Текст книги "Just Me"

Автор книги: L.A. Fiore

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

As she stopped just in front of his table, no one paid her any attention. In fact, not even Sebastian looked up, which seemed odd considering they had all stared at me like a two-headed clown in a circus.

“Hello Sebastian.”

Did he just roll his eyes? This was quickly becoming very enjoyable to watch. Kira's pout deepened.

“Hi Kira.”

“I didn't know you were going to be here tonight?” She said almost accusingly.

The slightest of grins touched his lips. “I wasn't aware I was required to tell you.”

His friend with the buzz cut lowered his head and I noticed the shaking of his shoulders. Oh no, this was going to get ugly fast. Kira did not like to be laughed at. If she felt even the tiniest bit of censure, she immediately digressed into flaunting her parents' wealth and influence in the community. Sebastian's order was ready, so I made my way through the tables and stopped just to the right of Kira.

“Excuse me, Kira.”

“Larkspur, what are you doing here?”

It took me a minute to answer…what a stupid question. I wiggled the pizzas I carried. “It's that time of the month and I am just starving all the time.”

She flicked her hair, dismissing me, before she turned to Sebastian. “See you tomorrow.” Her ass swayed entirely too much as she walked away. I pulled my gaze from her ridiculously overplayed exit and turned to the table.

A smile cracked over shaved-head-dude's face. “That was funny.”

Placing their pizzas down, I spoke without thinking. “I thought it a fitting answer to such a dumb question. Enjoy your pizza. Flag me down if you need anything.”

They spent a good two hours laughing and eating. When Sebastian started climbing from the booth, disappointment twisted my stomach almost painfully. I looked away, so he didn't catch me watching and possibly drooling.

After taking the order for two other tables, I moved to clear off Sebastian's table only to find him standing by the door watching me. My heart slammed into my ribs. Our eyes met—he winked, then he walked out. I didn't know what to make of that until I saw he had scribbled his name and number on the back of the bill. My gaze flew to the door, but he was gone. Excitement and disbelief warred inside me as I pocketed that slip of paper.

That night, after I got changed and climbed into bed, I just lay there staring at the number I’d added to my phone. Sebastian had left me his number, so clearly he wanted me to call him, but I didn't have a clue what to say. I couldn't look at the boy without breaking out into a cold sweat, so it wasn't hard to imagine me freezing up as soon as his voice came over the line. He'd either confuse me for a telemarketing call or worse, a stalker. My number would be blocked, maybe even reported. Wonder how Aunt Kim would take that? Having the cops knocking at the door looking for me, the stalker. She'd probably sell tickets. No it was better to text him something simple.

Good night, Sebastian.

Before I could put my phone on the bedside table, it buzzed, signaling an incoming text. Seeing Sebastian's number, even knowing already it was going to be from him, had my heart fluttering again.

Larkspur, sweet dreams.

Oh, I was going to be dreaming of him, no doubt. So, yes indeed, my dreams were most definitely going to be sweet.

***

Something jarred me from sleep later that night. I half expected to see someone in my room, but a quick look around proved that false. A glance at the clock showed it was just after three in the morning. Climbing from bed, I made my way downstairs to get a glass of water. I didn't immediately see my aunt sitting alone in the kitchen, but once I did, I wished I had stayed in my room. Her eyes looked oddly empty. “What are you doing up? Are you looking to raid the refrigerator? Am I not feeding you enough?” She said.

“I just wanted a glass of water.” My voice shook a bit, because truth be told, I was a little afraid of her too.

She didn't acknowledge my reply and I suspected that was because she had already dismissed me from her thoughts. It wasn't my intention to say anything more, but it was strange to find her sitting alone in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning.

“Are you okay?”

I didn't think she was going to answer me and when she did, shock and bewilderment filled me in response. She asked. “Do you believe in hell?”

It took me a moment to reply. “I think I do.”

“When I die, I'll probably go to hell.”

If that belief was based on her treatment of me, I had to agree with her on that point. But I kept that thought to myself. Her next words weren't directed at me. I had the sense that she was talking to herself. “There are times I wish I could go back and do it differently. Even though I won, I didn't really win.”

Her gaze lifted and a hint of tenderness peeked out. “It's not personal. Sometimes I wish I could compartmentalize my feelings, but I've never been very good at that.”

I didn't understand what she was saying. My brain wasn't up to the task of deciphering this conversation because it was on overload. Normally the only time my aunt deemed to speak to me was to rub in my face all the family activities I wouldn't be participating in, going so far as to lie to my uncle about my disinterest in family gatherings as the reason for my exclusion. This insight into her, regret however small, was as confusing as it was unexpected.

“You should try to get some sleep. You have school in the morning.” She stood and walked from the room. My mind was still processing the cryptic, and yet not unpleasant, conversation I had just shared with her, so I didn't immediately follow her out.

Returning to my room, I settled in for bed, but I was perplexed by my aunt's behavior in the kitchen. It wasn't long after I first arrived that her attitude toward me changed. She didn't treat me like family and though she didn't beat me, or lock me in my room, she always kept me on the outside. It started with her forgetting to include me. Small things at first, like not inviting me out for ice cream, or to walk the dog. She would claim she thought I wasn't interested or busy doing something else, but later the exclusions became more obvious. Like when she decided to redecorate the house and every room was updated but mine. She had insisted that she had already redecorated my room before I arrived—but considering the wall color in my room was the same color of the hallway just outside my room, a color my aunt had repeatedly remarked on not liking—it was clear she had lied. And I couldn't forget the homemade school lunches she made every morning for the girls, usually with a daily note of encouragement tucked inside, but for me I got an envelope on the counter with money. And the few times I was included, it was more in the capacity of hired help—carrying the bags for my cousins' purchases, which included not one article of clothing for me. The ten-year-old girl I had been was thrilled to have been included in the shopping trip—I didn't comprehend the snub.

On the surface, my aunt looked like any other soccer mom, but there were times when I would catch her unawares, and the expression, or rather lack of one, on her face chilled me. It was possible I was just being morbid, but to me it seemed like it wouldn't take too hard a push to send my aunt completely over the edge. She always made the hairs on my arms stand just a little bit on end.

My uncle had really tried to make me feel wanted and loved, but he learned quickly that my aunt had a will of iron. The courts forced me on them, but it didn't mean she had to do any more for me than feed me and keep a roof over my head. Even family dinners turned strained when I joined them; it was only after I left the table that the happy sounds of a close family resumed. A few weeks after I moved in with them, I started taking my meals in my room. I thought someone would object, but nine years later, no one had, though my uncle continued to invite me to share a meal. However, he didn't push it and for that I was grateful.

After that conversation in the kitchen, was my aunt finally going to make an effort to be nicer to me? I fell asleep wishing for just that.

Chapter Two

The following morning as I was leaving the house, I was stopped by my aunt, who attempted to make eye contact without much success. After our conversation last night, was her inability to look me in the eye embarrassment over her treatment of me?

“Your uncle, the girls and I are leaving for Disney World tomorrow and we will be staying for the week. I've already called the Wrights, and they've agreed you can stay with them while we're gone. Pack your things and bring them to school with you tomorrow morning.” Her gaze shifted from my shoulder to meet mine. “You aren't invited, be clear on that. This is my time with my family. So even if your uncle asks you to join us, you aren't wanted.”

Clearly she’d shed her problem with looking me in the eye. After last night, and the hope I had felt at the possibility that my home life was about to improve, her words hurt like hell. “Okay.”

She barely waited for an answer before she turned her back on me and walked away. What changed from last night to this morning? And did she intentionally throw me off last night with feigned kindness so her rejection this morning would hurt all the more? If that was the case, she wasn't just mean, she was also vindictive and more the aunt I had come to expect and not the anomaly I met last night.

An hour later I sat in English Lit sketching and listening to my iPod when Sebastian entered, but instead of accompanying Kira, he was with Jim: the captain of the soccer team. I lowered my head before he could look my way, and busied myself with my drawing. Just seeing him had me feeling edgy, in a good way. Yes, I sported a healthy crush on Sebastian—a boy I didn't know at all. I bet his ink could tell me a lot about him, because being that covered so young, made me suspect what he had done held a great deal of meaning to him.

My head lifted when I felt his stare on me. Looking into those pools of turquoise caused a heat to sizzle all the way down my spine. Time seemed to stop for a moment as our gazes locked, but sooner than I wanted, his attention turned back to the front of the class. Was this what Sophia felt every time she fell in love—the nerves in her belly, the pounding of her heart in her chest, the overwhelming need to touch, taste and explore? If it was, I understood now why she “fell” so often. It was a heady feeling.

After class I waited until Sebastian left before I packed up my stuff and headed out into the hall. I hoped he would be there waiting for me, but when I stepped out into the crowded corridor, he was nowhere to be seen. Disappointment, and a bit of resentment, filled me as I started for my locker because it almost felt as if Sebastian was embarrassed by his interest in me: the only explanation I could think of as to why he didn't speak to me at school.

My oil canvas had already been placed on an easel when I arrived in art class. Because I was in the middle of a project, Ms. Whitney allowed me to work independently. My painting depicted our town square with the white steeple from the Baptist church surrounded by trees in my favorite earth tones: deep russet, goldenrod, burgundy and burnt orange. As I settled behind the easel, I slipped my ear buds in and listened to Yael Naim as I lost myself in my work.

Fifty minutes had passed quickly when Ms. Whitney touched my arm, signaling the end of class. I cleaned up my workspace and headed to lunch to meet the gang. They were already at our table when I entered. Shawn saw me and waved as I walked over and dropped my backpack on the floor.

“Hey guys.”

“Art class?” Sophia asked.

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.” I moved to the line right as Sebastian entered the cafeteria with Jim. His head was turned away from me, engaged in conversation with Jim, but, as if he could sense my presence, his shoulders tensed only seconds before his head turned and our eyes met. Was it possible that his body reacted to my nearness too? He didn't offer his customary grin but the expression on his face, one that read loud and clear he was interested, sent delicious little chills down my body. He passed by me, and I couldn't help glancing at him from over my shoulder only to see that he was walking backwards to keep his eyes completely on me. As you can probably guess, my body responded to his nearness. My damn knees went weak again. He stared at me hungrily and openly in the middle of the cafeteria with all those eyes watching, so maybe he wasn't embarrassed by his interest in me, because it wasn't possible for him to be any more obvious. His attention would most likely be short-lived though, but I planned to enjoy it while I had it.

My friends glared at me when I returned to our table.

“Is there something we don’t know?” Poppy asked as soon as I sat down.

“No.” Which wasn’t a lie and what little connection I did have with Sebastian, I wanted to keep all to myself.

“Well, that look he just gave you was not nothing.”

“Poppy, there is nothing going on.”

She reached for her cup of yogurt and her shoulders slumped. “I guess I just wish there was.”

You and me both. I said nothing and took a bite out of my apple.

All through lunch my eyes were drawn to the jock table where Sebastian sat. I wanted him to walk across the cafeteria, take my hand and lead me somewhere private. Wanted that so much that I was tempted to walk across the cafeteria to him, take his hand and lead him somewhere private.

After lunch I headed to my locker. As soon as I opened it, a note fell out. I unfolded the sheet of loose leaf paper to see a single line of masculine script that simply read:

I like email better than texting. [email protected]

For a few minutes I just stood there wondering how he knew which locker was mine before I folded up the note and stuck it in my back pocket. I grinned all the way to class.

***

Later that night I sat on my bed with my laptop and thought about what to write.

Hi Sebastian,

I like email better too. Is Bastian what your family calls you? My friends call me Lark. Are your sleeves the only tats you have? I’d really like to see them sometime. The little I've seen looks beautiful. I have been working on a design, but I haven’t settled on what exactly I want. Are you new to town or just school?

Lark

I realized it was kind of lame, as I sent it, but if I asked too many questions right out of the gate, he might have canceled his email account just to avoid my inquiring mind. A few minutes later, I received his reply.

Hey Lark, I like that.

No, my family calls me Sebastian, I just like Bastian better. I have another tat. I'll show it to you sometime. When you're ready to get your tat, I'll take you to my guy if you haven't got a place to go. I'll even find ways to keep you distracted while he's working. ;-) I’ve heard you’re an artist. Maybe I could see some of your work?

What were you laughing about that first day in English Lit?

He heard I was an artist? Had he been asking around about me? I liked the thought of that. My face heated—how could I possibly tell him what I had been laughing at, way too revealing, so I chickened out and replied simply: Night Bastian.

***

The following morning I woke up early and packed a bag for my week-long sleepover at Poppy's. Grabbing my laptop, I headed downstairs to find the girls eating with Uncle Eddie.

“Have fun this week,” I said, but Uncle Eddie’s comment stopped me as I started for the door.

“Are you sure you won't join us? I realize you're a senior, but this could be the last time we can vacation as a family.”

My heart stopped as I turned to him. Didn't want to join them? If he only knew. I heard my aunt’s footfalls down the hall, probably coming in a mad dash to keep me from revealing the true reason for my exclusion. Not that I intended to correct his assumption, because I had no desire to go where I wasn't wanted.

“I've a lot of school work and I don't want to get behind. Have a good time.” And with that lie, I hurried from the house. When I stepped outside, I was surprised to see Shawn’s car in the driveway. He hopped out and walked toward me, reaching for my bag as he did.

“Morning Lark.”

“Hi. Thanks for the lift.”

He glanced behind me at my aunt’s house briefly as a look crossed over his face. “No problem at all.”

Poppy stuck her head out of the passenger side window. “Come on, let’s go. We have seven days together!”

Shawn held the back door open for me. “You’re going to wish me home after seven days.”

She turned serious at that. “Never.”

***

After homeroom I walked to English Lit and took my seat. Right before the bell rang, Bastian walked in. His eyes found mine and as soon as he did, his lips turned up slightly on the one side. Why didn’t he make an attempt to talk to me in school? I was curious enough about that to ask him, but he was never in one place long enough for me to approach him.

I dismissed his odd behavior and took a moment to appreciate the view. He wore a long-sleeved black shirt so his arms weren’t visible—a crime in my opinion—and his hair was pulled back into a ponytail, so nothing hindered the beauty of his face.

Throughout class my eyes lingered on his back. More specifically how the cotton of his shirt stretched tight over those magnificent muscles. At one point he turned his head, his blue/green eyes peering at me from over his shoulder. Busted!

After class Bastian left as soon as the bell sounded, and when I walked out into the hall, no surprise he wasn't there.

At lunchtime I sat with Poppy, our conversation centered around a party she wanted to attend. Parties really weren’t my thing, because I didn't like crowds nor did I enjoy shouting over the loud music and other voices just to be heard. But for Poppy, I'd go.

Bastian sat with the “populars” again and why that bothered me I couldn’t say. It did though, almost as much as the fact that Bastian could grin at me all day, but only talk to me via email. I wouldn't mind that so much, if not for the fact that he seemed to have no problem with talking in person to the likes of Kira.

Lunch had just started, but I wasn’t in the mood, so I stood. “I’m going to work on my painting. I'll catch you guys after school.”

“Okay, but Lark, you’re dressing up tonight for the party.”

“Ugh!” I was Poppy's life-sized Barbie. She had started this tradition when we were in middle school, around the same time I had adopted the color black as my signature color.

“‘Ugh’ all you want, but I’m getting my hands on you tonight and you're going to look amazing!”

“‘Amazing’ is stretching it a bit. I’ll see you later.”

“Amazing!” Poppy called after me.

***

Painting and sketching soothed me—I was always in a good mood when I left the art room. I made my way toward my locker when I heard my name being called in that deep voice. My knees went weak and my hands grew damp. Turning in his direction, I watched as he approached me in that easy stride of his.

“You weren't at lunch.”

My heart started to pound. He noticed. “Not today.”

He stopped just in front of me, and being that close to him was intoxicating. His chest dominated my view and the strongest urge to run my hands down that body nearly had me doing so. He reached for my hand, his smile turning a bit wicked. “We haven't officially met. I'm Bastian.”

His large hand completely enveloped mine and the heat that burned up my arm from the contact was delicious. “Lark.”

“It's nice to meet you, Lark.” I saw his mouth moving, but I didn't hear him since I was fixated on his hand still wrapped around mine.

“Are you going to tell me what you were laughing at in English?” He asked.

I heard that and responded with a resounding, “No.”

He'd taken my answer as a challenge. I saw it burning in his eyes, which he confirmed when he said, “I'll get it out of you, somehow.”

My body started to throb and suddenly I wanted the games to begin and hopefully his method to make me talk involved him putting his hands on me, everywhere.

He brushed his thumb over the knuckles of the hand he still held. “See you soon.”

I wish. He released my hand somewhat reluctantly, before he started away from me. Turning my head, I watched as he peered at me from over his shoulder and winked. Yep, I was totally crushing on Bastian Ross.

***

After school we drove to Poppy's house. I wanted to talk with her about Bastian, but she and Shawn were having a rather intense conversation, one that I politely tuned out. We entered the house and as soon as her mom saw me, she gave me a big hug. Her enthusiasm over me staying with them touched me. As I studied Poppy next to her mom, they looked almost like twins with the same build, petite and trim, and blond hair with several shades of gold laced throughout it. Poppy wore it long and one-length and her mom, a short bob that was cut just below her jaw. Their eyes, however, were the exact same shade of blue.

We chatted while she made dinner, and when Mr. Wright got home, we moved to the dining room. I loved the coziness of the room despite its size: hunter green painted walls, thick creamy white crown moldings, a gas fireplace trimmed in white featuring pictures of the family in assorted sterling silver frames. The huge Waterford crystal chandelier hung over the antique cherry dining room table that could comfortably seat twenty people in the ladder-back chairs. Potted plants, in brightly colored ceramic pots, were tucked in the corners, heavy brocade drapes framed the floor to ceiling windows and artwork, from oil landscapes to black and white sketches (several of which were mine), covered the walls.

While feasting on chicken scallopini, one of Dr. Wright's specialties, we all got caught up. I was always a bit conflicted during these family moments, because though I loved being thought of as one of the family, I wasn't really a member of theirs.

After dinner I helped clean up before Poppy and I went upstairs to get ready for the party. A text binged my phone while Poppy was in the shower; it was Bastian.

Lark, r u going to Damian’s 2 night?

Yes, r u?

Yes, if u r. See u there.

Suddenly, I was really looking forward to the evening. Poppy entered the room and rolled her eyes. “Lark, shower. I have work to do.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once I showered, Poppy rolled my hair with curlers and dragged me to her closet.

“You are so not wearing black.”

“I like black.”

“Not tonight.”

“Bastian is going to be at the party.”

“Bastian?”

“He prefers being called that.”

Poppy stopped pushing hangers around in her closet and turned to look at me. “You've been holding out on me. How do you know he's going to the party?”

“He texted me to ask if I was going.”

Poppy immediately jumped onto the bed next to me. “How does he have your phone number?”

“He gave me his when he came into Alfonso’s the other night.” I held her glare, feeling a bit guilty for not sharing my news about Bastian sooner with her. “He gave me his email address too.”

“You’ve been secretly communicating with Bastian?”

“Yes.”

“So why don’t you guys talk in school?”

That was the main question, wasn’t it?

“I honestly don’t know, especially since he was the one to give me his phone number and email first. Although he did approach me after lunch today.”

“Details.”

“He basically just introduced himself.”

“And your emails, what do you guys talk about?”

“Not much, but he’s offered to take me to his friend for my tattoo.”

Her eyes sparkled as she lightly knocked her shoulder into mine. “That was nice of him to offer. What else does he have to say?”

“He's going tonight because I am.”

Poppy beamed. “So tell me again how operation “Win Sebastian” is never going to happen?” She hopped off the bed. “Now I’ve more of a reason to get you all dolled up. Come on.”

Two hours later, Shawn, Poppy, Sophia and I headed to the party. Poppy really was good. My black, straight hair now had a wave—falling in soft curls around my face. She lengthened my lashes with mascara, tinted my cheeks, my eyelids and my lips. Hip-hugging faded blue jeans, black leather boots—with a matching belt—and a halter top in emerald-green satin with a very low neckline were the clothes she selected for me and I had to say, I really liked it.

“I can’t believe you aren’t wearing black.” Sophia sounded almost in awe.

“I will concede Poppy may have been onto something with losing the black.”

We arrived at the party. Damian’s parents were off skiing and apparently they had no problem with him having what they thought were a few friends over. Clearly Damian and I had different definitions for how many people constituted “a few”. We climbed from the car and Sophia touched my arm. “There's Tyler. I’ll see you guys later.”

And off she went. Sophia was in love again. Grinning to myself, I wondered how long it would last this time. Upon entering, I immediately saw Kira with Mica. I moved through the crowd hoping they wouldn't see me because, as rumor would have it, when Kira drank she tended to get even nastier than she was when sober. Poppy, Shawn and I mingled inside for a bit, but then I just wanted some fresh air, so I headed outside to the fire pit.

I didn’t see Bastian and was tempted to text him, but what exactly would I say? Instead, I took a seat by the fire and quickly became mesmerized by the flames dancing against the darkening sky.

Not much time had passed, when I heard the sound of someone approaching. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of Bastian moving across the lawn to me. As if on cue, my body responded to his nearness: tingles, sweaty palms and a pounding in my chest.

He swept his gaze over me from head to toe and back again. “You're beautiful.”

At the compliment, I lowered my head, suddenly feeling rather shy.

He crouched down in front of me and reached for my chin, straightening my head so I was looking into his eyes before saying, “It's really crowded here. Do you want to leave?”

Leave with him? Hell, yeah. Shyness took a back seat to excitement. “I have to tell Poppy.”

He reached for my hand and linked our fingers. My pulse pounded in my throat over that act but with how easily he offered it, I wondered if it meant to him what it did to me. “Let’s go find her.”

Poppy and Shawn were just making their way outside when they stopped in mid-step at the sight of Bastian and me walking hand in hand toward the house, because they knew all too well that hand holding was not an everyday occurrence for me.

As soon as we reached them, I made the introductions. “Poppy, Shawn, this is Bastian.”

Shawn and Bastian shook hands as Poppy unconsciously fluffed her hair. Because she knew me so well, she spoke up before I could. “There are too many “populars” here, so Shawn and I were going to ditch. Do you mind, Lark?”

“No, not at all.”

“Okay, well, you have the house key, right? So I’ll see you at home.”

Turning to Bastian, I asked, “Give me a second?”

“Sure.”

Playfully nudging Poppy along, we separated ourselves from the guys. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem, but I want to hear all the details, every single one,” she said excitedly.

“You bet.”

She looked past me to where Shawn and Bastian were talking. “He really is incredible.” Her gaze returned to mine, “You two look really good together.”

“He makes my heart pound nearly out of my chest.”

“That’s good, really good.”

“I know.”

“Okay, let’s not keep our guys waiting.”

“He isn’t mine, Poppy.”

She pulled me toward Shawn and Bastian, “You sure about that?”

“Okay, we’ll see you later. Come on, Shawn, I’m hungry.” Her words were barely out of her mouth before she started leading Shawn back up to the house.

“Poppy’s not very subtle.” My focus moved from her retreating form to Bastian only to find he was already looking at me. He held out his hand.

“Are you ready?”

I didn’t hesitate to slip my hand into his. He asked, “Are you okay with riding on the back of my bike?”

“Absolutely.”

We made our way to the front of the house, but my feet didn't quite feel like they were touching the ground. I couldn’t believe I was leaving with Bastian Ross and if this was a dream, I wasn’t about to pinch myself.