Chapter Seven
During the bus ride to school, Val felt extremely apprehensive. The weekend had given her plenty of time to amass her doubts, primarily sown by Lisa, and now they had taken root and sprouted, seeping so deeply into her brain that, like weeds, she could never be entirely sure whether she'd successfully chased them out.
Was Gavin her stalker?
Did her stalker want to hurt her?
Did Gavin want to hurt her?
They marched on — an endless array of questions, each as poisonous and vicious as a hydra. And, like the hydra, it seemed that as soon as Val managed to slay one question several more spawned to fill its place.
Would she have been so quick to suspect Gavin if he had been popular?
No. Popular people tended to think like everyone else. It made them less interesting to be around, less exciting, but it also made them less likely to stalk people — or hurt people.
Hurt her.
Val rubbed at her tummy and leaned back against the seat. She'd forgone breakfast that morning in favor of stealing one of her father's carbonated lemon-flavored waters in the hopes that something innocuous and familiar would help settle her stomach.
It hadn't.
She found the art classroom empty except for Gavin, who was behind the teacher's desk, typing something at the computer. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just entering some grades and things,” he said vaguely. “Are you ready to pose for me?”
Val took a sip of her water. The bubbles stung her chapped lips. “Shouldn't we wait? For Mrs. Wilcox, I mean?”
“I spoke to her earlier this morning.”
“Oh. Okay.” Val picked up her things, aware of his eyes on her.
“You can't get away so easily.” He stood up from the desk and stretched. “You seem different, by the way. Subdued, almost. Are you all right?”
“I don't feel well.”
“Hmm.” He held open the door for her. “I'll try not to overexert you, then.”
They walked across the quad. She found herself looking around, wondering if people had noticed her and Gavin together. Nobody she could see was watching, and she knew that on a rational level it was likely nobody would, but being around him made Val hyper-aware of everything. Him, especially. Even if she'd chosen not to abide by them, Lisa's warnings still rang quite clearly in her mind.
(I'd still bring it up with Gavin. See what he says, and if he acts guilty. He's who I'd suspect.)
He certainly didn't act guilty. He didn't betray any emotions at all. Even the various rumors of which he was the subject didn't seem to faze him. Val had never met anyone before who was so detached from other people's thoughts and actions. Was someone like that even capable of looking guilty or feeling guilt at all?
(He scares people.)
Despite her claims to the contrary, Val was very much influenced by the opinions of others and for all Gavin's politeness and charm, there was something dark gathered around him as if he were the epicenter of a brewing storm.
He frightened her, and yet she couldn't stay away.
“Against the tree?” His voice sliced through her thoughts like a hot knife through butter.
“Um, sure.” He had led her to the same place as before. She had followed him so blindly she hadn't even noticed. I didn't even see where we were going. “Standing or sitting?”
“Sitting, I think, since you said you didn't feel well.” He studied her, then tapped his sketchpad with his pencil. “Take off your coat.”
“It's chilly out.”
As she spoke the words a breeze rustled the leaves and her hair, as if in agreement. Winter had long since yielded to spring, but very reluctantly.
“I can't draw you bundled up like that.” He sat about six feet away with his own coat flared out behind him like a pair of black wings adding, “It isn't as if I asked you to strip for me.”
“I never said anything about that, just that it was cold!”
“Your thoughts are written all over your face.” He paused. “Why, Val, what an interesting shade of scarlet you're turning.”
She yanked her arms out of the side and tossed it aside. “There,” she growled. “Satisfied?”
“Always, with you,” was his soft response, which made her feel embarrassed for letting her emotions get the better of her like a child. He smiled fleetingly and commenced drawing.
Val closed her eyes and tried not to move. She was so nervous that her hands were shaking. She shifted them to her lap where it would be less noticeable. There was a chill in the air despite the sun, and it grew colder and steadily more biting in the shade of the mulberry tree.
“Don't move,” he said, when she shivered.
It was funny, how easy being still was at home when you were daydreaming at the window or reading a good book, but how hard it was while in the presence of someone who made you feel … odd. It didn't help, either, that he was far more at ease than her.
He had positioned her against the same tree but with her legs bent at a demure angle, her head tilted slightly back. She'd made the decision to close her eyes since she had no hope of attempting the stare-down he'd given her last time, and he didn't seem to consider it an impediment to his drawing — thank God.
“Tilt your head back more,” he said, “and then slightly to the side. Stop fidgeting.”
She clenched her hands tighter in her lap.
“Beautiful,” she thought he said, and this was so faint she wondered if she had imagined it.
After what felt like eternity, but couldn't have been more than ninety minutes, he said, “You can relax now. I'm just about done.”
Her whole body seemed to sigh in relief. She got up too fast and stumbled a little, only to feel his steadying hand on her back, just at the base of her spine. His eyes were dark, thrown into shadow cast by his facing away from the sun. “Are you all right?”
He smelled like roses and sandalwood and boy. “Um — ”
The arm around her waist tightened. “Would you like to see?”
“Excuse me?” There was something wrong with her ears.
“Here.”
Oh — the drawing.
She peered at the sketchbook, not entirely sure what she expected to see. Only that it filled with a doubt that bordered on dread, and was so intense it left her breathless. But it was just a simple picture of her, sitting under the tree, formed by soft lines in charcoal pencil. He'd captured something of her in that sketch of his, though. Something that blurred the lines between what she was, versus what he wanted her to be, between sensible and sensual, between fact and fiction.
She raised her eyes. They were worried. “Is this how you see me?”
“At that moment, yes,” he said.
And something about that phrasing gave her pause, though she said, “It's good.”
“It will be better when it's colored but I imagine that the color of your hair will be difficult to capture on paper.”
The hair on the back of her neck prickled in alarm.
“Val? You've gone pale.”
It was the sun that was bothering her. Eclipsed by his face, the sun had gone black.
She must have closed her eyes, because when she opened them again she found herself lying on the ground. Gavin's face was above hers, curious, but dispassionate. Surely that couldn't be right, though, because then he noticed her looking and smiled, stroking her cheek.
“You fainted for a moment there.”
She brought her hands to her throbbing temples. “I feel so dizzy.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Is that why my ears were ringing? It feels like they're packed with cotton.” She stuck a finger in her ear and wiggled it a little, but he lowered her hand back to her side.
“It sounds like you had a panic attack.”
“A panic attack?” she repeated. “But I wasn't panicking — ”
“Mere anxiety can be enough. What were you thinking about?”
“About my stalker.”
“Oh?”
Her throat contracted as she looked up. His expression hadn't changed.
“I have a stalker. He's really sick. He sends me these messages — ”
“About?”
Was there more than just innocent curiosity behind that single word? “Sexual things.” She looked away. Just thinking about it made her feel sick. “I don't want to talk about it.”
“What did you eat this morning?”
She blinked. “Um. Nothing. Just water — with lemon.”
“Ah. Lemon juice lowers your blood pressure,” he explained. “That, combined with stress. I'm not at all surprised you fainted. In fact, it's rather impressive you holding up as long as you did.”
Val didn't feel impressive. She felt like an idiot.
“I imagine you don't want to return to class.”
She made a noise of agreement.
“And since we're already late for second period — ” he spread his coat on the ground “ — why not rest here? I see you've already got your things. That makes it a bit simpler.”
“Aren't you going to ask me if I want to go to the nurse?”
“Do you?”
“No, but — ”
“Then it doesn't matter.” He leaned back. “Does it?”
Val stared at him. He was so strange. “Don't you have a class to go to?”
“Biology. They won't miss me.”
“Oh.” The wind lifted a strand of her hair. She batted it aside impatiently. “English for me.”
“What are you reading?”
“Wuthering Heights. We just finished Titus.” Val let her tone convey her impressions of it.
“You didn't like it?”
“Did you?”
“Oh, yes. It's one of my favorite Shakespearean plays. 'We hunt not, we, with horse nor hound, / But hope to pluck a dainty doe to ground.' The writing is quite beautiful.”
“Ugh, no, it's awful.” Val rolled onto her side. “Why do you talk like that?”
“Hmm?”
“You sound like one of the characters in the books we read in English.”
“Is that a compliment, or an insult?”
“It's weird.” She shook her head. “Normal people don't talk like that.”
“I think we've already established that I'm not like other people.”
“I don't know you well enough to say.”
“And would you like to? Know me better?”
Her eyes skittered over him, and then away. “I don't know.” Their conversation was making her feel cold and fluttery. When he was quoting that play she felt as if she were in free-fall, caught between weightlessness and a lethal plunge.
He moved closer and she lay, frozen, as the rough pads of his fingers traced her lower lip. “Why don't you meet my eyes?”
Reluctantly she did so. “I don't know.”
“I doubt that.” His fingers slid down her jawline. “I know what people say about me. I hear the same rumors as you.” She stiffened when his hand closed lightly around the back of her neck. “Some of them are even true.” His voice, which had been lowering all this time, finished at a whisper.
Val had started to break eye contact again but at his words she focused on him with alarm. “Which ones?”
“I'm dangerous.”
“You are?”
“Very.”
She wet her lips. “Like, to me?”
“Especially you.” He regarded her through eyes shuttered against the sunlight.
“Maybe I could use some danger,” she said uncertainly.
“And if I told you that I wanted to hurt you?” His voice was curious, interested.
The sunlight on her skin became a spiderweb of golden ice. “Hurt me?”
He leaned up, then, briefly catching her lower lip between his teeth before moving closer to seal his lips against hers. Soon her head was tilted so far back that her neck was slightly arched. “You've never even been kissed before, have you?”
Val let out a small gasp when he moved down her throat and she felt the sting of his teeth in her earlobe. It made her shudder and she felt the puffs of his breathy laughter. “You're so innocent.” And the sibilant words tickled unpleasantly when he whispered into her ear, “You should run from me while you can.”
She was breathing too hard and to her chagrin it wasn't entirely from fear. “Or what?”
The smile he gave her as he pulled away was like an arrow in her heart. “I catch you.”
▪▫▪▫▪▫▪
Every time she looked into those graphite eyes she experienced a frisson of emotion. But it was a pale shadow of the overwhelming reaction she experienced when looking into his eyes for real. Her stomach still quivered when she remembered their interaction from earlier that day.
She could still feel his lips, soft and warm and rough, on hers.
“Why are you staring at your sketchbook like that?”
“N-no reason!” Val slammed it closed, darting a quick smile at Lisa. “Just a sketch.”
Lisa wrinkled her nose. “You're acting sketchy.”
“I am not acting sketchy!”
“If you were acting any sketchier, you'd be in a sketchbook,” Lisa said. “Just so you know, James is going to eat with us today, and he'll take it personally if you're acting funny after your behavior from before.”
“Why is James sitting with us?”
“Because of your stalker, remember? Weren't you just telling me how you wanted a big, strong man around to protect you at lunchtime?”
“No,” Val grated. “Those were your words. You said that. Why didn't you tell me he was coming?”
“Only because I knew you'd pitch a fit. Don't even think about running away. Be a big girl.”
Val shoved her sketchpad into her backpack and took a resentful bite of sandwich. “You suck.”
“James is as much my friend as you are. It's not easy, looking after both your interests.” Val muttered something rebellious and sarcastic which Lisa choose to ignore. “By the way, where's the gruesome twosome?”
“Rachel and Lindsay are at French Club.”
“Ooh la la.” Lisa tilted her head, causing her hair to flow in a perfect waterfall over one shoulder. “Gay Paree.”
Val slammed down her sandwich. “Lisa! For God's sake — ”
“Oh look,” she said, neatly cutting Val off, “there's James. Hi, James!”
James waved back, looking around a little nervously at the stares Lisa's manic waving was generating. “Hey.” He sat across from Lisa at a diagonal from Val. He gave the two of them an easy smile before launching into his turkey and gravy.
Val eyed the mess with distaste. She didn't trust meals drenched in sauce.
Or the people who ate them.
“What's up?”
Val sipped her juice primly, leaving Lisa to settle the score on that one. The latter looked at Val, only mildly annoyed, before saying, “I got a C on that crummy English paper. Apparently the book ending is different from the movie ending. Oops.”
James made a face. “I hate it when that happens. But you're in honors, right?”
“That doesn't mean I don't get lazy,” Lisa said, rolling her eyes.
“What was the book?”
“Phantom of the Opera. I was almost finished but then Gossip Girl came on and of course I had to watch it, but it was on late and I fell asleep. So I just watched the ending of the movie on Youtube on my iPhone while my mom drove me to school this morning.”
Val continued to drink her juice. That was safer than commenting.
“What do girls see in that show?”
“It's a good show!”
“My ex made me watch it and I never saw the point. Bunch of rich girls sitting around and talking about where their shoes came from. Weak.”
“There's not supposed to be a point,” said an irate Lisa. “It's just fun.”
“Fun for you, maybe. What about you, Val?” James asked. “Are you into that trash, too?”
“Oh, Val is beyond that,” Lisa said, before Val could reply. “She and Hit List Guy are apparently a thing no — ow! Val, what the hell? That f*cking hurt!”
Val had launched a kick to her alleged friend's leg beneath the table. “You promised!”
“I didn't think you meant James,” Lisa protested, rubbing her shin.
“When I said don't tell anybody, I meant don't tell anybody!”
“Hit List Guy?” James broke in. “That weird senior? The one who everyone thought was going to blow up the school? You're going out with him?”
“He has a name.”
“Yeah, well, he also gave me a D-minus on my midterm art project. So I don't really care.”
“He's your TA?” Lisa said, darting a look at Val.
“Unfortunately.”
“What did you draw?”
“My ball and glove. He said it lacked insight. I was like, the f*ck? It's a ball and glove. They don't feel anything. Thank God we've moved onto people now.”
He turned back to Val.
“Hey, where were you today? And yesterday, too? I didn't see you.”
“I was outside. Ms. Wilcox let me start on my assignment early.”
“Oh.” James frowned. “But we needed partners for that assignment, didn't we?”
“I had a partner.”
“But everyone else was — ” he broke off, comprehension dawning in his face. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Lisa's eyes widened. “Wait — Hit List is your partner?”
“Gavin,” Val interjected coldly.
“I see. So that's why you were staring at your sketchbook. You've got a picture of him in there, don't you? You do!” she said triumphantly, glimpsing Val's reddening face. “Ooh, I want to see.”
“Stop it, Lisa.”
“Does he pose for you?” Lisa paused, “Is he naked?”
Val leaped off the bench, yanking her backpack away as Lisa made a playful grab for it. “I said cut it out! Leave me alone!”
Lisa dropped her arm. “Val…”
“Why are you giving me such a hard time?” Val demanded, ignoring James entirely. “Are you jealous or something?”
“Hardly! I just think you're way jumping the gun on this whole thing with Lover Boy.”
“I get that,” Val said, “and it's getting really, really annoying.”
“Come on, Val,” James said. “Lisa doesn't mean any harm. She's just teasing.”
“Well, I don't like that kind of teasing. And she knows I don't like it.”
“Excuse me for caring about you,” Lisa said, “and not wanting to see you get hurt.”
“Don't watch then,” Val snapped. “And for your information, Gavin has been nothing but a gentleman — ” sort of “ — and so far you've been way more hurtful and mean than he has. So why don't you do all of us a favor and mind your own business?”
“Maybe I will,” Lisa said, looking hurt.
“It'd be a first,” Val said.
“Wow,” said James. “That's really cold, Val.”
She glared at him, then at Lisa, then turned her back and walked away. One of them called after her but she didn't look around, afraid that they'd see the tears sparkling in her eyes if she did. Keeping her head down, she headed for the nearest restroom.
People were always telling her, “Val, you need to stand up for yourself!” They said that being empowered would make her feel good. And it did, in a way. She had gotten a savage sort of satisfaction from seeing Lisa's eyes open wide like that, with respect — and maybe a little fear.
But mostly, it made Val feel like throwing up.