Bird Song (17 page)

“Grace, are we…friends?” he asked, and I nodded dumbly while moving forward to sit next to him on the bed.

“So, if we’re friends, will you be honest with me when I ask you if you think I screwed up by asking out Stacy instead of Lark?”

I took a deep breath, because I felt the truth ready to pour out of my mouth.
 
I forced it closed, biting my lips to keep them shut until I could organize my thoughts enough to make the words sound less abrasive and accusatory.
 
Of course he had screwed up by asking Stacy out.
 
But that wasn’t what he needed to hear.

“Graham, I know you like Lark a lot, but you’ve only known her for a short while, and it’s been even less time since you and Erica broke up.
 
I think perhaps dating around really isn’t a bad thing.”

His snort told me that he knew I was trying to avoid answering the question, and was doing it badly to boot.
 
I ignored it and continued, “I don’t know what made you choose Stacy.
 
She’s Lark’s friend, too, and I think you might have made things a bit more difficult by asking her out, but I don’t think you screwed up.
 
Not badly, anyway.”

He flung himself backwards on the bed, causing it to bounce the two of us up and down.
 
I waited until we stopped moving before I asked him the one question I knew he probably wasn’t going to answer.
 
“Do you regret asking Stacy out?”

Shaking his head, he sighed.
 
“No, I don’t.
 
Not yet, anyway.
 
She’s cool…in a sadistic, painful, scary way.
 
But it’ll be nice to hang out with someone who doesn’t care about all that superficial crap, you know?
 
I’ll make things work, Grace.
  
I won’t hurt her.
 
I’ve learned my lesson.”

I nodded mutely, relieved that he would at least not take his mistake out on her, and threw myself back on the bed, the two of us lying in opposite directions, our feet dangling off the side of the bed.
 
“You’re going to be one weird couple.”

“Oh, and like you and Robert aren’t?”

I raised myself up on my elbows and glared at him.
 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He covered his eyes with the crook of his arm, and grit his teeth.
 
“You know what I mean, Grace.
 
I might be a guy, but I know that all the girls think he’s the best thing since…well, me.
 
And then there’s you:
 
you’re a great person, Grace, and you’re beautiful in your own way, but when the two of you are together, it looks…odd.
 
Like night and day, black and white.”

I couldn’t argue with him there.
 
I had made that exact same argument several times to Robert myself.
 
“Well, it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, Graham.
 
We’re not a pair of hormonally infatuated teenagers.
 
I-” I had to stop to blink…hard.
 
Hadn’t Robert just said the exact same thing to me?
 
I shook my head, and continued, “-love him, and he loves me—unconditionally.
 
He knows my faults, and I know his, and we accept them.”
 
Boy, did we accept them.

Graham raised his arm and peeked out at me from beneath it.
 
“You love each other
unconditionally
?
 
Where am I?
 
Some soap opera?”

I moved my leg and made contact between his head and my knee.
 
“If we are, it’s one of your own making.
 
Falling into deep-
smit
with my boyfriend’s sister, and then asking out her best friend instead?
 
Really?
 
Is that what you did in Florida during Christmas, Graham?
 
Watch soap operas and take notes?”

Quickly, he reached over and grabbed my elbow and pulled it, knocking me down.
 
“Actually, I thought of all the ways I would ask Lark out.
 
I wrote it down, too.”

Curious, I asked him if I could see what he’d written.
 
“Maybe later,” he replied.

I made him promise that he’d show me before he left to go and take a shower.
 
As he shut my door behind him, worry took over any triumph I might have felt over being allowed to read what he had written about Lark.
 
He had asked Stacy out on a date, which was just as good as dating, despite the fact that he had feelings for Lark…and none for her.
 
What was going to become of all of us when the inevitable happened, and he and Stacy broke up?
 
Did I even want to know?

The first week of February brought with it far more snow than Ohio had seen in over three decades, and definitely more than we’d had the past two months, so when the sun miraculously appeared on the fifth day, it was no surprise that everyone in school was wearing tank tops and shorts.
 
Everyone except me, of course.

Robert and I walked through the hallway looking as odd as Graham had described:
 
him in a slinky, gunmetal gray short-sleeved shirt and khaki shorts, and me in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt with a black and white long-sleeved shirt underneath.
 
He had never complained about what I wore, and made it a point to compliment me when he picked me up every morning, but I couldn’t help but feel a slight stab of self-consciousness as we walked by the countless girls who all insisted on saying hello to him while ignoring me.
 
They were all dressed in a manner that would have complimented him, while I was merely a distraction.

“You’re being silly, Grace,” he whispered into my ear as we walked into French class.
 
I stopped dead in my tracks, causing Robert to slam into me, which propelled me forward.
 
Ungracefully, I landed on the floor.
 
Robert was at my side in an instant, immediately contrite and apologetic.

“It’s okay,” I reassured him.
 
“I was the one who stopped.
 
There was no way you’d have known what I was going to do.”

As he helped me up, making sure that I was genuinely alright, he asked me why I had stopped in the first place.
 
Quickly, I pointed to the decorations on the wall and dangling from the ceiling.
 
His gaze drifted up to the construction paper hearts and cupids that were hanging from ribbons and what looked like fishing line tied to them.

“Cherubim hate these things, too,” he chuckled, and led me to my seat at the back of the class.
 
“But, their reasons are far more different than yours, I’m sure.”

I wrinkled my nose at the wash of pinks and reds that surrounded us.
 
“I’ve never liked this holiday.
 
I thought maybe it was because I never had anyone to celebrate it with, but now I know that has nothing to do with it.”

He smiled at my disgusted expression and brushed my cheek with the backs of his fingers.
 
“We really don’t appreciate it too much ourselves.
 
The cherubim especially despise it.”

I looked around us to see if anyone was listening to our conversation, but thankfully, we were the only ones seated.
 
“Why do you keep saying cherubim?
 
And why wouldn’t angels like Valentine ’s Day?”

Sensing my concern of being overheard, he reached for my hand.
 
Cherubim are angels who often get confused with those little fetuses with wings that Madame
Hidani
has glued to the ceiling.
 
Humans call them cupids and cherubs, but I’m sure if they’ve ever seen one in person, they’d be quite surprised
…
and pleased.

I raised my eyes up to look at a cut out of the “fetus with wings” and snorted.
 
But what about you?
 
Why don’t
you
like it?

His eyes flicked towards the seat in front of me and smiled as the girl who took her seat flashed a full set of teeth in his direction, obviously pleased to have garnered any kind of response from him.
 
Lacey Greene couldn’t hold back any kind of glee that his attention had been diverted from me, and I would bet money that if she could have, she would have clapped.
 

I’m not a fan of any particular holiday that depicts my kind as anything but what we are.
 
During Christmas and Easter, we’re usually gowned in sheets, with trumpets in our hands
…
trumpets
—
ugh.
 
But on Valentine’s day, they dress us in diapers, and put little harps in our arms, a quiver on our backs, a bow in our hands.
 
We’re infantile, with no other purpose other than to infest your kind with hormone tipped arrows.

You’d think that humans would be a bit more creative
…
or generous with their depictions of us.
 
Or, at the very least, a bit more accurate, especially given how much they do know about my kind.

He turned to face me, his eyes full of mischief as he leaned forward and unexpectedly pressed a quick kiss to the corner of my lips.
 
Then again, the human being’s lack of creativity can sometimes make it that much easier to shock them with something as mundane as a little kiss.

I raised my hand to my mouth and touched the spot that he had brushed with his mouth.
 
Sometimes I wonder about you angels, to think that a little kiss, especially one from you, could ever be considered mundane.

The bell rang and I turned in my seat to see Lacey scowl.
 
Obviously Robert had not been talking about me.
 
He had read her thoughts, and needed to make it clear to her that he wasn’t interested without actually telling her.
 
It was a good tactic; I certainly approved of his methods.

As we listened to Madame
Hidani
discuss the merits of conversational French in the varying dialects throughout the world, a voice boomed in over the loud speaker.

“It’s that time of the year again, Bulldogs!
 
The annual Valentine’s Day Dance!
 
Tickets go on sale today during lunch, and they’re expected to go quick, so get yours while they’re hot!”

The bubbling of excitement nearly drowned Madame
Hidani
out as she began once again to go over today’s lesson plan and I groaned as I realized that the class of all girls was excited at the prospect of asking one person in particular to the dance.
 
Even Madame
Hidani
stopped speaking as all eyes turned to Robert; he glowed from the attention, and I felt terribly inadequate.

“I guess it’s too bad that I’m scheduled to work that night,” he said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, and the room nearly burst with the groans of disappointment that erupted from everyone there but the two of us and one relieved French teacher.

“So you really do have to work?” I asked, feeling incredibly relieved at the prospect of not being forced to attend any formal event in front of the school.

He nodded his head as he took out his text book and pulled my desk towards his.
 
“I requested to work the closing shifts from now on.”

Puzzled, I glanced at the text book.
 
He had turned to a page regarding the different countries that utilize French in their daily administration.
 
“Any particular reason for doing that?”

“Yes.
 
This way, I’m not working during the same shift as Graham.”

I felt my mouth turn up, a silly grin spreading across my face.
 
“You did that for me?”

He nodded, pleased by my reaction.
 
“Your happiness means everything to me, Grace.
 
When the original night shift manager quit, I saw the opportunity to do this, and I took it.
 
It didn’t take much to convince the general manager to let me fill the slot.
 
I might have cheated a bit, but it was worth it if you’re pleased.”

“I’ve turned you into a con.”

He chuckled at that.
 
“Maybe I conned you into thinking I was an angel or something.”

I was about to argue with him when Madame
Hidani
called out my name.
 
“Y-
oui
, Madame
Hidani
?” I answered, correcting myself before the English slipped out.
 
As soon as that bell rang, Madame
Hidani
had a French only policy, and I had nearly broken the number one rule in her classroom.

“Which country has the second largest French speaking population in the world?” she asked me in French, a lone eyebrow raised in anticipation.

“Algeria, Madame
Hidani
,” I replied, a smug smile sliding across my face as her eyebrow lowered.

With a determined gleam in her eye, she asked me another question in French.
 
“And what type of dialect do they speak in Algeria?”