A Tale of Two Centuries msssc-2

by Rachel Harris

  I raise my chin and stare straight ahead, vowing to keep my eyes from straying to the ill-mannered jerk beside me for the rest of class. I count the seconds in time with his taps.

  I do believe I hate Austin Michaels.

  Chapter Seven

  The bell rings, and I longingly watch the rest of my classmates file from the room, inexplicably eager to sit for another hour in an uncomfortable chair surrounded by insufferable boys such as the one beside me. The main door opens again, and I meet my cousin’s eye. Cat checks the watch I complimented her on this morning and mouths the words let’s go, but I shake my head. I cannot leave—though nothing would make me happier—thanks in large part to the embodiment of evil who has joined me in front of the instructor’s desk looking annoyingly unaffected and quite honestly, bored.

  Is it possible he genuinely does not care about being in trouble?

  Miss Edwards finishes scribbling a note and flicks her amber gaze up at the two of us. A sense of familiarity washes over me, but then she says in a clearly frustrated tone, “You know, I had hoped my first class would go a tad more smoothly.”

  Distressed, I shove my hair out from behind my ear in an attempt to shield my face. I lower my lashes and see Austin shuffling his feet.

  Hmm, perhaps he is nervous.

  When I lift my head, Austin is watching me, a strange, almost soft look in his eyes. It does even stranger things to my stomach.

  Austin holds my gaze for a long moment before turning to our teacher. “Look, Miss E., it really was my fault. I was just messing with the new kid.” He tosses her an impish grin. “Didn’t Mrs. Spano clue you in on how exasperating I can be?”

  More shocking than him taking the full blame for the incident is him taking any of it. For the last forty-odd minutes, I have rehashed and relived every horrifying moment, coming to the sad conclusion that the disruption was entirely my doing. No one else seemed disturbed by Austin’s boorish actions, nor did anyone else feel the need to fling his pen across the room. That was all me. But it does not mean I plan to hinder his surprising act of gallantry now.

  Chivalry may not be dead in this era, after all.

  Austin’s long lashes sweep across his cheekbones, and I turn to our young instructor, wondering if his bewitching magic can work on her as well. She tilts her head to the side and purses her lips, then slides her gaze to me. “Miss Forlani?”

  Wrinkling my nose, I stare at her blankly, knowing the name sounds familiar but unable to place it. She consults a sheet of paper on her desk with a raised eyebrow. “You are Alessandra Forlani, correct?”

  Fiddlesticks.

  “Oh, yes! That is me—Alessandra Forlani.” I bob a curtsy, and two different sets of eyes narrow in my direction.

  Oops.

  Flustered and fervently wishing my cousin could send me just a dash of her confidence and possibly a few words from her quick tongue, I push on. “I—I recently transferred here. From Florence. And I’m staying with the Crawford family. Beautiful family, really, and their home is quite splendid, filled with such enchanting things I never would have thought possible. It is amazing—”

  I cut off here, realizing my rambling is only causing more harm. At least I did squeak in a contraction.

  Miss Edwards squints at me long enough for my heart to threaten to stop beating altogether, but then the lines on her forehead smooth out, and she nods. Austin, however, turns his torso more toward me, continuing his quiet scrutiny with clear, shrewd eyes.

  If he had but devoted such attention to the lecture, perchance we would not be in this predicament.

  Trying my best to ignore him, I go to shove my hair from behind my ear and notice it already is. Instead, I brush it behind my shoulder, then fidget with the folds in my skirt.

  “Wow, Florence,” Miss Edwards says, studying me with impressed focus. “Glad to hear you’re settling in. I hope you’ll like it here, though I can imagine it’s a big change.”

  Feeling Austin’s perceptive gaze still on me, I offer a small smile, trying not to convey just how big a change it truly is.

  The instructor sighs. Sliding her glasses off with one hand, she pinches the bridge of her nose with the other and says, “Alessandra, it’s like this. It’s the beginning of a new semester—and for you, a new experience in a new country. I don’t know if Austin just has a unique talent for challenging patience, or if things were different in your old school, but I can’t have interruptions like that in my class. And—” She lifts a hand at Austin. “Before you argue, Mr. Michaels, I’m not only talking about the pen and the book. There was palpable tension radiating from the pair of you for the remainder of the hour, distracting the students around you and, quite frankly, me.”

  She shuffles through a stack of papers on her desk, obviously searching for something, and I meet Austin’s eyes, knowing my own are filled with panic. His lips twitch into a semblance of a smile at the same time his bright blue eyes seem to say, it will be all right. And for some reason, my frantic pulse eases.

  Then the instructor speaks again.

  “It’s no secret that this is my first teaching job, and I would like to begin it on a good note. A mentor advised during my student teaching that when two people clash as quickly and strongly as the two of you, there are a couple options I can take to ensure incidents like this don’t happen again: I can either separate you or force you to work together.”

  The hint of reassurance in Austin’s intense gaze vanishes as he laughs. “And when you say student teaching, do you really mean kindergarten?”

  Although that particular word was not included in Cat’s teenspeak list, I can decipher from the condescension in his tone and the tensing of Miss Edwards’s fingers that Austin’s comment was not at all helpful.

  “Make all the jokes you want, Mr. Michaels, but I believe I’m here to do more than teach government. I didn’t become a teacher to just open a text book and regurgitate information about a subject that you, of all people, already know so much about.”

  A muscle in his jaw clenches and his gaze sharpens. They share a brief, mysterious look. I glance back and forth between them, frowning, knowing I am missing something important, and wishing I had paid better attention to the lecture.

  What could Austin know so much about?

  “I think I’m also here to teach life skills,” she continues. “To get you ready for college and life in the great beyond. So, knowing that, I’ve decided to go with the latter kindergarten principle. Here’s your first lesson.”

  She holds out a paper, which Austin makes no move to take. Reluctantly, I grab the sheet, noting Modern-Day Leadership written in bold letters at the top…a subject I know nothing about.

  “As of now, the two of you are partners for our first class project. Congratulations! All the particulars are included on the sheet, it is due in two weeks, and you’re more than welcome to come to me—together as a team—with any questions before then. With an entire weekend stretching before you, may I suggest you get a head start?”

  I blink and Austin rubs the back of his neck. Behind us, a stream of students pours through the open door, preparing for the next class, and I catch sight of Cat standing just outside, looking rather impatient. If we do not leave now, we will both be late for our next class. I swallow and grasp the paper tighter.

  “Thank you, ma’am. I shall look forward to completing the assignment.”

  Austin chokes on a laugh, and I shoot him a look of death. His presumed humor is decidedly not advantageous.

  Miss Edwards nods her dismissal, and Austin follows me through the door. Leaning close to my ear as we enter the hallway, he says, “Looks like you got some work to do.”

  I freeze mid-step, causing a dainty girl looking even more lost than I am to ram into me. Without even stopping to hear my apology, she weaves around us and breaks into a sprint. I take a breath and twirl to face my new nemesis.

  “I have work to do?” I shake the paper in my hand, unable to believe that he inten
ds to leave me—someone not even from this time—in charge of our shared project on twenty-first-century government! “I do believe you mean we.”

  Cat stands to the side of us, watching with unabashed interest.

  Austin rakes a hand through his already disheveled hair and says simply, “Yeah, I don’t really do the whole school thing. But hey, good luck with that.”

  And with those parting words, he spins on his heel. Instantly the frenzied crowd swallows him whole, leaving me gaping in the eye of the storm as harried classmates rush past down the hall.

  Well, so much for chivalry.

  My skin prickles with righteous ire, and I draw in a ragged breath. Staring at my cousin, and then at the empty space Austin inhabited just moments before, I say, “Have you ever met anyone so rude…so infuriating…so completely… Oof!” Evidently, simple words will not do him or this situation full justice. So instead, I shake my head and tighten my fists. “Can you believe him?”

  Cat clamps her lips together. If I did not know better, I would swear she was stifling a laugh. “Honestly? No. I can’t believe Mr. Laidback and Never Shows Up actually made it to class, much less provoked you in the hallway. I also can’t believe he got my straitlaced, proper cousin all tongue-tied and crazy.”

  On instinct, I open my mouth to defend myself, but after a moment’s hesitation, close it again. As much as I would adore denying my cousin’s accusation, I cannot. This only serves to make me seethe even more.

  So it would seem that, along with inducing depravity in an otherwise respectable female, Austin Michaels can also add erasing my ability to speak properly to his irritating list of inherent powers.

  Cat shakes her head and tugs me onward. “You know, as much as I’d love to hear what it is he did to get you all riled up, your next class starts in, like…” She widens her eyes at her watch, then picks up her pace to a slow sprint. “Crap, in a minute. But don’t think you’re off the hook. At lunch, you are totally spilling how all that just happened.”

  I trudge along behind my cousin and think, If I am able to make it that long.

  Yet somehow, by the grace of Signore, the stars above, or more likely, the lack of Austin in my next two classes, I get through the rest of my morning. Biology proves surprisingly interesting, though I overhear rumblings of an upcoming fetal pig dissection and take a moment to pray it occurs after Reyna returns me to my own time, and then comes British literature—a subject that primarily discusses works created after my time, but I am still able to semi-follow. But through it all, my mind keeps flashing back to American government…or more specifically, to a particular insufferable classmate.

  The bell rings again.

  I gather my notebook and pen, place them inside my satchel, and follow the line of eager students fleeing through the door. The moment I step out into the cluttered chaos of the hall, Cat materializes near my elbow. “Spill it.”

  It takes the entire journey to our midday meal, down the stairs and outside the building, sidestepping gossiping students, for me to share the sordid story of my first high school experience. Pausing outside the large double doors to the cafeteria, I catch a whiff of something delicious. My stomach rumbles. From the corner of my eye I see my cousin’s lips twitch at my tale, and with a huff, I say, “The rest you witnessed yourself in the hallway.”

  Cat nods. Her lips twitch again, and in an obvious attempt to transform her amusement into sympathy, she places a hand on my shoulder. “Wow.” She clears her throat. “That was…wow.”

  She clamps her lips around her teeth, but unfortunately the gesture does nothing to stop the laughter shining in her big brown eyes. I sigh the sigh of the weary and grin despite my embarrassment. I guess the situation is rather amusing in retrospect.

  Cat’s dazzling smile bursts through her composure in answer to my own. “Now that’s what I call a first impression.”

  Shaking my head, I strive for the positive. “At least it cannot be said that I am forgettable.”

  “Nope, you’re definitely not that.”

  She laughs, then tugs open the doors, enveloping us both in an intense wall of sound. I widen my eyes and take a hesitant step inside, openly gawking.

  The chaotic maze of hallways has nothing on this room. Bright multicolored papers litter the walls. Undistinguishable foul scents mingle with mouth-watering temptation. Loud music meets a cacophony of yelling, laughter, and utensils clanking, all melding into one elongated roar.

  Lining the periphery of the space are various food stations, each boasting their own delectable choices, and each wafting a unique, overpowering aroma. Rows of students stand before them, choosing items before shuffling away laden with trays to the eating area in the center. Here, tables and chairs are squished together for seating, but apparently also for leaning, standing, and in one odd case (and what should be impossible, considering the noise level), napping.

  Squeezing my throbbing temples between my hands, I ask, “Where does one even begin in this bedlam? How do you even think, much less choose what to eat or where to sit?”

  “Well, I usually just follow my nose, or when I’m lazy, the shortest line,” Cat replies, leading me to a station labeled Panini. “In this case, the line is both short and the choice particularly yummy. Now, as for where to sit, normal people clump together in their group of status.”

  Selecting a Sicilian panini from the menu, a fun nod to my homeland, I wrinkle my nose at her word choice. Cat sees my confusion and explains. “I don’t really have a group…or a social status…or even many friends.” She pins me with a look. “Mama Dearest—aka Caterina Angeli, the vixen of Hollywood, and the reigning queen of tabloids everywhere—pretty much kept me friendless until my little time travel escapade. When I got back, I started hanging out with this girl Hayley, but she eats during the second lunch period. So peeps like me kinda just float wherever the spirit moves us. And today, it’s leading me over there.” She points her elbow to a semi-empty table toward the back.

  As we maneuver through the confined aisles, I try to process this latest piece of information. I have always envisioned my lively cousin at the center of every room, every party, every possible social sphere. The fact that she is without a large group of peers is astonishing. And yet another modern American occurrence I cannot fathom.

  Cat plops her tray onto the table, and I take a seat across from her, cringing as my feet stick to the floor.

  “So back to Austin,” she says, shaking her carton of orange juice. “I don’t know what to tell ya. I mean, sure, the guy’s great for a laugh, and he occasionally shocks everyone with a semicoherent thought—when he bothers to even show up—but, dude, I can’t imagine having to work with him.”

  She punctures the top of her carton with a straw and slurps loudly. I take a sip of my lovely water loaded with ice and agree with her assessment. I cannot imagine working with Austin, either. If this morning was any indication, prolonged exposure in each other’s company will only lead to inappropriate flirtation, the inability to speak or hold my temper, and most likely, a severe headache.

  I take a bite of my panini. Marvelous gooey, cheesy flavor explodes in my mouth. Cat laughs. “Good, huh?”

  I nod and take another bite, my eyes rolling back in bliss. They flutter open and land on a group of boys gathering at the table behind Cat. They are all wearing matching shirts with their names written above a bright red number. I am unsure if their clothing marks them as uniformed guards or a band of students unable to remember their own names, but I am fascinated, staring at the writing and dreaming up possible meanings. A boy with the name Daniels written above the number thirty-two slaps the boy beside him on the back, jostling him forward, and I catch a flash of blond curls at the table beyond.

  An eerie feeling crawls in my chest.

  Bobbing and weaving my head around so I can see past the boy’s massive arm, I struggle to get another glimpse.

  “Less?”

  Can it be possible?

  A hand wave
s in front of my eyes, and I crane my neck, knowing it cannot be him, but excitement spurs me on nevertheless.

  “Earth to Less, come in, Less.”

  A faint, familiar rumbling laugh reaches my ears. Cat tenses across from me, then twists her head. The boys take their seats, my line of vision clears, and I gasp.

  Lorenzo.

  Confusion colors my world. Cat turns back to face me, and I stammer, “H-how is he here?”

  She gives me a wobbly smile. “Less, that’s not Lorenzo. It’s Lucas.”

  “Lucas?” I shake my head.

  “Lucas Cappelli, to be precise. Apparently Lorenzo is Lucas’s ancestor.” Cat’s voice wobbles, and she looks down at her hands. “Freaky, ain’t it?”

  I turn back to the boy who could be Lorenzo’s twin and nod. “The word freaky seems to fit the situation amazingly well.”

  Lucas is two tables away, but even so, I can clearly distinguish his dark brown eyes, curly golden locks, and the dimple slicing through the bronze skin of his cheek.

  Across from me, Cat pulls apart her sandwich, shredding the crispy bread into minuscule pieces. The slight tremor of her hands and the unnecessary mutilation of her food are the sole indicators that she is upset—otherwise her countenance remains as cool and collected as ever.

  Unsure if I should pry or leave it be, I take a bite of my still intact panini and wait.

  I do not have to do so for long.

  “I met him at my sweet sixteen a few weeks ago.” She glances up, and I am struck by the vulnerability in her gaze. My cousin is never vulnerable. “He’s a junior, a year older than us. His family just moved back here from Milan, and Jenna’s planning his sister’s party.” She pauses. “Angela’s sweet. You’d like her.”

  She stares intently at her tray, and I do not rush in to fill the silence. I do not ask what happened at the party or any day since. Instead, I watch her lick her lips and crack her knuckles.

  Though I want to scream for her to finish her tale, I want her to want to tell me.