She set her battered satchel down in its usual spot behind her desk and inserted one of her all-instrumental CDs into the player. Panpipes and lutes filled the classroom and Val lost the nerve to keep talking. “Good morning,” their teacher sang out. “You two are early today.”
Val realized, with a jolt, that before Ms. Wilcox had entered she and Gavin had been the only two people in the classroom.
“Gavin, I know. And you are … Valerie?”
“Valerian. Val.”
“Val,” Ms. Wilcox agreed. “I knew that part, at least. That picture you did of the little kittens was absolutely wonderful, Val. You've improved so much since the beginning of the semester.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope you'll consider taking my advanced class.”
Val was painfully aware of Gavin's appraising stare. “We'll see. I've got a lot of, um, required classes to take.”
“There's certainly no rush. You have years ahead of you, yet. And on that note, Mr. Mecozzi, I've just about finished with your letter of recommendation. Three sealed copies, and one for your own personal viewing pleasure.”
“You're too kind.”
“Such politeness. It's like a comedy of manners.” Ms. Wilcox glanced at the door. “I hope the other students show your foresight in coming early. Today's assignment is going to be rather time-consuming. It may well cut into tomorrow's lesson. If you like, you can start on it now.”
“What is it?” Val asked.
“Since we worked from wooden figures last class I thought it might be nice to draw actual living, breathing figures today.” Val nodded and turned to a blank page in her sketchbook. That sounded innocent enough.
“Oh, but you'll need a partner. You'll be drawing someone from this class, so I suppose you will have to wait, after all.” Her eyes lit on the boy beside Val. “Unless … Gavin, would you mind terribly being Val's partner for today?”
“It would be my pleasure,” he said solemnly, rising.
“I don't want to bother — ”
“It's no trouble,” Ms. Wilcox assured her. “Is it, Gavin?”
“Not at all.”
“There, you see? Why don't you two go outside. The light's better. It's a lovely day out.”
Val was relieved. She wouldn't have to deal with James. She had been afraid of him asking her about his still-unread Facebook message and making her look like a total hypocrite to boot. Now she could avoid him for another day.
She had to trot alongside Gavin to keep up with his long strides. It made her feel as if she were one of those annoying little dogs, nipping at his heels. “How tall are you?” she asked.
“Six-four,” he replied.
Around them, students milled about, biding their time until final bell. Val tried to find a quiet place for them to draw; it gave her a good excuse not to look at him.
“Do you have a Facebook?”
“Were you looking for me?”
She ducked her head. “No. I mean — I was just wondering.”
Gavin shook his head. “I don't have the time to bother.”
Now that sounded like a brush-off. Maybe he isn't interested in me, after all. He seemed distracted, his eyes distant. At least that would mean he's not my stalker.
But she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.
“Where would you like to sketch me?”
“How about the grass between the six-hundred and seven-hundred buildings? There's some interesting light there. I can do you against the tree.”
She regretted the words the instant they were out of her mouth. Gavin's eyes widened, and then he throw back his head and laughed. Not one of those quietly sardonic chuckles that had annoyed her so much in the cafe, but an out-and-out guffaw.
“Stop it,” Val snapped, trying not to fixate on how sexy his laugh was. “That isn't what I meant.”
His laughter subsided somewhat and he said in an amused tone, “I gathered.”
“Good.”
“I'm surprised you're speaking to me.”
Val was beginning to question the same thing. “How do you mean?”
“Didn't your friend warn you away from me?”
Well, that was unexpected. She was thrown. “Why do you care? You weren't very nice to her.”
“I like knowing what people say about me behind my back.”
That made him the only one then. She shrugged her shoulders. “She tried.”
“It didn't work?”
“I like finding things out for myself.”
His head swung in her direction; for better or for worse, she'd managed to get his attention. A slow smile crawled over his lips like a spider, and it was both frightening and seductive. “Curiosity can be a very dangerous thing, my dear.”
My dear? “Why? Are you saying she was right? Are you going to take a turn at in now?”
“At warning you away?” His lips twitched back into a normal semblance of a smile and she wondered if what she had seen — or thought she had seen — had been nothing more than an illusion caused by the throw of shadows on his face from the curtain of leaves above. “I believe I'd rather let you, oh, what was it — do me against the tree.”
Val didn't trust herself to speak. Unwilling to set her sketchpad down on the slightly damp grass she juggled her drawing supplies, trying to find the most comfortable position to draw. She ended up sitting with her legs folded crosswise, so she could balance the sketchpad on her knees.
Gavin leaned back against the tree trunk, facing her, with his long legs stretched out. He bent one, off which to hang his arm, and said, teasingly, “How do you want me?”
Those words made the heat rush to her face again — God, he was a jerk, wasn't he, trying to fluster her on purpose like this — and she said, gratingly, “Relaxed. Natural.”
“Those aren't necessarily mutually inclusive.”
“Whatever is natural for you then.”
Val braced herself for more dalliance and teasing. To her relief he said only, “I can do that. May I?” Without waiting for a response he removed his glasses, setting them carefully down on the ground beside him before reassuming his position. His eyes closed, his breathing slowed, and his posture — it changed. She couldn't say how — it was a subtle change — but noticeable nonetheless because he no longer looked the same ….
A breeze blew through the grass, ruffling his hair and making ripples in his white shirt. Beneath his unbuttoned collar she could make out some kind of necklace composed of heavy silver links. He regarded her through half-closed eyes, and while he seemed perfectly content in this lackadaisical slouch his entire body seemed a heartbeat away from springing into motion.
He was striking.
Much too unusual-looking to be considered handsome in the classical sense, but eye-catching all the same. He had the kind of face that would cause her mother to nod at and say, knowledgeably, “He'll grow into his looks.”
Val swallowed and lowered her eyes to her sketchbook, no longer able to keep contact with his. Not while he was looking at her like that.
Soon she had a pretty good outline of his body. Broad shoulders, finely corded throat. She looked at him in pieces, too afraid to see the whole. High cheekbones. Roman nose. His eyes had gradually wandered up the tree to watch the small sparrows cavorting in the branches above but apart from that he was eerily still. But alert, she thought, almost like a predator at rest.
Silly thought. But then his eyes snapped back and she felt her heart flutter uneasily as some innate fear responded to her unsettling perception of him.
Didn't your friend warn you away?
Why had he said such things to her? Didn't he know about the rumors? Yes, of course he did. He'd admitted as much himself. So then why would he bring it up? To clear the waters?
Or to drag her under?
“You have an intriguing expression on your face, Val.”
“It's nothing. Don't talk.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Ev
erything's fine. I was just thinking about something I have to do.”
“Against the tree?”
“No.” Val blushed angrily. That was just a little too close to the truth. “Stop talking.”
“You blush very easily,” he remarked, stretching and subsequently causing the fabric of his shirt to pull taut against his chest in a movement that seemed far too graceful and calculated to be accidental. “It's rather hard to resist, you know.”
It's not the only thing. It felt like all the saliva in her mouth had evaporated. I do like him. Oh God. This is bad.
“I think we had better get back to class,” he said, still watching her with amusement.
“But the bell hasn't rung yet,” said Val.
“It will any second now.”
A splitting blare cut through the quadrangle, muffling his last word. She looked at him. “How did you do that?”
“Magic.”
“Really.”
“A magician never tells. May I see the drawing?”
She cursed whichever Irish ancestor gave her this mood ring of a skin condition. “When it's done. A magician never tells.” She raised the pitch of her voice, mocking him.
He smiled. “Fair enough.”
She watched him pick up his glasses and adjust them on his face. “So what do you draw? Since you can't take this class for credit. Do you get to draw whatever you want?”
“Within reason,” he said, “though I try to follow the lesson plan along with everyone else.”
Val had trouble believing that. He did not strike her as a rule-follower. Or any kind of follower, for that matter. “What do you draw?” she asked, “for your own entertainment?”
“Animals, mostly.”
“What else?”
He gave her a sideways grin. “The chessboard Ms. Wilcox used in her chiaroscuro lecture.”
Haltingly, she said, “That was yours? I thought — ” I thought it was professional, real.
“I played.” He admitted this as casually as other boys owned up to sports. “It was easy.”
Val caught herself bobbing her head in agreement and checked herself. She wasn't supposed to know that he was a master. “Chess, or drawing it?”
His smile widened. “Both.”
“Do you draw people?”
“Not usually.”
“So sometimes, then.”
“When I find a subject that arouses my interest, then yes. But I prefer animals. They don't have the same unfortunate tendency to pose, and are much easier to work with. The next class will be an exception to my rule, however.”
“What's the occasion?”
“I'll be drawing you.”
“Me?” It came out as a yelp.
“We trade places, remember?” He placed her pens, which she had forgotten in the long blades of grass, into her hand, closing her fingers lightly around them. “It'll be my turn to do you against the tree, or other applicable surface.”
Val, at this moment, understood suddenly what the life of a radiator must be like.
“Careful,” Gavin said. “If you keep blushing like that, I may do more than just draw you.”
And with that one remark he turned, leaving her standing there in the quad as it slowly began to fill up with students as she watched his departing back. It sounded like a suggestion. It also sounded, vaguely, like a threat. That was when Val knew that she was in trouble: because she didn't really care, either way.
Chapter Seven
During the bus ride to school, Val felt extremely apprehensive. The weekend had given her plenty of time to amass her doubts, primarily sown by Lisa, and now they had taken root and sprouted, seeping so deeply into her brain that, like weeds, she could never be entirely sure whether she'd successfully chased them out.
Was Gavin her stalker?
Did her stalker want to hurt her?
Did Gavin want to hurt her?
They marched on — an endless array of questions, each as poisonous and vicious as a hydra. And, like the hydra, it seemed that as soon as Val managed to slay one question several more spawned to fill its place.
Would she have been so quick to suspect Gavin if he had been popular?
No. Popular people tended to think like everyone else. It made them less interesting to be around, less exciting, but it also made them less likely to stalk people — or hurt people.
Hurt her.
Val rubbed at her tummy and leaned back against the seat. She'd forgone breakfast that morning in favor of stealing one of her father's carbonated lemon-flavored waters in the hopes that something innocuous and familiar would help settle her stomach.
It hadn't.
She found the art classroom empty except for Gavin, who was behind the teacher's desk, typing something at the computer. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just entering some grades and things,” he said vaguely. “Are you ready to pose for me?”
Val took a sip of her water. The bubbles stung her chapped lips. “Shouldn't we wait? For Mrs. Wilcox, I mean?”
“I spoke to her earlier this morning.”
“Oh. Okay.” Val picked up her things, aware of his eyes on her.
“You can't get away so easily.” He stood up from the desk and stretched. “You seem different, by the way. Subdued, almost. Are you all right?”
“I don't feel well.”
“Hmm.” He held open the door for her. “I'll try not to overexert you, then.”
They walked across the quad. She found herself looking around, wondering if people had noticed her and Gavin together. Nobody she could see was watching, and she knew that on a rational level it was likely nobody would, but being around him made Val hyper-aware of everything. Him, especially. Even if she'd chosen not to abide by them, Lisa's warnings still rang quite clearly in her mind.
(I'd still bring it up with Gavin. See what he says, and if he acts guilty. He's who I'd suspect.)
He certainly didn't act guilty. He didn't betray any emotions at all. Even the various rumors of which he was the subject didn't seem to faze him. Val had never met anyone before who was so detached from other people's thoughts and actions. Was someone like that even capable of looking guilty or feeling guilt at all?
(He scares people.)
Despite her claims to the contrary, Val was very much influenced by the opinions of others and for all Gavin's politeness and charm, there was something dark gathered around him as if he were the epicenter of a brewing storm.
He frightened her, and yet she couldn't stay away.
“Against the tree?” His voice sliced through her thoughts like a hot knife through butter.
“Um, sure.” He had led her to the same place as before. She had followed him so blindly she hadn't even noticed. I didn't even see where we were going. “Standing or sitting?”
“Sitting, I think, since you said you didn't feel well.” He studied her, then tapped his sketchpad with his pencil. “Take off your coat.”
“It's chilly out.”
As she spoke the words a breeze rustled the leaves and her hair, as if in agreement. Winter had long since yielded to spring, but very reluctantly.
“I can't draw you bundled up like that.” He sat about six feet away with his own coat flared out behind him like a pair of black wings adding, “It isn't as if I asked you to strip for me.”
“I never said anything about that, just that it was cold!”
“Your thoughts are written all over your face.” He paused. “Why, Val, what an interesting shade of scarlet you're turning.”
She yanked her arms out of the side and tossed it aside. “There,” she growled. “Satisfied?”
“Always, with you,” was his soft response, which made her feel embarrassed for letting her emotions get the better of her like a child. He smiled fleetingly and commenced drawing.
Val closed her eyes and tried not to move. She was so nervous that her hands were shaking. She shifted them to her lap where it would be less noticeable. There was a
chill in the air despite the sun, and it grew colder and steadily more biting in the shade of the mulberry tree.
“Don't move,” he said, when she shivered.
It was funny, how easy being still was at home when you were daydreaming at the window or reading a good book, but how hard it was while in the presence of someone who made you feel … odd. It didn't help, either, that he was far more at ease than her.
He had positioned her against the same tree but with her legs bent at a demure angle, her head tilted slightly back. She'd made the decision to close her eyes since she had no hope of attempting the stare-down he'd given her last time, and he didn't seem to consider it an impediment to his drawing — thank God.
“Tilt your head back more,” he said, “and then slightly to the side. Stop fidgeting.”
She clenched her hands tighter in her lap.
“Beautiful,” she thought he said, and this was so faint she wondered if she had imagined it.
After what felt like eternity, but couldn't have been more than ninety minutes, he said, “You can relax now. I'm just about done.”
Her whole body seemed to sigh in relief. She got up too fast and stumbled a little, only to feel his steadying hand on her back, just at the base of her spine. His eyes were dark, thrown into shadow cast by his facing away from the sun. “Are you all right?”
He smelled like roses and sandalwood and boy. “Um — ”
The arm around her waist tightened. “Would you like to see?”
“Excuse me?” There was something wrong with her ears.
“Here.”
Oh — the drawing.
She peered at the sketchbook, not entirely sure what she expected to see. Only that it filled with a doubt that bordered on dread, and was so intense it left her breathless. But it was just a simple picture of her, sitting under the tree, formed by soft lines in charcoal pencil. He'd captured something of her in that sketch of his, though. Something that blurred the lines between what she was, versus what he wanted her to be, between sensible and sensual, between fact and fiction.
Fearscape (Horrorscape) Page 7