Summer's Desire (8 page)

I don't look at either Jessica or the unfamiliar
Elle. I still can't tear my gaze off of Seth. I'd hoped that I would see him
from a safe distance and instantly be free of him. God, I'm stupid! I'll never
be free of this boy; I'll always yearn for his presence in my life.

Seeing him, hearing my table companions
gossiping about him, he seems to bear little resemblance to the boy I used to
know. But even so, for some illogical, unexplainable reason, he still feels
like
my
Seth. He still feels familiar and longed for and safe. I still
feel the old bond between us, tugging at me as if demanding that I go to him, that
I erase the distance between us.
How can I feel like this and how can he not
feel the same?
I cry to myself in silent despair.

And it is at that exact moment—almost as
if he's felt my presence, felt my eyes on him, and cannot ignore the feeling
any longer—that he turns his head and looks straight at me. Our gazes connect,
and even with the distance separating us, I sense flames leaping to sudden life
in his eyes. Mere seconds pass but I feel like I've been drowning in him for an
eternity, and my heart is no longer aching but is singing in recognition and
utter joy.

Then one of the girls at his table,
obviously frustrated at his lack of attention, puts her hand on his arm with a
sinuous caress; and just like that I have a volcano churning inside me,
dripping lava and burning me with the fires of jealousy.

But I have no right to be jealous, for
he's not mine.

And with that painful reminder, I've reached
my limit; I can't take any of this any longer. I stand up and, ignoring my table
companions' bewildered looks, storm out of the cafeteria.

The hallways are empty and I'm walking
aimlessly, with the only thought of finding a place where I can sit down and
have a good cry. Then I hear the sound of footsteps following me, getting
closer to me. Panicked, I start running. But whoever is pursuing me is fast and
swiftly gaining on me; they're just a few paces behind me now.

And then I hear a simple name, and I know
that I cannot run anymore.

Chapter 6

"Sunny!" I hear from behind me
and I stop, my feet rooted to the floor of the deserted hallway. There is only
one person in the world who has ever called me
Sunny
.

God, I can't do this! I'm not strong
enough to face him—my former savior who became my destroyer! But I still can't
move, and his footsteps are coming closer. How can I even hear him? I ask
myself in a daze. In all the years I've known him, I've only ever seen him move
as quietly as a shadow.

And then my sense of unreality deepens even
further because he's already reached me and his hands are touching me. Gently,
he turns me around so that I face him, and I tip up my head. Heavens, he's
tall! And so outrageously beautiful from up close.

Our eyes meet, and the way he's looking
at me breaks my heart with the sweet burden of old memories. He's looking at me
like he used to, like there is only the two of us in the world. Like I'm the
answer to all his prayers.

I realize in this moment that as deeply
as his betrayal wounded me, as much as I've tried to hate him for having
forgotten me and all his promises to me... I could never do that. This boy is
part of me, so deeply embedded in my heart and in every fiber of my being that
I could sooner die than dig him out. I've always loved this boy and I always
will. It was the memory of the look I see now on his face, focused on me, that has
sustained me through all the years when I was alone.

"It's really you. It's really my
Sunny," he says in wonder, and for the first time in more than five years,
I don't feel alone anymore.

His Sunny.
Yes, I've
always been his. And he has always been mine.

I almost throw myself in his arms and
beg him to allow me back in his life and to be my friend again. But suddenly his
beautiful warm eyes shutter, becoming unreadable, and his formerly gentle clasp
on my arms tightens.

"What are you doing here?"
There's no inflection in his voice now, as if he were talking to a stranger. I
immediately feel cold—though where his hands grip my arms, even through the
layers of material, it's like my skin is burning.

"I've been fostered to the
Andersons," I manage to answer.

"The Andersons?" He raises an
eyebrow. "That's an interesting development. Anything familiar about the
Andersons' house?"

His tone isn't inflectionless now, it's
mocking. There's one other emotion in his voice as well, but I can't figure out
which; the mockery has cut me to the quick.

I stay silent.

"Nothing familiar, then?" he
asks harshly. "What an adaptive memory you have, to so easily forget the
past. And your promises!"

His grip on my arms is starting to hurt,
and I finally understand that he's angry. Why is
he
angry?!
I
'm
the one who should be furious!

I feel my own anger rising at the
unfairness of his accusations. "Of the two of us, I'm not the one with the
adaptive memory, Seth! I've forgotten nothing! Let me go!" I try to escape
his hold. God, he's strong! "You're hurting me!" I shout, and he truly
is—he's ripping my heart to shreds. Our past together may be forgettable to
him, but I treasure every memory and it tears me inside that he doesn't feel
the same.

He lets go immediately but seems even
angrier now, if that's possible. "You're telling me that you've forgotten
nothing
?"

"Oh, there are some things I should
have forgotten!" I challenge. "Some things not worth remembering!"
I want to hurt him like he's hurting me, so I'm implying that I should have
forgotten
him
, that he wasn't worth being remembered by me. Not after he
betrayed me.

He gets my meaning—I see it in the clenching
of his jaw. I also see a flash of deepest anguish in his eyes, but it's gone so
fast that I think I must have imagined it.

Heavens, I'm stupid! Of course I
imagined it! I don't have the power to hurt him; he's forgotten all about me
the moment I left five years ago. He didn't write back to me and he didn't call
me even once. I have to accept that he really doesn't care about me anymore.
Maybe
he never has
, a voice whispers inside my head
.

But no, that's an unfair thought and I
won't let it taint my memories of our past! I was important to Seth at one time,
I do know that... and it is enough. He simply outgrew me. On that reflection my
anger evaporates, leaving me oddly adrift.

"You wanted to forget me?" he rasps
out. I see that his anger is gone as well. If anything, he sounds... defeated.

Forget him?
Never! But
there's no reason to tell him that, since he obviously chose to forget me. And
I, too, have my pride.

"I don't want us to continue
fighting," I tell him quietly. "What's the point? It's all in the
past and the past is gone."

He's silent for long moments, watching
me with his blue eyes blazing—searching, searching for something, I don't know
what—and I grit my teeth and keep my face blank so that he doesn't realize how
utterly devastated I am inside.

"Seems like the past really is
gone," he says at last. There's a note of pained finality in his voice now,
and I hate to hear it, hate it so much that I want to take back what I said before,
about it all being in the past.

But it's too late. He's already moving
away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway, leaving me alone.

Like I always am, without him.

* * *

I'm walking to my last class—and thank goodness
for it; I really need school to be over for the day so that I can get away from
here and lick my wounds. After the confrontation with Seth, I moved through the
rest of my day in a daze.

I had Chemistry with Marcie and Dana,
and after I created the scene at lunch (gosh, I'm such a dork!) and later
appeared so obviously out of it, they kept throwing me worried glances. I
somehow managed to mumble something about it being that time of the month for
me, at which they looked at me with female understanding and left me alone,
thankfully.

See, that's exactly why I don't want to
make
friends
! I don't want to have people noticing when I'm not all
right, and becoming concerned, and requiring explanations. It's much easier not
having to give account to anyone.

And anyway, when push comes to shove, I
know that I can only ever rely on myself to see things through. I've learned my
lesson well and am aware that depending on others can only lead to a world of
hurt. So I don't.

I've reached the door to my classroom,
and I glance at my schedule once again to make sure I'm in the right place. My mind
isn't exactly at its sharpest just now, so better to double-check things.
World
History, 217
. Yes, it's the correct classroom and I'm even a couple of minutes
early.

I go inside and instantly my body tenses
tighter than a bow. My skin breaks into goose bumps and I know, I know even
without looking, that
he
is in this room. I feel his eyes on me, boring
into my back, and it's a miracle that I manage to keep moving. I choose a seat
to his left, as far in the back as I can, but it's still not far enough.

Why, why did I have to take World
History? So okay, I already took American History classes my Freshman and Sophomore
years, so I didn't really have any other choice—but at my last high school this
was a Junior only class, so why is it a Junior-Senior class here?!

I take a deep breath and finally raise
my head. I know exactly in which direction to look, so I do, and my eyes find
him instantly.

Seth is sitting beside two of his jock
friends who were with him at lunch, and those two seem to be joking around,
trying to draw him in as well, but he pays them no attention. Instead he's watching
me
. His expression looks remote but his eyes are once again that intense
blue they used to get in the past only when he was in the grip of some powerful
emotion.

Great, he must still be angry with me!

A curvy brunette sashays up to Seth's
desk, obscuring his face from my view. My eyes drill into her back with
instinctive resentment, noting her inviting body language, her extravagant hand
gestures, the way she provocatively leans down to him, presumably to whisper an
invitation in his ear. Her freaking long hair continues to hide Seth's
expression from me, and the green-eyed monster inside me claws viciously at my heart.
But then the brunette straightens abruptly and walks away in a huff. My eyes and
Seth's reconnect as if bound in each other's magnetic fields, and the green
monster inside me goes quiet.

Unfortunately, his continued staring
makes his jock friends take notice, and they turn to glance at me too, seeming
puzzled. The blond one with huge muscles mutters something in Seth's ear, which
earns him a flat look. Impervious, the blond stands up and—oh no, he's coming
toward me! Drat, I really don't need this right now! I look away.

Where the heck is the teacher, he should
have been here already!

But he's not, and to my right, a
rumbling voice asks, "Is it hot out here or is it just you?"

I groan internally. Really? That's the
best line with which he can come up? Well, he doesn't need to be smart too;
he's super hot—even I can appreciate that, although I'm not attracted to
blonds.

I keep my head averted, gazing out the
window. I know that Seth is still looking at me and now probably at his buddy
as well, but I feel like there's a new, biting edge to his stare. I shiver
slightly.

From the corner of my eye, I see the
blond move. He sits down in the free seat in front of my desk but turns to face
me. The other jock with Seth, this one sporting coffee-colored, slightly curly
hair, is also watching us. What in the world is keeping the teacher?

The blond jock seems perplexed by my
silence; by the looks of it, he hasn't had a lot of experience with being
ignored by girls. Well, if he doesn't leave
right now
, he'll get an
education!

"Uh, darlin'? I was talkin' to you,
you know. I'm Carter Matthews."

I barely contain a snort. Of course he's
concluded that I must have thought he wasn't addressing me—that being the only
possible reason why frumpy me didn't jump for joy when Sex-on-Legs him deigned
to approach me. The poor guy is deluded. I keep my silence.

From previous experience I've had with guys
hitting on me, I've learned that the best way to get rid of them is by simply
ignoring them. I don't look at them, or I look right through them, and I don't engage
in conversation. In fact, speaking to boys, actually telling them that I'm not
interested, doesn't have as high a success rate in dismissing them. The cocky
ones will take it as a challenge, the fact that I'm talking to them at all as
encouragement. Ignoring them, though—that's the biggest blow to a guy's ego and
it's rare that any of them comes back for seconds.