think about their car collection? It’s not like the peasants are going to rise up with torches and pitchforks and chase them out of town. And it’s not like they care about keeping a low profile here or anywhere else—or like they plan to stay indefinitely. Why would they?
This is just a brief detour for them on the vast stretch into forever. And maybe that’s why none of them seems to care about wasting time here, either. After all, if you have forever, are you worried about a few years—or even decades—spent in suburbi
a?
When the first bell rings, I break off from the others and hurry to my locker. Jerking the door open, I stare down at the red rose and smile, reaching out for the small, white card. Picking it up, I freeze. The writing isn’t Ever’s.
Thank you for the pleasure of your company this morning.
A
The last time I saw this handwriting, I thought I was about to die. So … Alex either has a sick and twisted sense of humor. Or maybe, just maybe, he truly never wished to harm me. This kind of makes sense now, but only because I’m not dead. On the other hand, the possibility that he wants to win me over in some chivalry competition—is just too strange to accept. With a chill, I remember what he said on the short drive to school: Maybe I lied.
Jumping when a hand touches my shoulder, I try to wipe the guilty expression from my face as I look up at Ever.
“Was it a mistake to make a deal with him?”
He touches my hair lightly.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” he says.
I nod as we begin walking in the direction of Mr. Gideon’s room. Things felt simpler when I knew—or thought I knew—exactly where I stood. Ever loved me. Audra disapproved of me. Chasen tolerated me. Alex wanted me dead. Now Audra tolerates me, Chasen watches over me, and Alex wants me as a toy.
But it doesn’t matter. My mom is safe, and others may change their opinions of me, but I’m still me. And I have to believe that this is what Ever loves. Me. Not some small part of me, but all of me. The good and the bad. And I’d like to think I’ve given him the same in return.
5: Colorblind
At the beginning of nutrition, we’re standing around when Lindsay suddenly kicks the lockers behind her.
“Solidarity! We need a girls’ night.”
“Is Zach getting on your nerves?” Ashley teases.
“Hell, yes!” Lindsay says before laughing uproariously at her own joke.
“We could do it at my place,” Audra says.
The four of us turn and stare at this blonde goddess. Slowly the others start nodding. Then I figure, why not? As much as I crave every second I can get with Ever, a drama-free night with just my friends sounds awesome. I never had a tight-knit group of friends at Pali. There were friends from Topanga I grew up with, friends on the cross country team, people I talked to in journalism. The groups never meshed, and I always felt like I was at the edge of each one, not really a part of it.
“Pizzas, ice cream, and terrible movies!” Lindsay whoops. “It’ll be epic. And no guys!”
We agree on an upcoming Saturday before the spring dance, and when the nutrition bell rings, I start walking to French. But as soon as I step into Mrs. Gilbert’s classroom, I stop. It takes a few seconds before I start moving again toward my usual seat at the back of the room. When I sit down, I glare at Alex before realizing that I should have expected something like this.
“Can you believe this school doesn’t offer a fourth year French class?” he asks in mock exasperation.
“And don’t you ever get sick of pretending to be a high school student?” I mutter. “Try college.”
“Hmm, I haven’t done high school since … I think it was ’56 in Chicago.”
My eyes widen briefly. Nineteen fifty-six. And he says it like this was a year or two ago—not the middle of the twentieth century.
“Time all depends on your perspective—”
Mrs. Gilbert arrives in front of him.
“Monsieur? Vous êtes un élève ou … ?”
I nearly laugh at her question. She asked if he’s a student, which she obviously doesn’t believe. Alex nods at her.
“Bien sûr. Quoi d’autre?”
Of course. What else? I smirk, wishing I could jab him in the ribs for messing with the teacher.
“Et votre nom, s’il vous plaît?” Mrs. Gilbert asks.
“Alexandre Rousseau,” he says in what sounds like an impeccable French accent.
She glances over at me like I have answers.
Where is this young man from? she thinks.
“Et d’où venez-vous, monsieur?” she asks, her voice thick with suspicion.
“Partout et nullepart,” he responds easily.
I look over at him when the teacher turns and walks back to her desk.
“You’re from everywhere and nowhere?”
He shrugs.
“She asked.”
The teacher returns and drops the textbook on his desk with another skeptical look. After she starts the lesson plan, every few minutes she walks back over to us and asks Alex another question. Pretty soon, her queries are so far outside my rudimentary knowledge of French that I can only understand every fifth word or so.
“¿La clase española, quizás?” she asks finally.
By now, if I couldn’t read her thoughts, I would be completely lost. She just suggested he try a Spanish class. I smirk.
“¿Tú crees?” he asks with an innocent look.
“D’accord,” she says, flushing.
Finally giving up, she returns to writing the homework assignment on the board. I shake my head. Before today, I had considered Mrs. Gilbert to be pretty unflappable. At the end of class, I get up and collect my things. Looking toward the door, I see Alex waiting for me.
“Let me guess. You’re in my Chemistry class, too,” I say.
“No,” he smiles. “Advanced Physics, if you can call it advanced.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Primitive at best.”
“Yes, us mortals with our little minds.”
He smiles again.
“Will you have lunch with me?”
My returning smile is icy.
“No.”
I turn and start walking toward Chemistry.
“A date, then?”
“A date? How provincial of you,” I call over my shoulder. “I have a boyfriend, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I enjoy a challenge,” he calls lightly.
“How about the impossible?”
“Even better.”
I frown and continue toward Mr. Van Houten’s room. With Alex shadowing my every movement, I can tell the rest of the semester is going to feel like forever. Then again, before we moved to Portland, I remember feeling like I was waiting for my life to start. All I wanted was to get out from the middle of my parents’ misery. Now, so much has changed, but I can’t regret any of it—because that would mean I’m willing to erase all the good to wipe out the bad.
Jeff Summers lifts his chin as I pass his table. I ignore him, placing him firmly in the bad category. But this makes me question my recent habit of putting people and events into neat categories of good and bad. And now that I’m not outright terrified for my life, I’m starting to wonder if everything is more like the grayness of Portland’s skies. The longer I spend in the Pacific Northwest, the more I notice the subtle differences. Like today. Outside, the rain has turned into a mist rather than a sprinkle. And there are no angry storm clouds. Instead the sky is a bright, uniform grayish white. Not sunny, not raining, just gray.
Does Alex Rousseau belong in the gray category, too? The problem is I don’t know enough about him to make a distinction. Six months ago, it would have felt easy to pass judgment. How easily had I cast Ever in the role of villain, then hero, before settling somewhere in between? Maybe there is nothing but gray.
Right now, all I know about Alex is what Ever has told me and the little I’ve seen for myself. Kidnapping, threats, tattoos. And his name, the one he’s chosen. Alex Rousseau. In the middle of writing down my Chemistry notes, I feel the fingers of my left hand grip the edge of the lab table. Edith. Madame Rousseau, the old woman in France. Her last name can’t be a coincidence. I look at the clock, suddenly desperate for the bell to ring.
Apart from being grateful to my French caretaker and relieved for a hot bath and delicious food, I hadn’t given her much thought since Ever and I fled the country estate in the hills somewhere in southwestern France.
Who was she? From what I could tell at the time, she and I had been alone in that gigantic chateau. And in the back of my head, I had assumed that Alex-Iago had found some easily duped elderly woman to shelter me.
Was I wrong? Did she have more of a connection to this solitary and unchanging being than I originally thought?
My bag is already packed, and the instant the bell rings I jump up and race to the back door, my thoughts directed solely on Alex. I skip my locker. And when I reach the lunch area, I forego the line, despite protests from my growling stomach. I scan the room and find Alex at the same table as yesterday. Given that I practically sprinted my way from Chemistry, the cafeteria is still mostly empty, which is good. No witnesses. Alex smiles as I approach him, and I grip my hands into fists, cracking my knuckles. When I get to the table where he’s sitting, I stop.
“You changed your mind,” he says pleasantly.
“No,” I snap. “I didn’t.”
“But you’re here, aren’t you? And without Ever.”
I had been so intent on getting to Alex without interference that I had shut out any thoughts of Ever. Right now, I need answers that only Alex can give me, which isn’t going to happen if he’s locked in some immortal one-upmanship with Ever. But an instant after I think Ever’s name, Alex’s eyes shift to somewhere behind me.
“My apologies for reminding you of him,” he says. “Careless of me.”
Ever is at my side, a protective arm around my shoulders. I stare for a moment longer at Alex before giving up. I’m not going to tell Ever about my suspicions until I have answers, mostly because if I’ve learned anything in my time with him, it’s that a seemingly small detail or question has the potential to open up a black hole of repercussions that I could never have imagined.
For now I’ll wait, but like I told Ever once before: I need answers.
I lunge forward another step. My lungs are burning, I have a stitch in my side, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I hate running. Hate it.
I’ve done very little exercise since moving to Portland, and I’m paying for it now. My muscles have atrophied, something I seriously regret now. Taking another ragged step, I curse myself for choosing this particular sport. Then I remember that this is the only sport I can actually do without risk of harm to myself or others. One thing I learned from cross country is that the second run is always worse than the first, and that’s definitely true today. I look up at the sky. The storm clouds are back and punishing me with freezing cold rain. I look around. There’s not another person crazy enough to be out.