by Hotcheri
“Try harder!” Luke exclaimed, his breath fanning my hair against my cheek. I was glad my hair was in my face, because that way I couldn’t see the expression on his face. Even though, judging purely by the sound of his voice, he was very pissed off.
One arm broke free and I rolled myself off him, my heart thumping in- relief? Lust? Wanton need? No, definitely relief.
“I am so, so, sorry,” I said profusely, slipping my bag from my shoulders onto the couch. “I tripped over my shoes! Here, let me get you the Kleenex.”
I scuttled across the room to fetch it and when I turned, Luke had dragged himself onto a couch as far away from me as possible and was eyeing me balefully through his shaggy dark brown hair.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped, glaring at me as I walked towards him, holding the box of Kleenex at arm’s length. He looked ready to attack. If he hadn’t been so cute and still in pain from the nose thing, I would have ran out of the building screaming.
My mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I- I tripped over my shoes,” I started to explain, pointing down at my boots. “You see, they’re a size too big-.”
“Are you always like this?” Luke asked, cutting in before I had finished my sentence. I blinked. How rude. That just updated his jerk status even more.
And what exactly did he mean, am I always like this?
“Like what?” I asked in a small voice. He wasn’t lifting a finger to take the box, or give any indication that he even saw it. Just continued to stare at me, through narrowed eyes.
“A danger to people around you,” he elaborated, gesturing towards me, his other hand still over his nose. Feeling like a moron for just standing over him, I sat down on the couch next to his.
“Well, I-” I started, getting ready to defend myself even though I didn’t have the slightest idea how. Luke was right. I was a danger to people around me. Why, just last week I hit Shazia in the face with a rubber band.
Luke stretched out his legs in front of him. “Coz if you are, I don’t think we should hang out. Ever.” He brushed his hair from his eyes, which was just a waste of time since it fell back in. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I kinda like my face. I wanna keep it looking the way it does.”
I bristled, feeling slightly defensive. “You startled me when you came up behind me, put your arms around me and started whispering in my ear!” I almost closed my eyes to relive it. He had smelt so good! Not like the potent Hollister cologne that was making the rounds right now, but good, old fashioned soap. And he had been so warm and so-perfectly unavailable, so stop it, Celsi. Now. Shaking myself, I continued, hoping he hadn’t noticed my lapse in concentration. “How many girls do you know who would stay cool under that kind of pressure?”
Yeah, both types of pressure. The pressure of the situation and the pressure of his body against mine. God save me from smutty thoughts.
Luke was giving me an incredulous look and I belatedly decided that maybe this was not a good conversation to be having.
“You’re blaming this on me? No way, own it!”
“Uh...” I started, tugging my earlobe and nervously eying the door as my escape route in case things got rough.
Luke stood up abruptly and sat back down in a different chair opposite me (why, I don’t know). “I thought you were Joanna,” he claimed (liar. Joanna has black hair. Even though my hair was tied up into pigtails and I was wearing a hat, it was still pretty obvious that it was dark brown and curly). “I came in here expecting to see Joanna because I got a call from the concierge that she was downstairs and instead I see you.”
I gulped. Uh oh.
Smiling weakly at him, I gave him a little wave. “Surprise!”
He glared at me. “Really? I come in here, embarrass myself, get assaulted, you fall on me and I find out that you’re not Joanna.” His eyes flickered over me. “Not even close.”
Of course I wasn’t Joanna! Joanna was a beautiful, rich, Fifth Avenue princess. I was just a girl from the hood. No comparison. I needed to change the subject.
“Are you bleeding?” I asked again. I was beginning to sound like a skipping CD. Could you answer me, dammit?
“I’m not bleeding,” he replied after a beat.
Now, was that so hard to say?
His eyes were still on me and I can’t lie, it was making me feel like a monkey at the zoo. “Oh. Well, is your nose broken?” Please don’t let it be broken. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“I don’t think it’s broken. Just hurts.”
I giggled as a wave of relief flowed through my body. Thank goodness.
“I’m so glad this is funny for you,” Luke said, sarcasm twisting his words.
I froze in mid-laugh, feeling suitably mortified. “No, I wasn’t laughing at you! I was laughing because I was happy that you weren’t really badly hurt,” I explained hurriedly. Last thing I needed was for him to think that I wasn’t remorseful about hurting him. “I really am sorry, though.”
Luke shrugged, finally removing his hand from his face with a wince. “It’s okay, I guess.” He prodded his nose carefully with a finger and his lips quirked slightly. “No lasting harm done, I think.”
I breathed easier. He was okay. His nose was flushed with pink, but it didn’t look swollen. Maybe I would get my hot chocolate yet.
“It must be your lucky day,” I said ramblingly, leaning forward.
Luke gazed at me, rubbing his nose, wincing and looking even cuter. I couldn’t believe I was actually having a conversation with the legendary Luke Astor! Wait till Shazia hears about this. “Didn’t Hans downstairs tell you that I didn’t want visitors?” he asked, a dangerous sounding note creeping into his husky voice.
Damn. Just when I thought it was safe...
I figured Hans was the code word for Count Dracula. “He did, but-,” I began, shifting uneasily on the couch, which had suddenly lost its comfort.
“But you pretended to be Joanna so you could come up?” Luke asked, talking over me. He rubbed his chin. “That’s kinda messed up. Like, are you a stalker? One of my fan girls? Why would you come up here when I specifically said that I didn’t want anyone up?”
Because I thought you had the mumps and I had to come up and check it out.
This guy was acting like a typical rich, spoilt jerk.
I held up his homework file, the real reason I was there. The irate look on his face changed to one of puzzlement.
“I was bringing you your homework,” I said shortly.
Being a Good Samaritan was overrated. I might just do what Robyn suggested and demand payment for my troubles.
“You pretended to be Joanna so you could bring me my homework?” he asked dubiously. “Really?”
I felt my eyes rolling to the ceiling before I could stop myself. “No, I pretended to be Joanna so you could sign my t-shirt,” I said dryly, then giggled. “Of course I pretended to be Joanna so I could bring you your homework!”
This kid was on the Committee on Student Conduct (really ironic considering he was always waist deep in crap) but he was acting really slow today.
He bit his lip reflectively. “So you’re not a stalker?”
I snorted derisively. “Do I honestly look like one of your fan girls?” I asked.
Talking to Luke was fun! Well, I was having fun, I couldn’t read anything on his face, but I had never chatted to someone as popular as him (apart from Shazia’s older brother, Ahmed, but he doesn’t count. Plus he’s a jerk. A hot jerk, but still a jerk) for such a long time. He hadn’t chased me out of his sight or denounced me before the Church, so I had to be doing something right.
He gave a slight chuckle, shaking his head. “No. They’re usually- really intense and try to feel me up every chance they get.” He shifted lower in his seat, scratching his stomach idly. “So I just get paranoid when I’m home. Occupational hazard.”
He was turning into a regular chatterbox and I willed him to keep talking. My reasons were partly because Mr. Smith was ta
king forever with the refreshments (I was this close to asking Luke where the kitchen was so I could go help him) and partly because Luke had a rather sexy voice.
“So they stake out your house, too?” I asked, my mind still on the rabid fan girls. I imagined what it would be like, having a bunch of adoring girls around you every second. That was probably what the Jonas Brothers had wondered before they got famous. Now, they were dissing the same fans that made them- wait, no, that’s Zac Efron.
“Yeah, I have no idea why,” Luke said, shrugging and managing to look remarkably unassuming. Really? You don’t know why? Have you looked in a mirror or checked your bank balance lately? “I mean, I dropped out of the football team, so it’s not coz I’m a jock, right?” He grinned. “Don’t know what my appeal to them is.”
Could be because of your charm. I was being blown away by it and he wasn’t even using it on me- wait, did I just say that bit about charm out loud?
Luke raised his eyes from the carpet to glance at me. “Huh?”
I did! I did say it out loud! What is wrong with me?
“I said I’m not a stalker,” I stammered, struggling to keep my cool. He didn’t hear me. “Never stalked anyone.” I spread my hands and shrugged. “I don’t have time for it.”
“Yeah?” Luke yawned. Am I boring you? “So I guess I should, you know, thank you for bringing me work to do,” he said, a teasing note in his tone.
“Well, I was sent. By Mrs. Williams. I was being a Good Samaritan,” I said in classic ‘aw, shucks, it was nothing’ mode.
“Right. Well, thanks anyway,” he said. “I probably won’t do the homework, but thanks for bringing it.”
“No problem,” I said, my voice coming out as a whisper. God, I needed a boyfriend so that I wouldn’t react like this to every cute guy I spoke to. Or maybe it was just the Luke factor. I need an intervention.
Luckily, Mr. Smith chose that moment to walk in, carefully balancing a tray on his upturned palm. I thought they only did that in movies, I thought, hoping he wouldn’t drop the tray. I had endured much to get here.
“Your hot chocolate and cookies, ma’am,” he announced, placing the tray on a table in front of me. Apparently he had forgotten the whole ‘call me Celsi, call me Mr. Smith thing’ and I didn’t think about reminding him because the cookies on the tray looked delicious. I shivered in anticipation as Mr. Smith arranged everything just so and straightened.
“Master Astor, is there anything I can get you?” he asked Luke. Maybe I was reading way too much into this, but I could feel Luke’s eyes on me as I bit into a soft, coconut cookie (Caramel Delight, my favorite!), my eyes closed. Mmmmm. Heaven on Earth.
“No thanks, I’m good,” Luke said. I opened my eyes just to see Mr. Smith turn to leave the room.
“Thanks for the refreshments, Mr. Smith,” I said through a mouthful of crumbs.
Mr. Smith turned to me, a ghost of a smile on his face and bowed. “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
He left and I took a small sip of hot chocolate, the warmth going right through my body. I needed that. Looking up from the table, my eyes met with Luke’s. We both flushed. I don’t know why he was embarrassed, but I was kinda eating like a hungry savage right here.
Once again, my mouth spoke before my mind said to. “It’s considered rude to stare in most cultures.”
“I’m just trying to place you,” he replied, sounding slightly defensive.
I wiped my mouth with a napkin that good old Mr. Smith had so thoughtfully provided.
“I’ve been in most of your classes since the 8th grade!” I said, wolfing down another cookie while Luke stared at me in amusement. “Not that you would notice me.”
“I notice everything,’ he said simply and pointed a finger at me. “It’s Casey, right?”
I shook my head. “Wrong. You were close, though. It’s Celsi.”
A slow smile lit up his face. “Yeah, Celsi. That’s right. I think I have some of your pencils,” he grinned.
He wasn’t lying. In almost all of our Science classes, he asked me for a pencil.
“Hey, do you still have my blue polar bear pencil?” I asked him. That was my lucky pencil, yet I had foolishly let him borrow it a couple of weeks ago. And Luke wasn’t the type of guy you approached in the hall to ask for your pencil back, mostly because he rolled five men deep. And also because he would laugh at you, like he was doing now. “I kind of need that back,” I ended lamely.
Snickering, Luke said “I honestly don’t think so, but I’ll look around-who the-?”
The door buzzer had just sounded.
“Sounds like you’ve got guests,” I said, taking a large gulp of my chocolate. If his guests were from Dalton I was out of there. Luke hung out with the most popular people at school, and most of them were snobs.
“I wasn’t expecting any-,” he started, standing up and pulling up his jeans, which were riding dangerously low.
Mr. Smith walked back into the parlor, closely tailed by two all too familiar faces. If my mouth hadn’t been full, I would have groaned. Wendy Remington and Ahmed El Hamed. Great.
“Mr. El Hamed and Miss Remington here to see you, sir,” he said clearly.
Ahmed (Shazia’s hot older brother) stepped forward, holding up a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and Smirnoff in the other.
“Yo, Astor!” he yelled, giving a grinning Luke a one armed hug. “Why the hell weren’t you at school today, man?”
Stepping forward to plant a kiss on Luke’s cheek, Wendy Remington cooed, “We missed you, Luke. What happened?”
“I had a headache,” Luke said, stretching now that he was on his feet. Ahmed laughed, clapping his friend on his back.
“Only Astor can skip school coz he got a headache,” he said, turning in my direction to put the liquor on a table. His eyes fell on me and he frowned. “Dude, what’s going on?” he asked, staring from me to Luke. “Celsi?”
“Hi, Ahmed,” I said, giving him a nervous smile.
Let’s get one thing in the open. I think Ahmed is hot. I also think he’s a jerk. He can be nice, but not all the time, and rarely to me. I just hoped that he would at least try to be nice to me today, but it looked like he was halfway tipsy (on a Monday afternoon, no less) so I just hoped for the best and prepared for a flood of nastiness.
He didn’t disappoint.
Luke pointed at him, then at me. “You know each other?” he asked, while Wendy slung her arms around both Ahmed and Luke’s shoulders, looking down her nose at me.
“Yeah,” Ahmed nodded. “She’s- she’s my sister’s friend. We call her the pity friend coz the only reason Shazia talks to her is because she feels sorry for her.” He sneered at me. “Ain't that right, Celsi?”
I bit my lip, trying not to meet anyone’s eyes. So much for Ahmed being nice. “No,” I muttered, my voice coming out defiant. Shazia wasn’t my friend because she felt sorry for me. She was my friend because we both loved reading the sappiest, most cliché romance novels we could find and pretending to be the heroine.
“What are you doing here, anyway? Bit far from the ghetto, ain’t it?” Ahmed continued, his words landing hard against my ears.
“She bought me my homework,” Luke said dismissively as I stared down at my shoes. Wendy snorted.
“What a loser,” she said derisively (apparently, it was Open Season on Celsi Sawyer day). “Why do homework if you didn’t go to school today?”
Luke laughed, the first time he’d laughed since I laid him out. “My point exactly,” he agreed.
“Well, I guess if you’re on Financial Aid, doing your homework is mandatory,” Ahmed said, smirking down at me as he rubbed his hand over the designer stubble on his chin. “I mean, she pretty much has to, or it’s back to public school.”
“Where she belongs,” Wendy piped in.
Wendy and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye since I hit her on the ankle with my hockey stick last year. Her ankle was sprained and she maintained that I had done it on purpos
e. What she doesn’t know is that if I had done it on purpose, her ankle wouldn’t have just been sprained. It would have been broken.
I looked up to catch Luke staring incredulously at me. My stomach twisted nervously as beads of sweat started to build up on my forehead despite the perfect temperature in the room. He was gonna go off on me too, I could feel it.
“Financial Aid?” he asked, looking at Ahmed, who nodded. “You mean our thirty six grand a year is paying for her education?”
I had gone from being Casey to being Celsi to being ‘her’.
Thank you, Ahmed and Wendy.
“Yeah,” Wendy nodded self-importantly. She rubbed herself against Luke. “And you know what else? She’s taking up a spot that someone with money and class could be using.” She sighed in disgust. “I wish they would stop trying to include poor people at Dalton. Doesn’t elite stand for anything these days?”
I’d had enough. What these people were saying was hurting my feelings so badly that I could barely breathe. “I got into Dalton on my own merit,” I said breathlessly, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice. “I’m smart and hardworking.”
As if that would sway them.
Luke grinned, sitting down in his recently vacated seat as I stood. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore. “Really?” he said, the same friendly grin on his face. “I heard that the principal makes Financial Aid students perform certain-favors for him.” He smirked at me. My heart thumped in my chest as my eyes filled with hot, angry tears. I wanted to scream. I want to cry. “So since when is lying on your back or getting on your knees hard work?”
So that’s the type of guy he was. Nice when he’s alone with you, a complete bastard as soon as his friends show. I got it.
Breathing hard, I picked up my book bag and Luke’s homework file. I threw the file into Luke’s surprised face. Papers flew everywhere.
“Here’s your homework,” I said in a trembling voice, trying not to show how upset I was and failing miserably. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better leave.”
“Thank God. You’re lowering the value of the penthouse,” Wendy said, her loud and piercing voice cutting through me like a knife. What had I done to deserve this? What was the stigma of Financial Aid? It’s because you’re black and poor, Celsi. Wendy turned to Ahmed, who was swigging down vodka straight from the bottle as he sat perched on an armrest. “How’d they let her in, with those cheap ass boots?”