"On the ceiling above us, some horrible excuse for an artist has painted cherubs and olive branches. One of the winged little babies has crossed eyes and another has one eye placed significantly higher in its skull than the other. I presume that the artist went on to paint the rest of the walls a perfectly acceptable, sunny yellow as an act of penance for his earlier crime against humanity," I tell him, adding a little sarcasm to my descriptions. He laughs and his wide smile shows off perfect, shining white teeth.
"You have an enormous four-post bed with a purple and red embroidered canopy. It has enough pillows for four, but I suspect, from all the shedding, that Columbus hogs all of them when you’re not looking. A heavy, white and red checkered quilt is folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and the bu Sd, at Crgundy sheets look soft and..."
The sheets really do look soft...
I’m lying on the bed, the sheets pulled up over my shoulders to ward off the cold night air. Terrence holds me close in his strong arms, and as he looks into my eyes, those gorgeous greens steal my breath away. He leans in to kiss me...
"I... um... where was I?" I stammer, losing my concentration.
"On the bed," answers Terrence. He has no idea how right he is.
The dog is lying on the bed beside us with its head on the pillow, staring at me like a goof with its tongue hanging out.
Perfect—that killed the mood instantly.
"Old photographs in brass frames sit on the bedside table next to an empty oil lamp," I continue, forcing my attention away from impossible ideas and instead focusing on the story. "The table desperately needs dusting, and..."
The story goes on for five more minutes as I describe the old brass chandelier and the sconces long devoid of candles. I describe the bookcases lining the far wall, their dark wood gleaming in afternoon light, and one book in particular catches my attention.
Learning Braille for Late Beginners... what a terrible idea, I think. How on earth is he supposed to learn from a book he can't even read?
Just as I start on the alternating panes of etched glass in the windows, Terrence stands up and cuts me off.
"You’re hired," he blurts out. "When are you starting?"
"Um... I don’t know," I stammer, caught off guard by his tone. He wasn’t offering me a job so much as telling me that I worked for him now. "You haven’t actually told me the salary."
"Name the number. What do you need?" he presses, and I’m again at a loss for words.
"I... um... thirty? Thirty-five?" I babble. "Is that too much? I mean, I can..."
"Done. Thirty-five," he cuts me off, clapping his hands together in excitement. "When can you move in?"
"Wait, what?" I ask in confusion. "I can’t live here! I have a lease and..."
"Okay, I’ll pay your lease too," he interrupts again. "If you’re going to be my assistant, I need you to be here and not driving in from God-knows-where every time I need help."
I fall silent as I realize he’s right. I don’t have a car; how could I possibly get to work if I lived back at my old apartment? How can I even do this job without a car? I have no idea.
No, this is crazy, I think, shaking my head. I can’t live with my boss! No way.
I need the job, though—I really, really need it, and Terrence offered me enough to pay all my bills and then some. How can I say no?
Terrence must have sensed my hesitation because he sits back down again and leans in toward me.
"Irene, please," he almost begs me. "You’ll have your own private room and free use of the entire house. I can’t keep asking Marcus to help me all the time. He’s supposed to be my lead scientist, not my day-to-day helper."
"How many hours per week are we talking? If I live here, I’m always at work. Can you promise me a Spro
"I spend probably four days a week working in my lab in the south wing and the fifth day consulting at Verta," he says. "The weekends and evenings are when I’ll need you most, and I’m sure Marcus would be glad to take me off your hands for one weekend a month if that’s enough for you."
This is crazy! I can’t take this job. I don’t want to live with my boss—it’s too dangerous! I have no idea why it’s so dangerous, but I just know it is.
You know exactly why you think it’s dangerous, whispers the voice in my head. Yes, I do. I keep dancing around the point and trying not to admit it, but I know exactly why I can’t take the job.
I can’t take it because he reminds me of Isaac and I don’t know if I can handle that.
Terrence looks almost pleadingly across the table at me, and I can feel my resolve weakening. He’s offering me free rent and food, a better salary than I’ve ever had before, and... and I’ll get to be around him. I’ll get to see those eyes every day.
No—that’s a bad reason! I can’t let what I’m feeling sway the decision.
While he’s working during the day, I can use the time to start doing voice work again.
"Thirty-five thousand, living expenses, a weekend off each month, and I’ll pay your old lease. Do we have a deal?" asks Isaac, holding out his hand.
What do I have to lose? I can always quit if I can’t handle it.
I reach out to shake his hand, and the moment I feel the warmth of his palm against mine, time stops and the world falls away around me.
Sarah’s leg shoots out just as I walk past her locker, and I trip over her foot before I can stop myself and fall flat on my face. The top flap of my backpack bursts open and the bag’s contents spill out all over the floor. Pens roll off in every direction and my papers scatter across the hallway.
"Oops, sorry about that, Nina!" she sneers as she towers over me. Her asshole of a boyfriend, Jacob, snickers as he leans back against the row of lockers with his arms crossed. He’s holding a white take-out bag from the fast food restaurant across the street.
"Stupid bitch," I mutter in a horrible mixture of anger and humiliation as I hurriedly gather up my belongings.
"Did you say something? Sorry, I don’t speak spic," she says, practically spitting the insult down at me. "Oh, and as long as you’re down there, you might as well pick up the trash. It’s about all you’re good for."
Jacob inverts his bag and dumps its contents onto my head. His leftover fries and a half-empty fountain drink rain down on me, and I instinctively shield my face from the falling garbage. A terrible, impotent rage builds up inside me as I feel the soda trickling down the back of my neck and soaking into my shirt.
I want to kill them both. I want to get up off the floor and claw their eyes out, but instead I stay down and try not to look at them as I protect my homework from the soda.
I’ve never been so humiliated in my life and I’m ashamed of myself for putting up with it, but I know better than to stick up for myself. The last time one of the Sme r in a m started a fight, I’m the one who got in trouble for it. The punishments aren’t balanced fairly either. Since this is their home school district, the worst the teachers can do to my classmates is to give them detention. They can send me back to New Haven, however, and I’ll do anything to avoid that.
"See ya later, Nina," Sarah calls over her shoulder with a smirk as she and her boyfriend stroll down the deserted hall, leaving me behind with their mess.
I hate them. I hate Sarah, Jacob, every last fucking one of them. I hate myself for putting up with it. I should be fighting back and giving them a taste of their own medicine.
"Let’s see how they like being fucked with all the time," I grumble to myself, working myself into a fury as I shove my papers back into my bag. "I’m going to—"
"Nina, are you okay?"
My mouth claps shut and my eyes shoot upward as I hear the voice. The tall, green-eyed boy from my literature class kneels down beside me with a worried look on his face and grabs my papers from the floor.
"Give that back! That’s my homework!" I snarl, reaching out and trying to claw them back from him.
"I’m just helping pick up," he says with a warm smile, and he hold
s out the stack of papers. I snatch them out of his hands and shove them into my backpack.
"Here, let me help you up," he offers, standing and extending his hand to me. "I’m Isaac, by the way."
I look warily up at him from the floor and give him a cold glare. What’s he trying to do? I don’t believe for a second that he’s actually interested in helping me. Nobody’s nice to me at this terrible school.
I reach out and gingerly take his hand. His skin is warm and soft, but his grip as he helps me to my feet is as strong as a vice. The second I’m on my feet, I yank my hand free from his and look away in embarrassment. I know that I’m being horrible to him, but I still don’t trust him. He’s just trying to get me to let my guard down so he can hurt me like the others.
"Are you okay, Nina?" he asks. He sounds genuinely concerned, and I feel even worse about how I’m treating him. "Look, I saw what they did to you. Let’s get you down to the office and report them—I’ll vouch for whatever you say."
It’s a trap. It must be. Everyone at this school wants me thrown out. They want to point and laugh as I’m shuffled back to New Haven where poor people belong instead of desecrating their precious little academy.
"No," I blurt out, backing away from him.
"But..."
"Just leave me alone," I hiss, and I turn and run for it.
"Irene?" as
ks Terrence, breaking me out of my bad memory. "Are you okay?"
I take a deep breath and firmly shake his hand. Here goes nothing.
"It’s a deal," I tell him with a smile even though I know he can’t see it. "Meet your new personal assistant."
wi
wi
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Chapter IX
Isaac and I are sixteen...
It’s five-thirty in the evening, I’ve missed the bus home to N Vme r nter"ew Haven thanks to yet another detention, and the rain is pouring down so hard that I can barely see. I’m soaked to the bone, freezing cold, and it’s all I can do not to start crying.
God, I hate this. Why did I ever come to this school? Why did I think I could do better for myself—that I’d just test into their school, show up, and everything would be great? Nothing works that way! They all hate me, even the teachers.
I stumble into a deep pothole on the side of the highway and the muddy water soaks straight through my sneakers. The hole worn clean through the rubber sole of my left shoe probably isn't helping any.
A semi-truck flies past me and its wake splatters me from head to toe in mud. Only six more miles, I tell myself. Only six more miles and I’ll be off the highway.
Two more cars shoot past, and the second one blares his horn at me as if that’s going to do anything. What, does he think I’m just wandering on the highway in the rain for the fun of it or something? I’m here because I have to get home!
A shiny black car zips past me, splashing me with even more mud, but instead of disappearing off into the distance like all the others, its brakes squeal and it pulls off to the shoulder, waiting for me.
Seriously? What the hell is wrong with everyone? People won’t even leave me alone on the fucking highway! I bet it’s one of the girls from school; she probably wants to taunt me for being caught out in the downpour.
I look off into the distance and pretend not to see the stopped car. If I ignore it, it’s not there. It works for cats hiding in paper bags, so why not for me? I walk straight past the car, not looking at it even once, and then I hear the voice.
"Nina! For God’s sake, come back here and get out of the rain!" shouts Isaac as he rolls down the driver-side window, and I nearly leap out of my skin.
I turn back to him, eyeing him warily. Can I trust him? He’s been good to me so far, but...
...but he could just be setting me up. He could be waiting for me to come back to his car, then laugh at me and speed off. He could be planning even worse. Nobody would ever know if I got in his car and was never seen again. Or at least, nobody would care.
Jesus Christ, Nina, I scold myself. Paranoid much?
I think I’m justified in being paranoid—I’ve only had a bag of shit thrown into my locker, served a good dozen unwarranted detentions, had my textbooks stolen, been attacked twice in the locker room, and had someone spray-paint "stupid slut" on my locker since I started attending Woodbridge Academy.
"Come on, Nina! Get in!" he urges me. His eyes are so kind and honest, so inviting, so... unbelievably green. Wow. They almost pull me in, and I can feel my resolve weakening.
His car looks so warm...
It starts to rain even harder—a torrential downpour so heavy that the raindrops actually hurt—and I race for the passenger-side door.
"Thanks," I mumble awkwardly, dripping all over his leather seats as he revs the engine and pulls back out into traffic. The wipers fly back and forth, back and forth, barely keeping up with the rain pouring down and pounding on the windshield. The strange, blended scent of oiled leather, new car, and Isaac’s cologne is almost intoxicating.
"What the hell were you doing walking on the highway?" he asks, glancing at me with incredulity. "You could’ve gotten yourself killed!"
What does he think I was doing? I wasn’t exactly singing in the rain, was I?
"I was walking home," I answer, opting instead for politeness. "I missed the bus while stuck in detention again."
"What did they say you did this time?"
"I didn’t do anything!" I fire back defensively.
"I didn’t say you did anything at all," he tells me, shrugging off my outburst. "I asked what they said you did."
He did say that, didn’t he? I’m so used to being the scapegoat that I assumed the worst about him yet again. I do that to him a lot, don’t I?
"I’m sorry," I apologize. "I’m just... I’m just so tired of them. All of them."
"Hang in there," he says with a soft, almost regretful smile. "They’ll give up and move on to someone else soon. Just don’t give in and you’ll come out on top. Seriously."
I sigh and shake my head.
"Some of the teachers are just as bad," I tell him. "Someone threw a wad of paper at me in Algebra II today—I mean, it’s like they’re still in pre-school or something—and Mr. Donovan gave me detention for disrupting the class."
His eyebrows narrow into a tight frown, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns on the radio and drives silently through the pouring rain. The gray, rainy woods fly past, and soon the New Haven skyline—if you can really call it one—comes into sight through the downpour.
"So where am I taking you?" he asks, finally breaking the silence. A pang of fear hits me as I realize what this means.
He’s going to get to see where I live.
What if Mom’s home? What if... what if she has a customer? I can’t let him see that! I can’t let him see the neighborhood I live in!
"Um... 230 West... Dewitt Street," I stammer, naming a street a few blocks down from mine. I can pretend to go home and then walk home after he leaves.
"How about you stop lying to me and just tell me the truth?" he asks, a sharp edge of irritation lurking behind his tone.
"Because I barely know you," I counter. "I’ve never brought anyone home, let alone guys from school."
He sighs and shakes his head before speaking again.
"Hi, I’m Isaac Preston," he says, grinning at me like an idiot. "I live at 3 Glen Lake Overlook, I’m sixteen, and I fucking hate the racist, classist sons of bitches in my school. And you are?"
My jaw drops so far that it lands in my lap and nestles comfortably between my legs. What do you even say to something like that?
Other than ‘thank you,’ maybe, and I’m pretty sure those words are nowhere near my lips right now.
"I’m Nina Torres," I mumble. "I live at 81 Spring Avenue, in the Hill neighborhood of New Haven, and I lied to you because I know what’s waiting at home for me."
Mom’s waiting at home. If I’m lucky, she’s just [#82trugged out of her mind
. If not... she has a customer.
A quick burst of anger shoots through me as he nods understandingly. He doesn’t understand. He can’t understand because he’s never been there and never will. He has no clue what I’m talking about. I bite my tongue and don’t say anything, though—he gave me a ride in the pouring rain and I have no right to be a bitch to him.
Chasing Wishes Page 8