Dark Angel (Anak Trilogy) (4 page)

        
   2.  NEW GUY

             
I AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING FEELING

like
I
had a hangover. How is this possible? I hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic. My head throbbed in response to that thought, and I felt nauseated. The sun streamed through my window. The sun? Briefly, I wondered what time it could be. I glanced at the clock, 9:05. I bolted straight up in the bed. It simply couldn’t be. My biology test was at 8:00 a.m. I rolled from my bed, but my legs didn’t catch me. I fell face-first into the floor.  Groaning, I crawled to my knees pulling myself up with handfuls of my comforter until the upper half of my body was lying back on the bed again. Wobbling
,
I rose more carefully this time and stumbled to the bathroom. What was the matter with me? My body was simply not responding to normal functions. I turned on the shower hoping a hot shower would make me feel better.

Awkwardly, I tried to wrap a towel around my hair three times before it stayed well enough to shower. I certainly didn’t have time to wash my hair.
I stepped into the shower. For minutes on end, I allowed the scalding water to soak my body. Then I scrubbed all over, shaved my legs, and turned the hot water to cold water. Shivering, the chilly water did the trick rousing me from my stupor instantly.

I jumped from the shower. There was no time for make-up and hair styling this morning. I ran the brush through my long, tangled hair and pulled it back
into a ponytail. I brushed my teeth so vigorously that I spit out blood when I rinsed the paste from my mouth. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a sapphire sweater, I slid my feet in a pair of blue, sparkly flip-flops on the chance it would be warm enough today for them. I reached for my purse, gathered my gym bag, and snatched books from their resting places as I went through the house.  Inside my vehicle, I rummaged in my purse for a pair of sunglasses to protect my throbbing eyes from the sun. Backing out of the drive, I headed for school a good hour and a half late.

Since I was late for the second morning in a row, the only parking left was in the back lot again. As I pulled into the lot searching for a parking place, panic gripped my chest and squeezed. Something
happened here. I could feel it, but I couldn’t put my finger on the memory. Perhaps, it was just the dreadful nightmare that I had last night and not an actual event.  I searched my brain for details. I felt something happened here in the parking lot when I left the gym after basketball practice. Then someone or something helped me. The whole memory was fussy, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I had a hike ahead of me to the school office. I opened my door and stepped out of my car right into a pile of ashes.

“Ew, disgusting!” I complai
ned wondering who would have a bonfire in the parking lot. I stared at those ashes for long seconds. I looked around searching for something to jog my memory, but the only thing that seemed to want to tug at my memory was that piles of ashes. What could I possibly have to do with a pile of ashes in the school parking lot? Looking at my dirty, sooty feet, I felt like climbing back into my car and going home. I paused indecisively. I really needed to be at school. Final exams were in a few weeks.

Still grumbling, I
ran the three hundred feet from the back parking lot to the school office. I opened the office door to sign in tardy breathing heavily. Some big oaf was half lying on the counter flirting with the office staff when I stepped inside the suddenly too small office. The object of every female’s attention straightened up as I stood behind him trying to get to the sign-in book. My breath caught in my throat as he slowly turned around.  His pearly white teeth gleamed in a dazzling smile against the backdrop of a perfectly chiseled, tanned face.

“Annie,” murmured the strange young man who was handsomely dressed in a pair of designer jeans. He wore a white button-up shirt with one of those expensive logos on it. He looked like a male model, but
he was much more handsome. Any model or actor whom I had ever seen would seem only mediocre in comparison.

“Do I know you?” I asked irritably.

“We have met,” he winked at Mrs. Woods and spoke in flawless English; although, he sported somewhat of an accent that actually sounded middle-eastern. He flashed another gorgeous smile that seemed vaguely familiar.

I stared at him blankly.

“I was telling Mrs. Woods and Ms. Lindsey how we met in Europe last summer. What a coincidence that I have moved to this area.”

“I don’t recall . . . “
I began.

“Annie!” It was Mrs. Wood
s’ loud, obnoxious voice that roused me from the dreamlike state that I was falling into when this stranger spoke to me. “Sign in and show Mr. Starr the way to third period,” she stated harshly.

Mouth open, I could only stare at him. Who was this person? I thought again that I might know him. Perhaps, I might have met him last summer like he said. Last
summer, some young people from my dad’s church and I hiked across Europe. It was incredible. That trip was the most amazing experience of my life, and I think I would remember meeting this guy. I was in a state of confusion again. I could not get the memories to come.

“Don’t fret, Annie,” he whispered. “Here, sign in,” he said as he handed me a black pen. Mechanically, I did as he suggested.

“Ladies, it has truly been a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he gushed catching Mrs. Woods’ hand in his own and pressing his lips to her fingers.

Mrs. Woods
, the school secretary and meanest woman at Mill Creek High School, was putty in his hands. She giggled like a school girl for goodness sakes. I was embarrassed for her, but I could only squeak when I tried to voice my displeasure. He winked at Ms. Lindsey, the guidance counselor, and opened the office door for me. What is this guy’s deal? If he hadn’t been there, Mrs. Woods would have raked me over the coals for twenty minutes as to
why
I was late again for the second day in a row, and
did
my dad, the pastor, know that his daughter could not even make it to school on time.

“Shall we?” he asked. “Let’s see. This is third period according to this schedule, and we need to be in English.” I followed him into the hall like a puppy. He stopped beside my locker, flipped through the combination, opened my locker, threw my gym bag and book bag into it, pulled out my English book and notebook, and slammed the locker shut all with one hand. How did this person know my combination and the location of my locker? I was frightened. He had to be a stalker. There was no other explanation. He reached for my hand and led me through the halls like he was being guide
d by a navigation system. I was in a shocked state of silence. He said he was new. Then, how did he know his way around school like he did? The atmosphere was charged. It was like I was walking through a fog, but I was watching myself from afar.  He was with me in the fog. This gorgeous, magnificent creature who was guiding me through toward the light.

Struggling, I shook my head to clear it and found my voice, “I need to stop by the restroom,” I whispered as I lifted a sooty foot.

“Of course,” he replied relinquishing my hand.

I leaned against the sink and drew in a deep breath. Raising my head, I looked at my pale reflection in the mirror. I looked like the same girl that I was yesterday, yet somehow I knew that I would never be that girl again. I turned on the water and let it run over my hands. Transfixed, I stood there
for minutes on end just watching the water tumble over my palms and fingers.

“Annie, are you ok?”

I groaned inwardly. I had hoped he would go on to class without me.

  
“Just a minute.” I pulled wads of paper towels out of the dispenser and wet them. Pulling my flip-flops off, I laid them in the sink letting the water rinse them off while I washed my feet.  I slid them on after drying them with subsequent wads of paper towels, turned my back to the sink, and leaned against it. I took a deep breath. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I was determined to face it head on. Saucily, I slipped into the hall walking right past Zell.

 
I had not gone five steps before he was beside me and holding my hand once again. His presence made me want to weep, and a tear slid from my eye as we rounded the corner in the hall. Just like the tear that escaped from my eye, my determination slipped too. He stopped outside the door before going in the classroom. He noticed the tear falling from my cheek and crushed me to him.

“Oh Annie, don’t cry, please,” he begged.

I couldn’t answer, but more tears spilled out of my eyes in response to his tenderness. Why was I crying? I had no reason to cry. Perhaps, it was just that I was feeling rotten this morning. I was late to school. My feet had gotten filthy and now him. I felt as if suddenly I knew the answer to the soul searching I had been doing, yet I wasn’t sure what the answer was. It was as if my destiny was embodied in this young man, but I didn’t know him or the destiny that he represented. I refused to believe my destiny was tied to any person of the opposite sex.

I was d
etermined not let this guy get to me. I rebounded and recoiled from his touch.

“Get your hands off of me. I do not know you,” I spit
out.  “You can tell Mrs. Woods and Ms. Lindsey any fantasy you like, but I know the truth. The truth is that I never met you in Europe. The truth is that I have no idea who you are. Tell me. Just who are you? How do you know my locker location and combination?”

“Forgive me, Annie. My name is Zell Starr,” he said as he swept into a low bow introducing himself.

At the sound of his name, a ferocious beast leaped at me from my nightmares, and I shuddered and reached out leaning against the wall for support. I must be going insane. At a word or touch from him, I would have a vision from my many nightmares. It was as if scenes from my nightmares were cut and pasted into my morning.

“What kind of name is Zell? For goodness
sake's stand up,” I said exasperated.

He immediately cut his exaggerated bow short and stood up. I gazed up at him. He was absolutely stunning. His hair shone as if a halo enveloped his head. His long, light hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a silver band. His face was that of an angel. His teeth were perfect and amazingly white. He had a well-placed dimple below each of his cheekbones. He had the most unusual eyes
that I had ever seen. His eyes were silver, perhaps some people would call them gray, but to me they were the color of rain clouds in a summer sky. His tanned skin set them off, intensifying the color. His smooth, Mediterranean skin was a stark contrast to his light eyes. I had never seen any human’s eyes as beautiful as his. He was meticulously dressed, and he smelled heavenly.

“Zell?” I whispered more in a question than a statement.

“Yes, love,” he grinned, and his smile was so dazzling that I felt my knees grow weak and buckle.

“Are you ill?” he asked.

I shook my head no without looking at him.

“To answer your question, Zell is an old family name. It dates back in my family thousands of years. Come, let’s get this over with,” he sighed. His right hand slid down my arm and gently folded around my fingers. Slowly, he opened the door to English class and pulled me inside the room with him.

He walked confidently across the room to where our English teacher, Rachel Edge, stood before the board.

“Good day, M
rs. Edge. I am a new student, Zell Starr, recently transplanted from a small country in Europe, Monaco.” Zell held out his hand to Mrs. Edge. He continued to weave his magic on her and the rest of the class. “Annie was in the office as I was finishing up with registration, and she was good enough to escort me to class. Here is her tardy admit,” Zell handed her my admit slip and his registration papers as he finished speaking.

“A pleasure to meet you Mr. Starr,” M
rs. Edge replied somewhat puzzled as to why he was holding my hand.

“Hmmm,” she nervously cleared her throat. “Since you and Annie have already been introduced, why don’t you sit in the
vacant seat next to hers?” She motioned toward two empty seats.

“Thank you, Madam.”

Did he just say Madam? Who in the twenty-first century says madam? Who was this guy? If a girl from the Deep South thinks he talks old-fashioned, he’s a Neanderthal. With that thought still tumbling through my head, Zell pulled me toward the two empty seats in the back of the room.