Halo (25 page)

“Come on, Beth!” Molly said, folding her arms obstinately. “There must be something here you like! We’re not leaving till you’ve found it.”

I tried to protest, but now that Molly had her outfit all organized, she threw herself magnanimously into helping me find one. On her insistence I tried on dress after dress, but none of them felt right.

“You’re nuts,” she said, after an hour had passed. “Everything looks stunning on you.”

“Yeah, you’re so thin,” said Taylah through gritted teeth.

“Here’s one!” cried Molly. She pulled out a white satin dress with pleats that opened like a fan. “A Marilyn Monroe replica. Try it on!”

“It’s lovely,” I agreed. “But not what I’m looking for.”

She sighed and thrust the dress back onto the rack.

I left Madison’s with the meager purchases of a bottle of nail polish called Whisper Pink and a pair of sterling silver hoop earrings. It had hardly been worth the time and effort.

We met up with the others at Starbucks. Various designer bags were scattered around their feet, and three boys in striped blazers had joined them. They were stretching back in their chairs, enjoying the girls’ shameless flirting.

“I’m starving,” Molly announced. “I’d kill for one of those giant cookies.”

Taylah wagged a finger at her. “Salad until after the formal,” she said.

“You’re right,” Molly groaned. “Is coffee allowed?”

“Skim milk, no sugar.”

By the time I got home my despondency was hard to disguise. The shopping expedition had failed to deliver, and I didn’t know where I was going to find a dress. I’d scoured the shops in Venus Cove weeks ago and all that remained were a couple of thrift stores.

“No luck?” Ivy didn’t sound surprised. “Did you have fun at least?”

“Not really. It was a waste of time. There are only so many dresses you can try on before they all start to look the same.”

“Don’t worry—you’ll find something. There’s still plenty of time.”

“It won’t make any difference; what I want just isn’t out there. I shouldn’t even bother going.”

“Come on now,” said Ivy. “You can’t do that to Xavier. I have an idea. Why don’t you tell me the kind of dress you’ve got in mind and I can make it for you.”

“I can’t ask you to do that! You have more important things to think about.”

“I’d like to do this for you,” said Ivy. “Besides, it won’t take me long, and you know I can make exactly what you want.”

I knew she was right. Ivy could become a skilled seamstress in a matter of hours. There was nothing she and Gabriel couldn’t do if they had a mind to.

“Why don’t we spend some time this afternoon going through magazines and see if there’s anything you like?” Ivy asked.

“I don’t need a magazine. I can picture it in my head.”

My sister smiled. “Okay, then close your eyes and send it to me.”

I shut my eyes and imagined the night of the prom. I saw Xavier and me standing arm in arm under a canopy of fairy lights. He was wearing a tux and smelled fresh and sharp. A shock of hair fell across his eyes. I stood beside him, and in my mind’s eye I saw the dress of my dreams. It was a shimmering ivory gown with an undergarment of soft cream silk and an overlay of antique lace. The bodice was studded with pearls and a row of satin buttons lined the fitted sleeves. It had a scalloped neckline with an intricate gold trim of tiny rosebuds. The material seemed to be woven with little fragments of light and emitted a faint pearly glow. On my feet I wore the daintiest, beaded satin slippers.

I looked at Ivy sheepishly. It wasn’t exactly the simplest of requests.

“Piece of cake,” said my sister. “I can whip that up in no time.”

At lunchtime on Monday I sat alone in the cafeteria. Xavier was at water-polo practice, and Molly and the girls were on the prom committee and had a meeting of their own to discuss the final decorations and seating arrangements. As I sat and picked at my wilted lettuce, people looked at me curiously, probably surprised to see me unaccompanied, but I hardly noticed them. As usual, Xavier occupied my thoughts, even more so when we were physically separated. When I found myself calculating how many more minutes needed to pass before I could see him again, I decided I should be making better use of my time and headed for the library. The senior library was the one space where solitary activity was considered acceptable. I planned to use the rest of the lunch break looking up the causes of the French Revolution.

I had just grabbed my books from my locker and was taking the short cut across a narrow walkway when a voice called out from behind me.

“Hello there.”

I turned to see Jake Thorn leaning against a brick wall, his arms folded across his chest. His dark hair framed his pallid face, and his lips were curled in a sardonic smile. He now wore the Bryce Hamilton uniform but with a distinctive style of his own: He was tieless and the collar of his shirt was turned up. Instead of a blazer he wore a hooded gray windbreaker. His trousers hung loosely from narrow hips and he was wearing white oxfords instead of the regulation school shoes. I noticed for the first time that he wore a diamond stud in his left ear as well as the mysterious pendant around his neck. He took a long drag of his cigarette and blew a ring of smoke into the air.

“You shouldn’t smoke here,” I cautioned, wondering how anyone could so openly flout the school rules. “You’ll get into trouble.”

“Will I?” Jake feigned concern. “This happens to be known as smokers’ corner.”

“There are still teachers on duty.”

“I’ve noticed they never come this far—they sort of hover near the staff-room steps counting the minutes until they can get back to their coffee and crosswords.”

“I think you’d better put that out before someone notices,” I said.

“If you say so,” Jake replied.

He crushed the butt under the heel of his shoe then kicked it into a garden bed just as Miss Kratz, the ancient and crabby librarian, scuttled past, eyeing us both suspiciously.

“Thank you, Beth,” he said when she was out of earshot. “I think you just saved my skin.”

“You’re welcome,” I said, flushing at his dramatic expression of gratitude. “It’s hard when you don’t know the ropes. You must have had a lot of freedom at your old school.”

“Let’s just say I took some risks. Some didn’t pay off—hence my exile here. You know, the ancient Romans preferred death to exile. At least mine isn’t permanent.”

“How long are you staying?”

“As long as it takes for my character to be reformed.”

I laughed. “Is there much chance of that?”

“I’d say there was every chance given the right influence,” said Jake meaningfully. He narrowed his eyes suddenly as though something had just occurred to him. “I don’t often see you alone. Where’s that smothering Prince Charming of yours? Not sick, I hope.”

“
Xavier
is at practice,” I said quickly.

“Ah, sports—the invention of pedagogues in an attempt to keep raging hormones in check.”

“Sorry?”

“Never mind.” Jake rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Tell me, I know your boyfriend is an athlete, but is he any good at poetry?”

“Xavier’s good at most things,” I boasted.

“Really? How lucky for you,” Jake said, arching an eyebrow.

His behavior was confusing me, but I certainly wasn’t going to make him aware of that. I decided the safest thing to do was change the subject. “So where are you staying?” I asked. “Close to school?”

“At the moment I’m living in the rooms above the tattoo parlor,” said Jake. “Until more permanent accommodation can be organized.”

“I thought you’d be with a host family,” I said in surprise.

“Well, that would be like staying with boring relatives, wouldn’t it? I prefer my own company.”

“And your parents are okay with that?” I was uncomfortable with the idea of him living on his own. Even though he sounded mature and worldly, he was still a teenager.

“I’ll tell you all about my parents if you tell me about yours.” His dark eyes burned into mine like lasers. “I suspect we have a lot more in common than we realize. By the way, what are you doing Sunday morning? I thought we might work on our masterpiece.”

“I have church on Sunday.”

“Of course you do.”

“You’re welcome to come along.”

“Thanks, but I’m allergic to incense.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It’s the bane of my existence.”

“Well, I have to go and study,” I said, moving past him, aware of the minutes slipping by.

He stepped casually in front of me. “Before you go, I have the opening line of our poem.”

He dug a crumpled ball of paper from his pocket and tossed it lightly to me. “Don’t be too hard on me—it’s only a beginning. We can take it anywhere you like from here.”

He flashed me a smile and sauntered away. I moved over to the closest bench and smoothed out the paper. Jake’s handwriting was elegant and narrow, the letters elongated; nothing like Xavier’s boyish print. Xavier hated cursive; it took too long and looked too fancy. Jake’s writing was like calligraphy, the letters swirled across the page as though they were dancing. But it was the seven words he had written that sent my mind into a spin:

Drowning

What could Jake mean by that?
She had the face of an angel.
I felt as if the words had been burned into my brain, as though, in a split second, Jake had unzipped me and left me shivering and exposed. Could he possibly have guessed my secret? Was this his idea of a twisted joke?

Something snapped in me then; I felt overcome by a sudden anger. Forgetting all about my plans to catch up on the French Revolution, I bolted inside to find Jake. I tore through empty corridors, back to the cafeteria, where I scanned the groups gathered in little clusters. But he wasn’t among any of them. A flutter of fear began in my chest and I knew it would soon swell if I didn’t do something to stop it. I had to track Jake down and ask him about the poem before the beginning of the next class or it would eat away at me.

I found him at his locker.

“What’s this all about?” I demanded, charging up to him and waving the paper under his nose.

“Pardon me?”

“This isn’t funny.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“I’m not in the mood for games. Just tell me what you meant by this.”

“Hmmm, I’m guessing you don’t like it,” Jake said. “Don’t worry, we can scrap it—no need to get worked up.”

“What were you thinking when you wrote it?”

“I was just thinking it might be a good place to start.” He shrugged. “Did I offend you or something?”

I breathed deeply and forced myself to remember how Miss Castle had introduced the assignment to the class. She had given us a brief rundown on the tradition of courtly love and read us some sonnets by Petrarch and Shakespeare. She’d talked about the idealization and worship of the woman from afar. Was it possible that Jake was merely sticking to the theme? My fury was suddenly redirected at myself for jumping to wild conclusions.

“I’m not offended,” I said, feeling ridiculous. Both my anger and fear had subsided as quickly as they had arisen. It was hardly Jake’s fault he’d come up with the word
angel
in relation to a poem about love. I was just paranoid about all celestial references. Jake’s use of the word had more than likely been innocent. It wasn’t even original; how many poets over time had made similar comparisons?

“It’s fine,” I added. “We’ll work on it some more in class. Sorry if I seemed a little loopy just now.”

“That’s okay, we all have our loopy days.”

He gave me a smile, a proper one this time, without the curling lip and attitude. He reached out and touched my arm reassuringly.

“Thanks for being cool about it,” I said gratefully, mirroring what Molly might say in a similar situation.

“It’s what I do,” he said.

I watched him stroll away to join a small group that included Alicia, Alexandra, and Ben from our literature class, along with some others I recognized as music students by their straggly hair and loose ties. They closed in around him like devotees as he approached and then seemed to dive immediately into a deep discussion. I felt pleased for him that he had found a group to belong to.

I went off to my own locker, still feeling as though something was amiss. It wasn’t until I had gathered my books and was waiting for Xavier to come and meet me that I realized I felt physical discomfort. I focused for a moment and located the sensation. It wasn’t real pain—more like a mild case of sunburn. The skin on my arm, just below the elbow, was stinging in exactly the place where Jake had touched me. But how could his touch possibly have hurt me? He had only put his hand very gently on my arm, and I hadn’t experienced anything unusual at the time.

“You seem distracted,” Xavier said as we walked together to French class. He knew me so well, he never missed a beat.

“Just thinking about the prom,” I replied.

“And that makes you look sad?”

I decided to force Jake Thorn from my mind. The pain in my arm probably had nothing to do with him. I’d most likely scraped it on a locker or desktop without noticing. I needed to stop overreacting.

“I don’t look sad,” I said lightly. “This is my thoughtful expression. Honestly, Xavier, can’t you read me by now?”

“I must be slipping.”

“It’s really not good enough.”

“I know. Feel free to punish me in any way you see fit.”

“Did I mention I’ve finally decided on a nickname for you?”

“I didn’t know you were looking.”

“Well, I’ve given the matter some serious thought.”

“And what have you come up with?”

“Cookie,” I announced proudly.

Xavier scrunched up his face. “No way.”

“You don’t like it? What about Bumblebee?”

“Worse.”

“Snookie-wookie?”

“Do you have any cyanide?”

“Well, some of us are just a bit hard to please.”

We walked past some girls poring over celebrity gowns in a magazine, and I remembered my other news. “Did I tell you that Ivy’s making my dress? I hope it’s not putting her out too much.”

“What are sisters for?”

“I’m so happy we’re going together.” I sighed. “It’s going to be perfect.”

“You’re happy?” Xavier whispered. “I’m the one going with an angel.”

“Shh!” I clapped a hand over his mouth. “Remember what we promised Gabe.”

“It’s okay, Beth; no one around here has supersonic hearing.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “And the prom is going to be great. Tell me about your dress.”

I pursed my lips and refused to disclose any details.

“Oh, come on!”

“No. You’ll have to wait till the night.”

“Can I at least know the color?”

“Nope.”

“Women can be so cruel.”

“Xavier?”

“Yes, babe?”

“Would you write me a poem if I asked you to?”

Xavier looked at me quizzically. “Are we talking love poems?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, I can’t say it’s my forte, but I’ll have something for you by day’s end.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I laughed. “I was just wondering.”

I was always taken aback by Xavier’s willingness to oblige. Was there anything he wouldn’t do for me if I asked?

Xavier and I were due to give a talk in French that lesson, and we’d chosen to do it on Paris, the city of love. In truth, we hadn’t done very much research; Gabriel had given us all the information we needed. We hadn’t even had to open a book or Internet page. When Mr. Collins called us up, Xavier spoke first, and I noticed other girls in the class eyeing him with interest. I tried to imagine myself in their place, watching him longingly from a distance but never really knowing him. I looked at his smooth tanned skin, his entrancing aqua eyes, his half-smile, his strong arms, and the locks of light brown hair falling across his forehead. He still wore his silver crucifix on a leather cord around his neck. He was so striking—and he was all mine.

I was so caught up in admiring him that I missed my cue to start talking. Xavier cleared his throat, recalling me to the present, and I quickly launched into my part of the presentation, focusing on the romantic sights and the cuisine Paris had to offer. As I talked, I realized that instead of making eye contact with the class and attempting to engage them, I was sneaking sidelong glances at Xavier. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off him for a minute.

With the talk concluded, Xavier spontaneously swept me up into his arms.

“Urgh, would you two just get a room already?” Taylah called out. “
C’est très
disgusting.”

“Yes, that will do,” said Mr. Collins, swatting us apart.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Xavier said with a smile. “We were just trying to make our presentation as authentic as possible.”

Mr. Collins glared at us but the class laughed.

News of our performance in French filtered through the grapevine, and Molly bailed me up about it at the first opportunity.

“So you and Xavier are really into each other?” she said enviously.

“Yes.” I tried to keep from beaming, as I usually did when I thought of him.

“I still can’t believe you’re with Xavier Woods,” Molly said, shaking her head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think you’re really gorgeous and all, but girls have been chasing after him for ages, and he hasn’t batted an eyelid. People thought he’d never get over Emily, and then you come along and . . .”

“I can’t believe it either sometimes,” I said modestly.

“You’ve got to admit it’s pretty romantic, the way he looks after you, like some sort of knight in shining armor.” Molly sighed. “I wish a guy would treat me like that.”

“You’ve got heaps of guys that are madly in love with you,” I said. “They follow you around like puppy dogs.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same as with you and Xavier,” Molly replied. “You two really seem connected. Other guys only want one thing.” She paused. “Well, I’m sure you and Xavier get up to some good stuff, but it seems like there’s more to it.”

“What sort of stuff?” I asked curiously.

“You know, like, in the bedroom.” Molly giggled. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about telling me, I’ve pretty much done it all—well, almost.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” I said. “We just haven’t really been up to anything.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “You mean you and Xavier haven’t—?”

“Shh!” I flapped my hands at her when I saw the kids at the next table turn and stare. “No, of course not!”

“Sorry,” she said. “You just surprised me. I mean, well, I just thought you would have. But you’ve done other stuff, yeah?”

“Sure. We go for walks, hold hands, share lunch . . .”

“My God, Beth, how old are you?” Molly groaned. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Wait, have you even seen it?”

“Seen what?” I exploded.

“You
know
,” she said emphatically. “
It!
” She gestured in the vicinity of her groin until I finally understood her meaning.

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “I’d never do anything like that.”

“Well, hasn’t he hinted that he wants more?”

“No,” I said indignantly. “Xavier doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

“That’s what they all say at first,” Molly said cynically. “Just give it some time. Great as Xavier is, all guys want the same thing.”

“Do they really?”

“Of course, hon.” Molly patted my arm. “I just think you should be prepared.”

I fell silent. If there was one subject I trusted Molly’s opinion on it was boys. They were her area of expertise, and she’d had enough experience to know what she was talking about. I felt suddenly very uneasy. I’d assumed Xavier wasn’t bothered by my inability to fulfill all aspects of our relationship. After all, he’d never brought it up, never hinted that it numbered among his expectations. But was there a chance he was keeping his true desires from me? Just because he never mentioned it, didn’t mean it wasn’t playing on his mind. He loved me because I was different, but human beings still had certain needs—some of which couldn’t be ignored indefinitely.

“Oh my God, have you seen the new guy?”

Molly broke my train of thought, and I looked up to see Jake Thorn strolling past us. He didn’t acknowledge me but instead crossed the cafeteria to sit at a table of about fifteen seniors who gazed at him with a strange combination of adoration and respect.

“He hasn’t wasted any time recruiting friends,” I commented to Molly.

“Are you surprised? That guy is seriously hot.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah, in a dark, brooding kind of way. He could be a model with a face like that.”

Jake’s circle of supporters all had a similar air about them. They had dark shadows under their eyes. They tended to keep their heads down and didn’t make eye contact with anyone outside their group. I watched the way Jake looked at them, with a self-satisfied smile on his face, like a cat with a saucer of cream.

“He’s in my lit class,” I said casually.

“Oh my God, you are so lucky!” Molly moaned. “So what’s he like? He looks like a rebel to me.”

“He’s actually pretty intelligent.”

“Damn.” Molly pouted. “Those guys never go for me. I only get the dumb jocks. But hey, there’s no harm in trying.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I said.

“That’s easy for you to say when you’ve got Xavier Woods,” Molly replied.

We were distracted by a piercing scream coming from the kitchens, followed by the sound of panicked voices and running feet. The students exchanged nervous glances and a few got up hesitantly to investigate. One of them, Simon Laurence, froze in the doorway of the kitchen and his hand flew to his mouth. He backed away, his face was turning ashen, and he looked like he was about to retch.

“Hey, what happened?” Molly grabbed Simon as he came past us.

“Uh, one of the cooks,” he said. “Deep fryer tipped over . . . burned her legs pretty bad. They’re calling for an ambulance.” He staggered off, looking shaken.

I stared down at my plate and tried to focus on sending healing energy in the direction of the kitchen, or at least something that might numb the pain. It was more effective if I could see the person who was hurt or touch them, but I knew that to go into the kitchen would look suspicious, and I’d probably get thrown out for interfering before I could get near the cook. So I stayed where I was and did my best. But there was something wrong: I couldn’t channel properly. Every time I tried, something blocked me, and I felt my energy rebound before it reached the kitchen. It felt like another force was intercepting mine, as impenetrable as concrete, pushing the healing energy back. Maybe I was just tired. I pushed harder but only met with stronger resistance.