Fallen Angel (4 page)

Chapter Seven

I expected Ruth to be waiting for me at the end of the day. I knew I had some explaining to do. I’d never mentioned Michael to her before, and suddenly we were going on a date. It was kind of a big deal, and Ruth only knew about it because she walked up to me at the right moment. I wasn’t sure what her reaction to the news would be, but the fact that she’d sacrificed our plans so I could go out with Michael was a good sign. I hoped.

I saw her standing just inside the main doors, looking distracted, and tugging at some strands of her long, red hair—clearly lost in thought. Ruth was quiet as we walked out of the building toward the parking lot. We’d planned to go to the library to work on our first serious English project, and she was driving. My eco-friendly parents didn’t believe that we should own more than one car—the whole carbon footprint thing. They figured I could—and should—walk anywhere I needed to go in Tillinghast, even in the winter. It irked them that I circumvented their wishes by driving everywhere with Ruth.

I was quiet, too, waiting for her verdict.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Michael?” she finally said.

Still unsure how to read her, I tread cautiously. “Tell you what?”

“About your relationship with him.”

“Relationship? We’ve only been in school for a little over a week, and Michael and I have talked a total of maybe five times. Today’s the first time that an actual date came up.”

“Don’t be literal with me, Ellie. You’ve obviously been talking to him, and you haven’t mentioned him even once. And you had plenty of opportunities; we were together all Saturday night.”

I had my answer: Ruth was mad. As mad as the reserved Ruth got. I guessed that her anger wasn’t from jealousy of my marginal success with a guy, but because I hadn’t told her. I knew that the very thought of keeping secrets from each other was beyond her comprehension. In fact, to her, it was tantamount to betrayal. It offended her sense of loyalty.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think there was really much to say.”

“I thought we told each other everything. Whether it seems inconsequential or not.”

“Ruth, no one knows better than you that I have absolutely no experience with guys. I didn’t know if he was just being friendly because we’d both been on that grueling summer program to Guatemala a few years ago. So I didn’t really know what to tell you—”

“He was on one of your parents’ trips?” She paused to process that little nugget. “So that’s why he was staring at us on the first day of school. . . .”

Ruth saw Michael that day. I was shocked that she noticed him but never mentioned him and offended that she thought the only reason he’d stare at me was familiarity. But I was in the hot seat, not Ruth, so I said, “Yeah, our parents do similar kinds of work. He recognized me in the hallway, and it was so awkward because I didn’t remember him—”

Ruth’s anger couldn’t hold. She interrupted me. “I get it, Ellie. Even though I’m still a little mad that you kept it from me, I’m excited for you,” she said and sounded like she really meant it. “So, what are you going to wear on Saturday?”

I was forgiven, and Ruth was off and running, mentally culling through my limited wardrobe. My parents were not big believers in amassing goods beyond the absolutely necessary. This dismayed Ruth, who was a secret student of fashion although you’d never know it from her bland school “uniform” of jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters. After listening to Ruth debate the merits of jeans versus skirts, I ventured a question about Michael. One I’d wanted to ask all week, but I’d hesitated to bring up to the very protective Ruth. Until now.

“You don’t know anything about him, do you?” I asked, and there was that crimson flush on my cheeks again. “I mean, have you heard anything about Michael’s move here?”

“Well, sure, let’s see.” I could practically see Ruth ticking through her internal file folders on every person in the upper school—another one of her secret hobbies. She collected gossip, but she didn’t spread it. At least, not to anyone other than me. She claimed that she culled this information out of necessity rather than true interest; she said that, as we learned in
The Art of War
, which we read for history last year, we needed to “know our enemies.” We’d had enough unpleasantness with the popular crowd and wannabes for her taste. Again, part of her protective personality—for herself and me.

“His family moved to Tillinghast this summer. He plays football and is supposedly amazing. That is what the new football coach has been saying, anyway. All the different groups of guys are friendly with him—the football players, the soccer guys, even the stoners—but he hasn’t latched on to one group. He seems to prefer his own company, by his choice, not anyone else’s. Oh, and he’s smart. Scary smart, I hear.”

Blush notwithstanding, I plunged back in with the question I really wanted to ask. “Has he dated anyone?”

“No.” She laughed. “A couple of girls have crushes on him already, but I haven’t heard about him paying any particular attention to anyone.” She paused and smiled at me. “Until now.”

I smiled back. My private little connection with Michael had suddenly become real.

By the end of the week, I’d grown sick of talking about what I should wear on my date. Ruth had torn through my closet in frustration, judging my collection of dark-colored jeans, cords, sweaters, T-shirts, and tops completely unsuitable. She then steered me through her own closet, with its rarely worn but definitely cooler mix of casual clothes. But none of them worked on my slimmer, taller body. Desperate, Ruth finally dragged me to the mall—a place my parents frowned upon as a sad temple to materialism—looking for something “date-like,” whatever that meant.

There was only one good thing about Ruth’s mad quest for the perfect date outfit. Between that and my regular schoolwork, I was so distracted that I barely had any time to think about the purpose for all this madness. So by the time 6:30 on Saturday evening rolled around, and my parents dropped me off in front of the Odeon with eyebrows arched at the fact that Michael didn’t pick me up, I wasn’t even that nervous.

I stood at the Odeon’s doors all by myself watching the clock tick off fifteen minutes. Those fifteen minutes gave me ample time to review all my conversations with Michael and cringe over my awkward comments, to wonder what on earth we’d talk about, and to triple-guess my Ruth-approved outfit. I started to feel so anxious that I wondered if I should leave.

But then Michael rounded the corner. When I saw him wearing a pair of khakis and a button-down, I was glad to have worn the vintage blazer, long-sleeve black J. Crew top, and skinny black pants that Ruth had insisted upon. And I was really, really happy that I had stayed.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Ellie,” Michael said as he handed me a beautiful, gold-foil gift bag. “This isn’t an excuse, but I hope it explains my delay.”

I took the bag with a small, cautious smile. I reached inside and slid out a box of expensive chocolate truffles with a cinnamon center. I couldn’t believe it. Over the course of the week, Michael had casually asked me about my favorite candy, and I’d named my dream treat. I never imagined that he’d get it for me.

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

“You didn’t tell me how hard these were to come by in Tillinghast.”

“I can’t believe you found them in town at all. I’ve only ever had them abroad in duty-free shops when I traveled with my parents for those summer trips.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t find them in Tillinghast exactly.”

“Please don’t tell me that you went too far out of your way.”

“Let’s just say that the gift shop in the big hotel in Bar Harbor carries a really nice selection of candy.” He took me by the hand and said, “Come on, we don’t want to miss the movie, do we?”

Chapter Eight

The movie and dinner couldn’t have gone better if I’d scripted them myself. The movie was a perfect choice, enough action and philosophy to satisfy us both, but no embarrassing love scenes. I had enough trouble concentrating on the movie given that my arm kept brushing up against Michael’s, without having to deal with some on-screen love interest. The diner where we had burgers and fries afterward seemed somehow transformed into a French bistro straight out of one of the movie scenes. And we talked easily all night.

Over a shared dessert, we playfully debated some more foreign films. As we finished both the chocolate cake and our cheerful dispute, he said, “God, I’m glad you’re in Tillinghast.”

I felt my cheeks burn bright red. I wasn’t sure how to take his statement, so I pushed the chocolate cake crumbs around the plate and said, “You are?”

“I mean it’s so great to find someone in this small town who’s smart and interested in the world beyond Tillinghast. Someone who’s traveled to the same kind of obscure places and who’s dealt with the same kind of single-minded parents.”

The way Michael said “someone” made me hesitate. Was he happy to have found just anyone with whom he could connect? Or was he happy to have found
me
?

As if he knew what I was thinking, he said, “I’m so glad to have found you here, of all places. Imagine seeing you again in Tillinghast after first meeting you in rural Guatemala.”

I smiled and looked up. “Even if I can’t remember you from Guatemala?” I’d tried and tried to conjure up even one image of him from Guatemala, but couldn’t. It was like a wall in my head that I couldn’t scale or peer around no matter how hard I tried.

He smiled back. “Even if I was forgettable in Guatemala.”

We laughed over my forgetfulness, and I was hugely relieved. Up until now, we’d managed to skirt the issue of Guatemala and my strange amnesia about him. But I’d always felt awkward about it. Not anymore.

As he helped me into my jacket after dinner, I thought about how I loved what I saw in Michael. He was funny, chivalrous, and thoughtful, always opening the door for me and even stopping to help an older woman struggling to cross the street in between the theater and diner. He was obviously well-traveled, and really bright. He had only one flaw: He seemed too good to be true. In fact, he was so comfortable it made me wonder whether he’d been on tons of dates before.

We walked toward the diner door, and I wondered if I should call my parents for a ride. After all, Michael hadn’t said anything about driving me home, and he did ask me to meet him at the movies. Maybe he didn’t have a car, and I didn’t want to be presumptuous.

I pulled out my cell phone, and started to dial. He asked, “Who are you calling?”

“My parents.”

“Do you always call them to report in midway through a date?” he said with a laugh.

“No. Well, I don’t go on dates—” I turned bright red at my unintentional confession. “What I mean is I don’t have to ‘report in’ or anything—”

He laughed. “I’m only kidding, Ellie. If you need to call your parents for some reason, by all means, please do.”

“I just thought we were probably heading home and I should call them for a ride.”

“A ride? I was hoping to drive you home myself.”

“You were?”

“Of course. If that’s all right with you?”

I nodded happily.

Michael was quiet as he helped me into his parents’ navy Prius and headed toward my house. I wondered if I’d done or said something wrong, and tried to fill the void with chatter. But Michael seemed perfectly content driving in near-silence, with one hand on the wheel and the other nearly touching mine.

He pulled up in front of my house. Our little white Victorian, with its whimsically painted Kelly green trim and wide front porch that my parents had resuscitated from demolition, looked especially inviting. The warm lights coming from the kitchen were a sure sign that my parents were waiting up for me.

“Would you like to come in?” I wasn’t sure if I should ask, but it seemed the normal thing to do. Plus I was nervous. I’d never been on a date before—let alone kissed a guy—and I figured that might come next. Part of me hoped it would, even though I didn’t have the slightest idea what to do.

“Maybe it’d be better if I came in and saw your parents next time. I’d kind of like to keep you all to myself tonight.”

The words “next time” had such a sweet ring to me. They were a reassurance of sorts that he had enjoyed our evening, even if he’d grown quiet. I put my hand on the car door handle and said, “Until ‘next time,’ then.”

Michael reached across me and gently took my hand off the handle. “Are we done with ‘this time’ so soon?” If his voice hadn’t cracked when he asked the question, he might have seemed smooth, too smooth. Instead, he just seemed endearing.

I didn’t want the date to end either, even though I was anxious. I shook my head and looked down.

With his free hand, Michael traced my cheek and lips, and rested his hand at the back of my neck, lifting my face to his. He slipped his other hand around the small of my back and drew me close. So close I could feel his breath on my skin.

He leaned in to kiss me, and I surrendered. His lips were soft and gentle at first, as gentle as he’d been with me all night. I responded intuitively, following his lead as he grew more persistent.

Slowly, so slowly, he parted my lips with his tongue. The delicate, but powerful, motion took my breath away. I waited as he ran his tongue around the tip of my own and then along the ridge of my upper teeth with an alluring deliberation. The movement sent shivers down my spine.

I wanted to provoke the same reaction in him. Ten-tatively, I touched his tongue with the tip of mine and then sought out his upper teeth. Mimicking his motions, I ran my tongue along the ridge, but it was razor-sharp. I cried out in pain, as my blood filled both of our mouths.

Instinct told me to pull back and I started to apologize, but Michael grabbed hold of me. Just like that, the intensity heightened. His kisses became more and more demanding, and I found myself swept away by his ardor and my own. My pain did nothing to lessen my desire. The feeling was so new . . . but the rush felt almost familiar. Like I was in one of my nightly dreams, flying high above the town below.

Panting, Michael broke away first. We looked into each other’s pale, pale eyes, and I saw a hunger in his matched only by my own. I never knew that kissing could be like this. Not even from the movies.

“I think we should stop,” he said.

I’d never dreamed of feeling so much, so quickly. I didn’t want it to stop. As if in a dream, I said, “No, I don’t want to.” And I reached for him.

“Yes, Ellie.” He placed his hand on mine to keep me at bay.

Still, I wanted more. “Please, Michael.” I pressed forward, against the pressure of his hand.

He pushed me back into my seat. Gently, but it was enough to break the spell.

What on earth had come over me? I was mortified at my aggressive behavior, and embarrassed by his rejection. I recoiled into the far corner of my seat, as far away from his spurning as I could get. But it wasn’t far enough. More than anything in the world, I wanted out of that car.

As I reached for the door handle, he grabbed my hand. “Ellie, please believe me when I say that I’m stopping only because we are meant to be together. And this is just the beginning.”

I tried to wrench free of his grip. “Don’t bother letting me down easy, Michael. I may be inexperienced, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Michael locked his hands around mine. “Please, Ellie.”

I met his gaze as if I understood—and agreed with—his excuses. But I nodded only so he would release my hands. Once free, I opened the door and ran from the car. From him.