by C. J. Valles
I flip through my anthology of nineteenth century American poets. I’ve already chosen mine: Edgar Allan Poe. But I’m not doing The Raven. Instead, I’m focusing on two that referenced dreams and death. The beginning of the first selection is appropriately titled Dreams.
Oh! That my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
I feel a chill run through me. As I read the rest of the poem, I’m reminded that Poe’s words have nothing to do with me or my life, but they still rattle around in my head, reminding me of my mortality.
Do I regret turning down Ever’s offer of immortality? I shake my head, answering my own question. I don’t want to die before my seventeenth birthday, but I’m also not ready to trade my humanity before I’ve had a chance to live. Besides, at what cost? Ever didn’t get around to telling me the consequences. And there is always a price. Risk and reward for every choice. My mom told me that when I was hesitant to join the cross country team. I’m slow, I told her. Her response was: You’ll get better. Take a risk and see what happens.
And she was right. Me, Wren Sullivan, the girl who hated sports and got knocked unconscious by a soccer ball in elementary school, ended up loving running. I look across the room at the pair of running shoes I hastily abandoned before Ever and I left the house. There is no way I’m letting this immortal feud derail my plans to keep running.
When I hear my mom’s car in the driveway, I get up and stretch my legs. Edgar Allan Poe will have to wait before I make any more amateurish guesses about his fascination with dreams and dying. Bounding down the stairs, I swing open the door before my mom can put her key in the lock. As soon as she walks in, I swipe the box from her.
“I’m starving!”
“Good. Because I thought you’re boyfriend was coming over, so I ordered an extra large—and a salad.”
“That’s very nutritionally conscious of you,” I smile.
“So? Where is Ever tonight?”
I look at her as we walk into the kitchen. She’s thinking about how he’s always around. It’s not that she doesn’t like him, but she is getting a little nervous about how much time I’m spending with him. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t stay. I grab utensils, plates, and bowls from the cupboard and pour us both sparkling water before joining her at the table.
“Um, family stuff, I think.”
Lying about Ever is getting easier and easier. I comfort myself by remembering that the less my mom knows, the safer she’ll be. I hoist an enormous slice of deliciously oily pizza onto my plate. It’s from the same place I went with Ashley, Lindsay, and Taylor—cheesy décor, but great pizza. By the time I’m mid-way through my third piece, I’ve caught my mom up on everything I can, which excludes any immortal-related activities.
After we’ve cleared the table and wrapped up the leftover pizza, I head upstairs to finish my homework. When I’m finished, I pack my backpack and go down the hall to brush my teeth, trying not to think too much about what I learned from Alistair and what could be hunting me. Stopping by my mom’s room to say goodnight, I smile and wave when I see she’s on the phone. Back in my room, I crawl into bed with my poetry anthology. Opening it, I glance at the other poem I’m doing. Spirits of the Dead. Very cheerful.
Thy soul shall find itself alone
’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone—
Not one, all of a crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy
I sigh heavily. Poe definitely had his issues; it’s probably what made him such a great poet. It’s not like I don’t have issues of my own, but that’s not going to make me a great poet. I write a few sentences for the paper and then get up and put the book in my bag. When I hear a gentle tapping at my door, it creaks open and my mom pokes her head in.
“Just wanted to say goodnight.”
“Love you, Mom.”
She comes over and kisses me on the forehead.
“Don’t stay up too late. You’ve been sick.”
She shuts the door behind her, and I go over to the bed and sit on the edge. I feel strangely detached, like I’m floating. There’s something disturbing about spending half the night with immortals as they plan how to keep me alive, and the other half trying to figure out my Algebra 2 homework and eating pizza.
It’s like I’ve split into two people.
Thinking of the two individuals outside somewhere, I wonder: if I think of them simultaneously, does that make me invisible to both of them? Then I remember that I had pressing questions for my stalker that still haven’t been answered. But I’m stuck since I’m not about to summon him to my bedroom in the middle of the night. Ever is a different matter.
I whisper his name, and he appears instantly right in front of me. I open my mouth to say something, but he presses his finger to his lips and disappears. Confused, I look around before hearing the sound of my mom’s hurried steps on the hardwood floor. I turn just as my door bursts open.
“Mom!”
“Sorry, sweetie! But I forgot to tell you. … Your father called me—at work—this morning and said you weren’t answering your e-mails. He was worried. I told him you had the flu. Anyway, he said he needed to book you a ticket for spring break to go down there to visit—”
“Seriously?”
“I told him just to buy the ticket, but I said it has to be refundable.”
“Good, because I’m not going.”
“Wren, you haven’t seen him in … well, too long. Besides, you shouldn’t feel like you have to protect my feelings. Your father and I had issues for a long time, and I’m happy he’s moved on. You’re still his daughter, though.”
“Barely,” I mumble. “And I’m protecting my feelings, not yours. I know you can take care of yourself.”
She smiles.
“I can. Now get some sleep.”
This time she flips off the light before leaving. By the time I turn on the lamp on my nightstand, I find Ever right in front of me.
“That was a little too close,” I whisper.
“Not really,” he smiles.
“Okay. Not for you. So? Does it make you feel more human—sneaking in and out of girls’ bedrooms in the middle of the night?”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Girls? Plural?”
“I don’t remember signing an exclusivity contract, do you?” I ask teasingly, rising up to kiss him.
I freeze when I see his expression, and falling back onto the bed, I groan and slap my forehead. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he would think of … Gross!
“Him? God! No! It was a joke! A bad one,” I mutter ruefully.
He smiles.
“You’re not supposed to be reading my mind.”
From his unconcerned expression, I can tell he knows I used my powers of logic, not mind reading.
“How could you even think for one second that I was referring to him? And—hey! I thought I was supposed to be the jealous one? Mere human in love with a flawless immortal and all that.”
“You are no mere human,” Ever says. “You, Wren Sullivan, are the only one I will ever love.”
I smile weakly.
“Are you trying to melt me into a puddle of goo?”
He leans down and kisses me briefly.
“Is it working?”
“A little too well. I’m never going to get to sleep now.”
I reach for him, and he kisses me again, this time on the cheek. I frown.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
“Can’t you stay? At least until I fall asleep?”
He arches an eyebrow.
“Will you sleep if I’m here?”
I smirk.
“No, probably not.”
“Then don’t tempt me,” he says before disappearing.
Turning off my lamp, I drop into bed and exhale. In avoiding thoughts about my mortality, my deal with Alex, as well as what happened
on the path earlier, it only leaves me to think about something that increases my anxiety level even more—a visit to see my father. The last time I saw him was a few weeks before we left for Oregon. I drove two hours in horrible weekend traffic from the apartment my mom and I were staying in to a strip mall in a well-manicured area of Laguna Niguel.
My dad had been too busy to meet me closer to home, or even halfway. This wasn’t new, though. Not once had he come to one of my cross country races. And at home, he barely looked up from his computer screen on the nights I got home from my part-time job near Pali. Our relationship had become a strained exchange of pleasantries during which I mostly avoided eye contact, afraid of what I might find—resentment, shame … or just nothing. I actually can’t think of a reason why he or Jessica would want me, the forgotten daughter, to visit and intrude on their new life. With a shuddering sigh, I close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.
I’ve been here before. I recognize the garden instantly. But something isn’t right. Everything around me is dead, decaying. I take another a step and feel brittle blades of grass snap under my weight. Reaching out to touch one of the flowers, I watch as it disintegrates between my fingers. Even the air around me is a stale, brownish gray. I look back toward the house, and from the door a beautiful blonde woman with striking blue eyes and hair down to her waist waves and smiles like she knows me. Then I recognize her.
“Madame Rousseau?” I ask.
My eyes open, and I yawn and look around at my bedroom, reveling in the fact that it’s Saturday. Then I see Ever sitting at my desk watching me warily, and I jerk upright.
“What time is it?” I mumble.
“Almost half past six.”
“Okay. … Not that I’m not happy to see you first thing in the morning, but what are you doing here?”
“You were talking in your sleep.”
I wince.
“Lovely. I thought I stopped doing that when I was a kid.”
“You said Rousseau.”
My eyes flash to his and my skin prickles. I said Alex’s last name in my sleep? Well, that’s just fantastic. I gulp.
“I did?”
“Actually, you said Madame Rousseau,” Ever says pointedly. “The old woman in France?”
A shockwave of guilt hits me as I struggle to remember what I was dreaming about. Nothing concrete comes to me.
“I was going to tell you about her. … I just wanted to get some answers first.”
“From him?” Ever asks, his tone thick with skepticism. “Do you think he has incentive to tell you the truth about anything?”
Realizing that there’s no chance of going back to sleep and waking up to find this has all blown over, I jump out of bed and go over to the dresser.
“I don’t know! But he said he was going to answer my questions, and when he gave the same last name as the old woman in France …” I blow out a breath. “Well, I just thought I could get some answers before I caused … this.”
Ever nods and then walks over to me and takes my hands.
“If I’ve learned anything from romantic literature, it’s that secrets never lead anywhere good—”
I bristle.
“Hold it right there! You’ve kept your share of secrets.”
He nods.
“A tangled web of them. But right or wrong, I’ve shared more with you than anyone else.”
I shake my head.
“Enough of this guilty conscience stuff. Forever is too long to feel guilty. I’ll see you downstairs in a bit, all right?”
Ever nods, dematerializing before I walk out into the hall. Despite what I just said, I’m pretty sure it’s possible to feel guilty forever.
7: On the Other Side
On Monday morning, I wake up one hundred percent okay with the fact that the weekend went by too fast, seeing as the other possibility is that I could have had no more days left. Period.
Stepping out the front door, I walk toward Ever, who’s waiting at his car. When he smiles broadly, I want to run to him and hold him to me, just make sure this isn’t a dream. Since France, I’ve been waking up in the mornings exceptionally happy just to be alive. Still, Ever’s smile reminds me of exactly how good things are. He takes my backpack from me and sweeps me up in his other arm, laughing.
“And here I thought you would be disappointed there’s no Ferrari waiting for you.”
“You know, you’re right! I’m absolutely crushed!” I wail, smacking him playfully, aware that the contact is probably harder on my knuckles than his chest. “What kind of shallow brat do you take me for? I love you for your looks, not your car. God!”
He laughs, and I smile crookedly.
“Now let me down, or I’m going to kiss you.”
“Your threats are truly ineffective,” he says.
His eyes darken, but he sets me down, and that’s when I notice that he’s staring down the street with unnatural absorption. I turn quickly and see Alex watching us. My stalker reaches up and tips an imaginary hat. When I look back at Ever, his jaw is clenched.
“That is going to get old fast,” I mutter as Ever opens the car door for me.
“It already has.”
On the drive to school, I begin hatching my plan to get answers from Alex. It’s not a smart plan, but it’s a necessary one. I need to talk to him—alone. When Ever glances over at me, I’m sure he’s not happy my thoughts have gone offline, because it can mean only one thing.
At nutrition, everyone is talking about potential plans for girls’ night—and the dance, which I’m still feeling a little less than enthusiastic about. I mean, personal humiliation has never been high on my list of entertainment. But looking around at my friends, it’s hard not to feel festive. Then my eyes catch on Taylor, who is typically the least outgoing of the group, even including me. Today, though, she’s even quieter, and I recognize her expression, because I’ve worn it, too. When we first met, I might have assumed her shyness was unfriendliness, but being shy myself, I know better.
She’s leaning on the lockers, staring off into nothing when I nudge her shoulder. I point toward the bathrooms, and she shrugs and follows me. Audra gives me a look like I shouldn’t be wandering off by myself. I smile at her and grab Taylor’s arm, noticing that her nails are bitten down to the quick. When we get to the bathroom, I check the stalls and then lean up against one of the sinks.
“You know, I never told you how relieved I was when you guys talked to me the first day I got here. I’d probably still be hanging out by myself if you hadn’t.”
She smiles, and I notice the slightest of dark circles beneath her eyes.
“Ash is the brave one,” she says. “I never would have gone up to the new girl from Southern California.”
I laugh, not really used to thinking of myself as the girl from Southern California.
“Me, neither. I thought it was going to be awful when I first got here and I got stuck in the bathroom with Emily Michaels and her friends.”
Taylor’s eyes widen.
“Oh, God! You didn’t! What happened?”
“I was in one of the stalls. I pulled up my legs and kind of hid until they left.”
Taylor laughs.
“I don’t blame you. They’re like piranhas.”
“So … I don’t want to get all pushy and talk-show host on you, but is everything all right with you and Josh?”
She blows out a breath and stares at the ground. When she looks up, she smiles weakly.
“Josh is great. I never thought in a million years he was going to notice me. It’s …”
Taylor stops. When I search her thoughts, I pick up an image of a pinched, angry-looking woman nagging her.
“It’s my dad’s wife. She’s … she’s kind of awful. I just can’t stand going home, you know?”
“Where’s your mom?”
“She moved to Utah a couple years ago. I guess I could have gone with her, but I didn’t want to change schools. Maybe I should’ve.”
I nod. Part of why I moved to Oregon was because I didn’t want to end up in Taylor’s position. I wish I had some good advice to give her. I don’t, though. I wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m sorry. That really sucks. Girls’ night will be fun, though. I promise.”
Taylor smiles, and we start walking back to Ashley’s locker just in time for the bell. On the way to French, I contemplate Taylor’s predicament and ways to avoid the trip to my father’s. Too bad I can’t claim the flu twice in one season.
The thought of lying reminds me of my ill-conceived plan to talk to Alex in secret. I think of what Ever said, about secrets never leading anywhere good. The problem is that I need to be able to make decisions for myself without someone second-guessing them. At least, this is how I’m justifying the deceit to ease my conscience.
Walking into Mrs. Gilbert’s classroom, I look toward my usual seat and see Alex. He smiles, and his expression appears less cunning than usual. Or maybe it’s just me, because I’m feeling deceitful myself. I take the seat next to him and hesitate before turning to face him.
“Would you meet me—Friday night?” I ask unceremoniously.
He looks surprised for a second before his typical mask of bravado resurfaces.
“Seven o’clock, then?”
He smiles like he was expecting this all along.
“Don’t get too excited,” I warn him. “You promised me answers as a condition of our deal.”
“It’s a date, then.”
“Bonjour, classe,” Mrs. Gilbert says.
I look toward the teacher and then back at Alex. He’s staring at me in a way that reminds me: I’m playing a game way outside my skill level, relying on impulse and instinct, unsure of the other players’ motivations or abilities.
This makes me vulnerable again, but I plan to change that.
***
I had this recurring dream after my car accident. It was the same every time. I would begin pressing down on the gas pedal on a sharp turn. Then, losing control, I would watch the wheel slip out of my hands. The car’s tires would begin to skid toward the cliff at the edge of the canyon road. I always woke up before the car went careening over the edge, but only to be left haunted by the sensation of my fingers losing their hold on the steering wheel.