For Ever, page 5
Suddenly, like a light bulb just turned on in my head, I totally understand people’s reactions to him. His appearance alone really does justify the fascination. I blink when I realize that I’m staring like a zombie. It takes an embarrassing amount of effort for me to turn my attention back to Mr. Gideon. The heat of the classroom feels more oppressive than usual, and every time I shift in my seat the movement feels exaggerated and awkward. It bothers me that the source of my sudden anxiety is the complete stranger to my left, especially since, based on my brief glimpse of him, it’s likely he’s an egomaniacal jerk like Jeff Summers. Okay, it’s not nice to assume. But is it even possible to look like that and not have an ego about it?
“All right, I’ve talked longer than I wanted to,” Mr. Gideon says, clapping his hands together. “Get to work.”
I had been taking notes, but not actually paying much attention to what Mr. Gideon was saying. Now, looking down, I see two pages of my notebook are filled with messy scrawl. When I reach to grab my backpack from the floor, my bag clips the box of charcoal on my tray, sending art supplies clattering to the floor. This is not the first time I’ve done this, but I definitely feel more self-conscious now.
After I gather everything and sit down again, I notice that the person to my left is turned in my direction. Okay, don’t look like a superstitious nutcase, I command my brain. I glance in his direction, and my throat tightens.
The emerald-green color of his eyes is extraordinary, unnerving, and impossibly bright. When he holds out the pen I dropped, I stare at him. Then, after another second of idiocy, I reach out and take the pen from him, cursing internally. Ridiculously beautiful or not, this guy could be an axe murderer, android, or blood-sucking fiend, for all I know. Wait. Scratch the vampire theory. I look down at the bronzed hand resting on his knee. Nope, not a vampire.
“Th-thanks.”
He doesn’t nod or smile. He just turns back to his easel. And that’s when I notice that something’s wrong. With him—or me. I didn’t get a single image from him. Not a passing thought. Nothing. All I remember is his vividly green eyes staring back at me. Beautiful and deep, but empty.
The girl to my right sighs theatrically. I turn and see her glaring. If looks could kill, I would be struck dead. I turn and stare back at her, hoping she’ll lose her nerve.
Unbelievable! I should have had a freaking breakdown! Then maybe he would notice me for once. Lucky—
I turn back to my canvas and try to pretend that she doesn’t exist. Yeah, this is going to be a fun semester. Trapped between a Greek god who thinks I’m a psycho and a psycho who thinks I stole her imaginary boyfriend.
Finally, when she—I think her name is Mandy or Mindy—doesn’t stop staring, I look back, almost mad enough to say something and expose myself as a mind-reading freak. Would she be this nasty, I wonder, if she knew I could hear her? Probably. Abruptly my neighbor’s silent monologue stops short, as though someone pressed the mute button on a remote.
Turning back to my easel, I steal a quick look to the left and flinch at the expression on my newly returned classmate’s face, which is twisted in distaste. I’m just grateful it’s not me he’s glaring at. I guess Mandy/Mindy finally got what she wanted: his attention. His gaze sweeps back toward his own easel, and I stop breathing when our eyes meet. The stunning green is gone from his irises. All that’s left is blackness. An abyss. My skin crawls, and I freeze in place as he turns in his seat and faces me.
Blinking at the sound of the bell, I stand up and return my supplies before walking to Algebra. Halfway there, I remember that Monday is “pop” quiz day in Mr. Bellarmine’s class. I groan. I’m barely holding my head above water as it is, even though I spend ten times the amount of energy on math as I do in any of my other classes. And, of course, after the quiz is over, Mr. Bellarmine begins calling people to the board to put up the homework problems.
“Wren? Number fifteen.”
A second ago, I had been staring fervently at my textbook in hopes of going unnoticed, which is the only time people actually do notice me—when I don’t want them to. I scan my homework to see if fifteen is one of the problems I think I got right. Then, resigned, I trudge to the board. I really hate math. Most of the kids in my class are sophomores since nearly all the juniors in my other classes will take Calculus next year. Being a year behind in math is an indignity I’ve accepted, but I’m still not overjoyed about it. Mr. Bellarmine stares at me as I walk by him.
Doubt she gets this one.
His passing thought causes me to grind my teeth. I wonder if he thinks I don’t notice that he has consistently given me the harder problems from the homework, trying to satisfy his preconceived notion that I’m an idiot. So far at least, he’s been the only teacher who has willingly adopted Mr. Chernoff’s theory that I’m academically deficient. But he’s a math teacher, so it makes sense. Teachers tend to like the students who automatically “get” it. Those of us who require actual instruction are never the pets, which is why I try to avoid Mr. Bellarmine’s scrutiny whenever possible. After copying my problem onto the board, I hurry back to my seat.
“That looks right,” he says as I sit down. His tone is tinged with surprise, maybe even disappointment.
Sadist, I think. For the rest of the class period I try to avoid staring at the clock while simultaneously praying for the bell to ring. Somewhere in the back of my head I feel something I’ve forgotten scratching around the edges of my brain. It’s not a quiz or anything school-related. It’s something exciting. Something unusual. Every time I’m on the verge of remembering, whatever it is crawls further into my unconscious.
The nutrition bell rings, and my entire body goes slack with relief. I’m almost to my locker when I see Ashley and Lindsay rushing toward me, their eyes glowing with excitement. Before I can say a word, they each grab me by an elbow and start tugging me toward the nearest exit. We come out at the side of the school under an awning.
I squint at the sky. It’s not raining as much as misting, but everything is still wet. It’s also so cold that my breath is coming out in white puffs. I’m zipping up my jacket when Lindsay shakes me.
“What happened?” she demands.
My eyebrows scrunch together.
“What do you mean?”
“You are kidding, right?” Lindsay hisses like it’s a matter of national security. “Ever-freaking-Casey!”
My heart jumps in my chest. How did I forget that, or rather him? With my pulse still pounding, I shrug casually.
“Nothing happened. I dropped my pen, and he picked it up.”
“That’s it? Did he say anything?” she prods.
I frown at the fuzzy memories from only two hours ago.
“Nope. Not a word,” I shrug.
“Really?” Lindsay practically wilts with disappointment.
Reaching into my bag, I groan, remembering that I forgot my lunch on the counter at home. And all I had for breakfast was a piece of toast and a handful of grapes. I look up at the clock on the wall above the lockers. I can’t make it to the cafeteria in time to buy something before the bell. Not good.
When the bell rings, I walk to third with a growling stomach. Mrs. Gilbert calls on me twice, and both times I can’t seem to wrap my head around the subjunctive tense. Then, during Chemistry, Mr. Van Houten passes back our tests. The A- scrawled on my test is a huge relief. And even better, the teacher doesn’t call on me once.
By the lunch bell, I’m so hungry that my legs feel like they’re floating. I head straight for the cafeteria, barely noticing when Josh appears next to me and starts complaining about how much reading Mrs. Rose has assigned. His cologne or aftershave is making me a little nauseous. Turning the corner, I speed up at the sight of the cafeteria doors. I’m almost to the line—and food—when I hear Josh call my name.
“Wren! Watch out!”
My heel touches something slick, and I feel the linoleum flying out from under my feet. I manage to throw out my arms to steady myself—but it’s too late. For a single second, I see ceiling tiles and florescent lights. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wince against the impending impact. But there’s no pain. Blinking, I try to figure out why hitting the ground didn’t hurt. Suddenly, something swings me upright, and I’m instantaneously eye-level with someone’s chest.
I can tell the person in front of me isn’t Josh, for two reasons. First, the smell of cologne isn’t choking me. Whoever is standing in front of me smells perfect, like a mix of clean laundry, mint, and something unidentifiable. Second, if it were Josh, I would be able to see over his shoulders, and right now my entire view of the cafeteria is mercifully blocked.
“Can you stand on your own?”
I smirk at the cynicism attached to the question. I’m about to make a comment when I notice that someone actually is holding me off the floor by my backpack. My eyes sweep up, and up, and I finally see Ever Casey’s perfectly indifferent face staring back at me. Judging from the fact that I have to crane my neck all the way to make eye contact, I’m willing to bet Ever Casey is at least a foot taller than my five-feet four-inches.
I clear my throat.
“I’m fine.”
Slowly, he lowers me to the floor by my backpack. Feeling a fresh dose of humiliation rush through me, I stand up straighter and try to look nonchalant.
“You’re Ever Casey, right?” I say, wobbling backward so I don’t have to contort my neck to look at him.
He really is breathtaking, and I’m having trouble concentrating. Some of that is from hunger, but not all of it.
“And you must be Wren Sullivan,” he says in a way that makes it sound like I’ve taken some kind of liberty in uttering his name.
Annoyed, I look down and study the linoleum. His voice has a strangely soothing quality—in spite of his attitude. He doesn’t sound American, but not really foreign either. Just well spoken. His voice is deep, his pronunciation exact, but somehow the words come out sounding honeyed and lyrical. I’m guessing he’s from a family with means—well traveled, blah, blah, blah. But then why is he here? In public school, no less? I thought people like him went to boarding schools in the Swiss Alps and played cricket.
I smirk.
“Yeah, I’m the one who crashed into you.”
“Twice,” he says evenly. “If you wouldn’t mind, let us not try for a third.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I snap.
When I look up, I realize that I’m talking to myself. I turn and scan the cafeteria. Ever Casey is already halfway across the room, ignorant of—or indifferent to—the whispering and staring following in his wake.
“Thinks he’s a superhero, now,” Josh mutters under his breath from behind me.
I look back at Josh, having totally forgotten he was still there. Getting into line, I grab a slice of pizza, salad, and a juice. Then I try my best to act like nothing happened, opening the juice and chugging it to raise my blood sugar. Josh, who is still lingering at my side, rolls his eyes and keeps walking toward our table as Ashley, Lindsay, and Taylor rush up and begin hauling me toward the nearest empty corner.
“Oh my gawd!” Lindsay shrieks when Josh is out of earshot. “What was that?”
“I almost killed myself in front of the entire school,” I mutter.
“Yeah, and Ever Casey caught you!” Ashley squeals.
Her tone is bordering on hysterical. This only confirms my hypothesis that Ever Casey has inspired a legion of crushes. Given his attitude, I can’t see why. Physical beauty trumps all, I think bitterly.
“Speak! What did he say to you?” Lindsay demands.
As I drink the rest of my juice, I fill them in on our brief interaction, watching uneasily as their eyes widen with each detail.
“Un-freaking-real!” Lindsay says, slapping her hand on the nearest table. “He talked to you.”
Studying their expressions, I ask the dumbest question I can think of.
“Um, he does talk, right?”
The three of them exchange looks.
“No,” Ashley says. “Not really.”
I look to Lindsay for confirmation.
“Come on. You guys are joking. Right?” I ask, waiting for the punch line.
“Honest to God, he doesn’t speak. At least, not if he doesn’t have to,” Lindsay says without a shred of irony. “I know a girl who has physics with him, and she’s never heard him say a word.”
I had assumed—logically—that it was normal for him to speak.
“But he talked just now …”
Granted, it was only for a few seconds, and the conversation wasn’t very friendly, I remind myself.
“I know!” Ashley squeaks. “It was totally crazy! Are you sure he didn’t say anything else?”
I shake my head. “That was it.”
“Maybe he likes you,” Lindsay says.
Lindsay and Ashley suddenly roar with laughter while Taylor just looks uncomfortable.
“Great, thanks,” I mumble.
Ashley tries to stop laughing.
“Sorry, that came out wrong. It’s just that—well, you saw him. He’s frea-king gorgeous, and any girl here would sell a kidney just to have him look at her. But, seriously, he’s kind of not there. Remember, I told you he gets perfect grades and everything, but around people he’s just, I don’t know, strange.”
Lindsay twirls her finger around her ear and crosses her eyes. I start to laugh; then I remember the unnerving emptiness I found in his eyes. But it’s not like I can tell my friends about that part, so I shrug.
“He sounded pretty normal to me. Not super friendly, but normal. Has anybody else tried talking to him?”
The two of them explode into laughter again.
“Uh, yeah. Like half the school,” Lindsay says.
“Even Emily Michaels,” Ashley adds with a grimace.
“Why, Wren?” Lindsay swats at me. “Are you into him?”
I want to kill this subject as fast as possible. My dating history, or lack thereof, is not something I want to broadcast at my new school. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Taylor turning pale. It makes me feel that much worse about Josh being so colossally obtuse.
“No! Now can we eat something? I’m starving.”
When we join Josh and Marcus, Josh points accusingly at us.
“See, I told you. All of them, totally obsessed with Space Boy,” Josh grumbles.
“Yeah, but Wren’s the first one that faints when she sees him,” Marcus says, dramatically miming my shocked expression and fall.
My cheeks redden.
“I slipped. Josh saw me.”
“Admit it,” Marcus crows. “You’ve got a thing for him.”
“Oh, yeah. I am so in love with Ever Casey.”
I place my hand over my heart and feign a wistful expression, though I can’t help noticing Josh seething across from me. Looking down at my pizza, I’m relieved when everyone starts talking about things that don’t involve me nearly biting it on the cafeteria floor. I eat quickly before making an excuse about having to go to the office. In reality, I just want to walk to English alone without Josh moping next to me. I get halfway across the cafeteria before I notice Ever Casey sitting at a table. By himself, as usual.
If I hadn’t known better, I would have expected him to be surrounded by adoring masses. Instead, he looks like he exists in a different world, completely cut off, disinterested in anything or anyone around him. Nobody even goes near him. It’s almost like he’s surrounded by an impenetrable bubble. It makes me wonder, though, why he even bothered to prevent my collision with the linoleum—twice—if he’s so intent on avoiding high school life.
After all, what does he care? Or, better yet, why did I give a flying Fig Newton when he didn’t come back to Mr. Gideon’s class? We’re total strangers, and despite his outward perfection and occasional—extremely reluctant—acts of semi-heroism, Ever Casey seems like a jerk.
He looks up, and our eyes meet for a single second. But his expression doesn’t change. It’s empty, completely clear of recognition or emotion. I hurry toward the door and don’t look back.
Then that’s it. Ever Casey doesn’t so much as look in my direction again. The next day is the same. And the day after. It stays that way; he stays that way. But it’s not like I was expecting anything. Well, maybe some indication that he was human, a flicker of emotion—anything other than indifference or mild disregard—in his eyes. Still, the longer I watch him, the more I see that he’s that way with everyone, just like Ashley and Lindsay said. He’s polite to Mr. Gideon, but even with our Art teacher, he only responds when addressed directly.
He almost is a statue in a museum. Beautiful, but lifeless.
For the first few days after my almost crash landing in the cafeteria, Ashley and Lindsay continue to pump me for details of my miniscule interaction with him. Then, when it finally becomes crystal clear that he’s ignoring me, just like he ignores everyone else, they give up. Drama over. As someone who has always felt a little out of place myself, like a spectator looking in, I would have felt some sympathy for Ever Casey if—and this is a big if—his isolation weren’t so blatantly his own fault. Watching him, I get the feeling that he doesn’t even notice the time passing, like he’s somewhere else altogether.
It’s not nice, but I realize that the moniker of Space Boy kind of suits him.
The following week, a long-awaited break in the clouds sends the entire school streaming outside for nutrition. I try to maintain my hopes that the blue above us indicates some kind of lasting improvement in the weather, because I could really use some natural light. But when I say this out loud, Josh grins widely and informs me that the sunny patch above is a sucker hole, which would make me the sucker.
