When I am finally wearing the perfect ski boots, my feet are clicked onto a pair of skis.
“I forgot the poles,” the man says. “Stay here.”
I roll my eyes after him. I can’t wait to get out of here. I want to delay the meeting with Sam for as long as possible.
“Hey.”
A muffled cry escapes my lips, when he is suddenly standing in front of me. He is wearing green ski pants, a dark blue puffer jacket and a desirable look on his handsome face. “Hi.”
I casually slide sideways onto a wooden railing for support and wonder if they’ve rubbed my skis with wax. I am down before I know it. Sam prevents me from falling by stretching out his arm. The next moment I lie helplessly in his arms.
Sam holds me only as long as necessary and looks at my long skis with a frown between his rugged eyebrows. “What’s your skill level?”
“Skill level?”
“Is this your first time?”
Again, I lose my grip. I fall down, planting my face smack in the middle of Sam’s jacket and clawing my fingers into his shoulders, as I continue going down. I’m mortified and would only welcome the ground below me opening to swallow me up.
“I guess that’s level one,” he mutters, putting his arm around me again to keep me from slipping any further.
“Yes, well, not all of us ski at an Olympic level,” I say panting, and one by one I move my hands from his body to the fence.
A slow grin spreads across his face while I try to regain my dignity. “Why don’t you try using some poles?”
“Very funny,” I say.
“Hey, you can always sit outside at the pub. The sun is shining and they serve some decent coffee.”
The man returns. “Here you go, ski poles. I think you’re all set now.” When he sees Sam, he seems awestruck. “Ehm… can I help you, sir?”
“Probably. Do you have slalom skis?”
“Yes, sir. For yourself?”
I raise my eyebrows at hearing this sudden politeness.
“No, I’m boarding. For her.”
Thank God, he’s snowboarding! He’s not going to be watching me flop around on the bunny hill.
The man is still staring at Sam, dumbstruck. “You… you want me to give this girl slalom skis?”
“Yes, please.”
My mouth drops. Wait, what? Why? Like the man who has helped me so skillfully, I am blushing to my ears. Is Sam seriously telling this professional how to do his job?
Sam gives him a long steady look. “Is that a problem?”
“N-no, sir. Absolutely not. I’m going to make sure she gets them right away.”
Sam gives the man a short nod.
The poor guy turns around—I’m almost surprised he doesn’t do so with a bow and a scrape—and in his hurry to get away, he almost trips over his own feet.
Sam’s gaze is fixed on me. “Have fun. Catch you later.” With a self-confident stride he strolls away.
“Uhm, yes, later,” I stumble in confusion.
Hours later, everyone is getting together in the dining room. Hungry from the outdoor activities, we shuffle along around the buffet. I get some of the limp, soggy fries, slices of cucumber in an unidentifiable dressing, and chicken nuggets—I consider myself a part-time vegetarian—that smell like they were fried in old cooking fat. I catch a glimpse of Renee’s face and smile at her upturned nose. We’re thinking exactly the same thing.
I nibble on a fry with some disgust, while I listen to stories about the spectacular ski descents by the others. In my mind, I am with Sam. My face planted smack in the middle of his jacket… I can’t think of anything more embarrassing, but now that I’ve seen him, I can relax. His presence isn’t going to startle me anymore. He’s here—he’s fully dressed—and we have had a relatively normal conversation. The only thing I don’t quite understand is his interfering with my skis.
After we finish eating, we are leaving for an adjacent building for an evening full of entertainment. Will Sam be there? The little voice in my head is giving me the jitters.
I walk over to Renee who is chatting at a bar table with Julien. Worried, I listen to her tell stories about her descents on the black run, and I am relieved that everything went well. Skiing really is too dangerous for her because of her damaged vertebra, but I don’t dare to say anything about it. Martin and Mia have told her enough times as it is.
When their friends join the table, the conversation quickly takes a turn to prom night. On the other side of the room, I see my own group of friends and decide to go over there. Suddenly, I notice a stage with microphone stands and a screen hanging on the wall. It looks an awful lot like a karaoke set and I shudder. Not in a million years, am I going to make a fool out of myself on stage.
“Laurel, what about your promdate?”
I turn my head and see James—mister last-line-of-defense—standing beside me. “There isn’t going to be one.”
James smiles. I already sense where this is going, but no way am I going to change my mind. I am not going to prom. Not with James, not with anyone. Not even Sam—if he asked, which he wouldn’t.
“What would you say if I picked you up in a limo with a starry sky?”
“A starry sky?”
“Yeah, and red carpet and a LCD TV.”
“James, I… All that extravagance is not for me. And besides, I’m not going.”
“You’re not going to prom?” His eyes become saucers.
“Unless I get credits for it.”
James bursts out in laughter and heads turn in our direction. “I don’t give a damn about prom either. It’s all about the party after. We’ll have a bonfire at the beach and after that… well, anything can happen.” He gives me a knowing wink. “I want to arrange a date during this trip, so let me know, okay?”
“I’m not going, James. Sorry.”
I hurry off. I’m halfway through the room when an arm is wrapped tightly and possessively around my waist.
“If extravagance is not your thing, then what would you say if you were picked up in an old and damaged jeep with rusty sheet metal and a worn shaft?”
Sam pulls me up to his side and astonished I stare at him. Not because it sounds like an invitation from Sam for prom, but because I had been talking to James at least thirty feet away.
“That sounds… thrilling. But I wouldn’t go anyway.”
With a grin, he lets me go. “Good answer, Harper.”
“Oh, I didn’t know it was a test?” I tease. “Did I win anything, Mister Laurens?”
I allow myself to take a good look at him—a big mistake. Sam is wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt underneath an unbuttoned pale blue shirt. He is wearing his worn-out All Stars and just like earlier, he smells amazingly sensual. I interlace my fingers. What is he doing to me? I’m completely lost, confounded by his gorgeousness.
“A chance to lead a normal life,” he whispers against my ear. His lips touch my earlobe and I feel that weird tingling again. My hand slides over my ear.
Dumbfounded, I look up and his answer is a smile. He doesn’t smile that often and my mouth instantly dries up. His smile with dimple is blinding. Sinful.
“How are you doing, Laurel?” Olivia asks from the other side of the table.
I welcome her distracting question, but then I see the rest of his friends standing around the table and I’m about to bolt. Each and every one of them is looking at me and nobody seems the least bit ashamed about the naked incident. Only me…
“Beat,” I am finally able to say with a raspy voice, “but optimistic because I’m still in one piece.”
“So you’ll join us tomorrow on the black run then?” Bastian wants to know.
“Yes, maybe walking,” I say.
“I can guarantee you that by tomorrow you’ll have serious muscle soreness.”
&
nbsp; “Tomorrow?” I ask mockingly.
Bastian laughs. “Okay folks, I think we’re in need of some drinks with this cheesy music. Laurel, what can I get you?”
“Oh, ehm, apple juice, please.”
Bastian wrinkles his nose as if I have just asked for a glass of dishwater. “Apple juice, coming right up.”
Andreas is looking over me with lowered brows and heavy muscular arms folded across his chest—like he is trying to decide if I am some kind of threat to the world or just a harmless little girl. I don’t know why his scrutiny makes me want to swallow. It’s probably because he looks threatening in his camo pants and boots—even with his tattoos hidden under his clothes. Like he just walked out of combat training. Oh, I’m so not feeling comfortable at this table.
“Andreas!” Sam says in an alarmingly low voice. “Back off!”
Andreas looks at me for another second and then calmly turns away. I have no idea what just happened.
“Yuck, Thomas also signed up for this school trip,” Olivia says. She nods her head in his direction. “Your favorite teacher, Laurel.”
“Too bad I’m not his favorite student,” I note dryly.
“You are not mocking the Hellenes now, are you?” Olivia imitates our art class teacher.
I giggle and I realize that I really like her, even though I can’t really figure her out completely. Sometimes she is friendly, other times she’s keeping me at arm’s length.
The guys—except for Andreas—are watching me with amusing looks on their faces, and I shyly turn my head toward the stage, where Hugo and Charles are doing an awful rendition of Sweet Caroline.
I move a little to the beat, and by the time they hit the chorus, the audience starts singing along and waving their arms in the air. The melody is very catchy and I find myself giving in to the temptation to sing along.
Sam looks at me. Stares. Studies me soberly as only he can do, and I feel the tension in my body increase. I choke on the rest of the chorus.
“When are you getting up there?” he asks casually with a face that remains deadly serious.
“Never. I can’t sing.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, look who we have here,” Thomas says, ‘the girls from my art class. Perfect.”
My stomach churns.
“Hello, Mister Thomas,” Olivia says with her soft, charming voice, “how nice that you came along.”
“Thank you, Olivia. I’m having a lot of fun. Tell me, can you two keep a secret?” he asks in a conspiratorial tone.
“Absolutely,” Olivia says firmly. Don and Sam grin.
“All right, then. I don’t share the results of the essays until next week, but I’m really proud of you two and I can’t resist to let you know you both got an A plus. It’s not very often I receive a flawless essay, let alone two. Congratulations!”
Olivia beams with joy. “Really? Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me. You did it all yourself, young lady.”
“I sure did,” Olivia agrees, smiling at me.
Not at ease at all, I shift from one foot to the other, and I’m afraid to look at Sam; scared that Thomas will see right through me.
The art teacher turns his face with the trendy blue glasses to me. “I thought you had chosen the art subject?”
Next to me a throat is cleared, which I try to ignore. I smile weakly, lost for words.
“Well, Miss Harper, I’m glad you didn’t. I haven’t seen such a good paper in ages. Just the title alone, The Antique Athlete, sounds like music to my ears. Very original.”
My ears are ringing. Is he confusing me with someone else? “I think you are mistaking me for…”
Sam’s hand grasps mine and he squeezes it. I quit talking.
“Tell me, Laurel, where did you learn Ancient Greek?”
“Ancient… Greek?” I stammer.
“Tois theois mē anthistaso. Do I pronounce it correctly? It took me a while before I found the correct translation—I don’t look at papers in extinct languages every day, but I think I got it. Don’t defy the gods, right?”
I look at my teacher, who looks like a friendly gnome between all those masculine guys standing next to him, tall and proud. The guys look at each other. “Uhm, yeah, that’s right. It seemed appropriate with polytheism and such—Zeus, Poseidon… Apollo. Better not get them angry, from what I understand.”
Sam leans over and whispers in my ear, “It’s Apollon.”
This is followed by chuckling sounds and suppressed laughter. I break out in a cold sweat.
“Ah,” he continues, “and while others would write that the prestigious stadion run was about one hundred ninety meters, your essay states that the race run by these ancient Olympians was in fact one hundred ninety-two meters and twenty-seven centimeters—and naked too. The ancient Olympians did practice their sports naked.” While laughing he looks around the circle. “Even when wrestling. You guys wrestle at a high-level competition, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Don laughs, “more often with than without clothes.”
I see Olivia rolling her eyes and I give Sam a grim look. He is trying hard to stifle a smile.
“They say that one of those athletes lost his underpants one day during a sprint and won. From that moment on, the sport was practiced naked,” Thomas informs us. It opens my eyes.
“Smart guys, those ancient Olympians,” Andreas remarks.
“Very thorough, Laurel,” Thomas says. “However, the most creative thing about your essay surely is the direction of writing. It changes on every line, like the ancient manuscripts. We call it ox-turning. I appreciate that kind of effort,” Thomas goes on. “You didn’t simply turn in an essay, you made it a piece of art. Although it took me three times as long to check it, but that’s not your problem.”
Luckily, Thomas shifts his attention to Olivia.
“For you it’s basically the same story. Fine essay on the daily lives of the gods and demigods.”
Around me eyebrows are raised.
“Well, I wish you young people a nice evening. You probably have better things to do than to talk about the Hellenes.”
When Thomas is out of earshot, Olivia shoots a look at her cousin. “Proud of yourself, Laurentios?”
A short silence follows, but then Sam can’t hold back his laughter any longer. Don and Andreas join him.
Bastian pops up behind us with a tray full of drinks and looks from one to the other. “What’s going on? Did I miss out on all the fun?”
Suddenly, I hear a beautiful voice, and in amazement I turn to the stage.
Renee is singing Emotions with two of her friends, and it sounds awesome. I am not the only one impressed—the entire audience has gone silent. Then Julien and his friends start whistling like maniacs, and I could just strangle them—they’re ruining the song.
I gaze at Don, who is watching the show with his hands in his pockets. Just moments ago he was joking with his friends, now he looks gloomy, and in a strange way I feel for him. He’s giving off the impression that his heart has been broken by Renee, or at least damaged. Not the other way around.
“Your sister can sing,” Sam says. His eyebrows shoot up when Renee’s voice goes up and she makes an impressive vibrato. “Wow,” he says duly impressed.
I didn’t know Renee could sing that well—and that she had the guts to show it in front of a full audience. I take a sip of my juice and mutter, “Stepsister.” I wonder why it irritates me so much that he is so impressed by her voice.
“Apologies, stepsister.” His eyes wander over me, but not for long. He is clearly focused on Renee.
“Why did you write it about sports behind my back?” I say grumpily, not considerate of the fact that he is enjoying Renee’s voice. I don’t really want him to listen to her anyway.
“Because you fell asleep on my couch and you ran out of time,” he says calmly while he just keeps staring at the girls on stage. “You would have never pulled the art thing off. So I gambled and it paid off. A thank you will do.”
“You could’ve at least told me about it, we almost got caught, just now,” I hiss. “Thank you, but I don’t get you. I never get you.”
Finally, he turns his face—a stony face. “I don’t care if you do or not.”
“Why do you ask me to prom while you’re hoping I’ll say no?”
He pushes me away from his friends and sniffs. “Because I want you to stay away from me as far as possible, Laurel.”
His voice is soft, but I am fully aware of the dark undertone. “So, first you kind of forbid me to have a drink with Adrian, you even come up with a ruse to keep me around you all day, and now you’re saying you want me to stay away from you?”
He gives me a hard stare. “I don’t kind of forbid you to have a drink with him—I forbid you. Period.”
“What’s wrong with all of you?”
“Everything.”
I roll my eyes. “Care to tell me why?”
“Not really.”
In the background, Renee is throwing her feelings into the song as if she is really hurt emotionally. I wish her microphone would die. “Why do I have to stay away from you? Is it because of Philene?”
His eyebrows come together. “What?”
“Never mind.”
“You’re way out of line with that question,” he says brusquely.
I feel completely exhausted, all of a sudden. “Fine. If you don’t want me to go out with you, you shouldn’t ask me,” I snap. “You complicate things.”
“Yeah? Well, sorry for the inconvenience then. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.” Then he turns his back to me, and starts talking to his friends.
I have trouble swallowing. They’re not respectful to girls, I finally get it. At least Sam is well-mannered enough to warn me.
I walk away.
“Hey, there you are,” Ava says.
House of Guardians Page 11