by Avery Bell
My eyes had landed on the chalkboard, soft smudges of yellow dust that could never be fully erased. But I was burning for another look at Arbor. The curve of his full lips, surprisingly sensuous in that pale, beautiful face. Quickly, I stole a glance. But I got caught in the trap of his glowering eyes again – hadn't he looked away? – and I melted. Heat radiated outward. I could feel that I was blushing, hands slick with sweat and a tingling sensation in my stomach that shot down my spine to... lower areas.
Tree? I'd just run into one. Ugh, I was such a mess! Why wasn't anybody laughing at me? I came out of my reverie and glanced around, stampeding heart now leaping into my throat. But no one had noticed my blush. Except...
“Hello.”
I whipped around, glassy-eyed.
“What?” I demanded, stupidly. He'd taken the only empty desk, which of course happened to be right behind mine. Oh Jesus. He was probably just looking at his desk. Where he was going to sit. Perhaps idly glancing over his seat mates. I realized then that I had been the awkward starer, not him.
Worst. Ever.
“We're supposed to meet our partners? For the assignment?”
Christ, how much had I missed while I was blatantly checking him out? I must have looked so stupid. So I got annoyed, and snapped, “Evangeline Wild. Everybody calls me Evi.” I didn't notice his hand, outstretched for a shake, until he pulled it away. I was still wiping sweat off of my palms under my desk, trying to get my fingers to stop trembling.
“Arbor,” he said. “Arbor Vitae Damo da Rosa. I know, it's long. My parents are nutters.” He leaned over his desk, bringing his head closer to mine and lowering his voice. “Your name's much better. Evangeline. Sexy.”
His English accent was so wonderfully expressive. Everything he said sounded intelligent. Not fair. But there was something else about the tone of his voice that I didn't like. Almost as though he were speaking sarcastically, toying with me. I was even more irritated, now. What right did he have to just waltz in and ruin my first day at school? (By being extremely physically attractive?)
He was angling at something, and I didn't want to find out what.
My eyes narrowed. “You probably get anything you want, don't you?”
I'd almost forgotten that I hate beautiful people who have easy lives.
“Pardon?” He raised one perfect eyebrow in surprise. He was about to say something, when we were interrupted by Quentin's laugh.
He'd been going around the classroom passing out books and Chapter One vocabulary lists to everyone individually, trying to put faces to names. He'd come up our aisle and was talking to George Farmer, one of the aforementioned rowdy jocks.
“Mighty hero? Oh, no!” Quentin had an endearing giggle. His belly shook when he laughed, making everyone in the room smile up at him. Except for George. Apparently he'd been asking about the meaning of his first name.
“I'm pretty sure I read it in a book. Or on the internet somewhere. George means 'mighty hero' in Latin.”
Quentin was about doubled over, wiping a tear from his eye. “Well, it does mean something in both Greek and Latin, but not that.”
“What?”
Quentin was hooting; he could barely get it out. “Farmer!”
George's mouth fell open. His face assumed a pained expression, and he said, “Wait. Are you telling me that my name is Farmer Farmer?”
The entire class started laughing, and even George couldn't keep back a smile. He made a show of leaning down and slowly hitting his head on the top of his desk. I glanced back at Arbor. He was frowning slightly, that bored look back on his face.
Quentin composed himself and said to George, “It's okay, son. It could be worse. My name means 'fifth,' and trust me, there's nothing more tedious than being named after an ordinal number. You always feel as though you're waiting in line for something.”
George sank slowly down into his seat, where he stayed for the rest of the class period. Quentin talked about the first declension, which is a group of Latin nouns, and we reviewed the vocabulary list for Chapter One. Then he went over the partners project we were supposed to do, an oral presentation on a famous Roman. Arbor and I had Cicero. We were assigned to present in just a couple of weeks, so when the bell rang I hurriedly mumbled something to Arbor about meeting at the library after school the following day.
“You don't have any extracurriculars, do you? I have a yearbook meeting today after eighth period, but tomorrow I'm free.”
He shrugged. “I can rearrange my schedule, I suppose.”
Seriously? I thought. He already has a schedule that's fuller than mine? I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. I felt a familiar frustration building in my chest that I didn't like, a sense of injustice I feel whenever I have to deal with someone who thinks they're better than me, just by virtue of being more popular or more attractive.
But I needn't have rushed. He was already gone.
*
I didn't get to see Ellen until lunch, and somehow we got sandwiched in between the Three Lust-keteers. They were still talking about boys, boys, boys. I kind of wish sex didn't exist; I had enough on my plate without worrying about who “likes” me or “like likes” me, or what penises feel like. Ew, were they seriously...?
“I swear to God, it reminded me of one of those water snake toys at Gepetto's.”
Shelby had apparently hooked up with Britta's older cousin over the summer, at a cabin party up in the mountains.
“Did you really, like, touch it?” asked Vi, her voice a squeal. Britta had her fingers stuffed down her ears and a grim look on her face, waiting for the debriefing (so to speak) to end.
“Yeah, but only for a second. It was super weird. We just made out, otherwise. Nothing really happened.”
Britta had seen something. She was elbowing Shelby hard in the ribs and gesturing with her head over at the food line. “Arbor alert,” she whispered softly, as though he could hear us across the noisy cafeteria. “Doesn't he ever smile? Not that I'm complaining. I'll take him any way I can get him.”
“Wow.” Shelby couldn't say anything else. Vi couldn't say anything at all. What was it with Arbor, anyway? No one's that good looking. I was really beginning to resent the stupid hold he seemed to have on all the women at Peaks High.
“He's in my Latin class,” I said in what I hoped was a nonchalant manner.
“What? Spill!” Poor Britta looked almost distressed.
“We're partners for this presentation. An oral presentation.” Okay, I didn't need to fill in that last part, but Britta looks absolutely hilarious when she wants to strangle you. Ellen was dying next to me trying to hold in her laughter. I could feel her whole body shaking.
“You have got. To be kidding me.” Britta's voice went all flat and she smacked her gum, staring at me.
“Sorry?” (What did she want me to say?)
“Congratulations, girl,” said Vi. “You are officially the envy of everyone at Peaks. Except the lesbians. Probably.”
“Thanks, Vi.”
Ellen couldn't hold it in anymore. She dissolved into a puddle of laughter on the bench next to me, hanging onto my arm like it was a life preserver.
“I think I'm going to go buy an apple,” I said. “Catch you clowns later.”
I breathed easier when I was a safe distance from the hysterics. Poor Britta. I'm sure she was still betting on her “blessings” to attract Arbor, probably plotting and scheming a way to use my new connection with him to get a date.
The food line was long. I usually wouldn't go back just for a thirty-five cent apple, but I needed a break from thinking. The one good thing I could say about this day was that since my conversation with Ellen that morning, no one had brought up my mom, or asked me where I'd spent the summer. Arbor was making too big a splash.
I felt a wave of relief as bits and pieces of other people's conversations washed over me. Assignments, sports, rumors about how someone was sure they saw Principal Davis cross-dressing at that new Italia
n restaurant. Or maybe it was his sister in from out of town. One voice stood out.
A voice with an accent.
“Yeah, Quentin seems cool.”
Despite myself, I peered down the line to where Arbor and George Farmer were talking. Thank goodness, they didn't see me.
“Who's your partner for the presentation?” Arbor asked. His mind only seemed half-occupied with the conversation. He kept glancing around the cafeteria, as though he were searching for someone.
“Jim Holness. Quarterback.” I don't know what position George plays on the football team, but apparently they're the jocks' primary form of identification. “Who's yours?”
“Some ginger girl. Uh...”
He couldn't remember my name? After he'd gone on about how sexy it was? What an ass. I was already mad about how he was clearly going to swoop in and dominate the school, become king of the popular crowd for no reason whatsoever beyond his looks and his voice.
“Evangeline,” he said, finally. “Evangeline Wild.”
“Oh yeah,” George nodded. I bet he didn't have much to say about me. But apparently I was wrong, because he smirked and said, “She's sure filled out.”
Ugh. I bit my lip, totally uncomfortable with how they were discussing my body. I could barely get my feet to move as the line shuffled forward.
“You gonna try to hit that?” Jocks are such idiots. George made a stupid face and a little hand gesture that was entirely inappropriate.
Arbor scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No amount of time spent in the library could make me go that mad.”
My mouth dropped open. I let out an involuntary gasp, which had the unfortunate effect of causing Arbor and George to turn their heads and look at me. They saw that I'd been listening.
I dashed away from the line and walked quickly out of the cafeteria, tears pricking my eyes. Screw this school. I found a ladies' bathroom and locked myself in one of the stalls, shoulder bag clutched across my chest, praying no one would come in.
A string of curse words ran through my head, and the tears spilled over. There is no one in the history of the world who is more embarrassing than me. I sniffled, taking short, ragged breaths. I tried to ignore the stench of urine and cleaning solution that always seems to pervade institutional bathrooms, tried to keep my crying jag as quiet as possible.
Someone came in. I swore silently and bit my lip, pushing down all the feelings of outrage and hurt that had welled up.
“Evi?”
Oh, thank God. Ellen.
She peeked under the stalls and saw my pink tights.
“Hey, buddy.” Her voice was light and conversational. “Whatcha doin'?”
“Number two,” I grumbled. “Go away. You're ruining my pooping experience.” But my voice cracked. Ellen giggled and leaned on the door to my stall.
“What happened? I just saw you take off, so I followed you. You looked super angry.”
Phew. I'll take angry Evi over on-the-verge-of-a-breakdown Evi and count myself lucky. I gave up and came out of the stall, wiping the last of the tears away.
“What a day to wear mascara, huh?”
Ellen cracked a smile and led me to the sink, where she acted as makeup consultant while I clumsily wiped the black smudges from under my eyes. I told her what had happened, and she sighed and shook her head.
“Asshole,” she spat. “Everyone's already so stuck on Arbor, they haven't noticed he's a conceited jerk.”
Ellen always makes me feel better.
“Come on,” I said. “I have gym next. Won't that be a joy.”
“Hey, me too!” Ellen held her hand up for a high five, but I left her hanging as I breezed out the door. She caught up with me, snickering, and gave my arm a noogie.
“Ow!”
Yup, we were pretty much back to normal.
Gym was boring. We didn't get to do anything, just filled out a pre-test about the rules of volleyball, got our locker assignments and picked up our uniforms.
“Look who's here,” said Ellen dryly as we sat on the bleachers, circling T/F questions on the pre-test. Arbor was about ten yards away from us and down at the bottom, already assimilated into the group of jocks that included George “Farmer” Farmer and Jim “Quarterback” Holness. He still seemed set apart from them, though. He was thinner, for one. Oh, he had muscles, don't get me wrong, but they were subtle. He'd been wearing a sweatshirt this morning in Latin, but had since ditched it in favor of a tight white tee. Pale, lean arms. He was fingering a cool black leather bracelet on his right wrist.
I heard him complaining. He didn't know anything about volleyball. Apparently they don't play it across the pond.
“Bite my big ass,” I muttered, which caused Ellen to snort.
We hopped down the wooden bleachers to turn in our pre-tests at the end of the period, and I purposely didn't look Arbor's way. I didn't want to give my body another chance to react to how hot he looked in that stupid tee-shirt.
But Ellen nudged me as we plopped our papers down in front of the gym teacher, and I glanced up.
Arbor was staring at me.
My skin started tingling and my pulse quickened; I blushed again and tore my eyes away. Ellen shrugged. I chanced another look. He hadn't broken his gaze. His eyes were like hypnotizing pools of night, roving my body, drinking me in.
The bell rang.
Ellen and I left the fieldhouse as quickly as we could walk and not look like we were hurrying too much. “What the fart?” I whispered to her as I pushed the doors open and we emerged into the first floor hallway. I'd glanced over my shoulder one more time on our way out, and he was still looking at me.
“I don't know,” Ellen shook her head. “Maybe he feels guilty because you overheard him. Or maybe he's just trying to bait you. You know, get a rise out of you.”
“Whatever he's doing, it's super mean.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “What a creepster. That sucks that you have to work with him on that thing.”
“At least it's not until tomorrow. I can probably pull myself together by then. You definitely don't think anyone knows about the crying incident at lunch?”
“Nope,” she said. “Definitely not.”
We parted ways and headed off to different classes. The rest of the day was uneventful and blissfully Arbor-free. I was already loaded up on homework, though. Forget about the social drama, the school part of school was going to be just as hard. Latin plus three AP classes was threatening to make my head explode. I knew one thing as the final bell rang.
First days suck.
Chapter 2
I caught a ride home with Ellen after the yearbook meeting. As we drove through the little town of Stevens Peak, I realized that it was actually good to be home. I missed the shops on Main Street and the fresh air shooting down the mountain, Denver bright on the plains below us. But I couldn't bring myself to look at the Public Library as we drove past. It's probably the fanciest building in town. Used to be the train station back when gold and silver booms meant a lot of traffic to the Rockies. It's where my mom worked as head librarian. It's also where she shot herself.
I shook my head to dispel the memories, and hopped brightly out of Ellen's beat-up old Toyota when we got to my house. “See you tomorrow,” I called.
She waved. “Gchat me if you want to talk.”
Our house is a cute little Victorian at the southern edge of the main residential district in town, near a bluff that provides a great view of the plains. It's painted blue and trimmed with yellow and purple, bright colors that suit me. There used to be flowers in the flowerbeds when mom was still here, but my sister and I had been too busy and struck with grief to tend them this year. So they'd died. Otherwise, everything looked as it should.
Well, except for the squad car in the driveway. That was new. My sister had been in the middle of Police Academy when it happened, and instead of deferring and coming with me to spend the summer in Montana, she'd elected to stay and finish joining the force. She said we needed
the money. Mom had left debts that threatened to lose us our house. But I think what Callie really wanted was to lose herself in her work.
Everybody grieves differently. That's what the counselors all said.
I banged open the door as if nothing had changed. “Hi ho!” I called out.
“Hi ho to you, too.”
Callie was in the kitchen, an array of glossy photographs and police reports spread out on the table. She was still in her crisp blue uniform, utility belt slung over the chair. Her pretty, straw-colored hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. She's thin and muscular like I've always wanted to be, but I don't resent her for it. Much. As I walked through she glanced up, holding out her hand as if she were directing traffic.
“Sorry sis, these are crime scene photos. You don't want to see them.”
“Come on, I can handle it.” It's true, I definitely have a stomach for gore. I love watching crime procedurals and horror movies. Callie and I watch them together. We always know who the murderer is before the TV police do. It's a point of pride.
“Those are fake bodies,” she said. “This is a real one. That murder from this summer.”
“Oh, right.” A transient had been strangled in the woods just outside city limits on the Fourth of July, while I'd been away. I heard about it from Callie. It was her first big case. Otherwise it had barely been a blip on my radar. No one at school was even talking about it anymore. The victim didn't have any family to raise a stink, and the killing seemed pretty unmotivated. At least, that's what I'd gathered from the little I did know.
Callie had been pulled off the case to attend to other duties, but she was still working on it in her free time. She said that something about it just didn't make sense. Something was missing.
“He didn't have a wallet. Fine, he was a homeless guy. He could have hitchhiked here from Denver or Colorado Springs. He didn't have any money.” Callie took a sip of what smelled like jasmine tea. “Again, he was homeless. Nobody bats an eye at that. Plus, the killer might have taken a couple seconds to rifle through his pockets, just in case.” She put down her mug and bit her lip.