Dusk (Young Adult Paranormal Romance)

by Amy Durham

  “Not your speed?”

  “Not anymore.” I unzipped my backpack further, peering inside. No Pre-Cal book. This was not going to make a good impression on Ms. Faulkner. “I wasn’t invited anyway.”

  “That may have been a compliment,” he said. I felt him lean closer, looking over my shoulder. “What are you looking for?”

  “My Pre-Cal book. I had it in my backpack when I left home. At least I thought I did.”

  Just then the warning bell rang, signaling that I had two minutes to get to homeroom. Great. Second day of school and already I was going to show up to Pre-Cal unprepared. As if there wouldn’t be enough of that once we got started with homework and I showed up half-finished because I was clueless.

  “Maybe it’ll turn up.” He pushed away from the lockers and looked at me one last time. “Nice meeting you.”

  Okay, forget Pre-Cal. I needed to be nice to him. I’d kind of like it if he talked to me again. Even though he was one hundred percent out of my league.

  “Yeah, if it’s not here it’s in my room at home,” I said. “Nice meeting you too.”

  He winked and smiled, then turned into the flow of kids heading down the hall. Warm from my toes all the way to my head, I reached in my locker and grabbed what I needed, minus the Pre-Cal book, and headed toward homeroom.

  Viv was waiting at the door for me. “We are so talking later.”

  * * *

  The signs for student government elections greeted me as I left homeroom. Mr. Austin must’ve hung them up while we were in class.

  “Hey,” Viv said, pointing at the sign. She, like probably everyone else in the building, just assumed I’d run for class president again.

  I shook my head. “I’m not running.”

  “Why not?” She grabbed my arm and pulled us both to a stop.

  I shrugged. “Too much has happened. I just can’t deal with the spotlight.”

  Viv sighed, then nodded. “I understand. But Mr. Austin’s going to be disappointed.”

  “I’m trying to figure out how to tell him,” I replied, as we started walking again.

  As we neared the hall with the math classrooms, I remembered my absent Pre-Cal book. Something in me whispered that I should check my locker one more time. A breeze swirled around me, like someone stood behind me fanning with a piece of paper. I slowed, glancing behind me and seeing nothing but kids headed to second period.

  Viv slowed as well, and I told her to head on to her second class. We’d catch up with each other at lunch. Before she disappeared into the crowd of people lining the hallway, I saw Brett Martin fall in step beside her. Brett was some kind of baseball virtuoso and one of those rare creatures who was both super popular and genuinely nice. To my knowledge, Brett and Vivian had never interacted, but judging by the smiles and flirty looks going on, they’d managed to get to know one another. I made a mental note to ask her about it later.

  The notion of checking my locker again urged me on, as if by some miracle my Pre-Cal book had now materialized, but I could not shake the feeling that I should look once more.

  I upped my pace, weaving through the traffic in the hall, so that I could do the locker-check and still get to Mrs. Faulkner’s room on time. Naturally, I met Nikki and Courtney on their way to the restroom, and endured Nikki’s nasty glance. In addition to being pissed at me for the fact that I mysteriously escaped getting arrested, unlike the two of them, now she was clearly miffed about the fact that Adrian spoke to me. Correction… he blew her off in order to speak to me.

  Take that, ho bag.

  Remembering his ice blue eyes and his sweet smile, I found it hard to care that Nikki was now doubly gunning for me.

  The breeze picked up again, moving against my neck and pushing me the last few steps to my locker. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear someone was behind me blowing air on my skin. Weird sensation, but not an unpleasant one.

  I made quick work of my combination, preparing myself to find nothing once the door opened.

  My Pre-Cal book stared up at me from the bottom of my locker. Not in my backpack, but the bottom of the locker.

  Huh?

  I rewound my brain to first thing that morning. I’d come up the hall, hearing random people talking about the new biker-guy. Saw him talking to Nikki. Opened my locker. He appeared. We talked. I hung up my backpack. Looked for my Pre-Cal book.

  For the life of me, I could not remember removing the book from my backpack or putting it in the bottom of the locker. Of course, I’d been distracted by Adrian’s attention… and his seriously gorgeous face… but I doubted that I’d tossed that book to the bottom of the locker.

  I never used the bottom of the locker. I always hung my backpack on the hook. Much easier to grab what I needed when it was at eye level.

  Yet there was no denying that the Pre-Cal book was there.

  I bent to pick it up, and when I stood, Adrian was there.

  “Told you it would turn up.”

  He flashed his dimples in a quick grin, then winked and walked off.

  Again.

  Chapter 5

  Turned out having my textbook for Pre-Calculus didn’t make much difference. Yes, I was able to write down the page number for my homework assignment. No, I was not able understand how to do it.

  Well, I thought I understood it. It all made sense when Mrs. Faulkner explained it and showed us examples. At home, sitting at the picnic table in the backyard, trying to do my homework on my own, I was lost.

  Unfortunately, I had not inherited the math-genius genes from my dad, the mechanical engineer, and he’d been the one to help me get through two years of Algebra and one year of Geometry. But he wasn’t here to help me now.

  And truthfully, even if he was here, I probably wouldn’t even speak to him, much less accept his help. I think it’s an unwritten rule that when you cheat on your wife, you lose homework help privileges with your daughter.

  In an attempt to drown out the memories I kept buried, I picked up my phone and clicked to open my email. I’d kept away from most social media since my life blew up, but email seemed safe enough. No enormous list of unread messages waited for me, however at the top of my inbox was a message from Lea Graham.

  Lea was kind of my pen pal. Not through any official pen pal organization or anything like that. Her parents worked as missionaries in Kenya, and two years ago, their family visited the church that Mom, Dad, and I attended together. So close in age, the two of us hit it off and exchanged email addresses. We’d been keeping in touch ever since, although her messages were less frequent now that they were back in Kenya, where the internet connection could be sketchy.

  I’d heard from her once over the summer, not long after the funeral, and I just couldn’t bring myself to respond to her.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened the message and began to read.

  Hello Zoe. I hope that you are well. Here in Mombasa, the activity center that my parents run has received seven new computers. I’m typing on one of them now! It’s very nice for the kids who come here in the afternoons to be able to use technology to learn and play. Most of them have never used a computer. You should see their eyes light up when they sit in front of the screens. Sometimes when I find myself wishing for the conveniences I got used to while we were in the states on furlough, I just look at these kids and remember how very fortunate I am. However, we are expecting a new computer for our home, and I am very excited about that possibility! I do so look forward to your stories of traditional high school and all the fun things going on! I hope to hear from you soon. Much love, Lea.

  Without replying I closed the message and set my phone on the table. I felt like crap for feeling sorry for myself even the tiniest bit when the kids she saw every day lived in conditions I couldn’t even imagine. I couldn’t write to her and pretend everything was fine. Yet how could I tell her the truth? I didn’t even know what the truth was anymore.

  And the thought of putting it all in words make me sick to my st
omach.

  I missed my dad, and yet at the same time part of me was still so angry at him. And I had nowhere to direct that anger, thanks to wet roads, bald tires and a hydroplaning pick-up truck.

  I shook my head in disgust and looked down at my homework. Compared to my messed up emotional state, being clueless in Pre-Cal seemed like a minor annoyance.

  Wrapped up in my own internal drama – and still staring blankly at my textbook – I didn’t hear footsteps approaching. But I did notice the black biker boots that appeared next to the picnic table.

  Adrian.

  “I have Mrs. Faulkner after lunch,” he said, throwing one leg over the bench to sit next to me. “Bet we have the same assignment.”

  “Probably so.” I wondered what in the world he was doing, showing up here on a Friday afternoon.

  “I finished my homework a few minutes ago. Need some help?”

  “Can you read minds?” I was only half joking. Him showing up here just as I was about to throw in the towel on the second day of school was terribly coincidental. But if he was good at math, who was I to argue?

  He shrugged. “Math comes easy.”

  “Where’s your bike?” I asked, still kind of stunned that he’d just appeared.

  “I walked.”

  Okay. He wasn’t very forthcoming with information, but maybe that’s all there was to it. Perhaps he just went out for a walk.

  “You didn’t seem too enthused about Pre-Cal when we talked this morning, so I had a hunch you might need some assistance with the homework.” He scooted closer and picked up my pencil. “And it’s in my nature to be helpful.”

  Over the next hour, I found out that he was telling the truth. Both about math coming easy and about being helpful. And in between working problems, I’d managed to gather a little information about him.

  “You moved from Florida, right?” I asked.

  “No secrets around here, I guess,” he said with a laugh.

  “Not so much. Small town and all.”

  “Yeah, I lived in Florida.”

  “How’d you get here?” Apparently he wasn’t going to volunteer information, but he seemed willing to answer, so I kept asking.

  “My parents are in Hungary.” He pointed to a sample problem he’d worked on my scrap paper. “Now you try the one in the book.”

  I started on the problem, but kept up with the questions. “What are they doing in Hungary?”

  “My dad teaches English as a second language, so he travels a lot. He’s working in Budapest for the next several months.”

  “You didn’t want to go with them?”

  “I’ve been to Europe before,” he said, nudging me and pointing toward the problem in the book. “And I wanted to finish high school in the states. So I came to live with Aunt Maggie.”

  I nodded, figuring his explanation was decent. I got back to work on the problem, and decided to let it go and just get my work done. With his assistance, I not only finished my homework, but also managed to grasp it enough to have at least a basic understanding.

  Homework completed, he had no reason to stick around, and I found myself toying with the idea of asking what he was doing this weekend. But that would be really lame, like I was as desperate as Nikki trying to convince him to go to that party. So I said nothing, even though my weekend with no car keys stretched before me like an eternity… two long days of bored-out-of-my-skull.

  Well, boredom was better than running with Nikki and Courtney.

  Adrian seemed in no hurry to leave even though the homework was done. To avoid an awkward silence, I busied myself with packing the Pre-Cal supplies back into my book bag, while trying to come up with something witty to say.

  “So I’m going with my aunt to Lexington tomorrow,” Adrian said, breaking the silence and saving me from saying something that would’ve no doubt sounded dumb. “Helping set up a wedding cake and other stuff for a reception.”

  Maggie Turner, Adrian’s aunt, with whom he was apparently living for the foreseeable future, was a baker-slash-caterer. She was known around Rison as the “Cake Lady”, and on the few occasions I’d had to enjoy her baked goods, I’d been impressed. Apparently news of her skills had spread to neighboring Lexington, which was great for her business.

  Adrian went on. “But I was thinking, if I had your cell phone number, maybe we could text over the weekend. It’ll be more entertaining than a wedding reception for people I don’t know.”

  Inside, I wanted to jump and shout for joy that he wanted my cell number. On the outside, I kept it calm and collected.

  “Okay.” I picked up my phone.

  He smiled and pulled his phone from his pocket.

  After the exchange of numbers he stood to leave. I felt the impending loss of his presence in the pit of my stomach, like his absence would leave me empty somehow. The feeling was so thoroughly stupid that I almost laughed at myself. As if after one day he was now vital to my existence. Ludicrous. But the longing was there, nonetheless.

  Adrian’s blue eyes locked on mine, narrowing slightly, perhaps measuring the emotion on my face. I hoped he couldn’t see how much I dreaded his departure, since I had no way to explain the crazy feelings bubbling inside me.

  Then all at once the dread lifted, eased, seemed to flow right out of my body, only to be replaced with a sense of assurance. Maybe Adrian wouldn’t be like other guys who said they would call or text, but never really did. Suddenly, I had every confidence that he would contact me over the weekend. He wasn’t just blowing smoke. He genuinely wanted to get to know me, and I could count on him.

  How I knew these things I could not explain. I had no clue where the faith had come from. I only knew I had it. Adrian would text. He would call. I did not have to be afraid or alone.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he whispered.

  And I sat speechless, watching him walk down the road in the direction of his house.

  Chapter 6

  “Are you going to let me read the texts?” Viv asked, voice singing with excitement. She hadn’t even said hello. Just ambushed me at the locker Monday morning and started in immediately on the fact that Adrian and I had been texting most of the weekend.

  Because, yes, I’d texted her Friday night and told her about my Pre-Cal tutor, and the fact that he’d wanted my number. I remembered enough of my pre-family-crisis life to know that there was some sort of rule that said girls talked about boys. Although, Viv hadn’t shared anything about Brett yet, but that was going to change in a matter of moments if I had anything to say about it.

  “There’s nothing scandalous or earth-shattering in there,” I said. “Just a lot of stuff about helping Ms. Turner with the wedding cake, and a few things about his parents.”

  That much was the truth. We hadn’t shared any great secrets during our text exchange, but Adrian had been quick with the replies and quite funny as he described the goings-on at the wedding reception. And he’d continued to text on Sunday after church. So even though I hadn’t really learned any more about him – other than that he did keep his word – I’d become pretty comfortable talking to him.

  “So where are his parents?”

  Together, we turned to head for homeroom.

  “Budapest,” I answered, lowering my voice. I didn’t want any of this overheard and making its way back to Nikki. She didn’t need another reason to hate me. “His dad is teaching English over there.”

  “That’s so exotic!”

  “Let’s talk about you and Brett Martin,” I whispered, nudging her in the shoulder. “I saw you two in the hall on Friday. Why didn’t you tell me you had something going on with him?”

  “Because I’m not sure there is.” Viv blushed a bright red and giggled. “But I really want there to be.”

  “When did this start?” I asked. Talking boys with Viv felt both good and weird. Good, because boy talk was normal and I’d had way too little normal lately. Weird, because part of me still felt I didn’t deserve normal.

  “A
couple of weeks ago. We ran into each other at the community picnic and just started talking.”

  “Nice,” I said, wiggling my eyebrows at her. “He’s always seemed like a great guy.”

  “He is,” she sighed, a dreamy smile on her face. “I keep hoping he’ll ask me out, but he hasn’t yet.”

  “He hasn’t made any secret about your friendship,” I said, emphasizing the last word. “He was smiling at you like a goofy kid the other day.”

  “And you spent the weekend texting with the hot new biker guy!”

  As we neared our homeroom, I decided we should put a hold on the conversation. “Let’s talk about this later. Don’t want anybody overhearing all this girl talk.” I nodded toward the group of kids gathered around the doorway.

  Viv got the hint, and as we stepped into class all talk of boys ceased until a safer moment presented itself.

  * * *

  I dreaded talking to Mr. Austin about student government elections, but I knew I had to. After class, I forced myself to approach him.

  He shuffled a stack of papers on his desk into a neat pile then closed them in a file folder. He looked up as he saw me approach, and I decided to just spit it out.

  “I can’t run for president again.”

  It was kind of like ripping a bandage off you skin all at once for the sake of getting it over with. It stung for a bit, but was better than prolonging the inevitable.

  He nodded, like he’d been expecting it. “Care to tell me why?”

  “Too soon,” I said. “After everything, I just can’t imagine being in the spotlight.”

  “I understand you need some time,” he replied.

  A lump formed in my throat, both because of Mr. Austin’s kindness, and the fact that he had no idea exactly why I needed time.

  “The deadline is in two weeks.” He pointed toward the student government poster. “You’ve got some time to consider. Just give it some more thought.”