Flicker (3 page)

              “When did you hear the music for this play?” Elise's father asked, looking confused. Elise understood-- she had never been involved in Willowdale's drama club, aside from turning down the supervisor's requests to play in the orchestra in previous years, so her sudden willingness to participate was unprecedented.

              “Remember last year, when I was using my study hall to practice on the piano in the choir room? Miss Brannon played the soundtrack, and I completely fell in love with it.”

              “But isn't Les Miserables depressing and all about people dying?” Her mother asked, looking suddenly concerned.

              Elise rolled her eyes. “The title translates to “The Miserable,” of course it's depressing. But it's also about love, hope, people's ability to change, and standing up for what you believe in even though you know you'll probably fail, so I think it's got some other themes, too.” She tried to keep the sarcasm in her voice to a minimum. Parental fussing she would take, but she detested when her mother played stupid.

              Her mom sighed. “Well, I hope all the depression doesn’t rub off on you. How are the other kids this year?”

              Elise blinked rapidly at the sudden topic shift. “Well, none are all that interesting. One or two new kids, but I suspect they won’t really travel in my circles.”

              “You have circles?” Her father asked, eyebrows raised.

              “Robert!” Her mother cried, casting him a furious look.

              “What?” Elise's father demanded, matching her glare. “I was just pointing out that Elise needs to spend more time with people her own age.”

              Elise cut in firmly. “I spend quite enough time with people my own age. When they can grow up, I’ll do it even more.”

              “Honey, your father and I are just worried about you,” her mother said, suddenly gentle. “We want you to have friends your senior year of high school. I understand it might be hard, but we don’t want you to miss out on all the experiences at this point in your life.”

              Her father gazed intently at a spot on her face just below her eyes. “Your mother’s right, Elise. You only go to high school once; the world just isn’t the same after you graduate. We don’t want you to have regrets.”

              “Sweetie, have you given any more thought to dating? Are there any boys you like? I mean, did you see anyone today...” Her mother's voice was hesitant, and she trailed off before she finished the thought. Elise held up a finger, putting her mother off while she chewed a mouthful of chicken. She knew what her mother was suggesting: that she might have seen some boy today at school, and realized that he’d gone through some ugly duckling transformation over the summer, turning into someone mature and desirable. What Elise couldn’t quite tell was if her mother actually thought this would be a good thing, or whether she was just parroting what parenting books said she ought to say to a daughter who was nearly eighteen years old and had never had a real boyfriend.

              She swallowed her food and looked her mother in the eye. “I would have told you if there was anyone. Quite frankly, I don’t have any need of a boyfriend. I’m going to England to study at Oxford, and that’s final. What do I need a boy for? High school relationships never go anywhere, anyway, so what are they but distractions?”

              “Well, that’s a relief,” Her father said with finality. “Nice to know you’re keeping your head in the game.”

              “Well, yeah,” Elise said in her best approximation of a “ ditzy teenage girl” tone of voice, and having averted the potential crisis, turned her attention pointedly to her food.

              After dinner, however, Elise let her emotions and doubts about her troublesome day come loose. Sitting on the polished black bench in front of the upright piano in the dining room, she let her fingers flow across the keys, challenging her honed skill by playing the most difficult pieces she knew. As her fingers flew, picking out both melody and harmony, she let her cares go and for a few minutes, worried more about where her hands fell on the little lacquered pieces of wood than she did about the new boy at school.

              She couldn’t avoid the subject forever, though, and finally, feeling drained and sated, she closed the lid over the keys and patted it lovingly. No matter how complicated or stressful her life became, she was always able to center herself again by getting lost in her music. So, calm and contained, she ambled upstairs to take a shower and think over the day’s complicated emotions.

              Without a doubt, the new boy weighed heavily on her mind. Now that she wasn’t around him, she wanted to pretend that he was just an odd boy trying to distinguish himself in a new high school. However, Elise was nothing if not honest with herself, and she recalled all too clearly the effect his tone, his touches, his glances, his very presence had on her. He
saw
her, it seemed, in a way that none of the other students in her school did. Everyone else was content to ignore her and be ignored. In that blur of faceless anonymity, he stood out in clear definition. That was in itself both terrifying and addictive. Shivering slightly, she turned up the water temperature and tipped her head back, trying to stay relaxed. As the hot water soaked through her thick hair and melted any remaining tension from her muscles, she allowed herself to reflect fully on what she felt when the new boy was around.

              She was suddenly and acutely annoyed that she had to think of him as “The New Boy.” In Latin class, she had been so preoccupied by how nervous he had made her that she had checked any curiosity. That in and of itself bothered her―she wasn’t about to let anyone push her around, and seemingly without any effort at all, this boy had her off balance and fidgety. She consoled herself with the knowledge that she had plenty of time to rectify her lapse in self-control and find out his name. She was quickly coming to understand that she was fascinated by him; just the memory of his powerful hand encircling her fragile wrist, trapping her effortlessly, sent shivers up her spine. What Elise absolutely needed to decide before she saw him again was whether those shivers were from fear or desire―and which was better.

              If she had a legitimate reason to fear him―and the boy had, at the very end of today's encounter, been decidedly threatening―then she would be better off staying away from him. His size alone would intimidate her if she let it―she had found that out when he loomed over her. But more than that, his manner was dominant enough to make her feel small and helpless. The Good Girl mentality her parents and life experience had instilled in her-- the part of her that knew she should go to college and have a career, wait for the right boy, and get married in a white dress-- recoiled from that sensation. There was also the matter of... but she didn't let herself dwell on the deeper terror, the one that had been forced into her and now lay coiled around her heart. There was no need to think of that...

              However, Elise’s nature, deep in her bones, let her know that the goose bumps rising on her skin were from fear, yes, but also anticipation and pleasure. She'd shied away from any hormonal impulses for years, refusing even to allow herself to fantasize much-- not about people she saw regularly, the way she had when she was younger and still innocent. But if the heat that flushed through her body as she thought of this new boy was any indication, she wasn't going to be able to abstain forever.

              Elise turned off the shower, stepped out into the steamy bathroom, and wiped fog from the mirror, her heart pounding with reckless rebellion. Turning this way and that as she lifted her heavy hair off her neck, she examined her curves with a slight smile playing across her lips. She had been so meek―the model student, the perfect daughter, always politely distant―for three years. She had done everything possible to avoid trouble, to avoid attracting the wrong sort of attention, to avoid anything she could be blamed for. And it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she had to put her desires on ice to keep herself safe. Her parents had always told her that she deserved to move on with her life. This was her senior year, and if living her life happened to involve playing with fire… Elise didn’t let herself relinquish power and control, didn't trust anyone-- not ever. The fact that this boy could get through her defenses so easily made him terrifying, yes, but also very, very interesting. A soft giggle escaped her, and even echoing off the bathroom tiles, it sounded coquettish and charming. Maybe her days of hiding were over.

              The next morning, Elise didn’t bother pretending that she wasn’t dressing with more care than usual. The boy definitely seemed older than a senior in high school, so Elise wanted to look sophisticated. She had too much pride to let anyone think she was chasing him, however, so her appearance had to seem effortless. She rifled through her closet and drawers, trying not to let herself get frustrated. She just had to find the right combination of classy and alluring. Finally, she settled on her typical floor-length skirt and petticoats―the same gray skirt she'd worn to the coffee shop―and high-heeled boots, paired with a lacy, corseting blouse in a bright spring green that brought out the lighter colors in her hazel eyes. The boots would give her walk a nice sway, and the blouse had a dropped neckline that hinted at some of her other assets. She tossed on a twisting silver necklace and matching bracelet, declared herself ready, and sauntered downstairs. If her mother noticed that Elise was slightly more dressed up than usual, she didn’t mention anything. Elise thought it should be hard to argue with your child’s fashion choices when said child was in the top ten of her class, but somehow, her mother managed it. Still, on typical days when neither mother nor daughter was looking for a fight, the subject of Elise’s attire was simply left alone.

              Elise barely slowed to grab an orange from the bowl on the kitchen table and her messenger bag from the foyer before she headed briskly out the door; she wanted to get to school early to visit the library before homeroom. As she cut across the park a block from her house, though, she made herself slow down and breathe in the scents of growing things. Being surrounded by nature, sheltered under the trees and away from people, she was more calm these days, stronger and more sure of herself. People brought too many busy emotions with them, and were far too unpredictable. So she took a moment to center herself before submerging once more in the cacophony of humanity called high school, like a submarine captain taking one last breath of fresh air before diving into inky darkness.

              Unwilling to lie to herself, Elise also couldn't pretend that she wasn't looking for the boy throughout the day. She didn't usually pay much attention to the student body at large, adopting the mentality that if she ignored them, they would ignore her. Most of the time, it worked-- so she was surprised and a little uneasy to find that as she scanned the hallways for the new boy, she noticed the eyes of other students lingering on her. She wasn't sure how to react to such attention, having avoided it for so long, and it was hard not to let it make her nervous.

              It didn't take her long to realize that her apparently attention-grabbing search was in vain-- Elise didn't see the boy again until she was walking from seventh period history class to eighth period Latin. She was expecting to see him in eighth period as it was, and the anticipation made it difficult to concentrate in history class; the butterflies that took up residence in her stomach as the bell sounded and she gathered her things were acutely embarrassing. Her dignity kept her from rushing out the door, but she did sweep gracefully from the room rather more quickly than usual.

              The hallway was packed with students, as always. The third floor was the juniors' territory, and as she wove her way through packs of them chatting at their lockers, she felt a brief pull to join in conversations with them-- an impulse she hadn't had for years. She squashed it quickly, making her way to the water fountain and pausing to take a drink, watching the hall out the corner of her eye.

              And then, quite suddenly, he was there, striding out of the art classroom to her left. She straightened up, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering up a hurricane. For a brief moment, she considered running as her stubborn refusal to let anyone scare her warred with her nervous desire to flee down one of the other staircases and try to slip into Latin unnoticed. Then the moment for flight was gone, as he glanced over and saw her standing there.

              “Ah, Elysia,” he exclaimed, a slight smirk curving his lips. “I get the impression you were looking for me.” It wasn't a question, so she almost didn't bother to embarrass herself with an answer-- particularly when she noticed his eyes rake over her from the elegant twist of her hair down to the tips of her vintage leather boots, and back up.

              She had to say something, though, and so she replied with her best attempt at casual. “Yes, well, I was new here once, so I understand how unfortunate being the odd man out, so to speak, can be. I thought I might inquire as to how you're enjoying Willowdale so far, if you'll walk with me to class.” She could have kicked herself for sounding so stiff and reserved, but though his eyebrows rose at her statement, she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch with amusement.

              “Oh, I see,” he said mildly. “Just doing your civic duty.”

              “Some people really are that old-fashioned,” she replied dryly. Then, as he held the staircase door open for her, she continued with a smile. “As you're aware, clearly. And they say chivalry's dead.”