Gabrielle's Bully (Young Adult Romance) (3 page)

I knew where Heathland lived. He took my bus, and I’d seen him get off at the entrance to the new condominium complex that had been built on the farmland behind the junior high. It was only a few blocks away.

I got my jacket and gloves from the hall closet and called in through the kitchen door to my mother. “I’m going for a walk, Mom.”

She may have guessed my intention, because she didn’t grill me, only said, “Be back by nine, Gaby.”

“Okay.”

The night was cold, and I walked fast, to warm up. As the wind cut into me I thought that I could have accomplished this mission over the phone if I could have gotten Heathland’s number from information. But I wasn’t sure of his street (the condos covered a big area), it was a new listing, and besides, it seemed to me that calling him was sneaking out of it. What I’d done deserved a person-to-person confrontation. Time to face the music, Gaby.

The condominiums had a little guardhouse at the entrance. I supposed they screened the visitors passing through, but there was nobody in it. The guard must have been on his break.

Shivering, I examined the rows of mailboxes clustered at the gate. There were about fifty of them. I patiently read each name painted on the side of each box, cursing my conscience which drove me to such lengths. Unless Heathland stepped off the bus every day into the Twilight Zone, the name had to be here.

It was, in the third row. “H. Lindsay. 23 Zinnia.”

There was a sort of signpost next to the guardhouse, which was really a map showing the layout of the complex. All the streets were named for flowers. Zinnia was the second on the left, crossing the main street running down the center, which was Marigold.

I trudged down Marigold, hoping that Heathland wouldn’t be home, or that he wouldn’t throw me out if he was.

The condos were all separate houses with a driveway, covered in cedar shakes, connected only by a shared garage.

I turned onto Zinnia. Number 23 was the third on the right. It looked like all the others. I walked up to the small covered porch. The doorbell had Lindsay written above it in the name slot.

As my history teacher told us Brigham Young said when he saw the Salt Lake Valley in Utah, this must be the place. I rang the bell.

A butler answered the door. I almost fainted. I thought they only existed in the movies.

“I’m Gaby Dexter,” I said. “I’m here to see Heathland Lindsay,” I added, feeling ridiculous.

“Mr. Lindsay is in the study,” the man said. “Were you expected?”

Mr. Lindsay. I hoped we weren’t talking about Heathland’s father.

“Uh, no,” I stammered. “I’m a classmate of his at Oakland High School.” That should take care of any possible misunderstanding. “It’s about school,” I tacked on feebly, which was only half a lie.

“I will ask if Mr. Lindsay will see you. Please wait here.”

He left me in this tiled entry hall with an expensive looking grandfather clock and a big pottery urn as high as my waist, surely an antique. I backed away from it, standing on the other side of the room. As nervous as I was, I would probably demolish it and owe Heathland’s family my earnings for the next twenty years.

I fidgeted, waiting for the butler to return. I’d have given a lot to see Heathland’s face when Jeeves brought him the bulletin about who had arrived to see him.

The man came back, all British politeness. “Mr. Lindsay will see you now.”

He led me through the house, which was not overly large but very fancy, done up like a decorator’s dream. It had ankle deep carpeting and heavy, dark furniture. The walls and draperies were beige, with lots of gold and silver ornaments sitting on tables. There was a curved glass china cabinet filled with tall crystal goblets, looking like the kind that Julius Caesar drank a toast out of before taking off to conquer the Gauls.

I kept my eyes straight ahead, trying not to stare.

The butler said, “Miss Dexter,” and left me hovering in the doorway of a den, or library, with paneled walls and a fireplace and lots of bookshelves. Heathland was standing uncomfortably in front of his chair, the book he’d been reading folded open on the floor. It was
A Separate Peace
.

He was obviously baffled by the fact that I’d shown up at his house. I was pretty baffled myself.

“Hi,” he said, watching me warily, as if I were about to turn handsprings or burst into song.

I was so embarrassed I couldn’t talk. Why had I ever done this? I was sure that his opinion of me, after what I’d done that day, wasn’t good, but this little interview was not going to improve it. Before he would merely have thought that I was nasty, now he would be convinced that I was crazy, too.

We looked at each other. Gabby Gaby had nothing to say.

He waited, still with that anxious look on his face. Screwing my courage to the sticking point I blurted, “I came to apologize about the way I behaved this afternoon, when Jeff called to me. I’m usually not like that. He took me by surprise and I didn’t know what to do.”

He just stared at me.

I barged on. “Jeff Lafferty is always pushing everybody around. He’s certain he owns the school.” I dropped my eyes. “I think I hurt your feelings, and I’m sorry. I know how I’d feel if anybody did that to me.”

I stole a glance at him. He was now smiling, just a little, a slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes and mouth. It was the first time I’d seen a crack in The Great Stone Face.

“Well,” I said, ready to bolt, “that’s all I came to say.” I made for the hall.

“Wait,” he called after me. I stopped.

“Can’t you stay a minute, and have a drink, or something?”

“Sure,” I said, not sure at all. I sat in one of the deep leather chairs, and sank into it like a marshmallow in hot cocoa. Heathland walked to the door, and the servant appeared as if summoned by telepathy.

“May I get you something, sir?” he said.

“Could we have some iced tea?” Heathland said, looking uncomfortable. It was clear that he had picked up on the fact that I wasn’t too used to butlers. I could also tell that he was as nervous as I was by his choice of refreshments. Serving iced tea in this weather was like handing out steaming coffee to construction workers in July.

“Certainly, sir,” the man said, and vanished as noiselessly as he had come.

Heathland came back. We looked at each other again.

“So, uh, what do you think of Oakland Valley?” I said, and then paused, horrified. I already knew the answer to that question.

But he only said mildly, “It’s all right. I don’t have much to compare it to, I’ve been in military schools all my life.”

Military schools. That explained the astronaut haircut and the weird clothes. He was used to wearing a uniform.

“Why did you transfer here?”

He shrugged. “My parents divorced when I was little, and I lived with my mother. She sent me away to school when I was eight. Two months ago she was killed in a car accident, and so I came to live with my father. He’s away on trips for business a lot, but he doesn’t believe in boarding schools. He says that he pays taxes like everybody else, so
 
he enrolled me in the public school in town when I moved here. He bought this place for me.” He glanced around him without enthusiasm. “I finished the semester at Wilbraham Academy and then transferred.” He dropped his eyes. “My father has another house, and he spends most of his time there when he isn’t traveling. Usually I’m here with just Roger.”

“Your father would rather buy you a separate house than pay tuition at a boarding school?” I had never heard anything so fantastic. His father must be Rockefeller, I thought.

Heathland smiled dryly. “Real estate is a good investment. My father likes to buy things.”

There was an edge to his voice that I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what to say. He must be so lonely.

His mother had just died, and he lived alone with a butler. Gee. The noisy chaos at my house was looking better by the minute.

Roger came in with a tray and Heathland took it. He handed me a glass.

“Thanks, Heathland.”

He winced. “Please call me Heath. Heathland was my great grandmother’s maiden name. I’ve always hated it.”

I could see why. It sounded like some stuck-up preppy millionaire with snooty manners and a trust fund. Of course, from what I’d seen so far, he probably
was
a preppy millionaire. But he wasn’t stuck up, of that I was sure. Just shy. And uncertain in a new environment that was as foreign to him as the Sorbonne would be to me.

I cast about desperately for a topic of conversation. “Do you like the book?” I asked, gesturing to it on the floor.

He nodded. “Reminds me of Wilbraham. All those places are the same. The kids he describes could have been the guys I knew there.”

Wonderful, Gaby, wonderful. Keep up the good work. First you get him started on his father, who obviously is not number one on his hit parade, and then you move on to his last school, which he also hates. I was beginning to feel like reciting the ABC’s—it was probably the only safe subject.

I was sitting, struck dumb, when he did something which surprised me. Afterwards, I realized it was then that I really began to fall for him in a big way.

Heath set down his glass on an end table and came to stand in front of me. “Thank you for coming here tonight,” he said quietly. “I did feel bad when you stiff-armed me like that, but I feel much better about it now. I know it wasn’t easy for you to visit someone you hardly knew and say that you were wrong. I appreciate it.”

Our eyes met and he smiled at me. I felt it seep into my bones and warm me.

“Uh, Heath, I’d better go,” I said. I wanted to get out of there before I said something I would regret later. He was affecting me pretty strongly, and at such moments I generally put my foot in my mouth.

Heath walked me out to the door.

“Thanks for coming,” he said again as I left.

“You’re welcome,” I answered, and meant it.

I walked home feeling better than I had in a long time.

* * *

I couldn’t decide what to wear to school on Monday. I knew I would see Heath and wanted to look nice. I finally chose my new plaid skirt with a green sweater, and put my hair on top of my head. My mother glanced at me curiously when I came into the kitchen for breakfast, but didn’t say anything.

Heath was absent. I was so disappointed I couldn’t concentrate on anything the whole day and Mrs. Rinaldi caught me daydreaming in English class.

He was absent on Tuesday, too, and by the time he returned on Wednesday I had reverted to my standard slacks and blouse. It was obvious at a glance what had kept him away from school. He’d developed a bad cold over the weekend. I stayed for practice after class, so I didn’t see him on the bus, but he smiled at me once in the hall.

I finally got a chance to talk to him on Thursday afternoon. Barbara and I were heading out to the main door when we saw Heath at his locker. We had to walk right past him. Barbara, who had heard all about my visit to his house, signed to me with her eyes and turned into a side corridor, going another way.

Left alone, I felt my courage fail me. But I forced myself to approach him.

“Hi, Heath.”

He turned and glanced down at me, a loose leaf binder in his hand. He seemed startled.

“Hi, Gaby.”

I swallowed. “Are you going out to the bus?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m going over to the mall to do some shopping.” He examined me with his hazel eyes. “Want to come?”

The mall was a short walk from the school. He was inviting me to go with him. My heart leaped. But I would have to let my mother know.

“I’d like to, but I have to call home first.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a dime. He nodded to the pay phone in the lobby, handing me the money. “Go ahead.”

I told my mother that I was going to the mall, but not with whom. Luckily she was busy with a meeting of the hospital volunteers at the house, and didn’t question me further. I told her I’d call her if I needed a ride.

Heath was waiting for me with his books in a backpack. He took mine and unzipped the bag, adding them to his and then shouldering the double burden. The weight didn’t seem to bother him at all.

We walked to the shopping center as he told me that he wanted to buy some clothes. It seemed strange to me that he was going by himself—I thought of shopping as something you did with your mother or your friend. I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him.

“I’ve got to get some things like the kids around here wear,” he said. “Roger bought the stuff I’ve got now from my measurements before I came down from school,” he said, gesturing to himself. “They’re not exactly helping me to blend in.” His smile was sardonic. “I don’t really know what to buy.” He looked at me. “Maybe you can help me.”

“I’ll try.”

He reached over and smoothed my hair with his hand. “I believe you will.”

It was the first time he had touched me. I felt the warmth of his fingers after he’d withdrawn them.

We paused in the parking lot and he glanced around at the stores. “Well, where shall we go?” he said.