Downcast (2 page)

Helen was putting up her notepad and mirror in her locker as I came up.

"Hey," I said.

She turned and grinned at me. "Hey back. Did you see Jordan Laughlin's hair?"

"No, why?"

"She cut it totally short and went blonde."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"How does it look?"

Helen rolled her eyes, and I giggled. She looked at my long, shapeless, linen dress.

"Eileen Fisher have a sale again?" she asked wryly.

"Yeah. Mom wanted to 'celebrate' my senior year."

Helen snorted delicately. She suffered from almost the exact opposite style of parenting from mine. Her parents barely noticed her. Her father was a doctor who preferred the hospital to the hospitality of his own home, and her mother liked gin. Helen took most of the responsibility for her little brother, who was a surly sixth-grader.

In a lot of ways, she was my exact opposite. She had curly white-blonde hair and china-doll blue eyes, but she was as tough and practical as they came. I had brown hair and drab, hazel eyes, and I tended to lose myself in my thoughts.

"Oh," Helen exclaimed. "I forgot to mention. New students. Two brothers."

"Really?"

"Both seniors, I think."

"How's that?"

"Twins, maybe?"

"Huh. Kinda interesting."

The only people who ever transferred in to Darbyfield were either expelled from another high school or had to move out here because of their parents taking a job. Nobody really wanted to go here.

"Must be tough for them, transferring during their senior year," Helen mused.

Just then, the first bell rang, and we split up to go to our respective classes. Helen was going heavy on the sciences, taking every honors math and science class she could. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with it all, but she preferred biology and bugs to history and literature.

At least we would have Honors English together. As far as academics were concerned, I was actually looking forward to my schedule. I had packed it with literature, social studies, and history courses.

As I thought about Helen's schedule, I realized for all that my mother fanatically tried to manage every other aspect of my life, she didn't give a crap about my grades. She never looked at my report card and barely remembered what classes I took every semester. Why hadn't I noticed before? It was hard not to wonder what else I hadn't noticed in my life.

Pondering this, I made my way to Ms. Collins' classroom on the second floor and got myself ready for European History. I took a “safe seat” in the middle. I was too good a student to hang out in the back, but I refused to completely live up to my nerdy reputation and sit in the front.

Pulling out my multi-subject notebook and pen, I marked the date on the page, then stared off into space as the rest of the students came in. Finally, I glanced around to see exactly who was in my class.

I was just thrilled to see Jordan Laughlin seat herself near the front. Rob Furlong, the senior quarterback for our football team and my junior year unrequited crush, came in and sat down next to her. I hoped Jordan would ignore me. Even though I was pretty much over my crush on Rob, I still didn't relish the idea of being humiliated in front of him, especially by her.

I studied Jordan for a moment. Last year, her hair had been shoulder-length, bushy and ashy brown. Now, it was cut in an odd, bushy pageboy that came to her chin and was cheap-yellow-mustard blonde. It did nothing for her snub nose, but her teeth were as big and white as ever as she smiled at Rob, like a queen smiling at her doting king.

A guy took the desk on my right. I glanced at him and guessed he must be one of the new brothers, given this was a class for seniors, and he was the only person I didn't know in the room.

It wasn't polite to stare, and I felt bad for the guy, knowing that everyone else in the classroom would be staring at him. I resolutely looked down at my notebook and started doodling in the margins.

"Hey."

The low, gravelly voice startled me, as it seemed to be directed at me. I ignored it, not wanting to look stupid and hopeful that someone was actually talking to me.

"Um, hey."

This time, the guy had turned toward me and was actually leaning in my direction a little.

He really was talking to me. Huh. Go figure.

Warily, I looked up at him. He was really, really good-looking. I mean really good-looking, but not in your usual all-American good boy way. No, he looked...dark. My heart yo-yo'ed from my throat to the pit of my stomach and back.

He was tall and lanky, very pale, with black eyes and shaggy black hair that fell into his eyes. His features were narrow, almost sharp–with narrow eyes, cut cheekbones, thin lips, and a pointed chin.

He looked smart and way too sophisticated for Darbyfield. His black button down shirt, carefully shredded jeans, and black shoes would have instantly labeled him a pretentious Euro douchebag, except for the fact that he looked absolutely right in them.

And I couldn't get over the feeling that I had seen him before.

I WAS PRETTY SURE
my jaw had just dropped open in completely inappropriate admiration of this wickedly handsome boy, but then I noticed the weirdest thing.

He was looking at me with an equally stunned expression on his face. His shock melted into a toe-curling smile, and his eyes refused to let mine go.

"You're beautiful," he breathed. "More than I..."

Well, that snapped me out of my haze. I scrunched up my face in a grimace of disapproval and silently swiveled in my seat to face front, determined to ignore him. New guy or not, he clearly had already learned that I was an acceptable target for mockery.

"Wait," he murmured, reaching out and touching my forearm. "Please, I meant no offense."

I frowned harder because the way he spoke was so weirdly formal. Risking a glance at him, I was sucked right back into the heated black of his gaze. Were black holes hot? I'd have to ask Helen.

He drew in a deep breath and leaned toward me, his hand cool and heavy on my arm. A tiny part of my brain wracked itself to remember if this was the first time a boy had ever touched me.

"I'm Haley," he said. "Haley Smith."

"Stephanie Starr," I replied reluctantly.

"Stephanie," he repeated my name slowly, as if he was testing the sound of it on his tongue. He smirked at me and said, "It's a pretty name, but not quite you, I think."

Could seventeen-year-old's have heart attacks? It was a legitimate question because my heart was jackhammering in my chest, and I felt a rush of blood move up to my cheeks...and unfortunately, my ears, too. Stupid, burning ears.

I pinched my lips together—I wasn't a cute lip biter like the girls in the books that Helen smuggled to me—and yanked my arm out from under his hand. I turned back to face front and stared stonily in front of me.

"What is it?" Haley asked, touching my elbow with his fingers. "What did I do?"

I drew in a deep, deliberate breath and set my jaw. He was so clearly mocking me now, and it wasn't fair that my body was reacting to his touch in all kinds of nervous, shivery ways.

At this point, Jordan, Rob, and the others had started paying attention to Haley, and as a result, to our interaction. I heard Jordan snicker and fought to keep my eyes dry and on my notebook. I hadn't cried in front of anyone since third grade, and I wasn't about to start senior year with a relapse, no matter how awful my day was starting.

Luckily, the second bell rang, Ms. Collins came in. I felt Haley's hand slip from my elbow, and I relaxed just a fraction. Like most teenagers, I had the perfect ability to use half my brain to listen to the lecture, while the other half was busy replaying the drama.

Seriously, why couldn't he have left me alone? I wasn't trying to "jump fences" into the popular crowd. I knew my place. He was the new guy, too! Didn't I get a grace period before new kids started making fun of me? Then I realized something that almost made me groan out loud.

The Sarlls-Starr-Sterling order had been interrupted by Smith. Haley Smith and his brother were my new locker neighbors. Great. Just freaking great.

A cool touch brushed my hand, and I looked down to see Haley drawing his hand back. Oh. I was clenching my pen so hard that my knuckles were white and the ink was soaking into the pages of my notebook.

The bell for the end of class rang. Startled, I jumped up, jamming my notebook and pen into my bag, and ran out into the safe anonymity of the hallway.

My next class, Poetry, was just down the hall. I slumped into another middle desk, in the greyed-out white classroom, and wouldn't you know it, Haley Smith took the desk next to me. I treated him to a short glare before staring down at my notebook.

I felt a touch on my shoulder and looked up in surprise to see him slowly tucking my hair behind my ear. Thrilling little zings went straight to the pit of my stomach, and my heart lurched in confusion between panic and excitement.

It was such a tender gesture that I wanted to cry again. What the hell? Why couldn't this be real? Why couldn't this be like a book, where the mysterious new guy fell for the pretty geek, instead of zeroing in on her for a particularly cruel brand of mockery?

Adults might have called me paranoid or diagnosed me with a persecution complex, but I knew better. This was high school, the ultimate petri dish for social Darwinism—which I had learned about last year in Social Studies.

His fingertips slid down a lock of my hair and rested lightly against my shoulder, burning through my dress to brand my skin. Or, at least that's what it felt like.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," he said softly, and damn if I couldn't help looking up at him. Big mistake. Narrowed black eyes stared back at me hungrily. My heart went from jackhammering to stalling out. I should have been creeped out, but I was more creeped out by the fact that I wasn't.

"Whatever," I mumbled, forcing myself to shrug off his hand and fix my gaze on the front of the classroom. "It's fine."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him sit back in his chair. I could feel his gaze on me, but I locked myself into position so I couldn't even accidentally catch his eye.

But what if he wasn't mocking me? The thought was too shocking to even consider for a moment. No, nothing like that ever happened outside of books. I liked to think of myself as a good judge of character—like Elizabeth Bennett from
Pride and Prejudice
. Sure, she made some mistakes, but she was also right on the money a lot of the times.

All my instincts told me he belonged with the beautiful, popular crowd, and the speculative look that Jordan gave him as she came in confirmed it.

She took a seat in front of him and turned around to face him.

"Hi!" she chirped, flashing her big teeth in a big smile. "I'm Jordan. You're new, right?"

Haley still sat back against his chair, his body perfectly relaxed, and he slowly looked away from me and over to her.

"Yes," he replied finally, a cool, patient smile on his lips.

"Haley, right?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you sit with me and my friends at lunch?" Jordan gushed. "We can tell you all about everything you need to know about Darbyfield."

"That would be nice," Haley said evenly. "Thank you."

"Your brother should have lunch with us, too!"

"I'm sure."

Jordan paused, and I bit my lip to keep from smiling at her confusion. I could read the whole situation like a book. Even if I didn't know Haley, I knew Jordan. I had had twelve years to study her, from her first princess party to her becoming the captain of the varsity cheerleading squad. She was like my monkey in a cage.

She clearly expected Haley to be a lot more enthusiastic about having lunch with her and to jump to it to invite his brother. It had been a long time since she had had to do more to attract someone than smile and extend her gracious notice to whatever subject she decided to take into her kingdom.

Haley was either an idiot to blow her off like this, or he didn't give a rat's ass about her approval. Given his attempts to talk to me, I began to wonder if his social barometer was just completely whacked.

I just had to be calm, to keep my walls up and give it a day or two for him to get suckered in by Jordan. He would find a new desk in the classroom next to her and learn to ignore me.

Everything would once again be as it should be in my glass-bubble world.

Mr. Brown came into the room and started class. Outside the window, the wind howled, and the rain slapped against the windows, leaving icy smears.

The bell rang at the end of class. As I stuffed my things into my bag, I tried not to look over at Haley, who only carried a notebook and pen with him. I was almost through the door when I heard that low, gravelly voice behind me and felt a whisper of cool breath against the back of my neck.

"Later, Stephanie."

For the sake of my sanity, I sincerely hoped not.

THE REST
of the morning passed like most first days of school passed for me. I tried to get my bearings, memorize the pattern of where my classrooms were, and what was the quickest way between them and my locker. After a summer of relative isolation spent between the store and home, I was hungrily curious to see the changes in the other students. Darbyfield wasn't that big of a school, only 500 students total, so it was easy enough to know almost all of them by sight. I noticed who had grown taller, who had grown fatter or thinner, new haircuts, outfits, and tans. I suffered my way through the disoriented clusters of freshman that clogged the halls.

I stopped in to the college counselor’s office before heading off to lunch. I wanted to pick up some information about the SATs and tip-sheets about selecting a college even though I was the one who was excited about the thought of going to college. Though she had never said anything directly, Mom always gave me the impression that she didn’t care if I went to college or not. She’d be happy to have me live with her forever, no matter what I did for an education or, eventually, a job.