Dark Secrets (19 page)

“
Okay, it’s settled
then.” Emily bounced on the balls of her feet. “So, we’ll carpool?”
She looked at Ryan and Alana, then especially at David.

“
Um—” I froze, trying
to think of a way to say I never went in cars with teenagers. I
didn’t want to insult their driving ability or have them make the
standard enquiry, complete with raised brow.

“
Actually.” David took a small step forward. “I uh—I was going
to ask Ara out tonight.” He looked directly at me then. “So,
perhaps…
I
could
be your escort?”

My brow folded. He was
going to ask me out? What kind of out? Friends? More than friends?
Friends who like to hold each other’s hand then ignore each other
in the morning?

“
Oh, a date? Really?”
Emily said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you two had—”

“
We’re just friends,”
David said in a very business-like tone.

“
So you don’t mind
sharing her for the night, man?” Ryan asked.

“
Not at all.” David
kind of nodded.

“
Yeah, and, um,” I
chimed in, looking sideways at him, “—and, really, hanging out with
you guys’ll be great.”

“
Okay. So, you bring
Ara, David, and I’ll go with Ryan and Alana.” Emily linked her arm
through Alana’s.

Ryan, all tall and
lanky-looking, sighed enviously at Emily, subconsciously imitating
the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It was so obvious he liked Alana. I
wondered why he hadn’t just got with the programme and asked her
out. I mean, it was obvious the feelings were mutual.

The routine catch-up
at the top of the stairs continued then, without my cerebral focus.
They were all smiling and talking, but I couldn’t really hear them.
My thoughts were off with my troubles, somewhere in clueless land.
David wasn’t really present, either. He was smiling and talking,
too, but kept looking at me with those narrowed eyes—studying
me—probably unaware he was even staring. And all my brain could do
was worry that he felt he’d made a mistake talking with me that way
last night. But I could feel the energy between us, still alive as
always, and after praying so hard, every breath of yesterday
afternoon, that he’d lean forward and kiss me, I think I grew a
little tired of wishing. Yet, despite that, I still kept looking at
his lips, imagining it. My feelings had manifested overnight
and
‘I think I like holding your
hand’
was not going to do for me. Not long
term. Either he had a confession of love buried somewhere in those
emerald eyes, or I needed to go to therapy.

David laughed,
catching a paper canon, then hurled it up the back of the room
where its journey ended on the brow of a football jock. I slinked
down lower in my chair; I’d really rather avoid getting a headache
from unfinished English homework. It was bad enough that Mr B, with
his strict designated seating plan, placed me right up front, right
next to David. Not that I minded the David part, I was just kinda
worried I might do something to embarrass myself—like drool all
over his notebook or start playing footsies with him under the
table.

“
Morning, class.” Mr
Benson walked in, oblivious to the origami air-raid going on behind
him.

David sat quickly in
his seat, playing the good student.

“
Faker,” I
scoffed.

He opened his mouth to
speak, then dropped his words with a smile as his hand shot up
behind his head. Everyone behind us broke into claps and cheers.
“Nice catch, man,” one of the jocks called.

“
Settle down, class.”
Mr Benson eyed the room for a second before turning back to write
on the board.

Totally and utterly
confused, I frowned at David. What the hell was all that
about?

He smiled broadly and
opened his palm to reveal a paper cannon.

“
Did you just catch
that behind your head? Without looking?”

He dumped the
scrunched up paper onto his desk and leaned closer. “Of course not.
I just made it look that way.”

“
Well, you’re a good catch.
Er
. I mean catch
er
.”

He looked to the front
of the class, crossing his arms over his chest, laughing to
himself.

I left my lips
slightly open as I smiled, because the sweet scent of his cologne
brushed pleasantly over my tongue every time he leaned in or spoke.
He smelled so fresh, like he’d just stepped out of the shower,
still steaming and hot, then sprayed deodorant all over his
skin.

“
I need everyone to
take out their notepads and jot some notes down for...” Mr Benson
started, but I lost focus as David leaned down and unzipped his
bag. With his body angled that way, one side lengthened, his arm
slightly up, stretching forward, his cologne dominated our private
little space; I drew a really deep breath, then opened my eyes
slowly—meeting with his direct gaze.

“
You okay?” He held
back a chuckle, placing two pens and two notepads on his
desk.

“
Uh.
Yeah.”

“
Were you…thinking
about ice cream?”

“
Ice
cream?”

“
Yeah.” He bit his
lip, looking at mine. “You looked like one of those girls off a
seductive ice cream commercial.”

I flashed him a grin
and he sat back, breathing out his laughter.

“
Okay.” Mr Benson
folded his arms, leaning on the front of his desk. “Today, we’ll be
having a class discussion about…”

Toes in the
sand—standing on a beach at sunset, kissing, making everyone who
passes jealous...

“
Ara?” Mr Benson
said. “Perhaps you can answer that question for us?”

“
Uh—” I sat up a
little. Crap!

David nudged me and
held out three fingers under the desk.

“
Um—three?” I
said.

“
That’s correct.” Mr
B turned back to the board. “There were three characters
in…”

“
Thanks,” I
whispered.

“
Don’t mention it.”
David folded his arms again and kicked his legs out straight in
front of him, crossing his ankles. He was wearing those heavy black
boots again; I’d seen him in those nearly every day, except
yesterday, when we sat on the grass by my swing, talking for
hours—our fingers entwined; his cold, like mine, yet warmer than
mine. It felt so good, but for such a short time, because as soon
as the sun went down, he left. I offered him to stay for dinner,
but he said he already had plans. Talk about
disappointment.

I wanted to touch his
fingers again—to make sure they really felt the way I
remembered.

When David’s head
turned to watch the pacing teacher move around the class, I stared
down at his hand, just to gauge the distance. Maybe I could
accidentally brush past him or…

“
You could at least
try
to concentrate.” He leaned his head a little
closer as he spoke, keeping his eyes forward, his arms
folded.

How could I
concentrate when every time he breathed, I could feel it and hear
it? All I wanted was to rest my head against his chest and listen
to his heart.

“
Ara, stop that,” he
whispered gruffly.

“
Stop
what?”

“
You…you know that look you get—when you’re
thinking…
things
?”

“
Mm?”

His lips parted, his
eyes sparkling with a grin. “Well, you’re…thinking.”

“
Maybe you shouldn’t
sit next to me then,” I whispered back playfully.

“
I shall ask Mr
Benson to move my seat if you wish,” he muttered.

“
No, David,
I—”

“
Eyes forward please,
Miss Thompson,” Mr Benson said.

The eyes of every
student in the class made my spine go stiff. Damn this
tongue.

When Mr Benson looked
away, I tore a strip of paper from my notepad, coughing over the
sound it made. David smiled, watching my crafty display of
rebellion. “What are you doing?” he whispered so low it was only
his cool breath I heard as his lips shaped the words.

“
Shh.” I frowned at
him and nodded toward the teacher.

“
Show me,” he said,
leaning over to look at the paper.

“
No peeking.” I hid
it with my elbow.

He sat back in his
chair, chuckling quietly.

Sorry,
I wrote.
When I said
that, I just meant that you make me lose my concentration. I want
to be next to you. I just wish we weren’t at school.

There, that should do
it. Somehow, it was so much easier to say what I wanted to say when
I didn’t actually have to say it. “Here.”

David placed a
fingertip on the top corner of the note and slid it across the
desk.

“
I want you all to
write this down,” Mr Benson said, scribbling on the
board.

I dared to glance back
to see what David thought of my note; he slipped it into his
pocket, smiling my favourite smile—the one that lit up the corners
of his eyes before showing in his lips—but didn’t say
anything.

“
Point one.” Mr
Benson wrote number one to ten on the board, and kept talking about
something I cared nothing for.

David, with his left
hand, started taking notes, looking up at the board and back down
again, and I watched in amazement. How did I not notice he was
left-handed? His guitar wasn’t left-handed.

“
Here.” He slid a
page of notes across to me; an exact copy of what was on the
board.

“
Thanks. But, don’t
you need these?”

He smiled down at
another page in front of him; the same notes.

“
Oh.” I toyed with
the edge of the paper.

“
Ara?” David
whispered, eyes forward, head close to mine.

“
Mm-hm?”

“
Can I hold your
hand?”

“
In
class?”

“
Yes. In
class.”

The idea took my
breath. I couldn’t even nod. I felt his cool touch just above my
elbow before he slid his fingers slowly down the length of my arm,
making little bumps lift the fine hairs as they followed the curve
to the back of my hand. I flipped my palm over and our fingers
laced.

“
You okay?” he
asked.

I nodded, squeezing
his hand tightly.
Just don’t ever let go,
David.

We sat with our hands
concealed under the desk for the rest of class. But every now and
then, David ran his thumb over mine and smiled at me—and every time
he did that, my heart skipped into my throat like the rush you get
on a roller coaster.

I grinned like the
Cheshire cat, silently praying the teacher wouldn’t notice the
reason for my happiness, and as I sat, feeling closer to this boy
than I had to anyone in my life, ever before, I drew a conclusion
again that I thought I’d discarded completely; I was in love. Even
if you couldn’t fall in love with someone in four days, I didn’t
care. It didn’t change how I felt right then. I could only hope, as
I watched David trying to conceal his own smile, that he’d one day
feel the way I did.
Definitely
in love.

Dad paced the floor,
hands behind his back, droning on about some faerie myth, and as
usual, Emily and I quietly gossiped our way through the hour. She
scribbled another fact about her latest crush on a page and passed
it to me. Since he sat behind us, the only thing we could actually
talk about in here was David. Which is why History was my new
favourite, David-less class.

“
I already know
that,” I said to Em, sliding the paper back to her.

“
Oh, sorry.” She
looked a little sheepish. “Did I tell you he lives near
you?”

I half glanced over my
shoulder at him; he was plain, kind of quiet, like Alana, but with
sandy hair. His only redeeming quality was his dazzling hazel,
almost green-grey eyes. “I met him once—on my first day,” I
said.

“
Really?”

I nodded.

“
Well, what did he
say to you? Was he nice? Did he—”

“
Em?” I put my hand
up between us; she had somehow managed to excite herself so much
she’d almost drifted onto my lap. “Why don’t you just talk to
him?”

She ducked her head
and took a half glance back at him. “I can’t.”

“
Why?”

“
What if he doesn’t
like me?”

In my mind, I flicked
my hand out and whacked her across the back of the head; in the
real world, I just rolled my eyes at her. Ever since she first took
real notice of him at rehearsals yesterday, all she’d done was talk
about what this person told her about him, or what that person said
he did in Math class. But I had to agree with her when she said
that ever since she first decided he was perfect, she’d seen the
world move in slow motion. Now,
that
I understood.