Downcast (8 page)

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore."

"Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us, by that God we both adore,

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore:

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore!”

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Haley's voice broke with misery. Waves of longing crashed against me as his reading made me truly sense the desperation of having lost something so incredibly precious, a single hope of happiness. I wondered—and felt a small, unreasonable sting of jealousy, whom he had lost.

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

The anguish in Haley’s voice turned to rage, yet heartbreak still shaped the way he spoke the words. I shook, fighting the compulsion to turn to him, to throw myself into his arms and tame his rage, soothe his heartache.

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

I couldn't suppress a shudder after it was done. The classroom sat in a stunned silence. Even the guys seemed to be trapped in some kind of rictus of terrified, tortured, imagination that Haley's voice conjured with Poe's words.

The timbre of his voice still reverberated deep within my chest, and I wailed silently with the pain of my own empty wanting, my soul left in his shadows on the floor. Trying to get a hold of myself, I took a deep breath, but it didn't help.

I don't remember the rest of the class. I don't think even Mr. Brown remembered the rest of class after that. All I remember is that at one point, I stole a glance at Haley and found him looking right back at me, naked hunger in his eyes.

I couldn't move. I couldn't even think. It was like my brain had finally overloaded from everything. Just his gaze shot truth through my body, and I was so torn. I finally admitted to myself that I wanted his attraction to be real, to be genuine. I was so achingly lonely in my life, and every day, little evil seeds of self-doubt sprouted in my heart.

Part of me desperately wanted Haley's look to mean that he wanted to be that someone, but I also couldn’t help remembering everything that stood against me as well. Even though my heart was still racing, logic won the day. I only had to think of the scene at the lockers this morning to know every risk and every consequence of what revealing my feelings would entail. My hands clenched into fists, and I set my jaw. I was not going to let Haley Smith wreck what little self-respect I had left after 12 years of endless schoolyard mockery.

When Jordan turned in her seat to give Haley a beguiling—at least what she thought was beguiling—look, I knew everything I had felt was stupid and pointless. What Jordan wanted, Jordan got...and Jordan wanted Haley.

Everything was just...pointless.

***

The library always struck me as the oddest part of the building, but that was only because it was the newest. It had been built about ten years before, when everything was about big windows, grey carpeting, and white walls. As a result, the librarians complained that the books were fading from all the light, and it was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter.

I didn't usually spend much time in the library during study period. I had too much solitude and quiet at home. I preferred hanging out with my friends at the back of the cafeteria.

However, I did need to pick up a book for a Government paper that was due next week.

"Can I help you?" asked the librarian behind the desk, and I turned to give her a polite smile and shake my head.

Instead, my jaw fell open.

This was obviously the new librarian that Morris had mentioned. She was impossibly beautiful, with jet-black hair, flawless ivory skin and violet-blue eyes. Tall and statuesque, she moved behind the counter with the grace of a dancer. I caught a glimpse of her name tag. Katie Jones, Assistant Librarian.

"No, Ms. Jones," I replied, my voice shaking. "I'm just getting a book."

She looked up at me, catching my gaze and giving me a knowing smile.

“It’s Katie Jones,” she said.

I stared at her stupidly.

“My name,” she clarified. “It’s Katie Jones.”

“Uh, I called you Ms. Jones. Do you want to be called Katie instead?”

“No,” she replied with a smirk. “I want to be called Katie Jones.”

“Why?” I blurted out.

“I have my reasons.”

Confused and mildly freaked, I retreated to the stacks, staying out of sight of the circulation desk.

A hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me down into a chair next to a study carrel. I gasped, then snorted, seeing it was Morris.

A very worried looking Morris.

"'Sup?" I asked in a whisper.

"Look at this!" he exclaimed in a louder whisper, turning his laptop to face me.

I studied the screen, and it looked like a souped-up weather radar thingy with tables full of numbers below it. We all knew that Morris was a weather hound. He spent whatever free time he had on AccuWeather forums. Seeing him all jumped-up about some kind of weather chart wasn't anything new.

I shook my head and shrugged. "Dude, you know I don't understand weather stuff. What is this?"

"The weather patterns for Darbyfield over the last week. Just Darbyfield."

"So like really, really local weather?"

"Like impossibly local weather."

"Still speaking Chinese to me, and I know your Mandarin ain’t that good."

He tried to smile, but his face was too crumpled with worry to be convincing.

"Look, weather is a fuzzy-edged thing," he said. "Weather doesn't have strict borders. It doesn't color within the lines. Except for this past week, in Darbyfield."

"Ooookay," I replied. "Sorta following you now."

"Have you even been outside?" he demanded with a long-suffering sigh.

"No, it's way too cold."

"Exactly. Too cold. Way, way too cold. The first week of September should not be this cold. Ever. We're setting record lows. And there's no weather systems in the area or anything else that could cause it. It's just like one day, poof! Someone flipped a switch, and we went from summer to something like late November."

"Okay, you've got me. I'm curious. What do you think is causing it?"

"For once, I don't know," Morris said, shaking his head. "And that frightens the bejesus out of me."

***

There was just one more hour left in the day, but of course, it had to be English, with Haley sitting across from me. He watched me with an intensity that made me feel yet again like he was trying to say something. I dismissed the idea because it was ridiculous.

A secretary from the principal’s office came to the door and asked for Mr. Lafitte. He left the room, and as soon as he did, the class broke out into chatter.

“Do you know what’s going on with Morris?” Helen asked me in a low voice.

I grimaced. “Yeah. Tell you on the ride home.”

“He looked totally spooked during calculus.”

“He is.”

Before Helen could ask anything else, Jordan’s voice distracted us both.

“So, you wanna have a smoke before I head to practice?” she asked, squirming around in her chair to face Haley—I saw all this out of my peripheral vision, as I was still looking at Helen.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he replied flatly, his eyes never leaving my face. “It’s bad for you.”

“Oh, I know that. I’m just so tired of being such a
good
girl.”

I choked inwardly at the thought of applying the adjective “good” to anything about Jordan, and from the suppressed laughter in Helen’s face, she was thinking the same thing.

“I’m ready to be a little bad, to be an adult, you know?” Jordan continued, flipping her hair.

“And you think I’m bad?” Haley asked quietly.

“I
know
you’re bad,” she purred suggestively, tracing her finger down his sleeve.

Shockingly, Haley flinched, though whether it was at Jordan’s words or her touch, I couldn’t tell. He looked up at me, a question in his eyes, but I didn’t know what it was or how to answer it.

The final bell of the day rang, but not before I was totally ready for it. Mr. Lafitte had come back, and the rest of English had been excruciating, but I had made it through.

Moodily, I walked down to my locker. I switched out my books, grabbed my jacket, and shut the door. I put my backpack on the floor to put on my jacket, when I felt someone take my arm and pull me around.

I found myself with my back against Zack's locker, looking up into Haley's eyes as he leaned in toward me. He rested his hands against the locker on either side of my shoulders. He was so close, I could feel his breath on my lips.

"Um," I said, scrambling for something, anything, to say, to get me out of this. "What are you doing?"

Not the best, but at least it was direct.

He smiled slightly, his black eyes drawing me in. He took a quick breath, then lifted one of his hands to my lips and gently brushed my lower lip with his fingertips. His hand then traced down my throat and arm until he snaked it around my waist, pulling me to him so that I was completely pressed up against him.

This was bad. I knew that this was bad for so many reasons, and yet, all my intelligence seemed to have checked out. I couldn't think of a thing to say or remember what I needed to do to get away from him, including what the word for “no” was. My body was practically vibrating against him. I'd never been this close to a boy before. I was painfully aware of how small I was compared to him and how strong he felt, how solid.

Gently, he flattened me against the locker, pinning me there with his body, leaning his face in to mine until our noses practically touched, his arm still securely around my waist.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he murmured, a wicked light burning low in his endless eyes.

"U-um," I stammered.

"'A rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore,'" he whispered, his lips so close that they almost brushed mine as he spoke.

"I'm not dead," I said stupidly.

He pulled his head back just a little and stared at me for a moment, then broke into a low, raspy laughter. I could feel his body shake against mine from the laughter. This definitely didn't help.

"No," he said, calming down, but still smiling. "No, you're not. You are very much alive."

He still held me close, and I wondered wildly if he was going to kiss me. My mind was about to start a vigorous, pointed, short debate about whether to let him kiss me, to kiss him back, or to kiss him first, but then I caught sight of Kara Manzino scowling at me.

The spell was broken—at least on me. I put my hands up against his chest and gently pushed him back. He frowned, confused, and didn't budge.

"Look, um, let me go," I said, trying not to sound freaked and desperate in all the ways I felt freaked and desperate.

"Why?" he asked, and there was a clear note of complaint in his voice even as he complied, releasing my waist but still standing before me, one hand bracing himself against Zack’s locker.

"I'm really sorry, but...but I'm not sure what you're doing, but I'm not...I don't think it's a good idea."

He looked at me, his mouth tightening into a grim line, his eyes narrowing.

"In fact," I continued, even though my voice was shaky. "I think it would be a good idea if you and I didn't talk anymore."

"Is that what you really think?" he murmured.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I can't tell you."

I heard the dry rasp of metal next to my head. I turned just enough to see his hand on the disintegrating metal of the locker as it fell like rusty snowflakes to the ground.

I stared at it, really freaked now. What the hell?

I grabbed my bag and wheeled around to run from him, my heart pounding and my mind electrified by fear.

Behind me, I heard the whispery sound of metal being turned to ash.

I WAS GETTING
really sick of waking up cold with numb toes and fingers and worse, the weariness of never haven gotten warm enough to sleep deeply. I was also getting sick of waking up from dreams of being someplace cold and dark, with nothing and no one to hold onto.

"What the—" I exclaimed softly as I opened my eyes and saw my breath come out as a puff of white in the air. Had Mom forgotten to turn on the heat last night?

Frowning, I watched the frosty clouds of my breath for another minute.

Then, gritting my teeth and pulling the thin, old quilt around my shoulders, I touched my feet to the icy wood floor. Shuffling over to the window, I looked out at my dying garden.

Except now, it was pretty much dead because of the inch of snow that lay on top of it. Snow? In the first week of September? This was insane!

My stomach lurched a little at the thought of the dead flowers in my graveyard. Now my garden at home was just as dead and just as rotted. Bits of my conversation with Morris yesterday flitted through my mind. Yeah, this was definitely "unseasonably" cold.

My thoughts slid from snow and ice to Haley’s heat. I had fallen asleep to endless circles of fear and longing. I shivered at the memory of his touch, at the memory of his fingers crushing the metal of the locker. Was it an accident? Was he just freakishly strong? Could it have been some fluke of physics? Was he dangerous, or was I foolish? Or both? Or neither?