True Intentions (7 page)

"Well, I
don't
know who
you
are?" I snap back defensively.

His face turns once again—all the way this time—and I can see he seems to be getting angrier with each passing second. I feel my chair vibrate slightly as he exhales sharply.

"What exactly do you want from me?" he hisses. He slants his head forward in a

"no" gesture. His facial muscles appear extremely tense while words flow out of his mouth.

I see the veins in his neck distend as if he's holding back from slapping me.

A chill quivers down my spine.

"What do I want?" I ask.

I try to think of what I do want from him . . . .
Maybe
not such a good idea.

"I want to know why you're so mad at me and why you stopped me this morning and asked me to 'trust' you. That's all that
I want."

He raises his eyebrows like he's intrigued but not willing to go there.

"I don't owe you an explanation for anything. Just be grateful I sent you back, and let's leave it at that."

Still nervous, I look down. I can see out the corner of my eye, he has his hands clenched tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white. He immediately looks away from me again, not giving any other explanation.

His coldness and unfriendly persona are exceptionally intimidating. Part of me wants to yell back, tell him he owes me an explanation, and then start questioning him.

I'm dying to know if he is the rapist. But I don't have the guts, so I just sit back in my seat and glare at his agitated, angelic, porcelain face.

I consider letting the discussion drop and cutting my losses.

Then an idea hits me.

Maybe a change in approach is what I need.

"Look," I say, attempting with all my strength to slow down my words and carefully control my anger. "I assume that whatever reason you didn't want me to go any further on my run was for my own benefit. I'll give you that. All I am asking is why?"

He doesn't mirror my new, calm approach in the least bit.

He spins around and faces me, leaning as forward as far as he can lean with his body remaining in the seat.

"
You
can assume anything you want. I honestly don't care. I saved your life, whether you care to know or not. So, just do me a favor. Be grateful for my lack of judgment and drop it, okay. Or maybe next time, I'll change my mind." He finishes the sentence with an inexplicable look of frustration in his eyes. Without warning or another word, he grabs his backpack and heads toward the front of the class without giving me a second to respond.

Saved my life?

Surprise flickers across my face, which is now red from his words. I'm so mad I can feel the disabling tears burning in my eyes. I force myself to hold them back while I listen to what he is saying to the teacher.

"Mr. Whitmore, can I go see the school nurse? I am not feeling so well," he alleges.

"Certainly, Mr. Perry, let me give you a pass."

And with that comment, he heads out the door . . . and I'm left in my seat, fuming.

At least I have a partial name, Perry. My mysterious classmate has a name to go with his stupid, angelic face. It is finally time to question Sara about him, but I can't ask at lunch today. Especially if we're eating with Jack and his friends. That may be way too awkward.

After I leave English, I run into Sara in the hallway and tell her about Jack's offer for lunch.

"Jack Roberts?" she asks. She looks overly excited. She blinks rapidly as her eyes grow big.

"What's that face for?" I ask. "What am I missing?"

"I didn't realize Jack even knows who I am. That's all."

She blushes as the words leave her mouth. The blood floods her cheeks, changing them to from an apricot to a ruby red. I can't help but laugh.

"You really like him don't you?" I demand. My lips crease upward to form a smile. "I thought you
used
to have a crush on him, not currently do!"

"Okay, you caught me. I said I
used
to have a crush on him. I thought I was over it, but maybe I'm not.
Please
, do not ever tell him! I would die of embarrassment if he knew," She widens her eyes, begging for reassurance.

"Sara, do you honestly think I'd throw you under the bus?" I blurt out.

My comment instantly brings a smile to her face.

"No, I don't, or I would've kicked your butt when you smashed into me yesterday," she jokes, using her best, badass voice.

"Speaking of smashing into people," I interrupt, using this opportunity to bring up Mr. Mysterious. "I bumped into a guy in my English class."

I decide to lie, using this opportunity to get as much information about him as possible. I feel guilty about lying, but also know I can't be honest about what happened this morning—not yet.

"I got his last name, Perry, but for the life of me, I can't remember what he told me his first name was . . . ."

"Samuel Perry," she gasps. "How could you honestly forget Sam Perry's name?!

I've only known you two days, and you have yet to cease to amaze me."

"So you know him?"

"I doubt there would be any girl at this school, much less in the entire universe, that wouldn't know of Sam Perry," Sara confides.

Okay, point taken.

"So what's his deal?" I question. I want to dig deeper.

Sara glances at her watch. "We're going to be late for third hour; I'll tell you all about him on our way to lunch."

"Deal." I head toward my third-hour Chemistry class. It's ironic since its definitely some type of "chemistry" I feel toward this strange boy—Samuel Perry—

whoever he is.

* * * * *

Chemistry class drags on to the point that I'm beginning to think time has ceased as we know it. When the bell finally does ring, I eagerly rush out of my seat to meet up with Sara and learn more about Sam. I rush past the other students and wait impatiently at her locker. I'm sitting on a nearby bench when Sara arrives. She searches through her purse for lunch money.

"Alright," she says, easily able to read the apprehension on my face. "Samuel Perry is pretty new here. He moved here with his parents and older sister sometime last summer. I think his sister might attend a local college like in L.A or somewhere else local. He seems shy for the most part—like a "loner." But I've seen him hanging out with some of the rebels—the bad boys—around here, on occasion. I know he skips school, and Michelle saw him cheating on a test before. Let's see . . . ."

She pauses and looks up, trying to remember more gossip on Sam. "Oh yeah, I've also heard he has a police record, like for stealing or something. But that was from my dad, and he doesn't really care for Sam." She looks at me and clarifies. "Since my dad
is
the principal, he doesn't care for anyone who rocks the boat, if you know what I mean . .

. ."

I nod.

"You mentioned all the girls know Sam. Does he date around much?" I ask, trying not to show any sign of the jealousy I'm starting to feel.

I didn't want to imagine him dating girls or having a girlfriend.
Well, except maybe
for me.

"Well, duh! He is pretty gorgeous." She states the obvious. "He is
so
dazzling, yet, believe it or not, I've never seen him date any girls from this school. He's been here for this entire year. Any girl here would go out with him. Maybe he's gay?" she concludes, giggling louder than usual.

"We can think that. It'd be the easiest theory for our self-esteems," I joke.

"So, did you talk to him?" she asks, prodding for answers of her own.

How do I explain this one?

"Well, I did briefly. Just a super quick introduction. He wasn't feeling well, so he went to see the school nurse."

I want to confide more, to tell her about this morning and his reaction to my introduction, but I'm still not sure what to make of it, so I decide I really don't want anyone, including Sara, to know.

"Alright, enough about him . . . . Let's go meet Jack for lunch," I add, changing the subject. Sara grabs my arm as I'm getting off the bench.

"Ava, I want you to know . . . if you like Jack, that's totally cool with me. I'm okay with that."

"Actually, we're honestly just friends. But thanks for the offer," I reply, smiling as big as my lips allow. "He's all yours." And with that comment, I wink at her, and we head to meet Jack and his posse.

Chapter Seven - Instincts

I've already forgotten about my encounter with Sam Perry by the time I reached my Jeep. The rest of my day has gone better than expected. I introduced Sara to Jack and watched her eyes light up. She must think she's in debt to me for that simple gesture 'cause she said thank you a million times. She even asked me to hang out after school on Wednesday, so she could show me around Lake Arrowhead. I accepted her offer to be my tour guide. Plus, I need to be social and make friends.

Sara seems to have the same type of personality as my mom, Cheryl. Both are sweet and caring. That is what makes my mom a great nurse. She always cares about everyone no matter what. And Sara has taken me under her wing. She has helped me get to class, sat with me at lunch, and even though she has a crush on Jack, she's willing to let me have him.

I originally thought Mom was selfish for dragging me from the only home I've known and moving us to California. But the more I think about the situation, the more I realize her true intentions.

Looking back, I feel guilty for resenting my mom. She wants me to be happy. Just like Sara wants me to be happy with Jack, if it is what I truly want. I envy them and wish I could be more like that.

I walk past the white Suburban and stop dead in my tracks. Sam is sitting on the hood of my Jeep, looking into the nearby forest.

What the heck does he want from me now?

Hasn't he been rude enough to me for one day?

Although a single word hasn't left his mouth, I'm irritated. I can't stop fuming about his reaction to my introduction earlier.

He must hear me approach because he turns and then makes a weird gesture—

offering me his left hand. He wants me to join him on my Jeep's hood.

Is he kidding me?

I shake my head and lean against the Suburban, crossing my arms. I say nothing.

His lips form into a hard line, yet his eyes look wickedly amused at my unwillingness to sit with him. He jumps off the hood in one long stride, and leans against my driver's side fender, so we're facing one another.

"I acted rude earlier, so I want to apologize," he offers as his explanation.

He stares at me, seeming to be waiting for me to say something.

I honestly don't know what to say to his apology.

The longer the silence lingers, the guiltier I feel about holding a grudge.

"Well," he continues, pausing briefly. "I shouldn't have been rude, so I guess I'm apologizing.
You're
not really making this easy, and this is all . . . your fault."

I sense a little sarcasm in his tone, but I'm too irritated to care.

I shoot my eyes upward, and squint in disapproval.

Jerk.

"
I
am not making this easy?" I ask. "This is my fault, huh? How would you suggest
I
make things easier for you? Move back to Chicago, so you don't have to run around
saving
me?" I icily blurt out without thinking.

Why can't I just shut up for one stinking minute?

Words have always shot out of my mouth before my brain has a moment to catch up. I think that's a trait Aiden despised. Whenever we'd have a fight, I'd say something I'd regret later.

Sam narrows his eyes.

"Look, you can just go on hating me for being an ass earlier," he says.

"Or," he pauses again, and then a flirtatious smirk washes over his face. "We can start over?"

"Start over, huh?" I question, my voice guarded.

That's an interesting concept.

"So, then . . . . You're going to tell me why you wanted to stop me running this morning?" I ask, interested in what the definition of starting over means to him.

"Definitely not." He shrugs while maintaining his playful smirk.

Here we go again.

"Then, no deal," I sneer, pulling out my car keys from the front pocket of my backpack.

I pause briefly, then add bitterly, "Do me a favor and
save
someone else next time."

Arrogant Jerk!

"Is that what you want? Would you prefer I sat back and let whatever horrible things . . . happen without making an effort to prevent it?" he yells. He's obviously appalled at my last remark. I hit a nerve with that last comment—
maybe even an artery.

His eyes are staring at me with such intensity.

And for some strange reason, I don't want to look away.

"I know you didn't want me to see what you and your friends were doing."

By the look in his eyes, I can tell I have his attention, but not in the way I'd hoped.

"And what exactly do you think
we
were doing?" he asks, his voice sounding wickedly amused by my accusations. Not denying them, but definitely interested.

"I don't know, maybe raping someone," I blurt out. The words come out in a weak, soft, whiny voice, not the assertive voice I'm striving for.

He busts into laughter and leans over as if in pain. "You are sincerely the most utterly absurd girl I have
ever
met!"

I sink back, leaning into the Suburban. I feel like I'm playing cards and just flipped over what I thought to be a pair of Aces only to find out I'm holding a pair of twos instead.

Maybe he's right . . . .

Any girl would give it up to him more than willingly.

I'm sure many already have.

I can't think of a comeback. I'm humiliated for suggesting such an idea.

His smile turns into a clear warning.

"Don't ever doubt that if I wanted to rape anyone,
including you
, there would nothing you could do to stop me. So, you might just want to start avoiding me."

His command sends a rebellious twinge through me. I can't help but be a smartass.