"Aw yes, the strict Puritan father," I say, figuring he's the perfect description of an overbearing parental type.
"You'd be surprised." Damen laughs. "The wealthy landowner was much more of a gatekeeper. And yet still, I managed to sneak by."
"Maybe someday you'll show me your past," I say. "You know, how your life was before we met. Your home, your parents, how you became this way..." My voice trails off, seeing the flash of pain in his eyes and knowing he's still unwilling to discuss it. He always shuts down, refuses to share, which only makes me even more curious.
"None of that matters," he says, releasing my hand and fiddling with his mirrors, anything to avoid looking at me. "All that matters is now.”
"Yeah, but Damen—" I start, wanting to explain that it's not just curiosity I'm after, but a closeness, a bond, wishing he'd trust me with those long-ago secrets. But when I look at him again, I know better than to press. Besides, maybe it's time I extend a little trust too. "I was thinking..." I say, my fingers fiddling with the hem on my shirt. He looks at me, his hand on the clutch, ready to shift into reverse. "Why don't you go ahead and make that reservation." I nod, my lips pressed together, my gaze focused on his. "You know, for the Montage or the Ritz?" I add, holding my breath as his beautiful dark eyes graze over my face.
"You sure?"
I nod. Knowing I am. We've been waiting for this moment for hundreds of years, so why delay any longer? "More than sure," I say, my eyes meeting his.
He smiles, his face lighting up for the first time all day. And I'm so relieved to see him looking normal again after that strange behavior from before—his remoteness at school, his inability to make the portal appear, his not feeling well—all of it so unlike the Damen I know. He's always so strong, sexy, beautiful, and invincible—immune to weak moments and bad days. And seeing him vulnerable like that has left me far more shaken than I care to admit. "Consider it done," he says, filling my arms with dozens of manifested red tulips before speeding away.
Chapter Eight
The next morning when I meet Damen in the parking lot, all my worries disappear. Because the moment he opens my door and helps me out of my car, I notice how healthy he looks, how devastatingly handsome he is, and when I look in his eyes, it's clear that all of yesterday's weirdness is over. We are more in love than ever. Seriously. All through English he can barely keep his hands off of me. Constantly leaning toward my desk and whispering into my ear, much to Mr. Robins's annoyance, and Stacia and Honor's disgust. And now that we're at lunch, he hasn't let up a bit, stroking my cheek and gazing into my eyes, pausing only to take the occasional sip of his drink before picking up right where he left off, murmuring sweet nothings into my ear.
Usually when he acts like that, it's partly out of love, and partly to tone down all of the noise and energy—all of the random sights, sounds, and colors that constantly bombard me. Ever since I broke the psychic shield I'd made a few months back, a shield that shut everything out and made me as clueless as I was before I died and came back psychic, I've yet to find a way to replace it that will allow me to channel the energies I want while blocking the energies I don't want. And since Damen's never struggled with this, he's not sure how to teach me. But now that he's back in my life, it no longer seems all that urgent, because the mere sound of his voice can silence the world, while the touch of his skin makes my whole body tingle. And when I look in his eyes, well, let's just say that I'm instantly overcome by this warm, wonderful, magnetic pull—like it's just him and I and everything else has ceased to exist. Damen's like my perfect psychic shield. My ultimate other half. And even when we can't be together, the telepathic thoughts and images he sends provide that same calming effect.
But today, all of those sweet murmurings aren't just to shield me—they're mostly about our upcoming plans. The suite he booked at the Montage Resort. And how he's yearned so long for this night.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to wait for something for four hundred years?" he whispers, his lips nipping at the curve of my ear.
"Four hundred? I thought you've been around for six hundred?" I say, pulling away to get a better view of his face.
"Unfortunately a couple of centuries had to pass before I found you," he whispers, his mouth making its way from my neck to my ear. "Two very lonely centuries, I might add." I swallow hard. Knowing the loneliness he refers to does not necessarily mean he was alone. In fact, quite the contrary. But still, I don't call him on it. In fact, I don't say a word. I'm committed to moving past all of that, getting over my insecurities and moving forward. Just like I promised I would. I refuse to think about how he spent those first two hundred years without me. Or how he spent the next four hundred getting over the fact that he'd lost me. Nor will I even begin to consider the six-hundred-year head start he has on studying and practicing the—um—sensual arts. And I will absolutely, positively, not dwell on all of the beautiful, worldly, experienced women he knew over the span of those years.
Nope. Not me. I refuse to even go there.
"Shall I pick you up at six?" he asks, gathering my hair at my nape and twisting it into a long blond rope. "We can go to dinner first."
"Except we don't really eat," I remind him.
"All, yes. Good point." He smiles, releasing my hair so that it flows back around my shoulders and drops down to my waist. "Though I'm sure we can find something else to occupy our time?" I smile, having already told Sabine that I'm staying at Haven's and hoping she doesn't try to follow up. She used to be so good about taking me at my word, but ever since I was caught drinking, got suspended, and basically stopped eating, she's been prone to following through.
"Are you sure you're okay with all this?" Damen asks, misreading the look on my face as indecision, when it's really just nerves.
I smile and lean in to kiss him, eager to erase any lingering doubts (mine more than his), just as Miles tosses his bag on the table and says, "Oh, Haven, look! They're back. The lovebirds have returned!"
I pull away, my face flushing with embarrassment as Haven laughs and sits down beside him, her eyes scanning the tables as she says, "Where's Roman? Anyone seen him?"
"He was in homeroom." Miles shrugs, removing the top from his yogurt and hunching over his script. And he was in history, I think, remembering how I ignored him all through class, despite his numerous attempts to get my attention, and how after the bell rang, I hung back, pretending to look for something in my bag. Preferring the weight of Mr. Munoz's penetrating stare and his conflicted thoughts about me (my good grades versus my undeniable weirdness) to dealing with Roman.
Haven shrugs and opens her cupcake box, sighing when she says, "Well, it was nice while it lasted."
"What're you talking about?" Miles looks up as she points straight ahead, her lips twisted to the side, her eyes completely dejected, as we all follow her finger, all the way to where Roman is talking and laughing with Stacia, Honor, Craig, and the rest of the A-list crew. "Big deal." He shrugs. "You just wait, he'll be back."
"You don't know that," Haven says, shedding the skirt from her red velvet cupcake, her gaze still focused on Roman.
"Please. We've seen it a million times before. Every new kid with the slightest potential for cool has ended up at that table at some point. Only the truly cool never last long—because the truly cool end up here." He laughs, tapping the yellow fiber glass table with the tips of his bright pink nails.
"Not me," I say, eager to steer the conversation away from Roman, knowing I'm the only one who's happy to see he's abandoned us for a much cooler crowd. "I started out here from the very first day," I remind them.
"Yeah, go figure." Miles laughs. "Though I was referring to Damen. Remember how he got sucked over to the other side for a while? But eventually he came to his senses and found his way back, just like Roman will."
I gaze down at my drink, twisting the bottle around in my hand. Because even though I know Damen was never sincere about his brief flirtation with Stacia, that he only did
it to get to me, to see if I cared, the images of the two of them standing so close together are forever burned into my brain.
"Yes, I did," Damen says, squeezing my hand and kissing my cheek, sensing my thoughts even if he can't always read them. "I certainly came to my senses."
"You see? So, we can only have faith that Roman will too." Miles nods. "And if he doesn't, then he was never truly cool to begin with, right?"
Haven shrugs and rolls her eyes, licking a glob of frosting from her thumb and mumbling, "Whatever."
"Why do you care so much anyway?" Miles peers at her. "I thought you were all about Josh?"
"I am all about Josh," she says, avoiding his gaze as she wipes some non existent crumbs from her lap. But when I look at her and see the way her aura wavers and airs a deceitful shade of green, I can tell it's not true. She's smitten and that's all there is to it. And if Roman becomes smitten too, then it's adios Josh, hello creepy new guy.
I unzip my lunch pack, going through the motions of pretending I'm still interested in food when I hear: "Ay, mate, what time's the premiere?"
"Curtain's at eight. Why? You coming?" Miles asks, his eyes lighting up, his aura glowing in a way that makes it pretty obvious he hopes that he will.
"Wouldn't miss it," Roman says, sliding onto the space beside Haven and bumping her shoulder in the smarmiest, most insincere way.
Clearly aware of the effect it elicits and not afraid to exploit it. "So how was life among the A-list? Everything you dreamed it would be?" she asks in a voice that, if you couldn't see her aura, you'd think she was flirting. But I know she's serious, because auras don't lie.
Roman reaches toward her, gently pushing her bangsaway from her face. A gesture so intimate her cheeks flush bright pink. "Wot's that now?" he says, his gaze fixed on hers.
"You know, table A? Where you were sitting?" She mumbles, struggling to keep her composure while under his spell.
"The lunchtime caste system," Miles says, breaking their enchantment and pushing his half-eaten yogurt aside. "It's the same at every school. Everyone divides into cliques designed to keep others out. They can't help themselves, they just do. And those people you were just with? They're the top clique, which, in the high school caste system, makes them The Rulers. As opposed to the people you're sitting with now—" He points at himself. "Who are otherwise known as The Untouchables."
"Bullocks!" Roman says, pulling away from Haven and popping the top on his soda. "Complete rubbish. I don't buy it."
"Doesn't matter if you do. It's still a fact." Miles shrugs, gazing longingly at table A because despite how he goes on and on about our table being the truly cool table, the truth is, he's painfully aware that in the eyes of the Bay View student body, there's nothing cool about it.
"It may be your fact, but it's not mine. I don't do with segregation, mate. I like a free and open society, room to roam around and explore all my options." Then, looking at Damen, he says, "What about you? You believe in all this?"
But Damen just shrugs and continues gazing at me. He couldn't care less about A-lists and B-lists, who's cool and who's not. I'm the only reason he enrolled in this school, and I'm the only reason he stays.
"Well, it's nice to have a dream." Haven sighs, inspecting her short black nails. "But it's even nicer when there's a remote possibility of it coming true."
"Aw, but that's where you're wrong, luv. It's not a dream at all." Roman smiles in a way that makes her aura beam a bright shimmery pink. "I'll make it happen. You'll see."
"So what? You fancy yourself the Che Guevara of Bay View High?" My voice contains a sting I don't bother to hide. Though to be honest, I'm more surprised by my use of the word fancy than the tone of my voice. I mean, since when do I talk like that? But when I glance at Roman and see his expansive, overwhelming, yellow-orange aura, I know he's affecting me too.
"I rather fancy that, yes." He smiles his languid grin, his eyes gazing into mine so deeply, I feel like I'm naked—like he sees everything, knows everything, and there's nowhere to hide. "Just think of me as a revolutionary, because by the end of next week, this lunchtime caste system will come to an end. We're going to break these self-imposed barriers, push all the tables together, and have ourselves a party!"
"Is that your prediction?" I narrow my gaze, trying to deflect all of his intrusive energy away. But he just laughs, not the least bit offended. A laugh that, on the surface, is so warm, engaging, and all-encompassing—no one would guess at the subtext beneath—the creepy edge, the hint of malice, the barely concealed threat meant solely for me.
"I'll believe it when I see it," Haven says, wiping red crumbs from her lips.
"Seeing is believing," Roman says, his eyes right on mine.
"So what's your take on all that?" I ask, just after thebell rings and Roman, Haven, and Miles head off to class as Damen and I lag behind.
"Of all what?" he asks, pulling me to a stop.
"Of Roman. And all of his lunch-table revolution nonsense?" I say, desperate for some validation that I'm not jealous, possessive, or crazy—that Roman really is a creep—and that it has nothing to do with me. But Damen just shrugs.
"If you don't mind, I'd rather not focus on Roman right now. I'm far more interested in you. "
He pulls me toward him, bestowing me with a long, deep, breath-stealing kiss. And even though we're standing right in the middle of the quad, it's as though everything around us no longer exists. Like the entire world has shrunk down to this one single point. And by the time I break away, I'm so charged, so heated, and so breathless, I can barely speak.
"We're going to be late," I finally manage, taking his hand and pulling him toward class.
But he's stronger than I am, so he simply stays put. "I was thinking—what do you say we skip it?" he whispers, his lips on my temple, my cheek, then my ear. "You know, just blow off the rest of the day—since there are so many other, better places we could be."
I gaze at him, nearly swayed by his magnetism, but I shake my head and pull away. I mean, I get that he finished school hundreds of years ago and now finds it all rather tedious. And even though I mostly find it tedious too, since having instant knowledge of all the stuff they're trying to teach really does make it seem pretty pointless, it's still one of the few things in my life that feels somewhat normal. And ever since the accident, when I realized I'd never be normal again, well, it made me prize it that much more. "I thought you said we were supposed to maintain a normal facade at all costs," I say, pulling him along as he grudgingly lags behind. "Isn't attending class and feigning interest part of that facade?"
"But what could be more normal than two hormonal teens, ditching school and getting an early start on the weekend?" He smiles, the warmth of his beautiful dark eyes nearly luring me in. But I shake my head again and hold firm, gripping his arm even tighter as I drag him toward class.
Chapter Nine
Since we're spending the night together, Damen doesn't follow me home after school. Instead, we share a brief kiss in the parking lot before I climb into my car and head for the mall. I want to buy something special for tonight—something pretty for Miles's play and my big date—both of us starring in our own kind of debut. But after checking my watch and seeing I don't have as much time as I thought, I wonder if I should've taken Damen up on his offer to ditch school. I cruise through the parking lot, wondering if I should try to find Haven. We haven't really hung out that much since that whole weird thing with Drina, and then when she met Josh, well, even though he doesn't go to our school, they've been pretty much joined at the hip ever since. He even managed to wean her from her support group addiction. Her after-school ritual of scoping out random church basements and loading up on punch and cookies, while making up some sob story about that particular day's addiction. And up until now, I haven't really minded seeing less of her since she seems so happy. Like she's finally found someone who not only likes her but who's good for her too. But lately I'm starting to miss her, and I'm thinking a litt
le time together might do me some good.
I spot her and Roman leaning against his vintage red sports car, watching as Haven grabs hold of his arm and laughs at something he said. The severity of her black skinny jeans, black shrunken cardigan, Fall Out Boy tank, and purposely messy dyed black hair with shocking red stripe, all softened by her rosy pink aura, its edges expanding, reaching, until it swallows them both. Leaving no room for doubt that if Roman feels the same way, Josh will soon be replaced. And even though I'm determined to stop it before it's too late, I've just started to cruise by when Roman glances over his shoulder and peers at me with a gaze so insistent, so intimate, so loaded with unknown intent—I punch the pedal and zoom past. Because despite the fact that my friends all think he's so cool, despite the fact that the A-list agrees, despite the fact that Damen isn't the least bit alarmed—I don't like him. Even though my feelings are based on nothing more substantial than a constant ping in my gut whenever he's near—the fact is: That new guy really gives me the creeps.
Since it's hot, I head over to the indoor mall of South Coast Plaza as opposed to the outdoor mall of Fashion Island, even though the locals would probably do the opposite. But I'm not a local. I'm an Oregonian. Which means I'm used to my pre-spring weather being much more, well, pre-spring like. You know, gobs of rain, overcast skies, and plenty of mud. Like a real spring. Not this hot, weird, unnatural, summer hybrid that tries to pass as spring. And from what I hear, it's only going to get worse. Which makes me miss home even more. Normally, I go out of my way to avoid places like this—a place so overrun with light and noise and all of that crowd-generated energy that always overwhelms me and sets me on edge. And without Damen by my side, standing in as my psychic shield, I'm back to relying on my iPod again.