Crave (11 page)

“Why?”

I hesitated. I couldn't tell her the truth, at least not all of it. But not telling her anything made me feel so alone here on campus. Couldn't I tell her just a little without breaking any rules?

I decided to take a risk. “Promise you won't laugh too loudly.”

She nodded.

“I think it's because…because I made eye contact with them after lunch.”

“You think, just because they looked into your eyes, you did something to them? Like you hypnotized them, or something?”

“Um…yeah.”

She snickered. “Oh, sure. Because I do that all the time, too. All us girls do. One look in any girl's eyes, and poof! All the boys are gaze dazed.”

Irritated, I forgot and glared at her, making eye contact in the process.

Within seconds, she shivered and looked away. “Huh. Okay, maybe you have a point.”

I didn't know whether to feel smug about winning the argument or sick to my stomach. Part of me had really hoped I was wrong about yesterday and that my friends would prove it by acting normal after I made eye contact with them today. But they didn't. They just kept getting weirded out.

Anne cleared her throat. “Have you made eye contact with anyone else and had strange reactions?”

“You mean other than you guys?” I gestured at everyone at our table. Carrie glanced up from the biology book she was using to tutor Michelle, then went back to their studying.

Anne nodded.

I tried to remember, but there was no telling how often I'd made eye contact with people since getting sick last week. “I don't know. Maybe Greg Stanwick? I can't remember now.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. I shuffled after the others to the trash cans, taking my time dumping my tray and adding it to the stack at the dishwasher's window.

“Maybe we should go out the other exit,” I suggested, my chest growing tighter by the second.

“Come on. We'll go together.” Anne linked her arm through mine. The contrast between her tan and my milky-
white skin was awful, but at least the contact was reassuring, a reminder that I wasn't totally alone.

We stepped out into the spring sunlight and its blast of warmth, which actually felt good. I'd been a little chilled indoors all morning, so stepping outside was like thawing at first.

But even being wrapped in bright sunshine and warmth couldn't make my muscles loosen up. The picnic tables were only yards away from the cafeteria building.

Too soon, I saw the three algebra guys from yesterday.

“Hello, boys,” Anne called out, making several heads pop up.

“Anne, shut
up!
” I muttered, trying to steer us closer to the cafeteria wall and away from the tables. If Anne would only cooperate a little, we could sneak by without being seen. But she was hardheaded as ever and literally dug in her heels.

“Oh, hey, Anne,” one of the algebra boys replied. Then he frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Huh. I could've sworn I wanted to ask you something. I guess I'll remember it later.”

I carefully avoided direct eye contact with any of the Warty Boys, as Anne had called them. But looking at their noses still let me indirectly search their expressions for the dark, crazed obsession from yesterday.

And what I found was…only confused frowns, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They didn't even look at me, ignoring me just like they used to.

Had the gaze daze, as Anne had called it, worn off overnight?

I stopped shielding and allowed myself to sense their emotions, bracing myself for that churning, black turmoil from yesterday. And instead found only more confusion from them.

Maybe the gaze daze was just a temporary effect.

As Anne continued to chat with them about our latest
algebra homework assignment, something dangerously close to hope filled me, and I took a deep breath. If the gaze daze-effect on guys was temporary, then maybe everything would be okay, after all. I just had to be sure I never,
ever
made eye contact with a boy again. Simple, right?

Yeah, sure.

 

The algebra boys didn't bother me anymore, so I could actually focus on prepping for my studio's dance recital at the end of the week. Not that I needed as much practice as before, now that my dancing was quickly improving. Still, I wanted to be sure I did the best I could at the recital. If I could blow away my family with my dancing, maybe they'd quit watching me all the time when they thought I didn't notice. If I could be good at something for a change, then maybe it would show them that I was normal, after all. Not a freak. Just a regular teen doing something she really had fun doing.

The only thing that continued to bug me was Greg. I couldn't tell if I'd gaze dazed him, too, or not. He hadn't spoken to me again since Monday. And the few times I saw him in the cafeteria later in the week, he always looked away with a frown.

Boys were just plain weird.

Including Tristan, because he'd started acting differently all week, too. It was like the wall that separated us in my frequent dreams about him had stretched out to divide us in my waking life, as well. Even with my senses wide-open, I couldn't feel his magnetic tug anymore when we were in algebra class together. And while I'd never thought it possible before, I missed having his legs and feet at either side of me now that he'd started to keep them folded under his desk. I also missed the way he used to whistle
Nutcracker
music to annoy me. And the way he used to stare at me in the cafeteria. Lately, he'd
started skipping lunch, choosing to stand outside against a tree near the picnic tables instead. I caught myself searching for him in his new spot as my friends and I left the cafeteria each day. Some crazy part of me yearned to make eye contact with him, to see if he could be gaze dazed, too. But he always kept his eyes closed. My head said that was a good thing. My heart said something else.

And then there were all the other little things that added up to make the hours at school long and lonely. I still had my friends, but not being able to make eye contact with anyone made me feel like I was cut off from the world around me. Even weirder was the Red Sea effect that happened every time I walked through the halls. It was subtle, but people moved away from me as if I had something contagious they didn't want to catch. Worse, they didn't even seem aware that they were doing it.

But why? I didn't feel
that
different from before I got sick.

The one good thing that came out of it all was my continued progress in dance. Because of those improvements, dancing had become my one relief. When the music played, I got lost in it. For a few precious minutes, I could forget the craziness, the family secrets, all the weirdness that set me apart from everyone around me. When I danced, not only was I no longer a freak or an embarrassment, but I was actually
good
at something. And getting better at it every day.

So deciding to try out for the Charmers Dance/Drill Team was sort of natural. Where else would I ever fit in at this school, unless it was among other dancers? If I became a Charmer, I wouldn't be a freak anymore. The Charmers were like mini celebrities, not just at our school but in Jacksonville, too, because of all the awards they won every winter at dance competitions. Every time they brought home another trophy,
they were featured on the front page of the
Jacksonville Daily News,
earning our school's and entire town's approval.

If I made the team, I would get to be a part of all that,
and
I'd be doing something I loved while I was at it.

But first, I had another approval to earn…Dad's. If being a great dancer didn't do it, I didn't know what would.

So when he called on Wednesday to check up on me, I took the biggest risk of my life so far.

Suddenly nervous, I played with the laces on my sneakers and tried to be patient as we went through our usual list of questions about school. A long pause filled the conversation after a while, and I spotted my opening.

“Um, Dad? You know how I've been taking dance lessons this year?”

“Yes?” His voice had turned cautious, like he was bracing for bad news.

Even more nervous now, I hesitated, forced my tight chest to expand and take a deep breath, then pushed the words out fast. “Well, the studio is having its annual dance recital this weekend and I'd really love it if you could come.”
Please say yes, please,
I chanted in my head, holding my breath in the dead silence that followed.

Why didn't he say something?

“Dad?” I whispered, my voice tiny. Oh, crap. He was going to say no, that he couldn't make it, just like when I played volleyball, and basketball, and ran at the junior-high track meets….

More silence.

Finally he spoke. “I suppose it is time that I come see how you have progressed. Give me the details and I will be there.”

Yes!
Grinning, I told him the recital's date, time and location, then gave him quick directions to the local junior college's theater where the show would be held.

“Hey, you might even be surprised by how good I've gotten,” I joked, excitement making me relax and be myself more than I usually was around him.

Silence.

Okaaay. Did he doubt my judgment about my own dancing? Or was he simply not looking forward to sitting through a recital in general?

I'd just have to make sure my performance impressed him enough to make attending worth the effort.

 

Two days later, I joined my ballet class in the dark wings of Lon Morris College's theater. Finally, the night I had been working so hard for all year long was here. Now was my chance to prove that having me wasn't the biggest mistake my parents had ever made.

The three-year-olds were wrapping up their cute version of the Sugar Plum Fairy dance from
The Nutcracker.
A sudden memory of Tristan whistling the tune made me smile and my eyes burn a bit. I blinked away the unexpected sensation. Better to think about something else. Like the people who were in the audience waiting for me to dance.

My friends couldn't come to the show. They had volleyball tryouts tomorrow morning and needed to practice this evening. Plus, their parents wanted them to go to bed early so they would be rested for their early start. Though I was sort of irritated, I also tried to understand their point of view. Volleyball was everything to them, just like dancing was for me now. So I'd faked yet another smile for their sakes and wished them good-luck.

But there were three people somewhere in those dark rows of seats who had been able to come and cheer for me. I just hoped I didn't screw up and disappoint them yet again.

The spotlights dimmed, and polite clapping sounded from
the audience while mothers volunteering as stage crew herded the giggling girls offstage and into the wings.

This was it.

Determined yet also breathless with wound-up nerves, I walked with my classmates onto the dark stage as the audience grew quiet again. My heart pounded against my ribs. I found my opening position and posed. I could hear the audience a few yards away, shifting in their creaky seats, the occasional cough or murmur.

The recorded piano notes began, so much louder than at the studio. I would have jumped in surprise, but last night's dress rehearsal had braced me for the difference in volume.

The spotlights brightened in tiny increments, bathing me and my classmates in soft blue light as we began to dance in fluid movements. Though I knew I was dancing, a rush of adrenaline made the moment surreal. It seemed just a dream, and I was separate from it all, feeling myself turn and leap as the music built faster and faster toward that peak note.

Then the music slowed toward its quiet ending. I reached for the light above, everything inside me held captive by the music and the moment. And then I blinked, and it was over. I was in my final pose, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt, as the audience clapped and cheered far louder than politeness required. The harder they clapped, the faster my blood rushed through my veins, until it seemed I could jump out onto that sound and fly on it like a strong wind.

Ohhh. So
this
was what the Charmers felt when they performed. And they got to experience this all the time.

I could definitely get addicted to this.

Forming a horizontal line with my classmates, we walked to the front edge of the stage to take our bows. In midcurtsy, I looked out into the audience, squinting to see Nanna and
Mom beyond the spotlights. And Dad's back as he walked up the aisle toward the exit.

He was leaving already? I still had a jazz routine to perform!

My throat choked up. Breathing was nearly impossible as I finished the curtsy and followed the other dancers offstage on legs that had suddenly turned awkward and stiff. As soon as I reached the wing's darkness, I started running, weaving down the hall past props and mothers and dancers. Didn't Dad know I had two routines to perform tonight, not just one? I had to reach him, had to stop him before he left.

Rain poured down outside. I could hear the water pounding the building's front cement steps as I reached the foyer. The glass doors thudded closed after his retreating figure.

I slapped the door open again. “Dad! Wait!” Could he hear me over the rain? Oh, wait, of course he could. He was a vampire with that same supersonic hearing I had.

Despite the weather, he carried no umbrella to protect the dark suit he always wore, now soaked and clinging to his trim figure. The water didn't seem to faze him as he stopped halfway down the sidewalk and turned to face me with those emotionless eyes so like my own.

“I—I'm glad you came.” I couldn't close the distance between us. I was still in my ballet slippers, and rain had splashed under the entrance's metal awning. My slippers' leather soles would be ruined if I got them wet. I edged out as far as I dared so the door could shut behind me and block my voice from carrying back into the theater.