Amber Frost (4 page)

That night was the first time all week that I didn’t dream about dying. Instead, my dreams were haunted by images of black, twisting vines that wrapped around my limbs, burning and scalding my skin where they touched. They coiled around my whole body, trapping and entangling me as they dragged me down into mysterious, dark depths. And for some strange reason, when I eventually woke in a cold sweat, Sebastian’s cryptic words from the day before echoed in my ears, “sometimes we lie to ourselves”.

I had told myself I was going to stay away from him. I knew that he was not the right kind of person for me to be around, that nothing good could possibly come from associating with a strange misfit like him. But I also knew with a grim certainty that I would end up speaking with him again. There was something compelling about him, something that intrigued me, that struck a familiar chord and I knew I had to figure out what it was about him that resonated so deeply within.

As I got ready for school that morning, I tried to forget the disturbing and confusing images and emotions from my dreams. As a distraction I began running over in my mind the two strange encounters I’d had with Sebastian from the day before. I almost felt eager to see him again. I wondered what strange but curiously intriguing things he would say when I spoke to him. Should I really work with him in the art room today? I always worked alone but his company would certainly be interesting. I decided I would just sit near him and see what happened, after all, what harm could it do?

I began humming as I brushed out my hair, quite absorbed in my thoughts. I noticed my reflection in the mirror and froze, the brush stopping halfway through my long, chestnut locks, my blue eyes widening, my small mouth forming a little “o” in surprise.

For a moment, I didn’t recognize my own face in the mirror. I knew I was physically attractive – everyone told me so. I had all the right features to be considered beautiful; I wore all the right clothes that complimented me in all the right places. I’d never been particularly proud of my good looks though; my beauty was expected, conventional. I generally avoided examining my reflection too closely as it was just another reminder of the rigid, confining perfection that ruled my life. But today when I glanced into the mirror, I found myself staring. Today I was not perfect, and beautiful, and boring – today I looked uncharacteristically disheveled and surprisingly... beautiful! My hair cascaded in untamed, almost messy waves over my shoulders. My skin glowed, my cheeks a little splotchy from the natural flush. My blue eyes were open a little too wide and were bright with sparkling excitement. My pink lips were pulled back in a happy yet uneven smile. It was then that I realized what the real difference was; it was the first genuine and natural smile that I’d seen on my face in… I didn’t know how long.

Choice and change; I’d thought they were incompatible for me. But I’d made a small choice and already seen a small change. Could it really be that simple? Today, I decided, I would find out.

I sat alone at our long, dining room table, pushing my breakfast (a half grapefruit) around my plate. I was having a hard time sitting still and waiting for Clarke to arrive to drive me to school. I shifted in my chair, feeling antsy and over-eager to get going, to start my day, and (if I was being honest with myself) to see
him
. I gave up on breakfast and instead went to the formal sitting room at the front of our house. I sat down in a plush armchair by one of the large, bay windows that looked out over our perfectly-manicured property and up towards the road to watch and wait for Clarke.

When Clarke’s black Bentley finally pulled into the top of our driveway just outside the gates, I felt an uncharacteristic flash of irritation. I had to walk down the whole length of the driveway through the steadily falling rain to Clarke’s car. Icy droplets ran down my neck and flattened my hair as I dashed through the puddles that soaked into my shoes. Clarke didn’t like having to turn around in front of our house; he constantly complained about how we should have a circular driveway like his. Today he didn’t even open the car door for me – he obviously didn’t want to get wet. I resisted the urge to grind my teeth, instead arranging a forced smile on my face as I pulled open the passenger side door and hopped in.

“Oh, babe! You’re soaked!” he exclaimed as I sat down. Was he really so self-absorbed that he hadn’t noticed it was raining? No, that wasn’t nice, I scolded myself. He had many things preoccupying him; it wasn’t fair to expect him to always be thinking of me.

“It’s okay. It must have just started down-pouring as I came outside,” I reassured him. “I don’t mind though – a little water never hurt anyone.”

“Ugh! You’re going to ruin the leather,” he complained, grimacing as my drenched jacket pressed up against the leather seat. My eyes tried to narrow into a glare. I fought the urge. What was wrong with me this morning?

“Sorry, do you want me to take my jacket off,” I graciously offered, my voice a little tight.

He sighed, frowning as he reluctantly shook his head. “No. It’s fine I guess. But next time would it kill you to use an umbrella, babe?”

“Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

He smiled back at me condescendingly, obviously not understanding the sarcasm of my tone. “That’s why I’m here baby, to take care of you,” he answered as we sped off down Beach Drive, making our way into Victoria to school.

The morning at school dragged out in monotonous boredom. Clarke smiled his charming grin at me while telling me how smart and handsome and wonderful he was. Tanya alternated between ignoring and glaring at me while I sat beside her in English and Rebecca and Cadence giggled and gossiped at the table behind us. As usual, everyone stared at me, impressed by the new girl with her easily found popularity, her family’s prestige and her flawless appearance. Today, it pleased me even less than it normally did. Today, I almost resented being me.

I was even more eager than usual to get to art class; I desperately needed the escape, the change in pace. I told myself that was the only reason why my fingers trembled in anticipation as I opened the art room door. Almost of their own will, my eyes immediately swept the room, ignoring all others as my gaze came to rest on the tables by the window. An unexpected sense of relief whispered over me as my eyes took in the dark silhouette in front of the gray, rain-streaked glass. I hesitated for a moment, glancing around nervously. There were few students working in the art room today and everybody seemed to be engrossed in their own work. Would anyone notice if I sat in a different seat than usual? Did I care if they did? The answer to that question surprised me. I walked forward, feeling more sure of myself.

“Hello, Gracelynn,” Sebastian greeted me without turning. His voice was warm and friendly as he smiled at my reflection in the glass. My return smile was automatic, and even more surprising to myself, it was genuine.

“Sebastian,” I acknowledged him coolly and casually as I sat down one seat away from him. An empty chair was left between us; it was a buffer, a safety zone. He turned his head slightly, watching me sideways as I took out my sketchbook, pencils and charcoals. I turned to face him, unsurprised to find him staring at me with curious and expectant eyes. I noticed his eyes looked mostly gray today, a bare tint of dark blue in their depths.

“Did you need something?” I asked. There was no irritation to my tone, after all, I was used to being stared at but from him it seemed… unexpected.

“Aren’t you going to tell me?” I frowned, puzzled. “Why you decided to sit with me today,” he prompted. Understanding sunk in, immediately followed by more confusion.

“How
did
you know I would change my mind?”

“I wanted you to, I hoped you would.” He shrugged, smiling at me mischievously in a way that was much more charming and appealing than Clarke’s dashing, toothy grin. My heart beat a little faster. “But I’m still curious as to why,” he continued, waiting expectantly once more.

I contemplated his question seriously; I had a feeling he’d see through any BS I tried to give him. Besides, I didn’t want to lie and pretend. I wanted to have just one honest conversation with someone as myself, nothing more. He waited patiently for my response, a small smile on his lips as he studied my face.

“I was curious,” I finally answered. “You’re not like anyone I know, or anyone I’ve ever met for that matter. And…” I struggled to find the right words, blushing as I was uncomfortable with speaking so honestly. “I had a strange dream last night and I woke up this morning… thinking about you and I felt like I had to know you – like I was
meant
to,” I blurted out. “That sounded weird,” I added, dropping my gaze in embarrassment. He slid his chair closer to mine and leant towards me, gently reaching out over the empty seat between us and lifting my chin to raise my eyes to his. His fingers felt soft and smooth, and very warm.

“Don’t be so afraid of the truth,” he encouraged. His eyes were a dark black-blue now, twinkling mysteriously. “And just so you know – I like weird,” he added with a playful grin, pulling his hand back to his desk before I had time to lean away.

“I’m not surprised,” I quickly answered, regaining some of my usual composure. I found myself smiling back at him though, grateful for his lack of judgment. It was the first time in so long I’d been honest with anyone, even myself. It was surprisingly empowering.

“I wanted to know you too,” he confessed, unashamed. “You intrigue me, Gracelynn. You’re not like the other people at this school; you’re different, almost like me.”

“No, I’m not,” I quickly objected, feeling slightly defensive. “I’m exactly like everyone else at Craigflower; I belong here.”

He looked honestly confused by my pronouncement, his smooth brow creasing into a frown. “Do you really believe that?”

“Of course I do,” I answered haughtily. I turned away from him, beginning to think perhaps I’d made a mistake by being so friendly with him. I picked up a pencil, deciding to ignore him and get some work done. As soon as I touched the pencil’s tip to the paper though, the lead snapped off making me sigh in frustration.

“Will you answer one question for me?” Sebastian asked. His voice was so melodic, so inviting, it was almost impossible to ignore. I tried my best anyway.

“One question,” I agreed without looking up. I refused to give him my full attention. I reached for another pencil but the lead snapped the moment I applied the slightest pressure to it. I pursed my lips in irritation; this was a very expensive set of drawing pencils – why were they all breaking?

“Are you happy?”

I froze as I reached for yet another pencil. I hadn’t expected him to ask me that.

“Of course I am,” I said brusquely without meeting his eye. “I’m popular, wealthy, my family has a huge new house, I’m smart and pretty, and I’m dating the most popular boy in school,” I listed.

Sebastian snorted. “Clarke Simons? I don’t think so Gracelynn. There aren’t many people at this school who really like Clarke – a lot pretend to but few actually do. As for popularity… if you’re so popular, who are all your friends? I know you’re not stupid enough to believe that those girls you associate yourself with really like you. They may admire you to some extent, they’re certainly jealous of you – but do they like you? Do they even really know you?” he asked gently. There was no accusation in his tone, only honest curiosity. Still, I was offended. I wasn’t surprised when the lead of the newest pencil I’d picked up snapped as I dug it into my paper.

“And who are
you
, Sebastian Caldwood? Where are all your friends? What makes you so great?” I demanded angrily, callously. It was unlike me to speak so rudely, so passionately and impulsively but I couldn’t help myself – he’d struck a nerve. I also didn’t feel the need to smother my true emotions with him; I wasn’t afraid to displease him, after all – who was he? To my surprise though, he grinned, his dimple popping again in his cheek.

“Who the hell am I? Who cares what I think?” he agreed with my thoughts, chuckling delightedly. It was a reminder of how strange he could be. “I’m a nobody, Gracelynn. I’m still trying to remember who I am, too,” he added, speaking slightly more seriously now. “And it’s true, I have no friends. I think it’s by choice… at least I tell myself that. What do you tell yourself?” He grinned at me as if inviting me to join in on a private joke. I couldn’t help but return his smile, the indignation rapidly melting. It was hard to be angry with Sebastian; he might be strange but he was also very charming in his own quirky way. I automatically felt the need to apologize.

“Sorry, I should have –”

“No – don’t,” he cut me off. “Don’t be sorry. Say what you feel, what you think. That’s what I was asking you to do.” I nodded, slowly processing his words. I reconsidered my earlier answer while he waited patiently, watching me with his strangely knowing eyes.

“I know I should be happy with my life; there are so many reasons I should be happy,” I began, speaking almost to myself. “I try so hard to remember to be grateful but lately, I’ve been wondering… why do I have to try so hard? What’s wrong with me?”

“Your way of thinking,” Sebastian quickly answered. I had been speaking rhetorically and hadn’t expected an answer. I frowned at him, a flicker of my previous irritation returning.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s what’s wrong with you. You see things the way you think they should be and not as they really are – it’s all wrong. You spend so much time trying to please others but never do anything to please yourself,” he pronounced. His eyes were a somber, dark gray and glowed with a wisdom that seemed to stretch far beyond his years.

“It makes me happy to please other people,” I argued but I could hear the doubt in my voice. He shook his head before I’d even finished my sentence.

“It pleases you to make other people happy. It doesn’t make
you
happy. Only you can do that and right now you’re choosing not to.” My head spun as I tried to follow his twisted reasoning. “Or perhaps you’re starting to make some choices for yourself, like joining me today, for example. Perhaps I was wrong in my other statement also; maybe someone else could
help
you make yourself happy, if they really wanted to…” he mused. His eyes drifted to the window to stare out at the gloomy day. I could tell his thoughts had taken him far away. He was such a strange boy but so very interesting, so completely intriguing and compelling. I didn’t want him to stop speaking; I desperately wanted to hear more of his thoughts.

“Someone else?” I prompted. He turned back to me slowly. “Do you think
you
could make me happy?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. I was surprised when he didn’t smile back; boys always responded to my flirting. Instead, he just looked wary.

“I told you, only you can choose to be happy. And besides,” he hesitated, turning away from me again. His hands tightened on his desk. “I choose to be a nobody and nobodys don’t have friends.” He looked so sad and lonely as he spoke. No matter what he said, it was still part of me to please people and the urge was even stronger with Sebastian, probably because I was starting to actually like him. And suddenly I didn’t care that he was so very different, so obviously not ‘my type’ of person. All that mattered in that moment was that he was hurting and I didn’t want him to.

“I’ll be your friend,” I told him softly. The words felt silly coming out of my mouth, as if I were five years old and offering to play with another lonely child. “It would make me happy, if we were friends,” I rephrased. The words rang with sincerity as I spoke them, surprising me as I had meant only to comfort him. Was I so disconnected with my true self that I didn’t even know what made me happy anymore? What I wanted?

His hands unclenched as he looked back to my face. Something he saw there softened his expression; his eyes warmed, then glowed. A slow smile lit up his features as he stared back at me wonderingly.

“It would make me happy too,” he replied, sounding a little surprised. “But I’m not sure if we can be friends.” He frowned, as if trying to remember something. My heart sunk in disappointment as reality came crashing back in. I was Grace Lynn Stevenson and I had a reputation to keep up, a role to play. Of course we could never be friends.

“Yes, of course you’re right. I… forgot,” I quietly agreed.

He smiled, wryly. “Don’t worry about it. I forget most things.” He looked like he was trying hard not to laugh though I had no idea why. It was yet another reminder of his strangeness, of who we each were, of reality.