Dragonfly (3 page)

I was sure I sounded like a goose brainstorming, but Julian stepped closer. “Maybe a little demonstration,” he said. “Some passion in my studio? Imagine it…”

A honk of nervous laughter came from my nose. “Oh, god,” I muttered, cheeks blazing.

He laughed. “What? Too fast for the news?”

I cleared my throat, trying to find cool. “Actually, I would like to visit your studio. For the feature. I think you’d make a great subject.”

“Mutual,” he said, then caught my hand. “Check this out. See what you think.”

He pulled up his shirt, and I struggled to breathe normally. Julian’s body was legendary. Tanned from surfing all summer, lined and lean from lifting the heavy scrap metal he used for his sculptures, the fabric rose higher, and my head grew lighter until I saw it. A swirl of black lines formed a circular tattoo on his upper left ribcage. Nerves forgotten, I leaned in closer. It was still pink around the edges, and I saw it was his initials.

“Who did it?” I asked, carefully touching the strong, bold lines.

His skin flinched. “Did it myself.”

My mouth fell open and I straightened, meeting his eyes. “You did not… did it hurt?”

He groaned, “Like a mother. Swiped a gun from Boze, then I had to call and confess. This part bled a lot, and I didn’t know what to do.”

I leaned down again, studying the very red outer edge.

“I think I went too deep.” He dropped the shirt, and I stood. “He threatened to turn me in, of course, but I think he was impressed.”

“It’s pretty cool.”

“And I can show you what else I’m working on. Machine parts as body parts. A foot-long spud wrench for a shin, a fender for the head, or more like a helmet.” His enthusiasm was contagious. “And I’ve got an old V-twin motor I’m using for a pelvis.”

“I love it! You could be my first story, and maybe I could take pictures to go with it.”

“I’ll take my shirt off.” He pointed to his side. “This might be my new logo.”

“I’m sure topless photos aren’t allowed.”

“I’m a guy.” He said, as if that wasn’t super-obvious. “Or whatever. Maybe I could just pick you up sometime, and we could do something.”

Everything paused.
Was it possible Julian just asked me out?
Words escaped me.

He shrugged, backing away. “I mean, whatever. It was just a thought. See ya around, Anna.”

Wait, what just happened?
Julian never messed with my head like that. But Gabi was gone, so it wasn’t like she could still call dibs. That only left the other reason, and Renee was apparently just “around somewhere.”

He waved and trotted off, leaving me with two ideas buzzing in my brain. This year was starting off better than I expected.

Chapter 3

Story assignments were in, and I had successfully pitched my Julian feature. He’d agreed to email shots of his art to me, but I still hoped to visit his studio in their converted garage. The topic of Jack was another matter altogether. I hadn’t even mentioned my notable students idea, as I was sure I’d never muster the nerve to speak to him.

Yes, we had English together, but every time I sneaked a peek, he was usually studying a book or writing something. Good thing because his blue eyes were absolutely hypnotic. The one time I sucked up the nerve to say hello, he looked straight at me, and my foot caught a chair leg. I nearly hit the floor, and I turned away fast, sliding into my seat, cheeks blazing. After that doofus move, I decided to focus on Lucy, who was a good student as I suspected. Still, she kept mentioning our need for a study-date, and after a series of texts, I caved.

That’s how I found myself driving alone down the narrow, two-lane road to the gated entrance of Hammond Island. Maybe we could study, maybe we could talk about other things. But when I pulled into the driveway and saw just how huge their beige stucco mansion was, I almost turned the car around. My wardrobe was not prepared for this. And I wasn’t so sure about my etiquette.

I shook my head. If I was going to be a real newswoman, I’d have to get over my inclination to be a chicken. For several moments, I sat in Mom’s Kia doing my best to channel Martha Raddatz, Barbara Walters, Christiane Amanpour, and all the other great newswomen who regularly chatted up the rich and powerful. I took a deep breath. This was my chance to join their ranks.

Bolstering my confidence, I approached the side entrance, planning how I might bring up the idea of a feature story. Until Jack opened the door, blue eyes and all. I jumped two feet.

“It’s you!” I whispered.

He suppressed a grin. “You were expecting…?”

I did not say that I expected a servant to answer the door or that he looked amazing standing there in only a pair of running shorts and shoes. I couldn’t look at his face again, but everywhere else I looked was just as disorienting.

“Lucy and I are supposed to be working on a project for school,” I said.

“Sure, come on in.” He stepped back and into the house. I followed him to a massive, beige stone and stainless kitchen and dining area. “I guess she thought you’d take longer. She went to the Tom Thumb. I was just going to run, but I can wait with you.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to mess up your run.” I really needed a mirror to be sure my curls weren’t all frizzed or bunching up in their usual, freakish way.

“Nobody else is here,” Jack smiled. I melted.

“Oh,” I managed to say.

My professionalism was out the window, and I didn’t dare bring up the story idea. We stood quietly for a bit, me trying to find anything to say, but all I could come up with was “You’re super-hot,” and who said that? I wished I’d read some of those sexiest man alive features. What would a professional say to him? I looked down at the stone floor. The huge room we stood in opened to another, larger living area.

“We have English class together,” he finally said.

“Right! Mrs. Bowman. She’s really tough, but I like her.”

“You like to write,” he smiled. I swooned again.

“How… how did you know that?”

“Every day you come in class and go straight to your journal. It’s like you’re in your own world.”

“I guess I’m a nerd,” I tried to laugh.
How embarrassing!

“I always wonder what you’re writing about.” He leaned toward me on the bar, and my brain spun. I felt like I was having an out of body experience. He was leaning in, talking to me. I had to go with this.

“You do?” I asked.

“Yeah, like what did you write about today?”

“I can’t remember…” My mind truly was blank. “The book we’re reading? I love all our assignments for the semester.”

His mouth curled down. “I don’t like
Song of Solomon
.”

“What? Toni Morrison’s brilliant!”

“I don’t like it. The story’s… It’s hard to read.”

“Well, yeah, some of the scenes are pretty awful. But in the end, when Milkman flies, he’s finally free. And the way she describes it, it’s beautiful. But sad. I mean, when you compare it to the beginning, the suicide and all. It’s like, only in death…” I stopped blabbering nonstop when I realized he was studying me, like he was curious about something. My nerves were back. I tried a different topic.

“Did Lucy ever find B.J.?” I said, remembering that first day on the beach, planning to say they’d just missed him.

“Who?” He straightened a card on the bar, his perfect brow lined. “Oh. I’d forgotten about that. No, she’s into some brainiac she saw headed into the career center now.”

“That’s where the welding class meets.” B.J. forgotten, I thought how Julian did some of his metal arts in the shop building. Since he was applying to the design college in Savannah, our administration let him invent his own electives, which made total sense because he was an artistic genius. “Some nice guys take classes in the career center.”

“I just meant… Lucy likes to find ways to annoy our dad. That’s all. So your boyfriend takes shop?” He smiled at me, and I didn’t care about Lucy or shop guys or any of it.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said.

Jack paused for a beat and looked at me as if he wanted to say more, but instead he turned to leave.

“I gotta go,” he said. “Lucy should be back any minute.”

I stared at the door after he closed it, and for a tiny moment, I let myself imagine walking around school holding hands with Jack Kyser. I’d be like Cinderella, and just look at his palace. My heart ticked faster and a little charge filled my middle. It was the stupidest dream, but it would be so… incredible.

Lucy jolted me back to reality, banging through the door, bags of snacks in hand. “Anna!” She looked fresh and pretty as always. “You beat me. I hope Jack kept you company until I got here. I saw him leave.”

“Yeah, we talked about English class.” I remembered what he said about watching me write and my heart did a little flip.

“Think he’s cute?” She plopped the bags on the bar, a sneaky look on her face. “I could get him to ask you out. Maybe the Back to School dance Friday?”

My face went red. “Do not. I’d look like a total loser!”

“Leave it to me. I can be
very
subtle. And persuasive,” she grinned and pulled out chips and dip. “He loves smart girls. And anyway, he needs to have some fun. Daddy’s little over-achiever thinks way too much about the family business.”

My lips twitched with all the questions that comment provoked. I considered bringing up the feature story again, but now I wasn’t sure I wanted to mix business with what could be life-changing pleasure. Instead I took a chip and broke it into small pieces, trying to appear confident. “How can he not have a girlfriend? That’s totally bizarre.”

Lucy shrugged. “He’s been out of the loop since Casey moved to college.”

“Casey…?”

“Casey Simpson. Her parents live down the road in the red stone house with the big glass sunroom. You saw it?” I shook my head no. “She went to Vandy last year, but she and Jack were exclusive before that.”

“Is she smart?” Confidence faltering.

“Oh, hells yeah. Pre-med, although I think she should’ve gone to Duke. But she wanted to be in Nashville. Good singer. Broke little Jackie-boy’s heart.”

That did it. I dropped the chip bits and dusted my fingers. I could not compete with that. I pulled out my books, ready to change the subject.

“So? You want to date my hot brother?” Lucy was getting excited again, and I could tell she wasn’t going to stop.

“No. Thanks, but no.”

“Why not?” she laughed.

“My parents would want to meet him, and… it’s not a good idea.” Besides my obvious inability to rank anywhere near this Casey Simpson person, I imagined my dad whipping out his Banana nickname and shuddered.

“Oh, please.” Lucy’s eyes rolled as she shook her head. “Your parents would love Jack.
Everyone
loves Jack.”

“We’d better just stick to government.” And reality.

“Sure. But if you change your mind...” Her sing-song voice trailed off as she turned to get a drink out of the refrigerator.

We worked until dark, and I headed out to Mom’s car alone. It looked pretty ratty next to a gorgeous silver Audi that hadn’t been here when I’d arrived. I didn’t see Mr. Kyser enter the house, but I did see Jack sitting on the low stone wall that lined the driveway. He was slightly damp and absolutely perfect. Shirtless, his muscular shoulders glistened in the moonlight. My heart was racing, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had to speak.

“Long run?” I sounded nervous, so I cleared my throat and pulled out my keys, hoping he didn’t notice.

“Not really,” he looked down. “I went for a swim while I was out.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? I mean, don’t they say you could like… get eaten by a shark swimming at dusk?”

He let out a short laugh. “That would be random. But I’m used to sharks.”

A frown creased my brow. “What do you mean?”

He looked away. “Ah, nothing. It’s just so hot still. I wanted to cool off.”

I studied his lips, wondering what it would feel like if they touched me. The thought made me shiver in the warm night air. I was hopeless. Squeezing my eyes shut against the humiliation, I blurted it out.

“Hey, listen. If Lucy says something to you about asking me out or anything, please just ignore her. I did
not
tell her to do that.”

“What?” Those blue eyes met my hazel ones.

“Oh, god,” I exhaled. “Lucy said something about talking to you, and I didn’t want you to think I’d told her to do that.”

Exit stage right; immediately die.

“Lucy wants to set us up?” He smiled, and I tried to imagine how beautiful their mother must’ve been to produce such perfect children.

“I guess,” I said, looking down.

He got up and walked over to me. “I’m game. Go with me to that thing at school Friday.”

“The dance?” I couldn’t breathe. “Are you serious?”

He nodded, but in the same breath it was like he remembered something. “I mean, I don’t know,” he hesitated. “You’re right. It’s probably not a good idea.”