Valentine

by Jodi McAlister

  But weirdly, the ‘stone-faced bitch’ thing makes me feel for her a little bit. If my ruthless compartmentalising over the past few days has taught me anything, it’s that being a stone-faced bitch is sometimes the only way you can cope.

  Plus, if she were evil, I’m pretty sure a) her brother wouldn’t have saved me from all those cats, and b) she and Cardy wouldn’t have saved me from the sharktooth man that night at Club H.

  Oh god. It was me. I got Cardy killed.

  I become aware that Tillie’s still talking. ‘Jenny’s on detention with me today and I swear I am totally creeped out whenever she comes near me. I keep fantasising that the cops will bust through the door and cart her away.’

  ‘Detention?’ I say, pricking up my ears.

  ‘Yeah, Molloy’s got us all scrubbing desks in the science lab. Do you think he’s seriously dating Ms Rao?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, grateful of an opportunity where I can tell the truth, only the truth and nothing but the truth.

  ‘Pearl!’ Mr Hunter snaps, sticking his head out the door. ‘Are you going to stand there all day and gossip?’

  ‘Gotta go,’ I say to Tillie.

  ‘Me too,’ she says. ‘Better get back to detention before they work out it’s taken me, like, half an hour to find some more detergent. We should hang out soon, yeah?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say.

  She turns to leave and then stops. ‘You look different, you know?’

  ‘What?’ I ask, thrown off balance.

  ‘You look different. Like . . .’

  ‘Well, my hair –’

  ‘No, not that,’ she says. ‘There’s something . . . you look good, Pearl.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Bye!’

  I exhale. Clearly fairies are like body glitter. Their sparkle rubs off on you whether you want it to or not.

  As expected, Mr Hunter totally kills me in singing practice. ‘Dreadful,’ he says, thumping both his hands down on the piano in exasperation.

  I promised myself a long time ago I wasn’t going to let Mr Hunter upset me, but occasionally he manages to sneak a barb in through my defences. ‘I’ve been really sick,’ I say defensively.

  ‘Well, if you’re well enough to be here, you’re well enough to practise.’

  Sorry, Mr Hunter, I haven’t been that focused on my music because something wants to kill me and that’s taking up all my free time. ‘I –’

  ‘I don’t want your excuses,’ he says. The mid-afternoon sunlight picks up an almost maniacal glint in his eyes. ‘If you’re not going to commit, I’m not going to waste my time on you. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say in a small voice.

  ‘You have a great talent,’ he says. From anyone else that would be a compliment, but he somehow contrives to make it sound insulting. ‘I heard your mother sing once and I think you have the ability to surpass her. But talent is going to get you nowhere unless you work at it.’

  ‘You heard my mother sing?’

  ‘We are not reminiscing now, Pearl,’ he says sharply. ‘We are practising. One – two – three – and –’

  I launch into my song. I try to keep my mind on the task – I know Mr Hunter will notice if it wanders – but I can’t help myself. I heard your mother sing once.

  I see myself in the mirror that night with Finn, long locks of red hair tumbling down my back. If you had held up a picture of my mother beside me . . .

  ‘Pearl!’ Mr Hunter snaps. ‘Focus!’

  It takes me the full duration of the lesson, but at the end of it I think I’ve managed to produce about ten seconds worth of music that he’s pleased with. Which is more than some sessions, so yay me, I guess. ‘I want you to practise every day this week,’ he says, scribbling something on a piece of paper. ‘These exercises – and if you don’t, I will know.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Hunter.’

  He grabs my shoulders and stares into my eyes. ‘Respect your talent, Pearl,’ he says. ‘If you don’t, it will disappear.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Hunter,’ I say, startled by his sudden intensity.

  ‘And I want you to write something new for next week,’ he says, releasing me and going back to the piano, shuffling some music around and sitting down.

  ‘Yes, Mr Hunter.’

  He turns and stares at me with his strange intense gaze. ‘Well?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What are you still doing here?’

  ‘Oh – um – bye,’ I say hurriedly, and close the door behind me. I hear him start playing the piano inside – strong, angry music that sounds like a storm – and shake my head. He is such a weird guy.

  My phone beeps. Behind u, it says.

  I turn, and there he is, standing there grinning. His hair is falling out of its bun, he’s wearing old holey jeans and an ancient T-shirt, and he smells like detergent.

  ‘Hey,’ I say.

  ‘Hey,’ he says.

  ‘Um –’

  ‘I –’

  And then we decide to forgo this talking business.

  He pulls me into the cleaning cupboard and shuts the door. There’s a tiny chink of light coming through the crack but it’s almost totally dark and so there is no seeing no looking just his hands my hands lips on skin lips on lips breathing heavily hands lips skin body pressed against body against wall . . .

  ‘God,’ he says raggedly, ‘I can’t get you out of my head.’

  ‘We –’ we kiss, lingeringly, languorously, ‘– we should talk.’

  ‘In a minute,’ he says, and I am completely incapable of arguing. I don’t know if this is real or I’m dreaming one of those dreams again.

  He lifts me in his arms, pressing me against the wall of the tiny cupboard, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he buries his face in the curve of my shoulder. My breath is coming heavily heaving his hands holding me up strong and sure and hands hands my hands in his hair pulling him to me my boy my Finn my everything my world no light only darkness only him only Finn –

  ‘Finn Blacklin, what on earth are you doing here?’

  I am dead. I am so dead. I am going to die right here, right now, of sheer embarrassment. If I don’t die of actually being killed because a fairy has found out about us.

  ‘Well?’ Ms Rao says, hands on hips.

  ‘I’m sure you can use your imagination,’ Finn replies, letting me slide to the ground and running a hand through his rumpled hair. The elastic holding it back seems to have disappeared. I think that was my fault.

  ‘Don’t you get smart with me, Finn,’ Ms Rao says. ‘You know it doesn’t work on me.’

  ‘That you know of,’ he says, winking.

  How can he wink at a time like this?

  ‘And you?’ Ms Rao says, turning to me. ‘Who are you and what are you doing on Haylesford High property?’

  What? I –

  Oh.

  ‘I’m, uh, Emily,’ I say, picking the first name that comes into my mind.

  ‘She’s my girlfriend,’ Finn says, draping an arm around my shoulders.

  ‘Well, neither of you should be here,’ Ms Rao says. ‘Emily, if you’re not a student of this school, the campus is off-limits, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘And Finn – detention’s over. Aren’t you sick of this place? Go home.’

  ‘Well, I hope I added a little excitement to your day,’ Finn says. Ms Rao rolls her eyes. ‘Come on, babe,’ he says to me.

  We walk away down the corridor. I can feel Ms Rao’s eyes on my back. My face must be the colour of strawberries right now. Moving towards eggplant.

  Well, I say ‘my’ face.

  ‘Please tell me this is a mask and you haven’t actually turned me into someone else,’ I whisper, as soon as we’ve rounded the corner.

  ‘It’s a mask, don’t worry,’ he whispers back. ‘I only had a split second – I didn’t think you’d really appreciate being caught making out in a cupboard.’

&n
bsp; I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘Who am I this time?’ I say, studying my hands.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean you don’t know?’

  ‘I –’ he stops, spreading his hands wide. ‘It was the first face that came into my mind, but I swear I don’t know who it is.’

  ‘How can you not know?’

  ‘I don’t know! I’m not an answer machine! It just sort of happened! I panicked!’

  ‘Am I a fairy?’

  ‘I told you I don’t know!’

  I sigh. ‘Come on.’

  I lead him down the corridor, stick my head round the corner to look for lurking authority figures, then push open the door to the girls’ bathroom. Finn hesitates at the door but I roll my eyes and pull him in. ‘No one’s here, stop being precious,’ I say, before turning to the mirror and staring at myself – whoa. Whoa.

  Finn is so gorgeous he has on occasion made me go weak at the knees. The fairies dancing last night made me practically pass out. And now, looking at my own reflection, I’m feeling pretty much the same thing.

  This girl’s skin is translucent, her cheekbones high, her eyes piercing. Red hair tumbles down her back, longer than mine ever was, even in my Rapunzel period. She’s kind of like what Holly-Anne would look like if she was given the magazine cover airbrush treatment, but more, and better. She’s exquisite.

  ‘How did Ms Rao not faint when she saw me?’ I ask weakly.

  ‘Well, she didn’t give me detention, and that’s what she usually does whenever she sees me,’ he says. ‘Um, want me to take it off now? The mask?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ I say. ‘So . . . um . . . you have absolutely no idea who this is?’

  ‘I just told you –’

  ‘I know, I know, you said. But you know how you said you get feelings about stuff sometimes? Do you have any feelings about this?’

  He stares at me, at the mask, for several long moments. ‘I’m trying, but . . . nothing.’

  ‘I guess it’s the kind of thing you can’t force,’ I say, turning back to look at myself in the mirror. I touch the foreign face tentatively. ‘She’s gorgeous, whoever she is.’

  ‘I guess,’ he says, scuffing the ground with his shoe.

  ‘She has to be a fairy,’ I say, staring into the eyes of the girl in the mirror, strange and slanted, almost honey-coloured. ‘No human is this pretty.’

  He doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Guess you have a thing for the redheads, huh?’

  ‘I like you,’ he says stubbornly.

  ‘Yeah, but – hang on,’ I say, the light bulb going on over my head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This girl is – well, she’s somewhere in your head, but she has red hair,’ I say, holding up handfuls of it. ‘You gave me red hair last night –’

  ‘Not on purpose!’

  ‘I know, Finn, shut up and listen!’ The puzzle pieces are falling into place in my head. ‘And Holly-Anne was out dancing with the fairies last night, and she has red hair!’ And you went out with her, jealous Pearl adds in my head. ‘And so does Julian – kind of, anyway.’

  ‘So what exactly does that prove?’ he asks.

  Oh. Good question.

  ‘That . . . um, fairies like red hair?’ I say.

  I look at him. He looks at me. And we both start snickering.

  ‘Sounds like we’re going to need to round all the rangas up into one place to keep them safe,’ he says.

  ‘I will be doing that, thank you. I don’t want you tempted by all those redheaded girls.’

  ‘Gentlemen prefer blondes.’

  ‘Oh, and you’re a gentleman now, are you?’

  ‘I will be after you have your way with me.’

  ‘Oh, really? What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘That you’re a good influence on me,’ he says, resting his forehead against mine.

  I put my finger against his lips. ‘You are not kissing me while I’m wearing this mask. No way.’

  ‘What mask?’ he says, raising my hand to my eyes.

  My being the operative word.

  ‘Well, then,’ I say softly.

  ‘Well,’ he says, his lips brushing mine.

  ‘Ms Rao could come in,’ I say.

  He brushes the very tips of his fingers down my arms and I get goosebumps. ‘I kind of don’t care,’ he says.

  ‘Well, that is a very good point,’ I say, as his fingers creep underneath the hem of my shirt and trace patterns against my stomach.

  ‘Sometimes I can be very, very clever,’ he says, kissing the corner of my jaw, just below my ear, before pulling back a little and looking into my eyes. ‘You know what?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The shirt you’re wearing,’ he says. ‘I don’t like it very much. I think you’d look much better without it.’

  ‘Would I now?’ I lean in and our lips meet, his hands hot against my waist, and suddenly my shirt is off, pulled over my head, and I wrap my arms around his neck and he lifts me and props me up against one of the sinks and I’m cold except for where he’s touching me fingers lips tracing trails of fire through my body and my hands are pulling his shirt away as well and he is perfect perfect oh so perfect and I have dreamed this I am sure I have dreamed this . . .

  ‘You are so goddamn sexy,’ he gasps against my skin.

  ‘You are so goddamn sexy,’ he gasps against my skin.

  I dig my nails into his shoulder blades and throw my head back as he kisses the place where the line of my neck meets the curve of my shoulder tenderly hungrily. ‘Finn –’ I say breathlessly, ‘Finn!’

  ‘Finn –’ I say breathlessly, ‘Finn!’

  My mouth on his skin now, his scent, his taste, enveloping me, salt and spice and magic, his hard chest, his prickly jaw, his soft lips, his hands holding me up, my mouth on his mouth, his arms tightening around me, my legs tightening around his waist, together together together. ‘You’re amazing,’ he whispers, his lips brushing my lips, ‘you’re wonderful you’re incredible you’re –’

  ‘– perfect,’ I finish.

  ‘Someone’s modest,’ he says, kissing the corner of my mouth.

  I push him away.

  ‘What?’ he says, blinking. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘This isn’t real,’ I say flatly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he says.

  ‘This isn’t real,’ I repeat, jumping to the floor. My shirt is on the floor, next to the bin for the paper towels. I pull it back on.

  ‘Of course it’s real, Pearl,’ he says. ‘What, do you think we’re in some sci-fi alternate universe or something? I know a lot of weird things have been going on, but I’m pretty sure we’re not quite at that level yet.’

  ‘This is a dream,’ I say. ‘I’ve dreamed this. Almost exactly this.’

  ‘I know,’ he says.

  I stare. ‘You what?’

  ‘I know,’ he says.

  A horrible picture starts forming in my mind.

  ‘It’s what everyone wants, isn’t it?’ he says, standing there before me, bare-chested, confusion in his eyes, heartbreakingly, agonisingly beautiful. ‘Their dreams?’

  The dream turns into a nightmare. I close my eyes, horror and disgust filling my body. I want to throw up on his shoes.

  ‘Stay away from me.’

  ‘What?!’ he says, reaching out for me.

  I step out of his reach. ‘Stay away from me,’ I repeat. ‘And stay out of my head!’

  I push open the door of the bathroom and run, run, run as fast as I can. I don’t want him to catch me. And I don’t want him to see me cry. Ever again.

  I hear him shouting my name behind me and some part of me wants to turn and tell him to shut up because we can’t be seen together because of Them but I couldn’t give a rat’s arse if they carted him off right now to be guillotined so I keep running. The denizens of hell could be on my heels right now and I wouldn’t notice. If a black cat suddenly loomed up before me I’m pretty sure I woul
d just steamroll right over it. He’s behind me still, shouting, and as I wrench open the car door I hope to hell that he catches up so I can run him over.

  That bastard. That total utter bastard.

  And I wanted him.

  I see him standing at the edge of the car park as I screech past. He might be calling my name, he might not. I can’t tell. I don’t care. I won’t care.

  Whatever happens, I am out. If I have to stand in the middle of Haylesford and yell out ‘Finn Blacklin is a fairy!’ at the top of my lungs, then I will. And if They do kidnap me or kill me, Seelie or Unseelie, I hope it torments him every day of forever.

  He was in my head. He used his goddamn fairy powers to mess with my mind.

  I feel like puking my guts out and consider pulling over, but I want to get as far away from him as possible. He is in me like a parasite, a virus, a disease.

  Those dreams . . . all of them. The ones I knew were bizarre. That wasn’t me.

  It was him. In my mind.

  I didn’t like him. I never liked him. I KNEW he was trouble when he walked in. My conscious mind knew it. Thinking Pearl – rational Pearl – she knew what was going on. But how could I escape Finn, oozing through my dreams like primordial slime, seeping into me, making me like – making me feel – making me –

  I feel dirty. I feel violated.

  And I never, ever want to see him again.

  I don’t intend to drive to the pool, but I somehow find myself there, turning into my usual car park beside the big eucalyptus tree. I’m glad I didn’t get pulled over while I was driving because I’m pretty sure I would have lost my licence. I might have run a red light, or twelve, or stop signs, or run over fourteen grannies. I can’t remember.

  I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and breathe deeply, willing the nausea to subside.

  I wonder if he’s in my head right now. Some part of me wants to call him and ask him the extent of his mind-messing powers but if I hear his voice I will probably commit some kind of terrible crime. Probably murder. Probably his murder. Do you hear that, Finn? I shout mentally, just in case he’s somehow listening.

  I pull the keys out of the ignition and get out, slamming the door. A black cat twines itself round the base of the tree and I dimly hear someone telling it to go away in the most expletive-filled way possible . . . oh, that would be me.